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Josh Karpf

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About Josh Karpf

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    http://joshkarpf.com

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    Male
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    New York, NY

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  1. As if my new higher-fat pan-Asian-treats diet hadn't begun giving me enough of a bellyache.
  2. From the one Mercato vendor offering it, New Age Market. I'll crack it open tonight. They had a very high delivery fee, yet the deliverer (via Postmates) didn't bring it to my lobby for the contact-free delivery I'd wanted. I had to go to his parked car. At least he was masked. I also got, from New Age and from Sunrise Mart: Thin and fat fresh ramen noodles Tantan soup base packets (this and the noodles lovely spouse likes; to be saved) Crab stick Swirly fish cake Fish balls (plain; what I really want is the Fuzhou pork-stuffed ones) Octopus balls (she likes, so I'll save t
  3. And now she’s away for a few days, our first time apart in four years. I’m already lonely, but not bored. Instead of digging into extra billable work, this morning I found a fourth wave of clothes moths to murder in her weaving studio. But my next several meals get to be much less occidental than is admittedly deliciously and lovingly usual. Lunch: Nanjing duck on rice, and a big salad of the usual baby kale but this time with mint from the garden, peanuts, seasoned vinegar, and sesame oil. The salad she might’ve enjoyed. The greasy duck, no. Nor the durian mochi that’s about to
  4. I'm doing my first paper copyediting in years. I'm getting used to the old way of working. I'm enjoying it. I can even edit outside again, without squinting at my laptop in sunlight. But I like keeping my office's deck door open even when it's breezy. And the only indoor working space for the manuscript is near the edge of my desk . . . right next to my big circular file. This morning, at least one page has fallen in. Last night I bagged that paper trash. Before I throw it out, I have to count every page number to make no more manuscript fell in.
  5. Our second generation of basil plants meets the death panel today, to give its last unyellowed bounty for pesto. The mint is still great; oregano, good; thyme, doomed. The luxury of the high rooftop means extra heat, extra cold, extra wind for small green things. What to do with the late-planted third generation of basil, now six to eight inches high and green enough? Add to the sauce tonight, or park it at night in front of the air conditioner for at least nighttime heat and maybe another couple of weeks of growth?
  6. Lovely spouse was feeling a little more creative and baked superbly cheesy olive bread: https://cooking.nytimes.com/recipes/12460-savory-gruyere-olive-bread
  7. Tocqueville for some grand comfort food with lovely spouse. I'd like to think the room's big enough to dilute viral air. Then, any random Sunset Park Chinese where I could find something I wouldn't have to share, like Hakka-style wine-lees sauce, or garlicky razor clams, or a superspicy fish-head soup, while she has salt-and-pepper squid or shrimp. A friend's little video of dessert and skyline on the NoMad roof:
  8. I am reaching with my virtually gloved virtual hand to stir the sauce into the naked pasta before it's too late, hours later.
  9. This at least second recurrence of Mrs. Paul's brings back my 1990s love of Arthur Treacher's (briefly owned, abusively, by Mrs. Paul's) at A&S Plaza. For the fries with malt vinegar, too. At my college in the 1980s, three fellow students were hospitalized after they'd asked, for the first time, for vinegar with their fries. The counter person, not having had that experience either, reached for a squirt bottle that turned out to contain ammonia. But the students kept eating the fries, assuming that was what they were supposed to taste like. My own college breaded meat treat was T
  10. The last used fridge in my life came with the kind of pets you never have to feed or water, since they took care of that themselves. I'll never forget the one crawling out of the pepper mill. Or the one I found sandwiched in the filtering membrane of the Brita tank, when I eventually got around to replacing its cartridge.
  11. I got tired of having run out of booze, except for my last few bottles of Brooklyn backyard wine (though our 2013 port has turned out to be great; glad I waited for global apocalypse). So I got my first replenishment since April. A more interesting nut liqueur would've been better, but I like the local store, so it was either Frangelico or Amaretto. And I didn't want Pitu, since I'd said "any cachaca except Pitu and 51." They picked up the Pitu the next day and left behind an Aguaviva, which I'm eager to try. This may last till February, since lovely spouse won't share my cocktails u
  12. There are so many better uses for a time machine. But now I think I'm gonna use it to find lovely spouse's great-grandfather and ask him to -tide his biography of his two-year-old daughter, just to make existence a little more annoying for all of us.
  13. I learned about marrow on a weekend afternoon in my midtwenties, on the phone with my bff, who asked what was with that clattering noise. When I said I was roasting beef bones for stock, she hung up on me. And yes, showed up with a loaf of bread. Lots of digging needed, but delicious. My favorite dinner party of my forties was the one that had to be canceled thanks to an emergency. All those properly split marrow bones and fresh bread and wine bought to impress? That night, all mine.
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