If you fry it, they will come

There's this Steelers bar/restaurant on 41st called Public House that is becoming Andy's de facto Place to Watch Football Games until he finds one either closer to Washington Square or closer to the medical center. But even if a Steelers-friendly locale opened up across the street from his lab, I'm thinking he might stick with this one, because he has recently discovered the all-holy fried mozzarella stack: two slices of fried mozzarella between which is a slice of tomato, accompanied by pesto and marinara sauces. Fortunately, I refuse to be outdone by a sports bar.

These are fried rounds of goat cheese accompanied by homemade Concord grape jam and pesto. Please ignore the fact that the pesto sort of looks like baby poo on a plate and focus on the fact that alongside it is fried cheese, which is actually food of the gods.

I also made focaccia with Concord grapes and sunflower seeds, and the omnipresent kale chips, of course!

Andy: "If I buy you ten pints of grapes and some meth,
how many of these can you make per week?"

And then ate the rest of the grapes. They're $3 per overflowing pint at the farmers market. Next week, I will be purchasing one of several varieties of white grape, because they looked amazing and because I bet they'd go well with a wide selection of awesome semi-soft cheeses.

This leads into why I made a rather elaborate--though surprisingly un-time-consuming--dinner instead of studying for an exam for which I'm extraordinarily, terrifyingly, unprecedentedly unprepared: I did not trust myself around those grapes. By Monday afternoon, when my exam was over, I would have picked and nibbled until there were none left. Other omnipresent theme: self-control? Not my thing.