I am, for the week, Rapunzel. An uncouth, brunette, Jewish version of this fair-haired imaginary princess. I am visiting my boyfriend in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and while he goes to work I am trapped in a fortress of solitude and boredom (not quite; he left me the house key), awaiting his evening return. Since my hair is not even long enough to unravel past the windowsill, I’ve had to search elsewhere for liberation and entertainment before 6 p.m. Food, you guessed it, is what sets me free from the buttermilk-colored walls of incarceration.

I spotted a cupcake bakery two nights ago near Davis Square when my boyfriend and I were driving to our friends’ house for dinner. My enthusiasm nearly caused an accident. (Cupcakes are one of my favorite foods, hence the “cake” in “Spudcake”. The “spud” represents potatoes, which are tied with cupcakes at the top of my food list.)

“AHHHH!” I shrieked excitedly.
“What?! What’s the matter?” my boyfriend responded, looking part-concerned, part-frustrated with my random outburst.
“Cupcakes! We have to go there!”
“Oh, that. You know you pointed that out last time you were here.”

And so I did. Kickass Cupcakes (the name of the bakery) provided an escape from my lonely tower the next day. I picked up 4 cupcakes: 2 vanilla cupcakes with vanilla icing, a strawberry shortcake cupcake, and a cinnamon chai pecan sticky cupcake ($2.75 each) and conjured up every last ounce of will power to save them for after dinner.

Cupcakes are my muse. They are just as cute, colorful, and aesthetically pleasing as they are sweet and delicious. I almost want to preserve them in a glass showcase instead of devouring them because they are so compact and attractive (huge emphasis on the almost). Unfortunately, when I opened the white cardboard box to reveal my late night snack, I was crushed to find that most of the icing had melted and my little pretties were not going to be as photogenic as I had hoped.

On the bright side, the smooshed cakes made up for their appearance in the more important taste department. The cinnamon chai pecan sticky was more of a cross between a coffee cake and a cinnamon muffin than a cupcake. The cake part was moist and a bit denser than a Magnolia cupcake. Since the icing consisted of a simple dollop of chestnut-hued caramel, this cupcake was spicy and subtly sweet. The caramel was creamy and smooth, and the silver dollar-sized amount did not overpower the crumbly, cakey bottom. It didn’t really taste like chai, but the adjectives “cinnamon”, “pecan”, and “sticky” in the title form a very fitting description of this dessert.

The icing on the strawberry shortcake was what stood out on this cupcake. It was light and creamy, while the icing on the vanilla cupcakes (and on cupcakes from Magnolia, Buttercup, and Billy’s in NYC) has a sugary, gritty texture. The whipped topping tasted of fresh strawberries, and the cake was filled with strawberry jam. Although I’m not crazy about jam-filled pastries, the freshness of the strawberries in and above the icing proves the care and planning devoted to each cupcake.

And last, but certainly not least, I ate the vanilla cupcakes (which have always been my favorite). The cake part wasn’t as moist and buttery as Magnolia’s, but the icing was less overwhelming. It was light, very sweet, and packed a sugary crunch where the air had hit the top. The majority of the icing had melted from my cupcake, so I (literally) took matters into my own hands and used my finger to scrape up the remaining puddles.

Kickass Cupcakes is not only the title of this shop, but it is also an accurate assessment of its own product. (They also sell vegan cupcakes, gluten-free cupcakes, and dog treats.) I may have to return before my drive home tomorrow to stock up on the creative cinnamon pecan concoction and the über-sweet vanilla morsels.

Kickass Cupcakes
378 Highland Ave.
Somerville, MA 02144
617.628.CUPS

Price Rating: $
$2.75 for a regular sized cupcake
$1.00 for a mini cupcake
$3.75 for a giant cupcake

This past Friday was my mother’s birthday, which provided the perfect excuse to eat dinner at Atlantic Bar & Grill (a restaurant whose prices are jacked-up like the midriff-baring weightlifters at the local gym). The expensive menu is the one obstacle which hinders my family from attaining the status of “regulars” at this restaurant. If not for these wallet-emptying prices, we’d eat here all the time – the food is superb and easily the best available this side of the Jersey Shore.

Although the prices suggest small, pretentious portions and the need to don your Sunday best to fit in with the crowd, the restaurant is actually quite airy and casual. It’s located directly on the Seaside Park beach, with large glass windows that provide excellent views of the dunes and the ocean. (Lucky for us, the owners did not choose Seaside Heights for the restaurant’s whereabouts. If they had, the dining room would look out at tattoo-covered, Corona-chugging Tonys and Joeys instead of tranquil waves.) Light yellows and woods predominate in the dining room, which reflect the informal and beachy scenery. Atlantic Bar & Grill shares its location with a hotel, which makes the entry a tad confusing if you are like my hasty family and fail to see the fish-shaped arrows that direct you into the restaurant. (We accidentally stumbled into the hotel, which took us longer to realize than it should have. You’d think the carpeted corridor of numbered doors would have immediately screamed “hotel!” and not “food here!”)

The menu offers a number of seafood and meat entrees, as well as salads and other fishy appetizers (like mussels, tuna spring rolls, and crab bisque). We ordered the salad special to share, which was enormous and excellent. The mixed spring greens were lightly coated, not drenched, with a tangy balsamic vinegar dressing. Pieces of pita, pine nuts, red onion, and diced tomatoes and cucumbers complimented the fresh crunch of the greens, and creamy pillows of mashed goat cheese augmented the sour, salty taste of the dressing. The ingredients and dressing did not weigh down the salad, but instead worked together to create a fresh and light combination.

I ordered pan-seared sea scallops for my main dish. Atlantic Bar & Grill does not skimp – six plump scallops surrounded a bed of spinach-topped saffron rice. The scallops were cooked perfectly – the tops were browned and crisp and covered with a medley of mushrooms and diced pancetta, and the centers were anything but rubbery. The meal, with the exception of the weighty, bland spinach, was robust in flavor and seasoning.

Aside from the spinach, which was just a minor disappointment in comparison to the rest of the dish, my only gripe is the mixed drink I ordered. First of all, since I have never enjoyed the liberty of legally ordering a drink in the US, this was an exciting experience for me. I turned 21 in Spain, a country whose infants are nursed on red wine and cigarette smoke. I’m sure the Spanish bartenders applauded my drinking, underaged or legal, so I never was asked to prove my adulthood. As lame as it sounds, I was actually looking forward to being carded in the U.S.! I ordered a lemon drop martini and the waitress asked for my ID, chuckled, and exclaimed “Wow!” post-inspection. (She later told me that she thought I was 18). The drink, however, was less amusing than the satisfaction I experienced from being old enough to order it. It was colorless and tasted sweet and bitter instead of tart and lemony. And at $10.50, it was definitely a rip-off.

Atlantic Bar & Grill
24th & Central Ave.
South Seaside Park, NJ 08752
732.854.1588

Price Rating: $$$-$$$$

After pretending to learn Spanish in the Iberian motherland these past 4 months, I finally drove to New York City yesterday with my mother for a day of shopping. I repeat — we DROVE to Manhattan. This is a momentous feat for my mother, who equates inner-city driving with riding a Jazzy wheelchair into oncoming traffic. Needless to say, we made it into Manhattan unscathed (other than waiting forty-five frustrating minutes to enter the Holland Tunnel while listening to Annie Lennox’s “Sweet Dreams” on repeat.)

It only took ninety minutes of pavement pounding in the heat for my feet to morph into two rump roasts inside my gold flats. Ah, the joys of living in the city! Lunch, anti-elephantiasis medication, and a sturdy chair were calling my name.

I’ve been to Ramen Setagaya many times in the past and decided to take my mom there to try it. Eating at this small, counter seating-only joint is fast and easy for a two-person lunch. Go after 7 p.m. and we’re talking ’bout a line that stretches from the restaurant’s narrow vestibule to the outside world of 1st Ave.

We were seated right away at a counter facing the galley-like kitchen. Two perspiring chefs methodically prepare each bowl of shio ramen — one strains the thin, boiling noodles with two swift wrist flicks, which his partner-in-crime flips small circles of pork over a bed of coals. The two chefs continue adding each ingredient to the deep ceramic bowls until the dish is balanced and complete with salty broth, a heaping entanglement of noodles, two slices of tender pork, a half of a soft-boiled egg, seaweed, ginger, and shredded white onions topped with panko crumbs. (I’m definitely leaving out some ingredients here.)

The meal always comes out quickly and is piping hot and filling. As my mother rightfully observed, you keep on eating, but the amount of food never diminishes. Every bodily organ swells while you eat the broth because of its salt content (which I love). The noodles are so chewy and long — it’s impossible to be dainty and refined (two adjectives which have never been used to describe me) when slurping them with the aid of wooden chopsticks. It’s probably not the ideal place to impress a first date. My absolute favorite part of the bowl is the egg. It’s sliced down the middle which allows the broth to seep into the yoke.

The menu also offers a mahogany-hued, pork broth that is served as a dipping sauce for a separate bowl of wider, glistening noodles. Pork, seafood, or vegetable gyoza is another option. The atmosphere is very clean and simple, with four long, beige counters, dark wooden stools, and a television blaring Japanese commercials and programs. I was once entertained by a program in which the mouth of an unsuspecting American girl was stuffed to the brim with ramen noodles by a horde of grinning Japanese men. In my wildest fantasies, that exact situation will happen to me the next time I eat at Ramen Setagaya.

Ramen Setagaya
141 1st Ave. (btw. 8th and 9th Streets)
New York, NY 10003
212.529.2740

Price Rating: $