By Marco Shalma

I don’t do meal plans. I don’t map out my week around food. I move through this city, letting the cravings, the moods, the weather, and the MTA decide where I end up. Some days I score big. Some days I regret everything. And every week I write it all down so you know exactly where New York fed me and where New York tried me.

Let’s start with Cka Ka Qellu on Arthur Avenue. First of all, the name is impossible to pronounce, but the food is undeniable. This is Balkan comfort with real backbone. Rustic warmth, a room that feels like someone’s aunt decorates the walls with memories, and plates that hit the table like they’ve been waiting for you. The liver? Chewy. Didn’t need it. Won’t get it again. But everything else… god damn. This is the kind of spot that reminds you why the Bronx stays winning when it comes to heritage cooking done right.

Different day, different craving, different borough. I found myself back at Nobody Told Me on the UWS, a place that continues to punch above its weight. The cocktails are bold but balanced, full of confidence without showing off. The food holds its own and actually respects the drink it sits next to. But we need to talk about the bathroom. It is large enough to host a medium-size relationship scandal. And that little counter in the back that looks like a succulent shelf pretending to be décor? You’re not fooling anyone. Take it out. Other than that, A+.

Later in the week I ended up at 12 Chairs in Brooklyn, which refuses to lose its magic even as the hype machine keeps throwing spotlights on it. The room vibrates. Plates hit the table hot and hopeful. Hummus, salads, eggs, all living their best life. But here’s the truth: if you’re over 35 and you have to turn the music down whenever you reverse the car, go for lunch. Dinner energy is young, loud, and ready to socialize. Lunch is where the grown-ups win.

Some nights I stayed home and caught up on the food world. I watched Phil Rosenthal’s interview on Eater, and Phil, I say this with love, but that was unnecessary. Somebody Feed Phil makes me happy. This did not. Sometimes the internet makes content because it can, not because it should.

To redeem my screen time, I started binging The Food That Made America on Hulu. It’s chaotic, dramatic, semi-educational, and entirely addictive. The petty rivalries alone are worth the watch. If you’re a nerd for food history, this show is a gift.

And in between all this eating and scrolling, my article “Are They Lying To Us?” managed to piss off a small but loud population of people who prefer their advocacy groups unexamined. I wrote the truth. They wrote long emails. Everybody stayed on brand.

So that’s the week.

A Bronx classic with an unpronounceable name and undeniable plates.

A cocktail bar with a scandal-ready bathroom and zero misses behind the bar.

A Brooklyn staple still buzzing like it owns the block.

A Phil interview we could’ve skipped.

A Hulu gem that reminded me why American food is pure chaos.

And a bunch of people mad because I don’t pretend.

I’ll see you in them streets.