Fry It Up

When I go to Coney Island, I eat everything. If a half-rotted crab washed up on the beach, as long as it could be battered and deep fried, I would probably eat it. So yesterday, I ate everything at Coney Island (save any half-rotted, deep-fried crabs) then walked to Brighton Beach and ate everything there. Then, on the way home I stopped for mint-chip gelato. One day of that is fine, right? Right. Except I just had a ginormous brunch at Brooklyn Label and am going to a barbeque later. I imagine I’ll soon be replacing all of my waistbands with elastic.