Dearest Shake Shack: please come visit.

A shack burger, cheese fries, and a concrete jungle (vanilla custard, peanut butter, hot fudge, and bananas): quite possibly responsible for the many pounds I gained–and thankfully later took off–in the months immediately after we moved to New York.

Somehow Aron and I found ourselves eating outside at the original Shake Shake in Madison Square Park an awful lot that first summer. That combination is deadly good. I used to print out the custard calendars at work and post them in my friend’s office! And then we’d check the line on the shack cam before walking over to the park. (She got me a gift certificate for my thirtieth birthday.) When my boss started referencing it in conversations about me, I started to worry. Awww… We will miss it! (And I know these here are fightin’ words and it’s completely sacrilege for me to say this, being a Californian and all, but In-N-Out does not even come close.) Here’s the thing: as good as it is, do not wait two hours on a Saturday to eat there. Get it on 86th before going to see the Met or check out the one across from AMNH. There’s even one in Battery Park City now.

We’re going to be working on our Fake Shack skills when we get to Davis.

Today marks ten days until we fly to Bali. Ten! As in one, two, three… eight, nine, TEN! Tomorrow, Aron takes his board exams, and then we might have to actually think about the business of packing and moving and silly things like that.

But before then, I hope you don’t have total Hudson fatigue (Impossible!) because I have two more birthday-related posts to share and round out the week.

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