Sunday Food Porn

Some of you out there may have gone to your usual establishments of worship on this warm and advancingly muggy day. (Come on thunderstorms!)
 I am lucky in that I do not need to wake up and shower, dress, or even leave the house in order to worship, because my place of worship is my kitchen.
And when the weather is this warm, actually turning on the stove is not on the top of my to-do list.
Instead, I worship the following:

That, my friends, is fresh burrata. 

Really good fresh burrata.

No thick casing here with a few sloppy curds inside. Only the thinnest skin of fresh mozzarella restrains the gooey guts of this brilliant concoction. Served best, in my opinion, with just a light drizzle of your best fruity olive oil, and a small pinch of salt. 

And a fork, because sometimes the cheese doesn't make it as far as the bread before hitting my taste buds.

Flown in directly from Italy, arriving at 6AM, and going straight to the purveyor of deliciousness on W 74th Street, where I happily hand over money in exchange for cheesy goodness.

I also take home some of their freshly made focaccia, as I believe it is some of the best in NYC, full of olive oil and salt so that you must lick your fingers repeatedly so as not to waste the goodness.

Now for the money shot.

Beautiful.

If I do say so myself.

And I do.

And then I eat the whole thing.