This year’s pilgrimage was a bit more challenging than previous visits. No, it wasn’t for losing favorite haunts to the recession or personal financial crunch. My problem was much more basic.

I traveled all the way to New York for dinner and I got food poisoning.

You’re laughing at me. I can feel it.

It was most likely either the sashimi or those Virginia oysters, (yeah, that does seem suspect, now that I actually hear myself saying it). I will never know what really did it. All I will know is that I lost my appetite. For. a. 24. hour. stretch.

(Now, a friend asked me to explain for those of you who aren’t familiar with my soapbox that I am known for telling anyone who will listen that the rule about never eating oysters in an “R” month is completely outdated. So my comment was by no means a slam to the Virginia oyster business, it was written with irony for those of you who know of my campaign to get “R” month oysters off the endangered aphrodisiacs list.)

I also have to tell you that despite my stomach’s protest, I was not so far off my game that I couldn’t rally for a progressive dinner. After the oysters and a rosé Prosecco, (my first), there was a long stroll, followed by an unforgettable pork bun, perfectly sauced, at Momofuku Milk Bar. Luckily my misery had not yet struck, although the sample of stuffing-flavored soft serve, yes, stuffing-flavored–as in Thanksgiving, could have put me over the edge.

(There was also a purchase of compost cookies, which I originally mistook, quite naturally I think, for something psychedelic from Northern California. The cookies, which, sadly, have yet to be eaten a day later, are actually an outrageously decadent mash-up of chocolate chip cookie dough with mini pretzels, crushed potato chips and probably the kitchen sink.)

My friend Annette Tomei, a chef instructor at the French Culinary Institute (training ground of such famous faces as Bobby Flay) who led this gastronomic tour for two, also snagged one of the chocolate-chocolate cookies. These, she informed me, are said to be the best chocolate cookie in the city. We sampled a rather heavenly bite of the blackish-brown beauties (we’re guessing the result of using premium Valrohna cocoa powder) but saved most of the over-sized snack for later, to compare with the beloved baked goods at Milk and Cookies.

Next was a jaunt to Union Square to meet my brother, who was in town for a conference. Our trio moved on to cocktails at the newly opened Corsino. My Italian 75, a play on the traditional 75, was a refreshing and unsweetened blend of gin and Prosecco with a twist. Annette’s West Sider was a boozy enough mix that I’m shocked any hint of poisoning could have survived. We also munched house-made pickles and olives while my brother sampled washed-rind cheeses with a sparkling red.

This was about the point at which Annette and I simultaneously turned green. We decided soothing tea was in order and strolled Bleeker in search of a restorative elixir.

Unable to find a suitable stop after 5 on a Sunday evening, we headed to Milk and Cookies Bakery, where we were meeting friends a little later. We sipped tea and shared a scoop of black fig gelato while we waited than ordered a sampling of 6 cookies for the group. Peanut butter was a homey flavor and, although I’ve never quite found the appeal, the Snickerdoodle was moist with rich, buttery goodness.

The Momofuku Milk Bar cookie was unearthed from Annette’s purse and placed side-by-side on the unfolded cardboard container with the Milk and Cookies version.

Just by touch we could tell the superior cookie. The Milk and Cookies rendition was thicker and softened by a generous portion of butter. The Milk Bar chocolate-chocolate was brittle and austere by comparison, a deeply chocolate flavored and sophisticated rendition but nowhere near as comforting and satisfying as that of Milk and Cookies.

My favorite of Milk and Cookies treats, however, was not chocolate-chocolate but the dark chocolate with mint, which I saved until last for the purposes of cleansing my palate. I make my own rendition of a chocolate mint cookie each Christmas and while it is always a hit, it could never hold a candle to the at once indulgent and refreshing treat found in this cheerful little NY cookie shop.

After washing our cookies down with more hot drinks, we bid farewell to our friends with the intentions of finding our evening’s entree. Unfortunately, food poisoning was in full swing and Annette and I dismissed cuisine after cuisine trying to settle on something that held any appeal. Earlier plans for crudo were out the window as were pasta, meurgez, Mexican and Malaysian. Finally, we settled on Balthazar, the bright, French bistro, thinking hot mussels with fries and french bread would cure what ailed us. (We still, at this point, had not put the name food poisoning to our shared urge to curl up in the fetal position.)

In addition to mussels and frites, we ordered a frisee salad for the table and my brother requested duck confit, (a dish of which Annette and I had already enjoyed a near-perfect rendition at brunch pre-ailment at L’Ecole in the French Culinary Institute).

We were starting to come around after a little Cotes du Rhone, (a steal at less than $30/bottle), and fresh baked country bread slathered in butter. The frisee, a poached egg resting on top, was appealingly simple and somewhat bland. We both thought we were over our strange loss of appetite until the mussels appeared in their perfect, black crock. I think I managed 3-how I am not sure-but I believe it will be a long time before I face another mussel.

After dinner there was no choice but a taxi to Brooklyn, to sit on Annette’s couch sipping chamomile tea like Peter Rabbit nursing his wounds.

momofuku pork buns and cookies

To consume more of the trip check out Dining Around New York Day2: sexy chefs