New Digs

I was thrilled with the prospect of singing the praises of Di Palo's, my favorite little Italian food shop, located in one of the few remaining remnants of Little Italy. I was excited to tell of the personal attention lavished on each customer, of the resulting ever-present long lines, the generous samples of translucent pink meats and shards of salty cheeses passed down said lines, and the warm, communal feeling engendered by the whole experience.


I was delighted to tell of the wonderful offerings behind the counter. Fresh ricotta for instance. Ricotta that in no way resembles anything you have ever bought at a supermarket. Rich and smooth, the grassy lactic perfume barely nudges against your nose.


It of course would be wonderful in a variety of dishes like the ricotta gnocchi that Delicious Days featured a few weeks ago, baked with some herbs with an egg whisked in, a frittata, the list goes on. But my favorite method of preparation is the simplest...cold, drizzled with fragrant honey, with perhaps a few walnuts scattered about if you are feeling ambitious. It is that good.


Basket cheese, not dissimilar to fresh ricotta, is another of those Di Palo's gems that you don't often see elsewhere. Drizzle it with a bit of vin cotto, I beg you. And then there are the wonderful hard cheeses, many with odd items adhering to the rinds (I saw something that looked like hay the last time I was there), and my god the gorgonzola simply oozes, practically weeps. I may send myself over the edge if I discuss much more, so I will simply say that the selection of meats is just as extensive and high quality as that of the cheese.


And I was over the moon to to mention that the prices are beyond reasonable. I firmly believe that the price of parmesan cheese is the barometer for the price structure of an entire establishment. For instance, Dean & Deluca charges $24.99/lb the last time I checked, Citarella is $17/lb, and Fairway, generally the low price leader, is $13.99/lb. Di Palo's beats the low price leader at $12.99/lb!


And, in addition to all of this, I was relishing the thought of describing the charmingly cramped quarters, how the line snaked around ravioli, anchovies and panetone, providing ample time for browsing, chatting and daydreaming. Sort of the way Murray's Cheese used to be when they were located on the north side of Bleecker.


But I went by the other day and saw this:

An expanded store! It must be four times the size of the original establishment.


When I was there the store was not fully up and running, as half of the space was vacant, barricaded by a large refrigerated case. But it is huge! It will be interesting to see how this new space works for the Di Palo's folks...will it be like a recently widened highway, which fills up just as soon as it opens with expanded gridlock? I have to admit, I secretly hope that it does. I would desperately miss the jovial (and even the not so jovial) crowds.

Potraits of Many Ladies

My parents are avid and very thorough readers of the New York Times. When I visit them, I always make sure to lay claim to the front page as soon as I rise in the morning, otherwise I know that I will be waiting for quite some time as my dad seemingly memorizes the section. My mom is quite devoted to the arts section, and although she has the opportunity to see many wonderful performances in the Bay Area, she occasionally pines for those that alight in New York. So, as she likes to attend them vicariously if possible, I often get emails from the home front telling me of goings-on.

The latest of these missives alerted me to a free performance by the extraordinarily talented violinist Hilary Hahn. It was titled "Hilary Hahn!!" and closed "Jealously, mom". How could I resist?

I dragged myself up to The Old Town Hall on Sunday (quite an event, as I am reluctant to go to midtown on the weekends) and roped Marissa into accompanying me. Of course, as the performance was free and New Yorkers love to stand in line for hours on end, I had missed the last of the free tickets by a mile. Luckily, we were right around the corner from the International Center for Photography, which is currently exhibiting Richard Avedon's fashion photography. Perhaps just as luckily, Marissa's connections to her former life got us in for free!

I love those moments when, through an image or a performance of some sort, you suddenly understand why a famous artist is admired. It often happens to me with regards to artists whose prolific periods occurred either before I was born or when I was too young to be aware of the arts. This past Sunday, I experienced such a moment with Avedon.

It's hard for me to remember seeing another photographer who brings such movement to still images,

who creates such interesting geometry with ungeometric subjects,

who is so utterly capitivated by all women,

and who can create a world that the beholder yearns to inhabit with just one image.

What an artistic genius, clearly he more than deserved the fame that his work garnered. It's always nice when that happens.

Born in the USA

Every since the glamorous Obama-cized opening of the American Wing at the Metropolitan Museum, I've been itching to go see it.  I attempted to strong-arm Rob into accompanying me on Saturday, but the allure of Sophie Calle's show at the Paula Cooper Gallery was too strong.  Rightly, as it turned out.  Saturday was the last day of the show, and it was a provocative installation that was very much worth the trip.  And as an added plus we were able to witness first-hand the now famous line for the Picassos at the Gagosian Gallery.  Rather than stand in it, Marissa, Vivian and Rob and I headed over to the Empire Diner for some eggs.  I'm confident that our decision was the right one.  The eggs were great, as was the company, and the service was...entertaining. 

Sunday was my day.  I had no plans before a dinner with Paul, so I made my way uptown to see the Met's newly renovated galleries.  I'll admit I had somewhat moderate expectations.  As much as I love Shaker furniture (I actually really do, this guy makes some wonderful pieces in the style if you are a fan as well) I wasn't looking forward to galleries full of early American hutches.  

But let me say, the collection really is quite wonderful.  It is, at it turns out, a lot of furniture.  But many of the pieces were fascinating.  For instance, a grecian style sofa in yellow silk made me want to drape myself across it, perhaps while wearing a kimono of some sort, and although I can't say that I love the style of this piece (apparently it is called a tete-a-tete), I think the concept is absolutely genius.

What an utterly perfect configuration in which to have a conversation with someone!  Facing them, not too close, not too far.  Why on earth did these go out of favor?  Perhaps one too many people got caught in boring conversations with no hope of extricating themselves.

In addition to intriguing single pieces of furniture the wing also includes period rooms.  Now in general, I find rooms in museums really can run the gamut from overwrought and cloying to sublime.

The Peacock Room at the Freer Gallery is one of those rare examples that is both overwrought and sublime.

But the rooms in the American Wing tended mostly to the sublime.  There were of course those few mandatory Federalist style dining rooms, but there were some truly fabulous exhibits, many of which reminded me of the gorgeous old Berkley homes with loads of wood and enviable detailing (or I suppose I should say Bay Area homes...my childhood home is a fantastic craftsman bungalow which was not in Berkeley) that I love.

But oddly, my favorite example of this was an entry hall from a McKim Mead and White residential commission in Buffalo:

That basket pattern along the wall of the staircase was really one of the more compelling things I've seen in a while, and I love the screen dividing the stairs and the entry hall.

And of course Mr. Frank Lloyd Wright never disappoints, there is a fabulous large room of his on display as well.  Also lots of wood, also very Bay Area feeling while originating quite far from it (in this case Minneapolis).  Perhaps this style that I consider to be Bay Area is in fact simply American?  

It seems that by the time the midwest and the west had populations with enough money to build some of these gorgeous homes, the United States was old enough to have developed a distinctive style, and a very appealing one at that. I suppose that here on the east coast the money came fairly early, but the European influence was still strong, so we have a bit of a mish mash.

So if nothing else, the American Wing has shown me that my coastal snobbery is unfounded and that I should not assume that Northern California has the monopoly on good architecture and design!

Yurts, etc.

My clearest memories of felt involve red and green costumes, I believe for a Christmas pageant.  I recall that I was seven years old and dressed as holly, a fact I would not have remembered had it not been for the cluster of tennis ball sized holly berries pinned to my chest.  I had a partially obstructed view of of the festivities as a result of this adornment.

So when I read about the exhibition of felt at the Cooper-Hewitt National Design Museum I was a tad skeptical.  Martha Stewart waxed poetic about it, but as much as I enjoy Martha Stewart, this is a woman who gets excited about varying types of high quality glue, so I wasn't prepared to give up my felt prejudice on her recommendation alone.

But it was rainy and gloomy on Sunday, and I was in the mood for an outing.  A museum seemed the only sensible option, and although I have admired the beautiful mansion that houses Cooper-Hewitt from the street many a time, it is one of the few museums in New York that I had never set foot in.  So the time seemed right.

I don't know what on earth I had been waiting for.  Not only is the mansion just as stunning on the inside as it is on the outside (although sadly, the lovely garden was closed), but the exhibit was completely enlightening.  Felt...enlightening?  Who would have thought?

Thankfully, it was not a retrospective on felt through the ages as I had feared it might be.  First of all, the museum is blessedly small so there was no room for that sort of thing.  Second of all, the curators must have understood that presenting the last 8,000 years of textile history would have been tedious both to view and create.  Rather, we see very early uses for felt (it is the oldest textile) such as this baby cradle

and this vibrant floor (or ground) covering:

But then the exhibit moves swiftly to more contemporary times, with examples of felt fashioned couture:

I do love this.  It reminds me of a Rick Owens outfit...that sort of sensual crow look.

And then on to modern era Scandinavian felt furniture (who knew?):

I am having a moment with Scandinavian design, which I suppose may explain why the furniture was one of the high points for me.  But regardless, I found it creative, elegant and new.  It is rare to come across a truly original furniture design that also serves as a functional piece, but there were quite a few examples of just that rarity here.  The sofas especially I found thrilling, but was unable to find photos of them.  So there you have it, incentive to visit!

However wonderful the rest of the exhibit is, the piece de resistance was unquestionably the palace yurt:

Traditionally a yurt is a tent of sorts used by nomadic peoples, but this particular one was fashioned specifically to hang inside of the museum's conservatory.  A combination of wool felt, silk and other shimmering, ethereal fibers, it has an otherworldly, vaguely dilapidated sense about it.  It would perhaps be an appropriate home for Cate Blanchett's character from Lord of the Rings, or maybe is indicative of what Miss Havisham's home might have looked like in the very early stages of decay.  

Sitting inside of it is truly a contemplative experience.  The ideal setting for a rainy spring afternoon.

Turning Over A New Leaf

After months of reading and hearing about how fabulous the Alexander Calder exhibit at the Whitney is, I finally made the trek uptown yesterday to see what all of the fuss is about.  I think my prior reluctance to do so had to do both with the inhospitable weather we've been having (there was a very welcome reprieve this weekend with lots of sun and temperatures in the 40s and 50s), but also was a result of my limited exposure to his work.  

My idea of Calder was, I believe, formed by a trip to the National Gallery when I was in...high school maybe?  I have a very clear image of those sort of 70s looking massive mobiles hanging in an atrium:

Now I realize that there is a huge amount of skill involved in getting something like this to balance in the way that it does, but beyond that, on a purely aesthetic level, this is not the type of piece that I respond to.  So I went on through life assuming that I was not a Calder fan.

But after an afternoon wandering through the fourth floor of the Whitney, I cannot believe how completely wrong I was.  The man was a damn genius!

Portraits out of wire:

I love how it kind of looks like a drawing, but isn't.

A rendition of the lovely Josephine Baker:

Some props from his utterly charming "Circus".

I read that Circus was a wildly popular piece of performance art of Calder's in Paris in the 30s, but given how excited I am by performance art generally (read: not very) I was not looking forward to seeing it.  However, again, I judge too prematurely and too ignorantly.  They had a film of it playing, and like much of the rest of the exhibit, it was totally whimsical and charming.  He essentially stages a puppet show with his tiny circus figurines.  It seemed to be quite popular with both the young and the not so young, based on the mirthful reaction of the crowds I saw today.

Adorable take on the aquarium:

Circus figurines:

I found myself smiling throughout my time in exhibition.  It was adorable, creative and fanciful.  Exactly the kind of antidote we all need in this ugly, uninspired and very serious time.

The Whole Hog

Despite my deep appreciation for the gustatory pleasures that meat provides, I do occasionally wrestle with the moral implications of eating it.   My attempt to come to terms with eating chickens was less than successful, which was somewhat mortifying, so I was determined to make a go of it with pigs, pork being one of the great meats of the world after all.  

Although I don't have much interest in actually slaughtering animals (that's a little too much reality for me) I do think there is a lot of value in seeing the animals that you eat in their whole form, to understand what various cuts of meat are and where they come from.  It gives you a little more of a connection to what you're eating, and consequently you hopefully appreciate it more.

OK, I will step off my soapbox now.

I heard about a celebrity butcher (who even knew there was such a person?) in Brooklyn who gives pig butchering classes at the Brooklyn Kitchen, a locally owned kitchen supply store in Williamsburg, so I immediately got on the horn and signed up for a late January class (these classes are apparently in quite high demand so I guess it's a good thing I was so on top of it).  

So one cold Monday evening I left work and made my way out to Lorimer Street, full of anticipatory delight.  I came upon the shop, which was utterly charming, and wandered around a bit, looking for the butchering area.  Turns out I was standing in it.  

The next thing I knew a pig foot was sweeping past me, snapping me out of my octopus cake pan reverie.  Tom Mylan, the butcher extraordinaire (and head butcher at Marlow & Daughters), was hauling the pig (or in this case, the half pig) in over his shoulder.  He flopped it onto the table, unwrapped the head (thankfully this pig was pre-decapitated) and class began.  

Tom the Butcher gave a mini-spiel about knowing where your meat comes from ("if you don't know where it's from, you probably don't want to know"), the benefits of heritage meats and the evils of the big meat plants.  It was more informative than annoying, since he steered pretty clear of Alice Waters-like fanatic territory.  Am I the only one who is totally annoyed with her these days by the way?  I mean really, a vegetable garden on the White House lawn?  I'm all about local food and farmers markets, but I don't really think our first family needs to start farming.

The head of our pig:

I'll admit that the ever-increasing pool of blood that collected by the chin over the course of the class was a little disconcerting.

Anyway, our pig came from upstate New York, and after seeing the color of the meat, I'm totally on board with free range heritage animals.  The meat was a deep, beautiful pink...it almost looked like beef in some places.  Nothing like that nearly white pork you come across in the grocery store.

So Tom started by removing the tenderloin (just inside the ribs towards the rear)...

...and then proceeded to break down the rest of the hog.  So we ended up with a couple of trotters, some jowls, cheeks, pork chops, shoulder chops, roasts, a ham (or I guess the cut that could be cured to make a ham?), a picnic ham (from the front leg), belly, and, among other things, the head, for that one nut job that wants to take it home to make head cheese.

Overall, I found the class pretty fascinating.  First of all, you forget just how many things that you eat come from a pig.  Bacon, pork chops, ham, prosciutto, jamon, loin roasts...I could go on.  But my point is, you can use pretty much the whole animal without too much effort (other than the head of course...and the organs), which for some reason I'm not sure I can say about a cow (not that I actually know, it's just a hunch).

I don't want to imply that I had some massive revelation during my night in Williamsburg, but I will say that the class really did hit it home for me that when I eat pork (or any meat, really) I am eating an animal.  So I want to avoid eating mediocre pork (if the meat isn't good I take that to mean that the animal didn't have a great life, and I'm not in favor of encouraging practices that make animals unhappy) and to avoid dishes involving pork that are only OK (if I'm not enjoying a dish then that really is just a waste of an animal's life).

So anyway, in honor of this "use it all and use it well" ethos that we all seemed to be on board with, we each took about 6 pounds of pig parts home with us.  I ended up with exactly what I wanted...a jowl, some belly and some shoulder.  And I will add that the head went home with a very lovely couple, not, in fact, a nut job.

Luckily, I had just bought Michael Ruhlman's wonderful book Charcuterie, so I had trusted recipes for guanciale (cured pork jowl) and pancetta (for the belly) on hand.

I proceeded to cure both pieces of meat in various salt and spice mixtures in the refrigerator, and promptly invited a couple of willing friends over (Marissa and Laia are quite dependable when it comes to food that needs to be eaten) for some slow roasted pork shoulder.  

After curing, the guanciale needed to be hung for a couple of weeks in a dry, cool place:

And the pancetta needed to be hung in a cool, humid place:

Paul was not so thrilled about me hanging it on his very fancy new bike, but our bedroom is more humid than the living room, so he simply had to come to terms with his bike's second function as a meat rack.

I ended up using David Chang's Bo Ssam recipe for the pork, which was fantastic:

I sadly only have this picture of the pork halfway through cooking.  When it is done cooking, it is just beautiful...burnished and shiny and decadent.  But we tucked in pretty immediately upon its exit from the oven, so no picture was possible.  You'll just have to take my word for it.  

Incidentally, I am sure that it would not have been nearly as good had it not been procured and butchered by Monsieur Mylan.

Up and Comer...In Manhattan!

Several years ago, on a crisp fall evening, Paul dragged me up to the western end of Canal Street to see Lou Reed perform.  Who?  Paul, outraged, informed me that Lou Reed is a legend, the singer in the seminal band Velvet Underground, a major figure in music history.  

We made our way up to Canal to see the living legend, and arrived at what was actually a dedication and celebration of a small park on the street, and the local residents, many of whom are prominent (and not so prominent) artists, were performing in honor of the occasion.  When I say park, I am actually referring to a small triangle in the middle of Canal Street just next to the West Side highway that is planted with trees and a few bushes.  Really more of a parklette than a park, but nice nonetheless.

Anyway, we see upon our arrival a small stage set up in the street, with some sort of modern dance troupe performing.  The "performance" consisted of a few small women clad entirely in black spandex having what appeared to be epileptic fits on the stage.  It reminded me of a Saturday Night Live sketch that Mike Myers would have starred in during the 90s.

After they had recovered from their fits, the head "dancer" told us to turn our attention to the park at our back.  They wanted to unleash some "ephemeral sculptures".  These sculptures turned out to be structured balloons with open bottoms.  Almost like hot air balloons.  The first was launched with some sort of air compressor with limited success.  The sculpture went about three feet in the air and then fell straight back down.  The second had a much more successful launch.  It went high into the air, floated above Canal Street for a moment, plummeted towards earth, landed on the hood of a police car, and then rolled east on Canal Street like a giant white tumbleweed, causing endless confusion for those attempting to drive in either direction on the street.

At this point, I felt that it might make sense to take cover, so Paul, Sharon (who had joined us halfway through the epileptic fit) and I headed to the only store in the area, just behind the stage.  It was a general store I guess.  It stocked items such as toilet paper, sundried tomatoes (come to think of it, there were a huge number of tomato based-products, and I think the name of the store may have been Tomato something), cornichons, pate and toilet bowl cleaner.  

In the back of the store was a takeout foot counter.  I was cold and traumatized so I settled on some hot apple cider and a cupcake.  A moment after making my purchase I went back to the food counter to ask for a knife to split up the cupcake so I could give my compatriots a piece.  In response to my request, the mad frenchman who was manning the counter cried "Oh, a knife!  A knife!  I will be stabbed!  Through the heart!" while miming stabbing himself in the stomach.  I settled for one of the flimsy plastic knifes available for self-serve at the front of the store.

Confident that the ephemeral sculptures had finally met their end, we decided to take refuge from the Twilight Zone and head back outside.  Just beside the store's stoop we spied Lou Reed (actually Paul did, I had no idea who he was) doing calisthenics in preparation for his set.  Now I feel that I should give you a bit of background here.  This is Lou Reed:

The man has aged only slightly better than Keith Richards, and has maintained a lifestyle not too dissimilar.  The idea of him doing lunges, in leather pants no less, is incongruous to say the least.  In person, it was hilarious.  I feel like he may even have been smoking while doing them, but I could be mistaken.

So the legend got up and sang four songs...recent works that bore no resemblance to Velvet Underground.  At all.  It was kind of like Bon Jovi showing up for a concert and playing nothing but their most recent country-themed album. 

With the finale (such as it was) done, Paul and I headed down to Bubby's for some chicken soup and pie.  After the night we'd had, comfort food was in order.  And we ended up sitting next to one of the storied former heads of Sony Music so Paul got his music legend fix.  

I have good memories of the night...it was a New York experience, and not in the "Ohmigod, I was at the Beatrice the other night and saw so and so and she was sooooo ridiculous" but more in the "Well, it was art.  I'm not sure I liked it, but it was interesting." way.  Hard to come by these days.

Anyway, I was out for a wander the other day and found myself near this neighborhood again.  I hadn't been in the vicinity since the aforementioned night, so I was curious to see how it had evolved.  Turns out I love it.  North Tribeca, as it is called, is the corner that Tribeca forgot.  They're just now getting around to converting warehouses to condos here so you're not yet running into the Pilates moms with the kids in the Swedish strollers yet, and the (admittedly, limited) retail options tend more towards the practical than the silly (if you call a wine store and florist practical, personally, I do).  

The demented general store is now a gallery, so that little gem is no longer there to add funk to the area, but just across Canal is an interesting, vaguely industrial, extension of this mini-neighborhood.  You've got the Ear Inn, a charming old tavern with good food at extremely reasonable prices, a shop called Cookbooks, which specializes in out of print, you guessed it, cookbooks, and Jacques Torres, which is a great stop on a cold rainy day for a whiff of warm hot chocolate.  Or if you're up to the task, I suppose you could actually drink it.  But let me give you fair warning, it is rich.  AND you have the Fire Museum.

I'm a bit late to the party on this one, as the young privacy-seeking celebrity set already seems to have discovered the area.  Apparently Mary Kate lives around here, I believe Beyonce and Jay-Z are local residents, and I just read that Justin Timberlake bought a unit in the Pearline Soap Factory building.  Having toured the fourth floor unit in this building, I can safely say that if you have $5 million to spend, this is not a bad option.  The corner, window lined master bedroom made me very jealous.  Probably because I have exactly zero windows in my bedroom.  Ah, Manhattan real estate.

Anyway, it's my dream neighborhood of choice.  It feels new and a little underground, but without the drawbacks generally associated with a gentrifying neighborhood.  Safety doesn't seem like it would be an issue (aside from the odd mad miming frenchman), and since the surrounding neighborhoods are already firmly yuppified there's not too much local opposition to new residents.  So go hang out there, tour apartments you can't afford, and tell me you don't wish you could live there too.

Guide: Greenmarket In The Fall

My family always seems to gravitate towards farmer's markets wherever we go.  Even when my sister and I were growing up, when it was not as fashionable to be so painfully organic and sustainable and local as it is now, my mom dragged us to several different markets a week.  

Even on family vacations we seem to seek them out.  In fact, the underside of the mini-van once was sacrificed to the farm fresh gods on a particularly ill-fated attempt to pull off the highway for some fresh corn on our way up to Eureka one summer.  Someone's bumper had fallen off (we were not in what you would call an urban area) on the highway off-ramp on the way to the corn, we ran over it and ended up cooling our heels in the parking lot of a mormon church while gas gushed out of our car and the local haz-mat team threw rice hulls over the "spill site".

Anyway, this history of mine practically demanded that I seek out a farmer's market immediately upon moving to New York.  Thankfully the Union Square Greenmarket wasn't too hard to find.  Now, on pretty much a weekly basis, I grab the market bag that Robin made for me years ago (by the way how cute is this?  She sewed it out of oilcloth and bought some leather straps...which are literally the perfect length...from some woman on Craig's list...talk about resourceful), and make my way uptown to shop.

Late October/early November is not generally a time when people rhapsodize about local produce, but if you don't mind the cold, there's something pleasurably rustic about wandering around among apples and squash with the aroma of hot apple cider in the air.  So to encourage you all to brave the cold and the battleship sized baby strollers, here's a guide of my favorite vendors at the market.

Ronnybrook Farm Dairy - This is no secret, you can buy the milk in Whole Foods for god's sake.  But it's cheaper here at the stand ($2.25 for a quart of milk, assuming you bring your previous bottle back and get the $1 deposit back), the guys who sell it are sweet, plus they sell their amazing butter, yogurt, creme fraiche and kefir drinks here (although I'll be honest, I'm not the biggest fan of their ice creams).  Wednesdays and Saturdays.

Van Houten Farms - I discovered this one on a very rainy day on which I had forgotten an umbrella and took shelter under their tarp.  I ended up talking with the guys for a while, and came away with five pounds of cucumbers.  This one is great for basic veggies, like cauliflower, bell peppers, squash and cabbages.  Prices are very reasonable.  Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays.

Yuno's Farm - This is the Dean & Deluca of the Greenmarket.  It's a little pricey, but everything is perfect, and they have the most interesting variety of vegetables, most of which are Asian.  They are almost always cooking something I've never heard of for people to taste, so you're rarely buying something blind.  I particularly love the shishito peppers, and the Japanese sweet potatoes (they taste exactly like chestnuts).  Mondays and Fridays.

Locust Grove - Best apples in the market.  Tons of varieties, and although they are on the more expensive end ($2-$3 per pound) they never disappoint.  Plums in the summer are pretty good as well.  Wednesdays and Saturdays.

Oakgrove Plantation - You have never seen so many different kinds of peppers in your life.  Literally.  I did not even know that chocolate habaneros or a hungarian wax peppers existed.  This is the place to go if you need to gather ingredients for Bobby Flay's amazing Red Beef Chili.  Also, the peaches in the summer are the best in the market.  Wednesdays, Fridays, Saturdays.    

The Cheerful Cherry - As the name would suggest, this place has phenomenal cherries in the summer, both sweet and sour.  In the fall they turn their attention to concord grapes, and concord grape juice.  This year is the first time I have ever tasted a real concord grape, and let me just tell you they are intensely flavorful, just a really interesting taste.  The juice (which I believe is totally unadulterated by additives or sugar) is almost like syrup.  Definitely worth a try.  Fridays and Saturdays.

Flying Pigs Farm - Another descriptive name, this place sells all sorts of pork products.  It is obscenely expensive, but the meat is beautiful.  And if you need any unusual cuts this is the place to get them.  Fridays and Saturdays.

Binder Farms - If you're in the mood to plant an herb box, this place should be your first stop.  The most beautiful, and as it turns out, hardy, potted herbs you can find, in or out of the market.  Saturdays.

The River Garden - Lovely flowers.  Not the cheapest in the market, but huge selection and nice arrangements.  Bouquets tend to cost between $7 and $10.  Mondays, Fridays and Saturdays.

Cato Corner Farm - Amazing cheese.  My standby is the Brigid's Abbey (mostly because it's the cheapest) but if I'm in the mood for a treat I'll have them recommend one of the other beautiful options.  Haven't tried one yet that hasn't been a revelation.  Saturdays, and first Wednesday of every month.

Knoll Crest Farms - I actually think that it's very important to buy fresh eggs as opposed to those from traditional supermarkets and bodegas.  The difference in taste is extreme.  And actually, thanks to Kenny Shopsin's book, now I know why.  Some eggs that you find in stores have been in carefully controlled storage environments for up to ONE YEAR.  Gross.  So Knoll Crest is my go-to for eggs.  Always reliably good, and the price is in the realm of reasonable ($3-$4 depending on type of egg).  Wednesdays and Saturdays.   

Just a side note:  I don't know why, but eggs seem to be the most expensive thing in Union Square these days...I've seen them for up to $10 per dozen!  Although I must say that last time my mom was in town she got me a dozen eggs that cost $8 and they were unbelievable.  The yolks were literally orange, and they just tasted so rich.  On a certain level you could kind of taste the grass that the chickens must have been feeding on.  I have been searching for them ever since but sadly (or perhaps fortuitously), haven't found them.

Caradonna Farms - Excellent italian plums, and if you want solidly good apples at good prices, this is the place to go.  Saturdays.

Paffenroth Gardens - This is where I go for almost all of my vegetables, particularly root vegetables.  Not necessarily as sublime as Yuno's, but their prices are very reasonable, and they have an excellent selection.  Wednesdays and Saturdays.

Hodgen's Farms -  Much like Van Houten's, this is a great stand for fairly basic vegetables like cauliflower and tomatoes.  At the moment they actually have some beautiful romesco cauliflowers (green and sort of alien looking...if you're mathematically inclined, I will tell you that it is basically a fractal).  During the summer they have cheap and cheerful flowers as well.  And the woman who runs it is very sweet.  Saturdays and Wednesdays.

Philip's Farms - This stand is probably best known for its jams but I actually love it for the gorgeous flowers they sell on Wednesdays.  Lately it's been giant bouquets of dahlias (only $7!  and they are GIANT), but now they're moving more towards eucalyptus branches.  Flowers on Wednesdays.  

The Lower East Side Ecology Center - Now this last one is going to reveal me as a dirty hippie, but this organization comes to the market to collect compostable kitchen scraps, which they take to their facility to compost into rich soil.  I realize it seems like a bit of a pain to bring your trash with you to Union Square, but I've really found that it's not.  I leave a container by the sink that I drop peelings, old bread, old vegetables, etc. in, and then if I know I'm not going to make it to the market in the next few days, I just put the scraps in the refrigerator or freezer until I'm ready to go.  It really has been amazing to see how little trash Paul and I generate since I've started doing this.  And if you are potting any plants or just want to fertilize the ones you have, they sell soil for $1 per pound.  And actually, to my great surprise, I saw their soil for sale in Whole Foods yesterday, which I guess means they are moving up in the world.  Great to see. 

 
So here you have it.  The Greenmarket is a wonderful resource for us nature-starved New Yorkers, and provides a rare opportunity for us to connect with those who grow our food.  Take advantage of it soon and often, as a fair number of the vendors take off a few months following either Thanksgiving or Christmas!

Dry Your Tears, Tea And Sympathy Is Here

After attending the gorgeous (and I might add, the fun and delicious) wedding of Rob and the beautiful Lisa in Toronto this weekend, I have come back feeling rather cosmopolitan.  Both of the newlyweds' families have quite recent roots in Europe, so the vast majority of the wedding guests seemed to be from across the Atlantic.  From the Austrian contingent who got up to sing Edelweiss to the happy couple, to the Welsh woman from Cardiff who complimented me on my "lovely frock" in the ladies' room, I felt like I was on some grand European tour.

And the most exotic aspect of the whole weekend?  Real porcelain teacups and saucers at the brunch hosted by Lisa's parents the following day.  That is about as non-American/non-Canadian as you can get.  As I was standing by the disassembled wedding cake daintily stirring my sugar cube into my tea, it occurred to me that although I have a cup of PG Tips every single morning, the only time I drink it out of anything other than a giant mug is when I treat myself to a pot of tea and some victuals at Tea and Sympathy in the West Village.

Now I realize that this tiny haven for all things British has been written up in virtually every publication, both here in the United States and in Britain, so by mentioning it here I am not introducing anyone to New York's best kept secret.  They even have a cookbook for god's sake (it is by the way totally charming and reads like a memoir, you simply must go and get it out of the library).  But for those who have never made it down, or who haven't made it down in quite some time, I implore you to make the trip.

First of all, the name does not lie.  Yes they serve tea, and if you are in need of sympathy, whether or not you receive it directly, you leave feeling ten times better than when you walked in.  Years ago when Zenia and I first moved to New York, this was our go-to spot for the mornings after those nights that left us feeling shattered (either emotionally or physically...or often both).  

Something about the miniature size of the shop, the lovely young ex-pat waitresses, the tough-with-a-heart-of-gold owner, or perhaps the common sense but delicious food (the shepherd's pie will impress even the most avid connoisseur of this type of cuisine...ahem, Rob), always makes you feel like someone is taking care of you. 

Now that things have settled down a bit and my life is somewhat less traumatic, I suppose I go here less, but I still do occasionally rely on a pot of Rosie Lee and their famous scones with clotted cream to remind me that I have more love and affection in my life than really is fair.   

The scones are light, the cream is heavy (but delicious, for the love of god do not skimp on this heavenly creation), and I swear the jam is the best that I've had anywhere.  It's like your old British grandmother has just sat you down by a roaring fire in her cottage with a warm blanket and a devoted old dog at your feet.  Pure comfort and bliss.

Where the Artists Are

New York has a lot to offer a lover of the arts.  I consider myself fairly well-versed in art, dance and theater, but sadly, I often find myself falling back on movies, dinners and drinks for entertainment, and I assuage my feelings of cultural inadequacy with the odd museum visit.  Given that conversations with my friends rarely revolve around the latest and greatest play, I can only assume that I am not alone in my lazy entertainment choices.

While working at my first job in New York, I met Sheila, a fabulous dancer who had somehow ended up in finance.  We used to go to all sorts of performances together; dance, musicals (which I have since decided are not really my thing), classical recitals, plays.  Paul dubbed her my "culture buddy".  

It was Sheila who introduced me to Play By Play, an organization whose goal is to fill unsold seats at various productions.  What does this mean for members of the organization?  You pay $99 per year, and have access to a massive variety of relatively last-minute tickets (many of them are day of, but plenty are week of) for $3.50 each.  Depending on how many seats are available, you have access to between 2 and 4 tickets at a time.  

Now as you might expect, the quality and popularity of the productions varies pretty widely.  It can be anything from mezzanine seats for Chicago or Paul Taylor Dance Company to seats at an amateur production where there is no assigned seating (I have been to these, I do not recommend them.  Although Paul did win a massage in a raffle at the beer and pizza afterparty for one particularly terrible play, so I suppose they have their upsides). 

But it is this variety that makes the organization so great.  It is easy to find out about the big Broadway shows or the plays with the blockbuster stars, but it is not so easy to find out about the the smaller performances at places like the Bleecker Street Theater or the Soho Playhouse.  I have seen fantastic productions at both of these venues through Play By Play, but despite the fact that I walk past both of these venues frequently, I would never have thought to actually attend a play at one of them had it not been for my membership with the organization.  And because the tickets are so cheap, if the show really is terrible you should have no qualms about leaving at intermission (a option Paul and I chose to exercise at a happy-clappy Johnny Cash musical).

Sadly, Sheila moved to Boston a few years ago, so I don't have anyone urging me to get out and explore the arts community anymore.  But now that I'm back in New York after a couple of years away in graduate school, I'm more excited than ever by the City and what it has to offer.  So I'm reactivating my Play By Play membership posthaste, and as I don't relish going to shows on my own, I will be roping everyone I know into going with me.

Public Service Announcement

I realize that what I'm about to say is unusual for someone of my age, but I LOVE the New York Public Library.  And each time that I mention to a friend that I've just gotten some great book out of the library, or that I just read a wonderful book and they should pick it up at the library, my remark is met with either a raised eyebrow, an affectionate smirk or outright laughter.

People, in case you haven't noticed (and clearly the people I hang out with haven't), New York has what is probably the best public library system in the country.  And your tax dollars are paying for (part of) it!  Use it!

A tutorial:  

1)  A public library tends to have many branches.  New York has 87 branches in Manhattan, the Bronx and Staten Island (Brooklyn and Queens are separate library systems).  There are 42 branches in Manhattan alone, so there is most likely one very close to either your home or office.  Thanks to some generous support from both the City and the philanthropic community, these branches are often open as late as 8 p.m., and most are open on Saturdays, so don't give me this "I'm too busy, my life is too complex to use the library" excuse.  

2)  Everything is online.  You can apply for a library card online here, you can request books to be sent to your local branch here and you can renew books online here.

3)  Any restrictions that exist are totally reasonable.  You can check out as many as 30 books at one time, request as many as 15 at one time, and keep a book out for 3 weeks without having to renew it.  If no one is waiting for the book that you have out, you can renew it up to 5 times, which means you can keep one book out for for almost 4 months!  This is great especially for items like cookbooks, which I usually want to keep long enough to try out a decent fraction of the recipes before I make the decision whether or not to buy the book.

4)  Many of the branches are quite lovely.  We all know about the stately main library at Bryant Park (or at least I hope we all do, things are worse than I thought if that is not the case), but there are many other branches that are very beautiful as well.  Now I will admit that my local branch has a bit of a junior high school library feel about it, so I avail myself of those branches serving other neighborhoods nearby.  For the longest time I would go to the Jefferson Market branch, which is the building on Sixth Avenue and 10th Street with the clock tower.  

Jefferson Market Branch

But lately I've decided that I like the exterior of that building more than I like the interior, so I've switched over to the Mulberry Street branch, which is just south of the Puck Building.  It was designed by the talented Rogers Marvel Architects, and opened just over a year ago. 

Mulberry Street Branch

For some reason, the place always smells great, sort of faintly like lavender.  Either the stylish residents of Soho somehow requested this as a condition of allowing the branch to be built, or it is simply a serendipitous side effect of being a neighbor of the delightful Santa Maria Novella store.  Either way, I love walking in the door.  If you want to browse and read magazines, there's ample window seat space for everyone, if you want to go downstairs and browse the book selection, there's lots of seating and light (considering that most of the library is below ground I think this speaks very well to the efforts of Rogers Marvel).

5)  They have lots and lots of books.  I read a lot, and I think I've only ever run across about three books that haven't been in the library's collection.  And those were relatively obscure cookbooks or design books.  Yes, you may have to wait a bit for the best sellers to come in, but if you're like me you've got 20 other books checked out to get through, and by the time you're ready, the best seller is waiting for you to pick up.

6)  You have no more room in your apartment.  If you live in Manhattan and like to read, you're probably getting run out of house and home by your book collection.  Using the library avoids this problem.

7)  Times are tough.  It's free!  Suze Orman would be very proud of your for slashing your book budget.

@#$%!!!

When Paul and I first met, he relished the chance to introduce me to places in the city that had a bit of history, a connection to the edgier New York of the 80s and 90s.  Although the two of us both moved here permanently at about the same time, he had been coming over for work for ten years prior, so actually knew New York when St. Mark's was still punk, the Lower East Side was still hip and when there was still raw meat in the meatpacking district.  His favorite spots were generally vastly cooler than whatever establishments I, as a 23 year-old, was frequenting at the time.

One of his earliest introductions between me and the world of cool occurred at a totally bizarre restaurant in the West Village called Shopsin's.  The place is the ultimate family run, neighborhood joint.  The menu is so packed with options it makes your head spin, and occasionally your stomach turn (mac and cheese pancakes anyone?), but the strange food is good.  And they serve orange julius, a fact that instantly won me over because it's a drink my mom always gets excited about--she has good memories of drinking it growing up.

Now when I say "family run", I probably should clarify that this is not some sweet old couple running the place.  The family dynamic between the Shopsins is really closer to that that exists between the Osbournes than anything else.  Two of the kids work at the restaurant, bickering and yelling at each other and their dad pretty constantly.  And the dad yells back, vociferously.  But it's out of love.

Kenny, the patriarch of the family, is probably the figure people associate most with Shopsin's.  He's big and loud, wears red suspenders and a 70s style tennis headband everyday, and is the man responsible for the crazy menu. 

On my first visit, at the end of our meal, Paul went back to the kitchen to say hi to the man.  He was greeted thusly:  "What the #@%&?  Where the *&#$% have you been you big @#$%&&?  How the @#$%% is the music business?  It's @#$%, right?"

Sadly, Shopsin's eventually, after existing for several decades in the west village, got priced out.  Luckily they didn't shutter the business, but instead moved downtown to the Essex Street Market. 

Paul and I went down for a quick visit while the space was still under construction.  Kenny, in all his red-suspendered glory, was sitting on a stool supervising.  "How the @#$% are you?  Can you @#$% believe this place?  What's happening with this (pointing to me)?  Why the @#$% aren't you married yet?  How@#$%%ing bad is the music business?"

So apparently not much but the space has changed.  The menu is still nuts, the family still yells, Kenny still throws out people he doesn't like, and he still hates publicity (he apparently tells reporters and guidebook writers who call that the place is closed and he's just part of the moving crew).  But I was in McNally-Robinson the other day and saw this:

Eat Me:  The Food and Philosophy of Kenny Shopsin

A book?  Kenny has written a book?  Apparently one of his longtime regulars is in the book business and finally, after several decades, convinced him to do it.  So now we all can make ho-cakes (that would be pancakes to you and me) just like they do at Shopsin's.

Living Vicariously

Thanks to Open House New York, I spent this past weekend touring exorbitantly expensive, often very beautiful, homes.  The first highlight of the weekend:  Metal Shutter Houses.   Designed by Shigeru Ban, the west chelsea building has ten apartments, all of which have moveable windows, walls, shutters, all just breathtaking.  I want to live a minimalist, clean and organized life in one of these sleek cubes.  Take a look at the animation on the website, it is stunning.  The building is supposedly going to be done in December, here's hoping it lives up to the renderings.

Metal Shutters Open

Metal Shutters Closed

Metal Shutters Closed at Dusk

Second highlight:  Metropolitan Home's Showtime House.  A beautiful townhouse at 23 Gramercy Park, each room was decorated by a different designer, and was designed with a Showtime show as the theme.

The Tudors Living Room

Dexter Dining Room

I didn't necessarily love every room, but they were all creative, and certainly challenged my ideas of how various areas of a house should function.  Plus which, the house itself was pretty unbelievable...the view out the window of the bedroom was of treetops!  I was lucky enough to visit the house for free through Open House, but it is open to the public every Saturday and Sunday through October 26th, for $25 per person.  Certainly worth a visit.