Podcasts are great. In the beginning, at least in my experience, they were a way to listen to specific NPR shows that I didn't otherwise have time to sit and listen to. These days they tend to be more just random awesome people talking about fascinating cool things, but there's still one radio ep I recommend to everyone: Buttons Not Buttons, from Radiolab.
I don't want to spoil it, so I'll say only that it deals, partially, with taking responsibility for the decisions we make. I'll preface it only by saying:
If I stab you, it takes effort and intent. I need to take that knife and shove, hard. I need to want it. I need to try. Effort- high. And maybe I kill you, but with standard medical intervention your odds are actually pretty high, even if I hit something somewhat vital. I also, of course, can only stab one person at a time. So harm done- low.
It's about the ratio, effort:harm. In this case, effort is high and harm is low. Thus, acceptable; or as acceptable as this sort of thing gets. Compare to a gun, where all I have to do is move my little finger. Low effort, that can easily kill you and, depending on circumstances, everyone around you. By accident. High harm. Or let's say medium, anyway, to save room for the next level. In any event the ratio is getting worse.
I lived in Japan for over two years, back in the early 2000s. In the last week before I left, I took an overnight bus with my friend D to Hiroshima. The bus left at 7pm and arrived at 7am, and we sat in the back and drank the worst red wine I've ever had, that we bought at a 7-11 because you can do that in Japan, playing Drink While You Think. Hiroshima is, these days, a very nice, modern city. I don't remember much of what we did there. Played around in those sticker photo booths that were all the rage at the time? Ate okonomiyaki? (Every town in Japan has the one food they're famous for, and if you go there you have to eat it or you will never hear the end of it.) But I remember the museum.
I think at some point I had the idea that dropping the bomb(s) was a terrible but necessary act. That may be true. It's not like the rest of the war, the standard war, was horror-free. Maybe the bomb saved lives. Maybe, at any rate, it saved American lives. It was also an atrocity. People melted. It caused a level of harm (that lasted for years, and can still be felt) far beyond what any human should be able to inflict on another. It may have been necessary, but it should never have been conceivable.
And these days there wouldn't even be men in a plane. There would be a drone, or just a launch. Someone somewhere would push a button. Effort- low. Harm- catastrophic and inhuman. Not a ratio I'm okay with. So that's where Buttons Not Buttons comes in, with an idea about how to go a little way, anyway, toward redressing that imbalance.
(If you're looking for other podcasts, over the years I've listened to This American Life, Wait Wait... Don't Tell Me!, 99% Invisible, You Must Remember This, Bon Appetit, and most recently,Harry Potter & the Sacred Text.
RECIPE: Harissa & Maple Roasted Carrots, because once you've roasted carrots you will never go back.
Dec 8, 2016
Nov 22, 2016
Greatness
There are certain things this election forced -- or should have forced -- us to consider. Like: Is America great? Was it? Could it possibly be? Simple questions like that.
If I ever meet a Trump supporter in a sane, uncharged environment, it's something I'd like to ask. Specifically: When exactly was America great, and what did that greatness consist of? My expectation is that the answer will be unforgivably racist (not to mention anti-feminist), either willfully or in its total disregard for those aspects, but still. I'd like to ask.
Because I have a hard time, you see, with the idea of American greatness. There are flashes of brilliance, sure: brownies, peanut butter, macaroni and cheese, Thanksgiving, Halloween, comic books... (In fact, myth-making generally. It is something we as a people are very good at, for better or worse. We build these stories about ourselves, about who we are and what that means... It is beautiful, and it is also part of the problem.) But wholesale greatness is elusive.
The more I leave America and see for myself what the rest of the world looks like, and talk to the people who inhabit it, the more I see we're not, at all, what we're cracked up to be. Here, a summary of two recent conversations:
1. R and I just got back from Mexico City, a place that people the likes of Ann Coulter regard with unmitigated horror, and you know what? The subways were cheap (around 30¢), extensive, and arrived approximately every three minutes. Public bathrooms abounded, again around 30¢ a pop, reasonably clean, with an attendant to hand you toilet paper. And yes, smog existed, but at street level it was far cleaner than NY (which, come on, is as good as America gets). It is, in short, a large, modern, well-run city that puts us -- or really should, if we take the time to examine it -- to shame. Add in the endless delicious street food options, and you really start to wonder.
2. As a non-union city employee, as of last(!) year I am entitled to six weeks of paid maternity leave. (You're shit out of luck if you're in the union, or work for any number of other companies.) So yay. Plus I have health insurance that will cover most of the associated costs of having a baby. I am definitely one of the lucky ones. In America. Do you know what I'd be entitled to as a citizen of Sweden? It's almost too depressing to contemplate. Per NPR:
Forget about other health care. Forget about mass shootings and our cultural acceptance of guns generally. Forget about a nation built around the primacy of the automobile. Even so. Greatness is a long way away. If I move to another country in the coming years, it will not be a knee-jerk, fuck-this-orange-turd-of-a-president reaction. It will be because this is not a place to live, to raise a family, to be a part of the narrative.
Do better, America.
If I ever meet a Trump supporter in a sane, uncharged environment, it's something I'd like to ask. Specifically: When exactly was America great, and what did that greatness consist of? My expectation is that the answer will be unforgivably racist (not to mention anti-feminist), either willfully or in its total disregard for those aspects, but still. I'd like to ask.
Because I have a hard time, you see, with the idea of American greatness. There are flashes of brilliance, sure: brownies, peanut butter, macaroni and cheese, Thanksgiving, Halloween, comic books... (In fact, myth-making generally. It is something we as a people are very good at, for better or worse. We build these stories about ourselves, about who we are and what that means... It is beautiful, and it is also part of the problem.) But wholesale greatness is elusive.
The more I leave America and see for myself what the rest of the world looks like, and talk to the people who inhabit it, the more I see we're not, at all, what we're cracked up to be. Here, a summary of two recent conversations:
1. R and I just got back from Mexico City, a place that people the likes of Ann Coulter regard with unmitigated horror, and you know what? The subways were cheap (around 30¢), extensive, and arrived approximately every three minutes. Public bathrooms abounded, again around 30¢ a pop, reasonably clean, with an attendant to hand you toilet paper. And yes, smog existed, but at street level it was far cleaner than NY (which, come on, is as good as America gets). It is, in short, a large, modern, well-run city that puts us -- or really should, if we take the time to examine it -- to shame. Add in the endless delicious street food options, and you really start to wonder.
2. As a non-union city employee, as of last(!) year I am entitled to six weeks of paid maternity leave. (You're shit out of luck if you're in the union, or work for any number of other companies.) So yay. Plus I have health insurance that will cover most of the associated costs of having a baby. I am definitely one of the lucky ones. In America. Do you know what I'd be entitled to as a citizen of Sweden? It's almost too depressing to contemplate. Per NPR:
Parents are allocated a total of 480 days per child, which they can take any time until the child is 8 years old. They can share these days, although 60 are allocated specifically to the father. And they are entitled to receive 80 percent of their wages, although this is capped at a certain level.In fact, "the U.S. is the only industrialized nation that doesn't mandate that parents of newborns get paid leave." Industrialized we may be, but first-world? Maybe if a nuke headcount is the only measure. We don't even get cardboard boxes.
Forget about other health care. Forget about mass shootings and our cultural acceptance of guns generally. Forget about a nation built around the primacy of the automobile. Even so. Greatness is a long way away. If I move to another country in the coming years, it will not be a knee-jerk, fuck-this-orange-turd-of-a-president reaction. It will be because this is not a place to live, to raise a family, to be a part of the narrative.
Do better, America.
Nov 10, 2016
The election
It's not that I don't have anything to say about all this. But it is being said. And saying more doesn't make me feel better, or change what's happened, or even do anything to improve it for the future. I know, and my friends know, and the good people of the world know. I don't have to tell them anything more.
So instead I blasted Scary Monsters on repeat. And then The Ballad of Booth, and Another National Anthem. Not because they're from a show that's called what it is, or is about what it is. Not for those kinds of reasons. But because in addition to being about those things, it is also about hope, and the idea that no matter how wrong things go, we can, in time, recover. The ones who "thrive on chaos and despair" are the losers. Always. Eventually. So I'm holding on to that, and singing along and trying not to cry. And trying to be a little nicer, and better, and smarter every day.
So instead I blasted Scary Monsters on repeat. And then The Ballad of Booth, and Another National Anthem. Not because they're from a show that's called what it is, or is about what it is. Not for those kinds of reasons. But because in addition to being about those things, it is also about hope, and the idea that no matter how wrong things go, we can, in time, recover. The ones who "thrive on chaos and despair" are the losers. Always. Eventually. So I'm holding on to that, and singing along and trying not to cry. And trying to be a little nicer, and better, and smarter every day.
Nov 1, 2016
Halloween
Last year, R sent one of the guys who works for him to pick up Halloween candy for the shop. The guy (to protect the guilty, I'm not mentioning names) came back with -- I don't even know. Off-brand, non-chocolate, like hard candies and shit. I can't imagine where he found them. There may have been a few Sweet Tarts or Smarties (US) mixed in, but on the whole it was an utterly inadmissible collection. Had I chosen to egg the shop, no jury in the world would have convicted me. This year my message to R was clear: get chocolate, or you'll never see your firstborn child.
I didn't specify type or provide rankings. Not that I couldn't; so could any 7 year-old in the country; but half the fun is eating fun size portions of candy bars you would never dream of purchasing in their natural state. Mr Goodbar -- do they even make those full size? Baby Ruth. Krackel. Butterfinger. 3 Musketeers.
This isn't a ding; I love all of those. But I can count on one hand the commercial, regular ol' types of candy bars I've bought in my life. Snickers. Kit Kat (Chunky and not). Maybe a Milky Way. Reese's. Peanut M&Ms. Never Twix. I have what some may consider an irrational aversion to Twix. They're not bad exactly. But why are there two? I mean i'll eat one if you give it to me. But I will never pick it out of the bowl on Nov 1. We just don't click, Twix and me.
In any event, in addition to gaining access to his likely only child, R this year also purchased himself a grade-A American education. Because if there's one thing that gets lost in translation, it is candy.
"Almond Joy! Fantastic! Like Bounty with a nut." No, Mounds with a nut. Don't you know the catchphrase? Don't you know how to use a semicolon? What do they teach them at these schools?
"Milky Way... Oh, that's not a Milky Way. That's a Mars Bar. What's a 3 Musketeers? That's a Milky Way!"
Reese's... Only on this side of the pond do we properly appreciate peanut butter, and so only we have made the discovery of the greatest pairing of all time, and i'm including Fred & Ginger here.
Snickers... Okay Snickers is Snickers. Sometimes you just cannot fuck with greatness. Therein lies what makes it great.
York Peppermint Patty... As R's coworker explained: "We can eat all these ourselves. They're too sophisticated for children. They don't appreciate them properly." Which is true. I've always liked them, but they're never something you'd trade for.
Because oh, did we trade. In the basement rec room of my friend Amy's house, with careful piles in front of us. If one person had to go to the bathroom while negotiations were still ongoing, the rest had to sit on their hands, not moving, watching each other for the slightest hint of perfidy. There may be honor among thieves, but trust? Not where 12 year-old girls are concerned.
We all visited the same houses of course. Our hauls should, theoretically, have been the same, or anyway roughly comparable. But there are those mixed bags where one person ends up with a Hershey's Special Dark and one person gets Reese's Pieces, and inexplicably, but luckily, there are some people who actually like gum and lollipops and will give you chocolate in exchange for them. Or Skittles, at the very least.
We drove hard bargains in that basement. I always maintained that it was alright if we went to school on Halloween -- more costume time, and things don't get going til 5 probably anyway -- but the day after should really, by all rights, be a national holiday.
But speaking of costumes. Looking back at my childhood, its times like this I realize what an impenetrable geek I was. Things that seemed awesome at the time... Well they still seem awesome, but with that little bit of head-shaking pride that a kid could have those ideas, and balls.
My first few years were uninspiring. I didn't get a vote. A cat, a clown. My first real Halloween costume was Peter Pan. I had a sword made out of cardboard wrapped in tinfoil, and I wore my father's wooly brown socks as knee boots. They picked up leaves like crazy. The pièce de résistance was the black eye a boy in my class had given me the day before.
Next I was a scuba diver. Probably in spandex, not neoprene. And I wore the flippers, which was a mistake no matter how you slice it. You cannot walk in flippers. We had a school parade around the field, and I kept getting lapped because I could only shuffle, inch by inch, while the cowboys and chefs and whatnot charged by.
My best costume ever, certainly by my parents' reckoning, and they could be right, was Charlie Chaplin. Again, not a fast mover, but doing the walk correctly, having none of my 6 year-old classmates get it, and only half my teachers, was worth it.
When I was a bit older, maybe one of my last real trick-or-treating years, I went as Santa Claus. It wasn't a very interesting costume -- probably the closest I ever came to something out of a bag -- but it was worth it every time someone opened the door and I shouted "Merry Christmas!"
More recently I've had my moments. My interpretive Two-Face was good. Annie Lennox and Seven of Nine both spot on. But my friend who always had the parties, who lived a block fom the parade on the right side and spent all year perfecting his own costume, is gone, and that's put a bit of a damper on things. I had my next good one all planned out too: Victorian lady Han Solo. But alas.
So this year I put on some stuff, got crushed in the crowd on the wrong side of the parade, saw a walking Chrysler Building and Michael Jackson holding hands with the Stay Puft Marshmallow man, and met R for dumplings in Chinatown. Then we ate too much chocolate. It could be worse.
I didn't specify type or provide rankings. Not that I couldn't; so could any 7 year-old in the country; but half the fun is eating fun size portions of candy bars you would never dream of purchasing in their natural state. Mr Goodbar -- do they even make those full size? Baby Ruth. Krackel. Butterfinger. 3 Musketeers.
This isn't a ding; I love all of those. But I can count on one hand the commercial, regular ol' types of candy bars I've bought in my life. Snickers. Kit Kat (Chunky and not). Maybe a Milky Way. Reese's. Peanut M&Ms. Never Twix. I have what some may consider an irrational aversion to Twix. They're not bad exactly. But why are there two? I mean i'll eat one if you give it to me. But I will never pick it out of the bowl on Nov 1. We just don't click, Twix and me.
In any event, in addition to gaining access to his likely only child, R this year also purchased himself a grade-A American education. Because if there's one thing that gets lost in translation, it is candy.
"Almond Joy! Fantastic! Like Bounty with a nut." No, Mounds with a nut. Don't you know the catchphrase? Don't you know how to use a semicolon? What do they teach them at these schools?
"Milky Way... Oh, that's not a Milky Way. That's a Mars Bar. What's a 3 Musketeers? That's a Milky Way!"
Reese's... Only on this side of the pond do we properly appreciate peanut butter, and so only we have made the discovery of the greatest pairing of all time, and i'm including Fred & Ginger here.
Snickers... Okay Snickers is Snickers. Sometimes you just cannot fuck with greatness. Therein lies what makes it great.
York Peppermint Patty... As R's coworker explained: "We can eat all these ourselves. They're too sophisticated for children. They don't appreciate them properly." Which is true. I've always liked them, but they're never something you'd trade for.
Because oh, did we trade. In the basement rec room of my friend Amy's house, with careful piles in front of us. If one person had to go to the bathroom while negotiations were still ongoing, the rest had to sit on their hands, not moving, watching each other for the slightest hint of perfidy. There may be honor among thieves, but trust? Not where 12 year-old girls are concerned.
We all visited the same houses of course. Our hauls should, theoretically, have been the same, or anyway roughly comparable. But there are those mixed bags where one person ends up with a Hershey's Special Dark and one person gets Reese's Pieces, and inexplicably, but luckily, there are some people who actually like gum and lollipops and will give you chocolate in exchange for them. Or Skittles, at the very least.
We drove hard bargains in that basement. I always maintained that it was alright if we went to school on Halloween -- more costume time, and things don't get going til 5 probably anyway -- but the day after should really, by all rights, be a national holiday.
But speaking of costumes. Looking back at my childhood, its times like this I realize what an impenetrable geek I was. Things that seemed awesome at the time... Well they still seem awesome, but with that little bit of head-shaking pride that a kid could have those ideas, and balls.
My first few years were uninspiring. I didn't get a vote. A cat, a clown. My first real Halloween costume was Peter Pan. I had a sword made out of cardboard wrapped in tinfoil, and I wore my father's wooly brown socks as knee boots. They picked up leaves like crazy. The pièce de résistance was the black eye a boy in my class had given me the day before.
Next I was a scuba diver. Probably in spandex, not neoprene. And I wore the flippers, which was a mistake no matter how you slice it. You cannot walk in flippers. We had a school parade around the field, and I kept getting lapped because I could only shuffle, inch by inch, while the cowboys and chefs and whatnot charged by.
My best costume ever, certainly by my parents' reckoning, and they could be right, was Charlie Chaplin. Again, not a fast mover, but doing the walk correctly, having none of my 6 year-old classmates get it, and only half my teachers, was worth it.
When I was a bit older, maybe one of my last real trick-or-treating years, I went as Santa Claus. It wasn't a very interesting costume -- probably the closest I ever came to something out of a bag -- but it was worth it every time someone opened the door and I shouted "Merry Christmas!"
More recently I've had my moments. My interpretive Two-Face was good. Annie Lennox and Seven of Nine both spot on. But my friend who always had the parties, who lived a block fom the parade on the right side and spent all year perfecting his own costume, is gone, and that's put a bit of a damper on things. I had my next good one all planned out too: Victorian lady Han Solo. But alas.
So this year I put on some stuff, got crushed in the crowd on the wrong side of the parade, saw a walking Chrysler Building and Michael Jackson holding hands with the Stay Puft Marshmallow man, and met R for dumplings in Chinatown. Then we ate too much chocolate. It could be worse.
Sep 30, 2016
It's a long bike ride home, and I'm tired, so I get to thinking.
I seem to be unintentionally reading to a theme recently. Maybe it's unavoidable with a certain kind of modern nonfiction.
Kurt Vonnegut, in A Man Without a Country, says
I have a plan for NY, that I share with people sometimes. So far they have all told me it's nuts. I say of course it is; that's why it's brilliant. In fact, if you compare it to my plan to eliminate all guns everywhere, it sounds positively sane and doable.
So: All cars in the city are forbidden for personal use. No more commuting, no more driving out to a restaurant or bar. The only motor vehicles permitted are buses and delivery trucks.
What are the downsides? It wouldn't work overnight, I know that. Some people are physically incapacitated. Some don't live near public transportation. Lots of problems. But what if we had better public transportation and much, much more comprehensive social services? Think about it.
If the only drivers on the road were professionals, and everything was clearly marked, suddenly biking (and walking!) become a whole lot safer. People who wouldn't currently dream of biking to work (and I don't blame them) would suddenly be able to. Buses would have dedicated lanes everywhere, and no one would have to double park because the delivery trucks would be able to pull into areas that are currently designated for regular parking. Their would be subsidizations for the MTA.
It's an idealistic vision, but not unworkable. Life as we know it is unsustainable, and the only way that's going to change is with, well, MASSIVE CHANGE.
Does it sound like I hate cars? I kind of do, but I don't actually want to do away with them entirely. Or anyway I'm open to the idea that we wouldn't. To go back to David Byrne:
Sometimes when I'm biking home from Rockaway I look over at the Belt Parkway and marvel at the constant traffic. Most of the cars have only a driver, no passengers. Most are SUVs. It's easy to watch them go by and think nothing of it. But then I do think, and what I think is THIS MAKES NO SENSE HOW HAVE WE DONE THIS TO OURSELVES AS A SPECIES.
If I'm honest, I don't think we will ever be able turn off this course we've set. Not without WWIV anyway, when we're all back to sticks and stones. So it goes.
RECIPE: Ginger Bourbon Pecan Pie, which will be THE Thanksgiving pie at my house forever and always (though I still love you, pumpkin; you can come too).
Kurt Vonnegut, in A Man Without a Country, says
"Evolution can go to hell as far as I am concerned. What a mistake we are. We have mortally wounded this sweet life-supporting planet -- the only one in the whole Milky Way -- with a century of transportation whoopee. Our government is conducting a war against drugs, is it? Let them go after petroleum. Talk about a destructive high! You put some of this stuff in your car and you can go a hundred miles an hour, run over the neighbor's dog, and tear the atmosphere to smithereens."
So: All cars in the city are forbidden for personal use. No more commuting, no more driving out to a restaurant or bar. The only motor vehicles permitted are buses and delivery trucks.
What are the downsides? It wouldn't work overnight, I know that. Some people are physically incapacitated. Some don't live near public transportation. Lots of problems. But what if we had better public transportation and much, much more comprehensive social services? Think about it.
If the only drivers on the road were professionals, and everything was clearly marked, suddenly biking (and walking!) become a whole lot safer. People who wouldn't currently dream of biking to work (and I don't blame them) would suddenly be able to. Buses would have dedicated lanes everywhere, and no one would have to double park because the delivery trucks would be able to pull into areas that are currently designated for regular parking. Their would be subsidizations for the MTA.
It's an idealistic vision, but not unworkable. Life as we know it is unsustainable, and the only way that's going to change is with, well, MASSIVE CHANGE.
Does it sound like I hate cars? I kind of do, but I don't actually want to do away with them entirely. Or anyway I'm open to the idea that we wouldn't. To go back to David Byrne:
Now I have to admit it's nice to motor around a continent and stop wherever and whenever one pleases. The romance of being 'on the road' is pretty heady, but a cross-country ramble is a sometime thing. It isn't a daily commute, a way of living, or even the best way to get from point A to point B.Cars are fine for special occasions. It's the way we've woven them into our daily lives and accepted 100% their danger and noise and pollution to do it that is the problem. People have made their cars absolutely central to their identity and that, frankly, is bizarre.
Sometimes when I'm biking home from Rockaway I look over at the Belt Parkway and marvel at the constant traffic. Most of the cars have only a driver, no passengers. Most are SUVs. It's easy to watch them go by and think nothing of it. But then I do think, and what I think is THIS MAKES NO SENSE HOW HAVE WE DONE THIS TO OURSELVES AS A SPECIES.
If I'm honest, I don't think we will ever be able turn off this course we've set. Not without WWIV anyway, when we're all back to sticks and stones. So it goes.
RECIPE: Ginger Bourbon Pecan Pie, which will be THE Thanksgiving pie at my house forever and always (though I still love you, pumpkin; you can come too).
Sep 24, 2016
It is not enough.
Bikes. Cars. Doors. Trouble.
I have never actually been doored (this feels dangerous to say), thanks entirely to luck and the compulsive assumption that every car will door me.
I have been nearly doored many times. It is inevitable.
More often than not, the doorer says sorry.
I have never been able to accept their apologies.
And I have wondered, for a while now, why that's so. They do something wrong; they apologize. Shouldn't we then be square?
But... What if your partner cheated on you? What if a crazy guy pushed you onto the subway tracks? Sometimes sorry isn't enough.
In this case, it could be, maybe. But the doorers say sorry the same way they'd say it if their bag bumped into my elbow on the subway. It's an "Oops, sorry." To them, it's no big deal, a minor intrusion into public space, carry on.
What they entirely fail to realize is that it is a very big deal indeed. It is not an inconvenience. I won't accept an "Oops, sorry" because I am waiting for an "Oh my god I am so sorry I will never do that again I can't believe I just did that I am so so sorry."
You think it's overkill? Consider the consequences of a dooring:
When you, as a cyclist, see a door fly open ahead of you (or any obstacle suddenly appear in your lane) your immediate reaction is to swerve away from it. Which means, by default, you are swerving into the traffic that is coming up behind you, that you cannot see. Maybe it's a motorcycle. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe it's a bus. And just like that, you're in front of it and under it.
Of course maybe you can skip over that knee-jerk reaction. Maybe you've thought about it enough, and the timing is just right enough, that you can slam on your brakes instead. In which case you a) slam your bike up into your crotch and fall and either crash into the door or fall into traffic anyway, or b) go flying over your handlebars and fall and either crash into the door or fall into traffic anyway. Either way, there is going to be a lot of asphalt burn and broken bones.
To put it simply: Dooring a cyclist means you can very well either severely injure or kill them. It is not an oops offense. Sorry.
RECIPE: Tea Liqueur, because it's nice to have something smooth to sip of an evening.
I have never actually been doored (this feels dangerous to say), thanks entirely to luck and the compulsive assumption that every car will door me.
I have been nearly doored many times. It is inevitable.
More often than not, the doorer says sorry.
I have never been able to accept their apologies.
And I have wondered, for a while now, why that's so. They do something wrong; they apologize. Shouldn't we then be square?
But... What if your partner cheated on you? What if a crazy guy pushed you onto the subway tracks? Sometimes sorry isn't enough.
In this case, it could be, maybe. But the doorers say sorry the same way they'd say it if their bag bumped into my elbow on the subway. It's an "Oops, sorry." To them, it's no big deal, a minor intrusion into public space, carry on.
What they entirely fail to realize is that it is a very big deal indeed. It is not an inconvenience. I won't accept an "Oops, sorry" because I am waiting for an "Oh my god I am so sorry I will never do that again I can't believe I just did that I am so so sorry."
You think it's overkill? Consider the consequences of a dooring:
When you, as a cyclist, see a door fly open ahead of you (or any obstacle suddenly appear in your lane) your immediate reaction is to swerve away from it. Which means, by default, you are swerving into the traffic that is coming up behind you, that you cannot see. Maybe it's a motorcycle. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe it's a bus. And just like that, you're in front of it and under it.
Of course maybe you can skip over that knee-jerk reaction. Maybe you've thought about it enough, and the timing is just right enough, that you can slam on your brakes instead. In which case you a) slam your bike up into your crotch and fall and either crash into the door or fall into traffic anyway, or b) go flying over your handlebars and fall and either crash into the door or fall into traffic anyway. Either way, there is going to be a lot of asphalt burn and broken bones.
To put it simply: Dooring a cyclist means you can very well either severely injure or kill them. It is not an oops offense. Sorry.
RECIPE: Tea Liqueur, because it's nice to have something smooth to sip of an evening.
Sep 8, 2016
Burb-les
Bicycle Diaries is maybe not a great book, but there are a few thoughts that resonated. Like:
He natters on boringly in places, but I liked that bit. It's about the things we take for granted. What we assume we want without ever asking if we really do, or why. What are we working for?
Build a family, buy a house, raise your two children, let them have a dog if they agree to the responsibilities, save for college, take up tennis, retire; be a good person, vote, mow your lawn, contribute to the bake sale, shovel your driveway, take the car for regular inspections, change your oil, watch TV, take a vacation once a year.
What do you want? Is it the end, or a means?
I grew up in a house in the suburbs. It was nice. We lived at the end of the street, and there were no houses on the other side, so basically half the directions I could choose when I stepped out the front door were woods. Not, like, virgin forest, but plenty extensive and occasionally terrifying enough for a six-to-eleven year-old. My best friends also lived just down the street from -- what seemed at the time to be -- endless woods, so we never lacked for places to explore.
Call that the best-case-suburban-scenario.
(But consider when the woods are gone. (My woods are now a golf course; my friends' are mcmansion subdivisions.) Because they're more than a place to play; they're a place to get lost in. To quote a much better book:
- The Rat, Gunter Grass.)
So, okay, no woods. What else do you even have to look forward to? Flat, green, empty, maybe with a few herbs tucked in around the edges if you're enterprising. This is where the children play. And children need a place to play, even if it's bounded. Still, I already have a backyard. It's called Prospect Park and it has lawns and woods and lakes and barbecue spots and playgrounds and what the hell else could I possibly need in that department? Also, right, back to lawns: listen to this. Get over it, America.
Of course there's the house itself too. Bought, not rented. Because... future value? An investment in...? First of all, our studio is plenty big enough. (Unless someone gives me a pool table.) I don't have to wonder which room R is in, or who's going to clean them all. I don't need more space for stuff; I already do my best to get rid of the stuff I have. And the house itself counts! Why own a thing I have to pay taxes on and take care of and learn about septic tanks or whatever?
Final dealbreaker is of course the car. I do not like cars, Sam-I-Am. I will embark on the occasional cross-country (America, Iceland, Mexico) trip in a motor vehicle, but the last thing in the world I want is to have to interact with one on a daily basis. Cars are smelly and expensive and dangerous and good for neither you nor the environment, and America would look very different and probably better if we had not, around the middle of the last century, succumbed to the vision of the automobile.
Which is all to say: No thank you.
RECIPE: Prosciutto, Goat Cheese, & Fig Sandwiches, because everyone needs a fancy delicious sandwich in their back pocket and this has been mine since like 2002.
...our tendency to postpone living and enjoyment -- as if we were meant to put up with substandard circumstances because we'll be rewarded later. With what, a house in the suburbs? That's the reward? Lots of people realize that isn't exactly the gold ring it has been made out to be.Amen.
He natters on boringly in places, but I liked that bit. It's about the things we take for granted. What we assume we want without ever asking if we really do, or why. What are we working for?
Build a family, buy a house, raise your two children, let them have a dog if they agree to the responsibilities, save for college, take up tennis, retire; be a good person, vote, mow your lawn, contribute to the bake sale, shovel your driveway, take the car for regular inspections, change your oil, watch TV, take a vacation once a year.
What do you want? Is it the end, or a means?
I grew up in a house in the suburbs. It was nice. We lived at the end of the street, and there were no houses on the other side, so basically half the directions I could choose when I stepped out the front door were woods. Not, like, virgin forest, but plenty extensive and occasionally terrifying enough for a six-to-eleven year-old. My best friends also lived just down the street from -- what seemed at the time to be -- endless woods, so we never lacked for places to explore.
Call that the best-case-suburban-scenario.
(But consider when the woods are gone. (My woods are now a golf course; my friends' are mcmansion subdivisions.) Because they're more than a place to play; they're a place to get lost in. To quote a much better book:
All hope is gone,
for fairy tales,
it shall be written here,
are dying with the forests.
...
Because men
are killing the forests
the fairy tales are running away,
the spindle doesn’t know
whom to prick,
the little girl’s hands
that her father has chopped off,
haven’t a single tree to catch hold of,
the third wish remains unspoken.
King Thrushbeard no longer owns one thing.
Children can no longer get lost.
The number seven means no more than exactly seven.
Because men have killed the forests,
the fairy tales are trotting off to the cities
And end badly.
- The Rat, Gunter Grass.)
So, okay, no woods. What else do you even have to look forward to? Flat, green, empty, maybe with a few herbs tucked in around the edges if you're enterprising. This is where the children play. And children need a place to play, even if it's bounded. Still, I already have a backyard. It's called Prospect Park and it has lawns and woods and lakes and barbecue spots and playgrounds and what the hell else could I possibly need in that department? Also, right, back to lawns: listen to this. Get over it, America.
Of course there's the house itself too. Bought, not rented. Because... future value? An investment in...? First of all, our studio is plenty big enough. (Unless someone gives me a pool table.) I don't have to wonder which room R is in, or who's going to clean them all. I don't need more space for stuff; I already do my best to get rid of the stuff I have. And the house itself counts! Why own a thing I have to pay taxes on and take care of and learn about septic tanks or whatever?
Final dealbreaker is of course the car. I do not like cars, Sam-I-Am. I will embark on the occasional cross-country (America, Iceland, Mexico) trip in a motor vehicle, but the last thing in the world I want is to have to interact with one on a daily basis. Cars are smelly and expensive and dangerous and good for neither you nor the environment, and America would look very different and probably better if we had not, around the middle of the last century, succumbed to the vision of the automobile.
Which is all to say: No thank you.
RECIPE: Prosciutto, Goat Cheese, & Fig Sandwiches, because everyone needs a fancy delicious sandwich in their back pocket and this has been mine since like 2002.
Aug 12, 2016
Recent Eats VI
Talking about the weather is unutterably boring, but at the same time it must be said: These posts are coming fast and furious because it is way too fucking hot to cook -- or indeed spend any time -- at home between the hours of like 1pm and 10pm. So we watch movies in the park, and go to free bandshell concerts, and hang out in the pool, and drink as many margaritas as possible, and it is a valid -- indeed the only possible -- lifestyle choice these days.
Court St Grocers
NY does not lack for Summer outdoor movie screenings, but Red Hook Flicks has always been my favorite. Despite a lack of nearby bathroom, the atmosphere is chill and uncrowded, and sunset off the pier can't be beat. Add in a couple of excellent sandwiches (highly recommend the Yam & Cheese), maybe a swingle, and it's pretty much the perfect night out.
Ice & Vice
I don't know that I needed to have the choice of pink, blue, or black cones, but the ice cream itself (Opium Den for me) is definitely worth it.
East Wind Snack Shop
Came for the dry-aged beef potstickers, stayed for everything else. Almost didn't get the regular dumplings because hey, I've had plenty of those before, but was definitely glad I did. It's nice having some nearby quality Chinese food, now that I'm not in Chinatown every day. [tear]
Wilma Jean
I feel like everything this location has ever been is almost really good, but not quite. Which is always more disappointing than something that just isn't great, but never pretended to be. Anyway. I liked the fried chicken. The shell was thin, crackly and crispy -- but R wanted a bit more substance to it. He's becoming quite the fried chicken connoisseur. We both agreed however that the fried pickles were no good at all. The whole point of fried pickles is that they're juicy and sour on the inside, hot and crunchy on the outside. These were bone-dry little cornmeal-coated pucks. We each ate one or two, hoping they'd improve, but finally gave it up as a bad job.
Brooklyn Crab
Last I checked, the food was terrible. But it's hard to fuck up a frozen piña colada, and if they let you sit on the deck and play cards and drink it in peace, so much the better.
Chavela's
Don't bother with the house margarita. I liked the idea of it being on tap, but it turns out that freshness is way more important in something with citrus fruit than it is with, say, wine or beer or a gin and tonic. The handmade one was well worth the extra $2, and the food was solid. Good decor and all that too; yards above your usual sombreros-on-the-wall setup.
MAP
RECIPE: Pan Bagnat, for when you want an impressive sandwich but don't want to go to Court St Grocers.
Court St Grocers
NY does not lack for Summer outdoor movie screenings, but Red Hook Flicks has always been my favorite. Despite a lack of nearby bathroom, the atmosphere is chill and uncrowded, and sunset off the pier can't be beat. Add in a couple of excellent sandwiches (highly recommend the Yam & Cheese), maybe a swingle, and it's pretty much the perfect night out.
Ice & Vice
I don't know that I needed to have the choice of pink, blue, or black cones, but the ice cream itself (Opium Den for me) is definitely worth it.
East Wind Snack Shop
Came for the dry-aged beef potstickers, stayed for everything else. Almost didn't get the regular dumplings because hey, I've had plenty of those before, but was definitely glad I did. It's nice having some nearby quality Chinese food, now that I'm not in Chinatown every day. [tear]
Wilma Jean
I feel like everything this location has ever been is almost really good, but not quite. Which is always more disappointing than something that just isn't great, but never pretended to be. Anyway. I liked the fried chicken. The shell was thin, crackly and crispy -- but R wanted a bit more substance to it. He's becoming quite the fried chicken connoisseur. We both agreed however that the fried pickles were no good at all. The whole point of fried pickles is that they're juicy and sour on the inside, hot and crunchy on the outside. These were bone-dry little cornmeal-coated pucks. We each ate one or two, hoping they'd improve, but finally gave it up as a bad job.
Brooklyn Crab
Last I checked, the food was terrible. But it's hard to fuck up a frozen piña colada, and if they let you sit on the deck and play cards and drink it in peace, so much the better.
Chavela's
Don't bother with the house margarita. I liked the idea of it being on tap, but it turns out that freshness is way more important in something with citrus fruit than it is with, say, wine or beer or a gin and tonic. The handmade one was well worth the extra $2, and the food was solid. Good decor and all that too; yards above your usual sombreros-on-the-wall setup.
MAP
RECIPE: Pan Bagnat, for when you want an impressive sandwich but don't want to go to Court St Grocers.
Jul 25, 2016
Recent Eats V
I like Red Hook for a lot of reasons: it's an easy bike ride; it's by the water; it's *not* an easy public-transport trip, which keeps the riff raff out... But it couldn't maintain its place in my affections without one other, crucial thing. If you've been paying attention, you know that said thing is, yes, FOOD.
Steve's Authentic Key Lime Pies
Accept no substitutes. And nothing against the regular pies, but why would you get a regular key lime pie when you could get a key lime pie dipped in chocolate and frozen? Answer: you wouldn't. Get a swingle. Start with the classic, and work your way down the list (spicy, white chocolate, raspberry). So far this summer I've introduced several new people to the swingle, and thus rocked their friggin worlds.
Seabourne
Nice drinks, relaxed atmosphere, free bar snacks. When you can't get in the door at Fort Defiance or Botanica, try heading down here instead.
Moving right along. Sometimes I can't make it back to Brooklyn, and end up eating in Harlem instead.
Ponty Bistro
Excellent steak sandwich.
Rejuvenate
Where my coworkers all get their vitamins. In a fast-lunch wasteland, this place is our savior.
The rest of Manhattan...
Mother of Pearl
Planned on meeting my parents at Death & Co for pre-dinner cocktails last week. Got there first, saw there was a crowd waiting outside, realized they were doing their incredibly annoying velvet-rope entry nonsense, decided I did not want to stand around on the sidewalk in 100F weather, no matter how good the cocktails were... Walked to the end of the block and this place, instead, where they had no problem letting me open the door and walk in all by myself, not to mention sit at a table and order a drink before the rest of my party arrived. Hallelujah.
Huertas
No tipping and a "chef's selection of on- and off-menu plates, served family style," all of which where excellent? Done. This was the aforementioned parental dinner, and it was a winner.
RECIPE: Creamy Tortellini. Never make it any other way again.
Steve's Authentic Key Lime Pies
Accept no substitutes. And nothing against the regular pies, but why would you get a regular key lime pie when you could get a key lime pie dipped in chocolate and frozen? Answer: you wouldn't. Get a swingle. Start with the classic, and work your way down the list (spicy, white chocolate, raspberry). So far this summer I've introduced several new people to the swingle, and thus rocked their friggin worlds.
Seabourne
Nice drinks, relaxed atmosphere, free bar snacks. When you can't get in the door at Fort Defiance or Botanica, try heading down here instead.
Moving right along. Sometimes I can't make it back to Brooklyn, and end up eating in Harlem instead.
Ponty Bistro
Excellent steak sandwich.
Rejuvenate
Where my coworkers all get their vitamins. In a fast-lunch wasteland, this place is our savior.
The rest of Manhattan...
Planned on meeting my parents at Death & Co for pre-dinner cocktails last week. Got there first, saw there was a crowd waiting outside, realized they were doing their incredibly annoying velvet-rope entry nonsense, decided I did not want to stand around on the sidewalk in 100F weather, no matter how good the cocktails were... Walked to the end of the block and this place, instead, where they had no problem letting me open the door and walk in all by myself, not to mention sit at a table and order a drink before the rest of my party arrived. Hallelujah.
Huertas
No tipping and a "chef's selection of on- and off-menu plates, served family style," all of which where excellent? Done. This was the aforementioned parental dinner, and it was a winner.
RECIPE: Creamy Tortellini. Never make it any other way again.
Jul 22, 2016
No One Ever Said Being a Woman Was Easy
A friend of mine recently attended a Beyoncé concert. Judging from Instagram, it was awesome. But getting ready to go that afternoon, she wondered "What do I wear?" And I had to stop myself from repyling, "Who cares? All Beyoncé ever wears is bathing suits." I didn't say it, because this was Instagram, not a private chat, and I am not a troll. But the point stands.
See, I spend a lot of time in bathing suits, so I know what they look like. Specifically, for women, they default to triangular bottoms -- just like Bey's bodysuits. Bottoms that force the question of ladyscaping.*
I wear a bathing suit because I am swimming laps and these are articles of clothing that are specifically designed to meet the needs of a person doing exactly that thing. Wearing anything else would be uncomfortable and illogical, in addition to being against pool rules. I have no issues with wearing a bathing suit because I have no issues with my body, and anyway when you're actively doing a sport you rapidly forget what you look like and start caring a lot more about what you can do. Anyway, no one can really see you in the water.
So I have a triangular-bottomed bathing suit. I am in the process of switching back to my preferred boy-short style. We won't go into the details. But my problem is that although yes, boyshorts exist, they are hard to find and expensive. They are not, again, the default. To wear boyshorts is to actively decide to seek out boyshorts, to go against the grain, to rebel. And there are times when I want to rebel, but just buying a goddam swimsuit so I can hop in the pool on my lunch break isn't necessarily one of them. At the very least I want my rebellion to be convenient, cheap, and come in a wider variety of colorways.
Thus I have a hard time understanding why Beyoncé would choose, as her stagewear, almost universally nothing but triangular bottoms. I wonder about her (and Madonna these days, frankly) the same way I wonder about any dude who wears a speedo: WHY. You have so many other great options, why on earth would you choose this one?
* I know ladyscaping is not a word. And yet manscaping kind of is. Which only goes to show that if a man does it, it's news; if a woman does it, she just has to bloody do it and shut up about it. Bring on the sharp objects and molten wax.
RECIPE: Roasted Carrot & Avocado Salad. I didn't used to get really into salads, but it turns out that if they're not 95% lettuce, they're actually really good. As is roasting your carrots.
See, I spend a lot of time in bathing suits, so I know what they look like. Specifically, for women, they default to triangular bottoms -- just like Bey's bodysuits. Bottoms that force the question of ladyscaping.*
I wear a bathing suit because I am swimming laps and these are articles of clothing that are specifically designed to meet the needs of a person doing exactly that thing. Wearing anything else would be uncomfortable and illogical, in addition to being against pool rules. I have no issues with wearing a bathing suit because I have no issues with my body, and anyway when you're actively doing a sport you rapidly forget what you look like and start caring a lot more about what you can do. Anyway, no one can really see you in the water.
So I have a triangular-bottomed bathing suit. I am in the process of switching back to my preferred boy-short style. We won't go into the details. But my problem is that although yes, boyshorts exist, they are hard to find and expensive. They are not, again, the default. To wear boyshorts is to actively decide to seek out boyshorts, to go against the grain, to rebel. And there are times when I want to rebel, but just buying a goddam swimsuit so I can hop in the pool on my lunch break isn't necessarily one of them. At the very least I want my rebellion to be convenient, cheap, and come in a wider variety of colorways.
Thus I have a hard time understanding why Beyoncé would choose, as her stagewear, almost universally nothing but triangular bottoms. I wonder about her (and Madonna these days, frankly) the same way I wonder about any dude who wears a speedo: WHY. You have so many other great options, why on earth would you choose this one?
* I know ladyscaping is not a word. And yet manscaping kind of is. Which only goes to show that if a man does it, it's news; if a woman does it, she just has to bloody do it and shut up about it. Bring on the sharp objects and molten wax.
RECIPE: Roasted Carrot & Avocado Salad. I didn't used to get really into salads, but it turns out that if they're not 95% lettuce, they're actually really good. As is roasting your carrots.
Jul 6, 2016
Things That Are the Best I
What do I mean by The Best? A thing that is itself. Perfect. Exactly what it should be, couldn't be that thing any better than it is. Apotheosis. For example: Nina Simone singing "Pirate Jenny." The best of the song, and maybe the best of her, or in any event the essence of her, distilled.
Or, to go in a totally different direction: peshtamels. Otherwise known as Turkish bath towels, these are the best that a towel can be. Big enough to use as a blanket, beach towel, or sarong, yet they roll up incredibly small; also super absorbent. Not much more you can ask for or that I can say about it, frankly.
Or, too, to round things out: Jasper Fforde's Instagram. He's not doing anything fancy -- no flat layouts or fashion or food -- he's not trying to be an Instagrammer. He's just taking great photos, sometimes from the cockpit of an airplane, mostly of Wales.
RECIPE: Smoked Bluefish Salad. I first had something like this at Iris Cafe, and now that I don't work in Brooklyn Heights anymore and have to pay for my own lunch, it's good to have the recipe.
Jul 1, 2016
Recent Reads I
I am, after all, a librarian. Okay fine, an archivist, and I have almost nothing to do with actual books -- but I also have an hour-long commute. I read a lot.
Alexander Hamilton - Ron Chernow
Down to the wire with this one, as I had to return it to the library. But I made it.
Would I have ever in a million years picked this book up if not for the musical? Definitely not. Would I have enjoyed it as much without the songs running through my head? Possibly not; but I still would have thought it was good. Because it is: a damn good book.
I used to say that everything I knew about American history I knew from musicals (ask me anything about Assassins). Now that is slightly less true. Work.
Last Night, a Superhero Saved My Life - Liesa Mignogna
Hit and miss. The more personal the essay, the better. The more abstract (looking at you, Nail Gaiman (as spelled on the spine)), the worse -- or at least, more pointless.
They Do It with Mirrors - Agatha Chrystie
Knocking down approx. one Marple a week. This is the first time I figured out who it was before the end.
A Wizard of Earthsea - Ursula K. LeGuin
A lot more boring than I'd expected. I'll give it the benefit of the doubt and say that some things aren't really meant for audio book export.
Schulz & Peanuts - David Michaelis
Solid bio, well illustrated.
Who Will Run the Frog Hospital? - Lorrie Moore
Finding myself deeply, deeply over these two-girls-hanging-out-in-nostalgic-summers-or-whatever books.
Did not finish it. This sort of thing all starts to feel the same after a while. Two girls: one, at least, beautiful; one, at least, troubled; drinking; smoking; immature boys; possibly rape; bare legs and long hair; sweat; peanut butter; ice cream. Enough.
The Apprentice: My Life in the Kitchen - Jacques Pépin
Turns out Jacques is just as engaging on the page as he is irl. Good on him. Also I'm generally not into baby photos, as a genre, but his is absolutely the best I've ever seen. Happy cooking!
Recipe: Spiced Dried Fruit Compote. Supposedly for blintzes, but I served it alongside the Christmas ham, and stirred into oatmeal for weeks afterward.
Alexander Hamilton - Ron Chernow
Down to the wire with this one, as I had to return it to the library. But I made it.
Would I have ever in a million years picked this book up if not for the musical? Definitely not. Would I have enjoyed it as much without the songs running through my head? Possibly not; but I still would have thought it was good. Because it is: a damn good book.
I used to say that everything I knew about American history I knew from musicals (ask me anything about Assassins). Now that is slightly less true. Work.
Last Night, a Superhero Saved My Life - Liesa Mignogna
Hit and miss. The more personal the essay, the better. The more abstract (looking at you, Nail Gaiman (as spelled on the spine)), the worse -- or at least, more pointless.
They Do It with Mirrors - Agatha Chrystie
Knocking down approx. one Marple a week. This is the first time I figured out who it was before the end.
A Wizard of Earthsea - Ursula K. LeGuin
A lot more boring than I'd expected. I'll give it the benefit of the doubt and say that some things aren't really meant for audio book export.
Schulz & Peanuts - David Michaelis
Solid bio, well illustrated.
Who Will Run the Frog Hospital? - Lorrie Moore
Finding myself deeply, deeply over these two-girls-hanging-out-in-nostalgic-summers-or-whatever books.
Did not finish it. This sort of thing all starts to feel the same after a while. Two girls: one, at least, beautiful; one, at least, troubled; drinking; smoking; immature boys; possibly rape; bare legs and long hair; sweat; peanut butter; ice cream. Enough.
The Apprentice: My Life in the Kitchen - Jacques Pépin
Turns out Jacques is just as engaging on the page as he is irl. Good on him. Also I'm generally not into baby photos, as a genre, but his is absolutely the best I've ever seen. Happy cooking!
Recipe: Spiced Dried Fruit Compote. Supposedly for blintzes, but I served it alongside the Christmas ham, and stirred into oatmeal for weeks afterward.
Jun 27, 2016
Trader Joe's
No EU citizenship? No problem. We'll just stay here and drink margaritas and shop at Trader Joe's...
Because yes, that is another thing I will miss. I don't shop there every week, or even every month, but a pilgrimage is definitely occasionally required because TJ's is the best place for certain things, and the only place for others. To whit:
Mini chocolate PB cups. Step aside, Reese's. If I had to choose one candy for the rest of my life, this is it.
Nuts. Plain, re-stocking things, like walnut pieces and almonds; also those sweet pecans with a spicy zip, and cashews with lime, and the smoked almonds... All the nuts. Basically.
Dried fruit. Montmorency cherries are the only thing for brownies, cookies, and my Thanksgiving stuffing, and the little Main blueberries are perfect for yogurt and weird summery oatmeal.
Dried pesto tortellini; fresh ravioli, both portobello and pumpkin.
Chocolate chips and giant chocolate bars. Baking necessities.
Will also not say no to a tin of smoked herring.
RECIPE: No-Knead Bread. No-brainer.
Mini chocolate PB cups. Step aside, Reese's. If I had to choose one candy for the rest of my life, this is it.
Nuts. Plain, re-stocking things, like walnut pieces and almonds; also those sweet pecans with a spicy zip, and cashews with lime, and the smoked almonds... All the nuts. Basically.
Dried fruit. Montmorency cherries are the only thing for brownies, cookies, and my Thanksgiving stuffing, and the little Main blueberries are perfect for yogurt and weird summery oatmeal.
Dried pesto tortellini; fresh ravioli, both portobello and pumpkin.
Chocolate chips and giant chocolate bars. Baking necessities.
Will also not say no to a tin of smoked herring.
RECIPE: No-Knead Bread. No-brainer.
Jun 20, 2016
Urban Foraging
There are things you expect from NY: traffic, noise, pigeons, rats, pizza, bagels, skyscrapers, the subway. Whether you're here for a day or a lifetime, those are all pretty much guaranteed. But there's another side to NY that's a little harder to find. It's not there all the time, and you have to know where to look, but if you pay attention the foraging opportunities are endless.
Truth be told, I barely dip a toe in the potential waters. I don't bother with mushrooms, ginkgo, black walnuts, elderflower, crab apples, nettles, dandelions, or any of the other myriad greens. But there are two things I will hunt down, and dedicate time to picking, and devour: mulberries (June) and raspberries (and blackberries) (June-July).
Mulberries are easy to spot because they're trees. You don't even have to work to identify the bark or leaves or whatever; just look at the ground. If it's covered with the dark splotches of crushed berries, you're in the right place. If the berries are black, they're ready to be picked. They're scattered all over the city, so keep an eye out, but sometimes the trees are too tall to easily harvest. The ones at Green-Wood though, pictured above, are perfect. The path just inside the 25th St entrance is lined with them, and they're within reach of anyone over a foot tall.
Raspberries and blackberries are trickier, because you have to know where to go. And I'm struggling here, with whether or not I should tell you. I want them all to myself. So we'll compromise, and I'll tell you about a patch I found years ago but never get a chance to visit: Riverside Drive, around Grant's Tomb. They're worth seeking out. The berries that grow wild (all over southern NY State, at least), are about ten times better than the ones you buy at the grocery store or farmers' market. I don't know what the deal is, but they're translucent and delicate, not matte, and they taste the way you imagine that difference should.
RECIPE: Pasta with Caramelized Cabbage, Anchovies, & Bread Crumbs. It's not the kind of thing you'd ever come up with on your own, but caramelizing cabbage and using anchovies and bread crumbs with pasta are all things you should be aware of.
Truth be told, I barely dip a toe in the potential waters. I don't bother with mushrooms, ginkgo, black walnuts, elderflower, crab apples, nettles, dandelions, or any of the other myriad greens. But there are two things I will hunt down, and dedicate time to picking, and devour: mulberries (June) and raspberries (and blackberries) (June-July).
Mulberries are easy to spot because they're trees. You don't even have to work to identify the bark or leaves or whatever; just look at the ground. If it's covered with the dark splotches of crushed berries, you're in the right place. If the berries are black, they're ready to be picked. They're scattered all over the city, so keep an eye out, but sometimes the trees are too tall to easily harvest. The ones at Green-Wood though, pictured above, are perfect. The path just inside the 25th St entrance is lined with them, and they're within reach of anyone over a foot tall.
Raspberries and blackberries are trickier, because you have to know where to go. And I'm struggling here, with whether or not I should tell you. I want them all to myself. So we'll compromise, and I'll tell you about a patch I found years ago but never get a chance to visit: Riverside Drive, around Grant's Tomb. They're worth seeking out. The berries that grow wild (all over southern NY State, at least), are about ten times better than the ones you buy at the grocery store or farmers' market. I don't know what the deal is, but they're translucent and delicate, not matte, and they taste the way you imagine that difference should.
RECIPE: Pasta with Caramelized Cabbage, Anchovies, & Bread Crumbs. It's not the kind of thing you'd ever come up with on your own, but caramelizing cabbage and using anchovies and bread crumbs with pasta are all things you should be aware of.
Jun 16, 2016
I have a problem with talking about gun control.
Because I don't believe in background checks, in waiting periods, in guns that civilians should never own.
Of course I'll support those measures, because those are things that happen in the real world. Those are the best we can do, if we can even do that much. They have my vote. But I can't talk about it.
The position I hold is untenable in any debate round. I know that. I can't negate the resolution; I can only offer a critique:
Guns are evil. No one, anywhere, ever, should have one.
Not armies. Not police. Not hunters. Not end-of-the-worlders.
Because armies being able to kill more people, more quickly, is not a good thing. I am aware that the nature of warfare is one of constant escalation, but remember: this is a critique. I do not want warfare.
Because police do not need lethal force to do their jobs, and cannot be trusted with it in any event. (No more can anyone. If librarians had guns we'd use them too.) There are tasers; there are even rubber bullets; there are many ways to incapacitate without killing. Somehow the police of London, etc., get along just fine, and they have to deal with football hooligans.
Because hunters can use bows, and spears, and any other weapon that still has range and requires skill and what the hell difference does it make? If you want to kill deer and stop them from eating my mother's garden, go ahead. Just do it like you mean it.
Because end-of-the-worlders, preppers, whatever, actually have the best argument but I Do Not Care. Maybe they're right. Maybe the zombies will come. I do not care. It is not worth it. The Constitution is an amazing document, sometimes shocking in its prescience -- but sometimes woefully out of touch with the modern world. Our militias are gone; they have been replaced by a handful of crazy, or maybe too-sane people. The Constitution has been amended before.
Guns are evil.
I went to a shooting range once, with a good friend of mine. (And he is a good friend, despite owning a BMW, a cat he paid money for, and a handgun.) I held a gun for the first time, felt the weight of it, adjusted my earmuffs, fired at the target. A few times. Tried to balance the recoil. Smelled the cordite. And then I turned to look at my good friend whom I love despite disagreeing on issues that are fundamental to my being, and also at another friend, who I also love, because eventually you spend enough time with someone that you can't help it -- I looked at both of them, and at the gun in my hand, and realized that it would take only the tiniest movement -- a twitch really -- to kill either of them. I could do it. Just like that.
I put the gun down, took off my earmuffs, and walked out.
Guns are evil because guns are meant for one thing, and one thing only: killing. Quickly, efficiently, easily. They can kill accidentally. They can kill on a whim. They can kill one person, ten people, fifty people and never break a sweat.
If you think guns protect people, you are lying to yourself and ignoring every single study ever done on the subject.
Guns kill people.
So I cannot have this conversation. I cannot talk about how to control guns. I don't believe in guns. And yet guns continue to be all too real.
Because I don't believe in background checks, in waiting periods, in guns that civilians should never own.
Of course I'll support those measures, because those are things that happen in the real world. Those are the best we can do, if we can even do that much. They have my vote. But I can't talk about it.
The position I hold is untenable in any debate round. I know that. I can't negate the resolution; I can only offer a critique:
Guns are evil. No one, anywhere, ever, should have one.
Not armies. Not police. Not hunters. Not end-of-the-worlders.
Because armies being able to kill more people, more quickly, is not a good thing. I am aware that the nature of warfare is one of constant escalation, but remember: this is a critique. I do not want warfare.
Because police do not need lethal force to do their jobs, and cannot be trusted with it in any event. (No more can anyone. If librarians had guns we'd use them too.) There are tasers; there are even rubber bullets; there are many ways to incapacitate without killing. Somehow the police of London, etc., get along just fine, and they have to deal with football hooligans.
Because hunters can use bows, and spears, and any other weapon that still has range and requires skill and what the hell difference does it make? If you want to kill deer and stop them from eating my mother's garden, go ahead. Just do it like you mean it.
Because end-of-the-worlders, preppers, whatever, actually have the best argument but I Do Not Care. Maybe they're right. Maybe the zombies will come. I do not care. It is not worth it. The Constitution is an amazing document, sometimes shocking in its prescience -- but sometimes woefully out of touch with the modern world. Our militias are gone; they have been replaced by a handful of crazy, or maybe too-sane people. The Constitution has been amended before.
Guns are evil.
I went to a shooting range once, with a good friend of mine. (And he is a good friend, despite owning a BMW, a cat he paid money for, and a handgun.) I held a gun for the first time, felt the weight of it, adjusted my earmuffs, fired at the target. A few times. Tried to balance the recoil. Smelled the cordite. And then I turned to look at my good friend whom I love despite disagreeing on issues that are fundamental to my being, and also at another friend, who I also love, because eventually you spend enough time with someone that you can't help it -- I looked at both of them, and at the gun in my hand, and realized that it would take only the tiniest movement -- a twitch really -- to kill either of them. I could do it. Just like that.
I put the gun down, took off my earmuffs, and walked out.
Guns are evil because guns are meant for one thing, and one thing only: killing. Quickly, efficiently, easily. They can kill accidentally. They can kill on a whim. They can kill one person, ten people, fifty people and never break a sweat.
If you think guns protect people, you are lying to yourself and ignoring every single study ever done on the subject.
Guns kill people.
So I cannot have this conversation. I cannot talk about how to control guns. I don't believe in guns. And yet guns continue to be all too real.
Jun 7, 2016
American Food
England is not known for its food. That is, Ottolenghi has an small empire, and I'm a sucker for meat pies and Yorkshire pudding (ie popovers), but historically the situation has been, shall we say, grim. In practice, of course, there's plenty of good food in London. But... just... not like NY. Sorry.
So I worry, sometimes, about burritos. And guacamole, tacos, cemitas, and margaritas (frozen and un-). There may be a handful of Mexican restaurants in London, but it is a way of life in NY, especially as the weather warms up (stfu California).
Unfortunately, our go-to place, our local, shut down over a year ago. Its replacement is not up to snuff. So I'm still searching (fine, CA, fine) for the perfect burrito. But as for the rest of the standbys, options are pretty thick on the ground.
Burritos. Like I said, these are not perfect. Maybe you just need the wafting scent of eucalyptus and urine. But they are acceptable, when the need arises.
Maya Taqueria
Oaxaca
Dos Toros
Cemitas. Maybe this is the year I spent in my university's cafeteria working the 8-to-midnight shift making sandwiches, but I think they are one of the world's Perfect Foods (see also: dumplings, chocolate PB cups, gin & tonics).
El Atodero
Red Hook -- barbacoa de chivo cemita, at the cart furthest west and south. I crave this thing.
Tacos:
Just go to Sunset Park or Jackson Heights. And remember: Only suckers pay more than $3/taco.
Margaritas:
Santa Fe Grill -- the food is good, if you're alright with the Park Slope stroller atmosphere. The marg is pictured above. 'Nuff said.
Habana Outpost -- the food is crap. The sunny courtyard with a frozen margarita in hand is not. Sunday nights are movie night.
Five Leaves -- the food is fantastic, if largely off-topic here, but you cannot do better for brunch than a Moroccan scramble and a grapefruit margarita.
MAP
RECIPE: Sticky Cranberry Gingerbread, if you want something besides chocolate for Christmas dessert. Pairs perfectly with egg nog ice cream.
So I worry, sometimes, about burritos. And guacamole, tacos, cemitas, and margaritas (frozen and un-). There may be a handful of Mexican restaurants in London, but it is a way of life in NY, especially as the weather warms up (stfu California).
Unfortunately, our go-to place, our local, shut down over a year ago. Its replacement is not up to snuff. So I'm still searching (fine, CA, fine) for the perfect burrito. But as for the rest of the standbys, options are pretty thick on the ground.
Burritos. Like I said, these are not perfect. Maybe you just need the wafting scent of eucalyptus and urine. But they are acceptable, when the need arises.
Maya Taqueria
Oaxaca
Dos Toros
Cemitas. Maybe this is the year I spent in my university's cafeteria working the 8-to-midnight shift making sandwiches, but I think they are one of the world's Perfect Foods (see also: dumplings, chocolate PB cups, gin & tonics).
El Atodero
Red Hook -- barbacoa de chivo cemita, at the cart furthest west and south. I crave this thing.
Tacos:
Just go to Sunset Park or Jackson Heights. And remember: Only suckers pay more than $3/taco.
Margaritas:
Santa Fe Grill -- the food is good, if you're alright with the Park Slope stroller atmosphere. The marg is pictured above. 'Nuff said.
Habana Outpost -- the food is crap. The sunny courtyard with a frozen margarita in hand is not. Sunday nights are movie night.
Five Leaves -- the food is fantastic, if largely off-topic here, but you cannot do better for brunch than a Moroccan scramble and a grapefruit margarita.
MAP
RECIPE: Sticky Cranberry Gingerbread, if you want something besides chocolate for Christmas dessert. Pairs perfectly with egg nog ice cream.
May 31, 2016
Biscuits
I hadn't expected Recipes I Just Need Some Place to Put to become a theme, but here we are. Function before form.
From the Silver Palate Good Times cookbook.
From the Silver Palate Good Times cookbook.
May 24, 2016
Recent Eats IV
Baba's Pierogies
I'm basically a sucker for any kind of filling in any kind of dough. Dumplings, ravioli, bao, pelmeni, burek, whatever. And these were solid pierogies, and I'd like to go back and try the blueberry. But seriously: You want to charge almost a dollar extra for a few caramelized onions? Get over it; and bring me some applesauce while you're at it.
Sweetleaf
Once a month or so, I work a day in Long Island City (instead of Harlem). By far the best part of this experience is the morning bike ride, which takes me up through Brooklyn, over the Pulaski Bridge, and -- almost -- straight to Sweetleaf. Rocket Fuel and Voodoo Child are both [kisses fingers]. Perfect start to the day. Why they have a giant painting of Kristen Bell on the wall, I don't know.
Jacques Torres
City Bakery is of course my hot chocolate gold standard, but I certainly won't kick the stuff from JT out of bed. Nor their chocolate-covered cornflakes either.
Pizza
Living in NY means you are absolutely obligated to have strong opinions about pizza. Personally, I find it important also to distinguish between "slice joint" pizza, and "fancy" pizza. For the former, still and always, I count on Joe's. For the latter, I'm generally pretty good now with my new local, Parkside. There may technically be better fancy places out there, but there are certainly none closer. In any event, Roberta's has too long of a wait, Lucali doesn't cook their shallots, the Parkside chef used to work at Franny's anyway, etc. But life happens, and a few weeks ago I found myself at Baby Grand and in need of sustenance, so we ordered from Motorino. I gather they've built a nice little hipster business, so anticip.ation was high. But the thing is, if you're going to charge that much for a pie that doesn't really feed two not-very-hungry people, you need that pie to be great, and Motorino's wasn't even close. We had two, one with mushrooms and one with sprouts, and the toppings were sort of tasty enough, although not revelatory, but my real gripe is with the dough. It was so... doughy. Pillowy, in fact. So if that's your pizza style, vaya con dios, but it ain't mine.
Chikalicious Dessert Club
One of my many problems with living in Japan was that they weren't, as a culture, very good at dessert. I like red beans just fine, but that has to be balanced with chocolate cake from time to time, you know? In general, it always seemed to me that they were way more concerned with how desserts looked than how they tasted, and the Age of Instagram has not helped matters. So while I wouldn't say the churro ice cream cone situation is a bad one, it's definitely a Made for IG one, and if you just want good ice cream and a good churro, you're probably better off eating them separately.
The Bonnie
We recently spent a day biking around Queens, hitting up the Socrates Sculpture Park, the Noguchi Museum, and the Museum of the Moving Image. Sustenance was required throughout. And if all you need, as we did, is an airy backyard, a beer, and some fries, The Bonnie is not a bad option. ...If you can discount a certain amount of soullessness and a full-on Best of the 80s soundtrack.
Mimi Cheng's
I like dumplings. And these are good dumplings. But. I have a hard time feeling a need to bother with anything fancier than, say, $0.50 per dumpling. Just say no to gentrification, and go to Shu Jiao instead.
MAP
RECIPE: Lentil Minestrone, because ultimately, who doesn't like soup?
May 12, 2016
What to Wear
Before anyone gets defensive, let's be clear: I'm not passing judgement. (Although I can, and will, if even the smallest interest is evinced.) These are the facts. What you do with them is up to you.
So, a quick NY-attire checklist:
American Men/Women:
Are the shoes you're wearing marketed as running shoes?
American Women:
Are you wearing Ugg boots?
American Women/European Men:
Are you wearing capri pants?
American Men:
Are you wearing khaki cargo shorts?
All:
Are you wearing your backpack on your front?
If the answer to all these questions is no, you'll stand a much better chance of blending in.
RECIPE: Chocolate Pumpkin Layer Cake. For years I wavered between requesting chocolate cake and pumpkin pie for my birthday. This cake, which R baked last year, solves the problem.
So, a quick NY-attire checklist:
Are the shoes you're wearing marketed as running shoes?
American Women:
Are you wearing Ugg boots?
American Women/European Men:
Are you wearing capri pants?
American Men:
Are you wearing khaki cargo shorts?
All:
Are you wearing your backpack on your front?
If the answer to all these questions is no, you'll stand a much better chance of blending in.
RECIPE: Chocolate Pumpkin Layer Cake. For years I wavered between requesting chocolate cake and pumpkin pie for my birthday. This cake, which R baked last year, solves the problem.
May 9, 2016
Extremely Short Movie Reviews I
April & the Extraordinary World
Talking cat, steampunk Paris, mutant reptiles... What's not to like?
Point Break (new)
Would have been a lot better if none of the characters had opened their mouths. Next time I'll just watch a string of high-octane YouTube clips.
The Long Goodbye
Good, but it's hard to beat Sam Spade.
Gates of Heaven
A documentary that feels like a mockumentary. Leaves you wondering what just happened.
Fantastic Planet
Do not attempt a) on a small screen and b) without, at the very least, a cocktail.
RECIPE: Sweet Potato & Spinach Tortellini. Turns out you can cook tortellini sort of like risotto, and it is a good idea.
May 4, 2016
Backyards
Luckily L, one of my best friends has one. (In what is really an embarrassment of riches, she also has a ping pong table in her basement.) Many is the afternoon we've spent out there, eating steak tacos and guacamole, or lobster rolls and hot dogs, or kielbasa and pierogies. That backyard is where I learned to enjoy ice cubes in my wine, both for the chilling effect and the way it enables me to drink for ten straight hours.
If you are not also so lucky as to have a friend like this, never fear. Your life is of course the poorer for it, but you can still day-drink all you want and not have to do it from a brown bag in the park. Even with L's yard, we still sometimes go to a bar two blocks from her apartment and sit in its backyard. What the hell.
A few of my favourite backyard spots:
Sea Witch:
Aforementioned bar two blocks from L's apartment. Inside can be a bit dark, even with the massive fish tank, but outside has a stream with skulls in, lots of blonde wood, and occasional cats roaming by. They also generally have both Left Hand Milk Stout (one of my favourites) and a fine cider or two on tap.
Crown Vic:
The one drawback of L's pool table is that it is, as I said, in the basement. And when it's 75 degrees and sunny, the last thing you want to do is sit in a chilly, mildewy (sorry, L) basement. Crown Vic -- assuming you're willing to play on a table that's been warped to hell in the rain -- solves that problem. Also, in a city where space is so often at a premium, it's nice to have a place where you know you'll always be able to find a seat.
Ice House is where you go for $2/$3 Miller High Lifes (always with a slice of lemon), an order of sweet potato fries, and two pulled pork baps ($5). Perfect for après-swimming at the Red Hook pool.
Hot Bird is where you go for good beer, a fire in the Winter, and whatever food you can find that will deliver.
And Tooker Alley is the best cocktails. Done.
...If you're still in Red Hook and want a cocktail though, and don't want to be cooped up in Fort Defiance, hie thee to Botanica. They don't actually have a backyard, and therefore shouldn't be included here, but their front wall pretty much opens completely, so it's like sitting outside, but with good shade.
MAP
RECIPE: Brown Butter Skillet Cornbread, because there are certain things you absolutely need one, decisive, go-to recipe for.
Apr 27, 2016
The Stroll
Last week, R and I walked the length of Manhattan, top to bottom, 17.4 miles. It's possible to be a bit more direct -- Google puts the straight shot at 12.2 -- but I will always choose food and views over convenience. Besides, the whole point was to spend the day doing the things we do best: wandering, eating, and taking pictures.
First stop, of course, was breakfast. We took the A as far up the island as we could, and headed straight to Cachapas y Mas for a chicharron cachapa and some passion fruit juice. I'd already forced R to skip his usual muesli, so I relented and didn't force him to walk to the very very tip top of Manhattan first. We'd tacked on some extra mileage by walking from the Times Square Q to the Port Authority A anyway, so starting the real trek from 207th St seemed... fine.
First thing after breakfast was our biggest elevation of the day -- straight up Fort George Hill. NY doesn't have much in the way of hills, if you don't count bridges, but those few up in Washington Heights, the Bronx, and Yonkers make up for the lack elsewhere. (We got lost trying to find the South County Trailway out of Van Cortlandt Park once, and it was brutal.)
Washington Heights is really all about the food. I wanted to keep us lean and mean (ie able to make lots of food stops along the way), so we went pretty straight through, but you could easily have a full batido-empanada-mofongo-patacon-etc-tour day up there.
Our first real landmark was Grant's Tomb. I have a lingering fondness for this area, from when my college roommate, who's lived on Claremont for the last 15 years, let me crash on her futon the summer I came back from Japan, but I've rarely had occasion to go back since. It has just that perfect snootiness to mark the beginning of the UWS proper.
We crossed through Columbia, so I could point out where Joseph Gordon-Levitt parked his burrito in Premium Rush, then down past St John the Divine. (It's not a great movie, but there are silly bikey things, and it was New Year's Eve and I was high on officially prescribed oxycodone when we watched it.) I can't be in this neighborhood without visiting my favorite statue, of St Michael with some giraffes and a crab, lopping off Satan's head, so we sat in the garden there for a minute while we figured out our next move.
We'd only split the cachapa, so lunch seemed, as it so often does, like a good next step. Also I thought a little iced coffee wouldn't go amiss, especially if we could get it with condensed milk -- like at Saiguette. I'd been there once before, and got something fancy, but this time we opted for the Classic sandwich. It did not disappoint. I'm a little sad that I'm not still getting my banh mi for $4 from the back of a jewelry store in Chinatown, but... this was really good, and we ate it on a bench in Central Park. Sometimes I can't hate gentrification.
That fueled us through the park and, after The Classiest Bathroom Break at Lincoln Center, on to Gotham West Market. My intention was to just do a quick walk-through and check the place out, but then it was mid-afternoon, it was mostly empty, and I saw a blackboard advertising slushie cocktails. Sold. One icy negroni later and I was ready for anything -- including the High Line. (We did maybe 30 blocks of Central Park, plus the High Line, but I refused to do any other non-street walking. The whole point was Manhattan, after all. Walking down the West Side Greenway, for instance, only shows you the West Side Greenway, and I've seen it plenty on my bike.)
By the time we hit ground again in the West Village, we were starting to flag a bit. It was time to bring out the big guns, aka Taiwanese shaved ice. Green tea and black sesame drizzled with condensed milk and topped with strawberries. Oh, and we got a Double Decker at Myers of Keswick, because for some reason we'd stayed up two hours late the previous weekend talking about chocolate bars. Next three miles were nuthin'.
We ended down by the water a bit after 6, not much the worse for wear. I'd done this walk once before, with 20ish other people, and that was much harder than doing it with just the two of us. Going at our own pace, deciding where we wanted to stop as we went, made the whole thing a lot easier.
I debated finishing things off with a beer on The World's Best Free Boat Ride (ie the Staten Island Ferry), and if there'd been good food next door to the terminal on the other side... Well, it still might have been nice, but we opted instead to just use the bathroom and go home. Which is to say, home to our shiny new local delicious pizza place. And beer.
MAP
RECIPE: Pasta alla Norma, furthering the Mark Bittman obsession that began when I picked up a free copy of How To Cook Everything Vegetarian on a stoop in Park Slope.
 |
| Trinity Cemetery |
First thing after breakfast was our biggest elevation of the day -- straight up Fort George Hill. NY doesn't have much in the way of hills, if you don't count bridges, but those few up in Washington Heights, the Bronx, and Yonkers make up for the lack elsewhere. (We got lost trying to find the South County Trailway out of Van Cortlandt Park once, and it was brutal.)
Washington Heights is really all about the food. I wanted to keep us lean and mean (ie able to make lots of food stops along the way), so we went pretty straight through, but you could easily have a full batido-empanada-mofongo-patacon-etc-tour day up there.
 |
| Grant's Tomb |
Our first real landmark was Grant's Tomb. I have a lingering fondness for this area, from when my college roommate, who's lived on Claremont for the last 15 years, let me crash on her futon the summer I came back from Japan, but I've rarely had occasion to go back since. It has just that perfect snootiness to mark the beginning of the UWS proper.
We crossed through Columbia, so I could point out where Joseph Gordon-Levitt parked his burrito in Premium Rush, then down past St John the Divine. (It's not a great movie, but there are silly bikey things, and it was New Year's Eve and I was high on officially prescribed oxycodone when we watched it.) I can't be in this neighborhood without visiting my favorite statue, of St Michael with some giraffes and a crab, lopping off Satan's head, so we sat in the garden there for a minute while we figured out our next move.
 |
| The Cannibal |
We ended down by the water a bit after 6, not much the worse for wear. I'd done this walk once before, with 20ish other people, and that was much harder than doing it with just the two of us. Going at our own pace, deciding where we wanted to stop as we went, made the whole thing a lot easier.
I debated finishing things off with a beer on The World's Best Free Boat Ride (ie the Staten Island Ferry), and if there'd been good food next door to the terminal on the other side... Well, it still might have been nice, but we opted instead to just use the bathroom and go home. Which is to say, home to our shiny new local delicious pizza place. And beer.
MAP
RECIPE: Pasta alla Norma, furthering the Mark Bittman obsession that began when I picked up a free copy of How To Cook Everything Vegetarian on a stoop in Park Slope.
Apr 19, 2016
Books
I ride the subway to work every day, about an hour each way. This is a lot of concentrated reading time, and I make use of it. (For details, feel free to friend me on GoodReads.) Almost all of my reading material comes from the library. Their website may suck, but the actual machinery of the hold system behind it is fantastic. I'm always up against the 30-item limit, constantly maintaining and editing the queue.
However, none of this has in any wise diminished my fondness for bookstores. I wish I could support them more, financially, but until the aforementioned library raises my salary considerably, I'll have to stick with just giving them my love. And despite Barnes & Noble, Amazon, etc, there are still some great bookstores in NY that are very deserving of it. Far more in fact, than I'm going to list here. These are just the ones that are regularly a part of my life:
The Strand
King of all used bookstores. (Except Powell's, I suppose, but I've never been to Powell's on account of its location on the wrong coast, so I can't compare.) It's a tourist destination, and rightly so, but also a tried and true local institution. Sometimes I treat myself by selling them books I don't need, and then turning around and immediately spending everything I've just made. It's also my preferred Union Square bathroom stop, being less crowded than Barnes & Noble, slightly easier to access, and generally just more awesome all around.
Books of Wonder
Not a used bookstore, but a purveyor of new ones exclusively for children, from picture board books on up through dystopia. It's only a few blocks from the Strand, and right across the street from City Bakery, so it easily slots into the tourist itinerary whether or not you have a small human in tow. There's also a small cafe, more bathrooms, and a great back area with artwork and rare editions. Take someone here on a first date, and you'll learn everything you need to know.
Forbidden Planet
The final point in our Union Square trifecta. Just a little south of the Strand, this is the place for all your geek needs. Comics, graphic novels, novels, toys/models/figurines, t-shirts. This is where my father took me as a child, while my mother went to ABC. Full disclosure: I also once worked for Forbidden Planet in Edinburgh, and I can still name all the Dragonball Z characters, despite having never actually seen any Dragonball Z.
Unnameable Books
My local, or as close as it gets. It has a much smaller footprint than any of the others, but the teetering piles of books and tall, cramped shelves make it feel even easier to get lost in. I fault them only for their very small "genre fiction" section, although I suppose that's balanced by the rather larger comics/graphic novels area. They sell some new books, but the majority are used, as is the overall feeling of the place.
BookCourt
Carroll Gardens is always a pleasant stroll, and this is one of the pleasantest stops along it. All new books, but if you'll find plenty to take note of and order from the library later.
Greenlight Bookstore
Meeting someone at BAM? Twenty minutes early? Here's the place to spend them: at another nicely curated new bookstore.
powerHouse
Since I'm not in a bookstore to buy books, browsability is pretty important. powerHouse comes through here with a lot of tables, rather than shelves, allowing books to be displayed face-up. This isn't where you come to find your next novel, but if you want to flip through a massive photo book entitled Tattooed Cyclists of Shibuya or something, it's great.
MAP
RECIPE: Macaroni & Cheese. Make it this way once and you'll never do bechamel again.
Apr 4, 2016
Recent Eats III
Some of these eats are not really "recent" anymore. But that's the way it goes. If I posted them in a timely fashion, I'd never have room to post anything else. (Which could be a good thing? We'll take a poll later.)
Chez Oskar
Nice local bistro. Hard to give a real review, since we were there for a set menu -- didn't get the full experience. Still, had a very tasty lamb shank and the atmosphere was pleasantly romantic.
Gaonnuri
I'd say it's all about the view, but frankly the meat was pretty good too. I mean, why have Korean BBQ on ground level when you can do it on the 39th floor, all things being equal?
Lobster Joint
I sometimes say that if I won the lottery, the only thing that would really change would be that I would eat more lobster rolls. That may not be strictly true, but the point stands. In any event, since I'm unlikely to either win the lottery or move to Maine, I do the best I can with what I have. The $12 slider special at Lobster Joint helps.
Midwood Flats
This is a recent eat in the sense that it is always a recent eat, since this place is directly across the street from our apartment. We were suspicious of it at first, I don't know why, but the switch flipped as soon as we went in. A duck torta with a fried egg on top may not be the only path to my heart, but it'll certainly get you there. The great beer selection can certainly come along for the ride.
Parkside Pizza
Lamb sausage pizza, olive pizza. Promising-looking cocktails.
Oaxaca Taqueria
This place fills a very particular need: Close enough to swing into before BAM and pick up food that we can eat while we see a movie. There isn't a lot of competition in this category, but I'm satisfied with Oaxaca for now. Their flavors are good, but as is so often the case they suffer a bit with layout. People eat their burritos from one side or the other, so ingredients need to be layered, like in a proper paté. You can't have one end be sausage and the other end potato. Take pride in your burritos! This is especially an issue when you're sharing burritos back and forth, as R and I tend to do.
Grindhaus
This place was on my "to try" list for a while. Sadly, it did not make the jump to any kind of recommended list. It's not that the food was bad, but it wasn't mind-blowing, and I am extremely unwilling to pay, for example, $23 for a teacup-sized portion of non-mind-blowing gnocchi.
Brooklyn Bell's The Local
It's 60F; it's February; it's ice cream time. Prospect Heights has no shortage of ice cream, with Ample Hills on Vanderbilt, Blue Marble on Underhill, and now The Local on Classon. I'll make an argument for any of them, but this latest addition may currently have the largest portion of my heart. They make only very small batches -- a tub or two at a time, and then it's on to something else. When we showed up the options were: vanilla, black lava caramel, banana bread, bananas foster (an unplanned bananza, apparently), some kind of pecan brittle with pretzels and rice krispies (I don't remember the exact name, but I had it, and it was good)... and three other things. Sorry, not great reportage here. But the owner/ice cream creator served us -- I think it's basically just him and his wife running the place -- and we came away with an impression of a very short supply chain and deep attention to detail.
And a special shoutout to Trader Joe's peanut-butter-filled pretzels, the ones with salt: my constant office companion.
MAP
RECIPE: Mushroom Moussaka. A misleading name, because only some of the lamb is replaced with mushrooms, yielding a slightly lighter, cheaper, healthier dish.
Chez Oskar
Nice local bistro. Hard to give a real review, since we were there for a set menu -- didn't get the full experience. Still, had a very tasty lamb shank and the atmosphere was pleasantly romantic.
Gaonnuri
I'd say it's all about the view, but frankly the meat was pretty good too. I mean, why have Korean BBQ on ground level when you can do it on the 39th floor, all things being equal?
Lobster Joint
I sometimes say that if I won the lottery, the only thing that would really change would be that I would eat more lobster rolls. That may not be strictly true, but the point stands. In any event, since I'm unlikely to either win the lottery or move to Maine, I do the best I can with what I have. The $12 slider special at Lobster Joint helps.
Midwood Flats
This is a recent eat in the sense that it is always a recent eat, since this place is directly across the street from our apartment. We were suspicious of it at first, I don't know why, but the switch flipped as soon as we went in. A duck torta with a fried egg on top may not be the only path to my heart, but it'll certainly get you there. The great beer selection can certainly come along for the ride.
Parkside Pizza
Lamb sausage pizza, olive pizza. Promising-looking cocktails.
Oaxaca Taqueria
This place fills a very particular need: Close enough to swing into before BAM and pick up food that we can eat while we see a movie. There isn't a lot of competition in this category, but I'm satisfied with Oaxaca for now. Their flavors are good, but as is so often the case they suffer a bit with layout. People eat their burritos from one side or the other, so ingredients need to be layered, like in a proper paté. You can't have one end be sausage and the other end potato. Take pride in your burritos! This is especially an issue when you're sharing burritos back and forth, as R and I tend to do.
Grindhaus
This place was on my "to try" list for a while. Sadly, it did not make the jump to any kind of recommended list. It's not that the food was bad, but it wasn't mind-blowing, and I am extremely unwilling to pay, for example, $23 for a teacup-sized portion of non-mind-blowing gnocchi.
Brooklyn Bell's The Local
It's 60F; it's February; it's ice cream time. Prospect Heights has no shortage of ice cream, with Ample Hills on Vanderbilt, Blue Marble on Underhill, and now The Local on Classon. I'll make an argument for any of them, but this latest addition may currently have the largest portion of my heart. They make only very small batches -- a tub or two at a time, and then it's on to something else. When we showed up the options were: vanilla, black lava caramel, banana bread, bananas foster (an unplanned bananza, apparently), some kind of pecan brittle with pretzels and rice krispies (I don't remember the exact name, but I had it, and it was good)... and three other things. Sorry, not great reportage here. But the owner/ice cream creator served us -- I think it's basically just him and his wife running the place -- and we came away with an impression of a very short supply chain and deep attention to detail.
And a special shoutout to Trader Joe's peanut-butter-filled pretzels, the ones with salt: my constant office companion.
MAP
RECIPE: Mushroom Moussaka. A misleading name, because only some of the lamb is replaced with mushrooms, yielding a slightly lighter, cheaper, healthier dish.
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