Washington Square Park, Friday Evening

It was Friday. There were three of us, and we were very excited to be together, because:
1. one of us lives in Harlem which is kind of a trek, so the Brooklynites don't see her too often.
2. it was Fleet Week, which is when thousands of Navy and Marines men and women come ashore and roam around NYC in their uniforms. It's a great time.
3. it was the Friday before Memorial Day, and the long weekend beckoned.

It was a very New York City-type evening, the type that only seems to happen in movies. We went to Pala Pizza, which is a (pricey) really, really tasty pizza and pasta joint, down the street from Katz's Deli, and one of the few anywhere that has gluten-free crusts (one of us, as you may deduce, can't eat gluten.) What did we get? For starters, the potato croquettes, which were delicious, and then we split the spinaci pizza, which was spinach, ricotta, cherry tomatoes, and a bunch of garlic--probably some other stuff too, and the special pizza, which was prosciutto, peaches, goat cheese, and..olive oil? SO GOOD. We sat outside and people-watched, which is especially promising there in the East Village. A band was setting up at the club next to us, and intriguing people wandered by--I think there may be more fedoras in the East Village, per capita, than anywhere else! The waitress was great, really friendly. And I have to say, I've had some non-appetizing gluten-less bread-type experiences, but the pizza crust at Pala tastes better than most flour-based pizza crusts. It just seems lighter and fresher. Healthier. At least that's what I tell myself.

After this feast, we sluggishly wandered north, around Chinatown and further up through the East Village to get to Babycakes, which is (you guessed it) a really good gluten-free bakery. My friend's mom makes the best potato and rice flour concoctions I've ever had (her orange cupcakes are great) but Babycakes might be even better. I got a lemon one this time. They use agave instead of sugar, too. We ate those and wandered some more, using Robert Frost poems to guide us ("'And looked down one as far as I could/To where it bent in the undergrowth;/Then took the other, as just as fair,/And having perhaps the better claim,/' alright guys, Bob says we should turn away from the park"). We eventually got over to Greenwich Village (where people were just heading to dinner) and walked through Washington Square Park which glitters at night. We were in front of the arch when we heard the music.

There was a band set up, which is not too unusual: a portly man in a suit singing, a few guitar players, a fedora-wearing skinny piano man, and the usual bunch of weirdos milling about. They weren't great, musically, but what they lacked in tunefulness they made up for in showmanship. Because here was the odd thing about this group of musicians--there were a lot of people standing around them, perched on benches, en route to dinner or clubs, and EVERYONE was singing along. Yes, it was a dance party in the park. There were a lot of NYU students, but also older people walking their dogs, cops, people who were sort of drunk, people who were definitely sober, people in high heels and tiny dresses, frat boys, nerdy engineering students, business people, hippies--and us, full of pizza and cupcakes. Once they launched into a rendition of "Billie Jean," we decided to stay for a bit. We stayed for over two hours.
Here are some highlights, from what I can remember:
--the older gent with the MoMA bag who frenetically danced in front us to the Jackson 5.
--how the band changed the lyrics in "Don't Stop Believin'" from "just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit/He took the midnight train goin' anywhere," to "just a city boy, born in NEW YORK CITY (everyone cheered)/He took the Q train goin' anywhere."
--there was a guy by us wearing a black robe, and I whispered to my friend, "what's his deal, do you think he's a judge?" She responded, "he can't be a judge, he looks younger than us!" Someone must have finally asked him, because it turned out he had graduated that day, and was still wearing the robe, for some reason. So then random people were going, "congratulations, man!" and giving him high-fives.
--everyone trying to sing Lady Gaga. There was a stately looking Asian man near us who ended up slow dancing with the singer during a version of "Bad Romance."
--the obviously inebriated (although harmless) man who lurched around playing the air guitar, and telling everyone to donate to the band. "Maybe he's their manager," my friend whispered, "and he's not a very good one, so that's why they're playing in the park."
--when the piano player got up to breakdance (very well), and a woman in the crowd yelled, "move your body, white boy!" and then everyone cheered.
--the fact that we sang along to everything, even if we didn't know the lyrics--and so did everyone else.
--during "Benny and the Jets," they changed the part where it's a call between "Benny" and "Jets" to "Benny" and "Giants," and occasionally "Mets" and "Yankees" too. At one point the singer said, "Patriots" instead, and the crowd booed.
--the people who were hula hooping over to the side.
--the woman with the violin who jumped up from the benches and joined in during one of the songs.
--the way you can see the Empire State Building through the arch in the park.
--the closing song was "Bohemian Rhapsody," and it was so horribly sung (especially the falsetto) but with so much dancing and clapping, that really, who cares?

The band is apparently there a few nights a week. I may never see them again, but I want to thank them for making us laugh so hard, and dance like idiots, and see so many varied and interesting people.

A good night, in what is often a very good place to live.

Brighton Beach, Wednesday Evening

Now that I've lived in Brooklyn for almost a year (HOW is that possible??) I've stopped carrying my camera with me. This means that sometimes really great things happen and I have no photographic record of them. The next few posts will be about these great things.

It was Wednesday. It was 90 degrees and I was feeling sick-ish. My evening plans were to eat some Rice Krispies and then start a Dorothy Sayers book while wallowing in my surliness and sweat. And then, like a divine intervention (or whatever) I got a text from my cousin, something along the lines of: "I just got out of work and I need to be in a wide-open space. Wanna meet at Coney Island?" The answer to that is yes, of course.

And let me tell you, Coney Island is a great place on the first 90 degree day of the year. People were hilarious. The old men had set up their chess boards, the women were stripping, and the kids were running everywhere. The handball courts were full and the ocean breeze was, well, breezy. I took a few deep breaths, buried my feet in the sand, and felt immediately better. My cousin and I found each other on the boardwalk ("I could tell it was you from far away because of how you walk," she said. Huh.) and as she hadn't eaten in awhile, we looked for a place for dinner. And we found it. When you walk down Coney Island to Brighton Beach, there are a row of Russian seafood places with a lot of outdoor seating on the boardwalk. We picked Tatiana's, which was kind of in the middle.

I don't quite know how to describe Tatiana's. The menu is in Russian on one side and English on the other, and the servers all take their smoke breaks on the boardwalk about three feet from the tables. We both got kvas to drink, which is sort of a non-alcoholic beer. I really liked it--it reminded me of a strong, natural root beer (and I do love me some root beer!). I wasn't that hungry so I ordered the calamari, while my cousin got some concoction of seafood, broccoli, cauliflower, asparagus and about a pint of cheese, cream, and butter. The food was more expensive than we usually indulge in, but the portions were BIG. The calamari was enough for two meals, and was really tasty--the broccoli I sampled from the other dish was good too. A man came by and offered to sell us some pillows (my question was, who buys pillows while they're eating? while my cousin's was, who buys pillows from some dude on the street?)

We ate outside, but the indoor decor deserves a mention. Think Eastern European brothel meets Czarist Palace meets some sort of classy law office. A lot of mirrors and carpets, and outside the bathroom: two lamps which were womens' bodies with lampshades instead of heads; one black, one red. There were a bunch of weird figurines--I took a pic on my phone of the shelf containing a bikini-clad woman hugging a tiger, which was flanked by figurines of Santa Claus and a polar bear. The bathrooms themselves were really nice, in case you were curious.

The sun set and the full moon rose, and the twinkling Christmas lights came on under the awning we were sitting under. It was beautiful, quiet except for the other patrons chatting in Russian and the clink of glass and far far away the sound of waves. It felt like we were on another continent. A wizened man with an accordion wandered around, taking requests. We didn't recognize the first few songs, but other people were singing along. He eventually launched into, "My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean," "La Vie En Rose," "Bicycle Built for Two," and any American patriotic song you can think of. Let me tell you, you haven't heard the "Star Spangled Banner" properly until you've heard it on the accordion!

If you're looking for a laugh, do check out Tatiana's website here. It's hilarious, and contains both a "morning after" drink recipe, and the suggestion that men shave before going there, because "there are plenty of people to impress." Perfect antidote to the mid-week blahhs.

S'Mac

I love macaroni and cheese, but really, who doesn't? I make a pretty good baked version (usually with broccoli in it), but am also happy enough to eat some sort of Kraft product, especially if the pasta is shaped like characters from Toy Story. I'm not fussy in the pasta department.

(thanks to the Retro Info blog for the image!)

So really, me google-ing "mac and cheese restaurants New York City" was not a huge surprise. And there is one, a restaurant that just serves mac and cheese, salads, desserts, and a few types of drinks. It is called S'Mac, which stands for Sarita's Macaroni and Cheese, and is in the East Village.

I was worried about the trendy factor (the East Village is so fun to walk around, but can be a bit annoying, hipster-wise) and the crowded factor, particularly since we went on a Friday night. But even if I had to wait an hour for a table, I would go there again. Plus, they have take-out. The place ROCKS.

What did we get? We all got the Nosh size, which was the smallest, and since I had lunch late it made me comfortably full. If I were quite hungry, I might up it to the Major Munch size. They serve it in individual skillets. We scraped the sides of the skillets when we were done, hunting for more--it was that tasty. I got the Napoletana (a word I have trouble saying, for some reason) which was mozzarella, roasted tomatoes, garlic, and basil. I'm not big on tomatoes, but they didn't overwhelm it in the slightest, and the basil was a tasty addition. One of my friends had the 4 Cheese and a salad (which she said was also good, the rest of us weren't virtuous enough to comprise the mac with excess green stuff). The other friend got the Garden Lite, which involved cauliflower, broccoli, and mushrooms. This friend can't eat gluten, and they not only had gluten free pasta, but gluten free breadcrumbs to put on top. Since it was officially the weekend and we were belatedly celebrating Karl Marx's birthday, we got Cabernet to go with it. It was served in plastic cups. Works for me.

Any downsides? It is a bit small inside, so when we were leaving the line was out to the street. The cashier/servers weren't outrageous friendly, but they certainly weren't surly either. Forks should be located on each table, so if you can't find them, it may be that they haven't been restocked.

You can create your own, but we went with some of the recommended ones, and there are plenty more (Parisienne with Brie, roasted figs, fresh rosemary? Cajun with andouille sausage, green pepper, and onions? Alpine with Gruyere and slab bacon? All there.)

We'll be back. You can order it online, but I feel like the delivery to Brooklyn would not be cost prohibitive, nor feasible. Plus, when I was walking from the subway I saw a man carrying a piano across the street, so the people watching is solid. If you're intrigued, do check out the website--I linked it above, but here it is again. They have some vegan-lactose intolerant options, as well as the gluten free ones. I like that they also seem to support a few different women-centered organizations.

Food, Glorious Food

This is a post I wrote awhile ago, which has now been cross-posted at Cooking With Ideas, a blog authored by one of my ex-professors (she is still a professor, I mean "ex" in that I am out of school...) And besides being a genuine rockstar human being, she also has a cool blog, where she writes about food in the Finger Lakes, murder mysteries (especially food involved ones), restaurant reviews, and a lot of other good things (and yours truly is listed under the Geneva-related blogs). Check it out!!

Today I’ll be bringing you food news and reviews from the neighborhood. And that neighborhood is Crown Heights! Some qualifiers before starting: 1) I have only included stores and restaurants within 10 minutes walking distance of my apartment (there is one exception, but I’ll explain that later). 2) Each entrée costs less than $10 (because that is my budget). 3.) In the interest of full disclosure, I am not a vegetarian (as my mom says, “I would be one, if bacon didn’t count,” which about sums it up), but since I am living with a vegetarian, all the places I talk about will be vegetarian focused or have strong vegetarian options. 4.) I’ve never really written about food before, so bear with me!

Well, it ain’t Wegmans: Grocery Shopping
As a born and bred Western New Yorker, I have a freakish, life-affirming devotion to Wegmans, which also includes trying to shoehorn it into any conversation whenever possible (We all know this is true. But who can blame us??). There is a Whole Foods somewhere, and I think a Trader Joes, but that’s not my scene. Since I am sans Wegmans, the store I usually go to is walkable, and has the basics. The produce is on the iffy side—which is supplemented by going to a farmers’ market—and though there are holes in the floor, the music they play is danceable Spanish, and the cashiers have a tendency to sing along. The organic section is literally one shelf at the end of an aisle, which would be funny if it wasn’t so depressing (no social hierarchy of food, my foot). Although cereal and other staples tend to be much more expensive than I’m used to, big jars of curry powder and other “unusual” ingredients tend to be less. I’ve also started eating things like guava yogurt and plaintain chips, since this store is stocked for its predominantly Hispanic and West Indian customers. I can’t attest to the meat quality or price, since I haven’t purchased any here.

Eating Out/Taking In
Some categories to consider:
Pizza—like bagels, I think it is generally hard to have a bad pizza experience in NYC, although I’ve had slices that are certainly superior to others. The best, in my opinion, is either Slice of Brooklyn on Franklin or Ginos on Washington, both which are about 2 blocks from my apartment in opposite directions. Slice of Brooklyn has a good deal on slices (2 + a can of soda for $5) while Ginos is more economical if you’re buying a whole pizza. Interestingly, I have yet to see pineapple offered as a topping anywhere, which is my favorite (I know, it’s weird). The standard pizza is thin-crust with not-overly sweet sauce, and not too much cheese.

Mexican—There is a Mexican restaurant on my street, but the one I have been to is one street over, and is delightfully called Taquería de Los Muertos. The menu isn’t huge, and I’ve only tried their burritos, but OH are they good, as well as being roughly the size of a human head. I think my favorite filling is pollo rojo with the black beans, and I usually pay the extra 50 cents to make it a “super,” so it includes guacamole. They have good vegetarian fillings, like squash, peppers, corn, and mushrooms. They also make sure to tell you which bean choices are vegetarian, too.

Thai—If I were recommending just two restaurants in Brooklyn for someone to check out, it would be these two: Udom Thai and Wild Ginger. First, Udom Thai: it is next door to the Taquería de Los Muertos, and the ambiance is great. It’s small-ish, but cozy, and there are really neat wire figures on each table (each one is different) which all hold a different colored silk flower. And the food is just dandy. My standard so far seems to be the ginger noodles, which are soft, wide noodles in a spicy, gingery sauce, with shredded chicken, eggs, bean sprouts, scallions, sliced ginger, and lettuce, which provides a good crisp element. They also have food delivery-ready in a crazy fast time. I recently tried one of the curries, and that was also really good. The second Thai restaurant, Wild Ginger, is the exception to my geographic criteria. It’s in downtown Brooklyn, and therefore a bus ride away, although they *just* opened another Brooklyn branch on Flatbush Ave, only 5ish blocks from me. I am including this restaurant not only because it was delicious, but because it was the first time I’d been to a Vegan restaurant, and it has amazingly low-priced lunch specials. I got Mango Soy Protein (I didn’t know this, but soy protein has a consistency kind of like chicken and, just like tofu, tastes like whatever you cook it in). It was served in a sweet plum sauce with generously big mango slices, green beans, peppers, and asparagus, and came with brown rice with bulgur, plus miso soup. I got a ginger ale, which I think was just club soda with shredded ginger. As someone who really likes raw ginger, I loved the tanginess. Also, they get extra points for having a really cool bathroom.

The Art of Snacking
--Mr. Softee is the usual neighborhood ice cream truck (I have seen fancier ice cream trucks with lemongrass and green tea confections, but I’ll take my vanilla soft-serve with rainbow sprinkles over that.) The best part is that a Mr. Softee truck drives by the apartment at 11:00 nightly, and parks someplace nearby. One night I heard its obnoxious siren/jingle/ice cream truck call constantly for half an hour while I was trying to read, and it began to seem like an experiment to see how long the average citizen could hear the song without turning into a raving sociopath. It just adds to their charm.
--Further up the road from the grocery store is a mostly vegan (can something be “mostly vegan,” or is that like being “mostly pregnant?”) Jamaican restaurant called Natural Blends. They have substantial food too, and my cousin swears by their veg lasagna, but all I’ve had is a smoothie and a chocolate chip cookie. The smoothie was tasty, as smoothies often are, and the cookie was large and dense, with carrot and sweet potato in it and lots of cinnamon. They have a lot of really good looking baked goods there, which I plan to test out.
--Also very important to the consummate snacker are the small convenience stores, often called bodegas, which are on nearly every corner. I have the delight of living next door to one such store, which is usually staffed by a trio of brothers, the youngest of which is probably 15 and the oldest of which is probably my age. They are dysfunctional, and it’s always an adventure stopping there (for example: everyone will be outside and the youngest one will be working the cash register and he won’t know the price of something, so he’ll take candy bars from under the counter and throw them at the window until one of the other brothers comes in to help). Corner stores are good for getting deli meats, cheese, milk, and late-night seltzer and Doritos, which is my usual purchase. I also have no shame about going there in my pajamas, and in fact have done so today. Twice.

Some of the neighborhood places that I haven’t had time to try yet boast cuisines from the Caribbean, Senegal, Vietnam, France, China, Korea, the Middle East, and Japan, not to mention bagels, burgers, fried chicken, kosher groceries, pastries, organic specialty stores, and all manner of coffee. Come to Manhattan for the culture—although Brooklyn has plenty of that, too!—but desert the island for dinner. Brooklyn will be eagerly awaiting your arrival.

Julie and Julia and Me

It's 10 pm and I am making a big pan of baked macaroni and cheese and broccoli. My usual choice post-work (which is now) is some form of sandwich, but sometimes you just feel like cooking, and the fact that I just finished reading Julie and Julia probably influenced me in some way. And it's rainy out, which automatically means I want pasta (even if it will only be ready, oh, one hour from now.) The roux looked too soupy (as my roux's often do, probably because I dumped the milk in all at once) but now that it is mixed together it looks pretty good. I drew the line at making my own bread crumbs, so I'm deluding myself that the Italian ones from the can taste the same.

It wasn't a terrible day of work, but I forgot my fork and had to eat my lunchtime salad with chopsticks that I borrowed from a co-worker, and saw a kid bite his mother, and witnessed a marital fight on the way over, and got out late and missed my bus. Worst of all, I had to do a shipping order for a woman who was buying girlie magazines to send to her son in jail, and had to spend some time explaining her why he might not get them right away, because the guards have to search incoming packages. "He really wants them," she said, and the thought of this woman buying "Hooters" for her incarcerated child was just really sad.

Macaroni and cheese makes you feel good, though, as did Julie and Julia. It's a fun, fast read. Julie Powell is sassy and (sometimes) likeable (sometimes she is heavy on the whining, but she usually redeems herself), and you really root for her (the premise of her blog and then book was that she would cook all of the recipes in Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking in one year; and she did.) AND she lived in Brooklyn! (Bay Ridge, I think, so well south of here, and she defects to Queens early on...but I still feel some solidarity.) Some of the recipes are just craziness, like Pâté de Canard en Croûte, which is duck stuffed with pork and veal and truffles and baked in a pastry crust. I also realized how many meats I've never actually tried: brains, liver, kidneys, marrow, veal, lamb--and I think I've only had duck once (that Julia is not big on vegetables, unless they are in some manner of sauce). I'd like to see the movie, too, since I think there is more Julia in that.

Julie mentions in her afterward (which is a few years later, and Julia had just died) that what really comes through in Mastering the Art of French Cooking is a woman who has found her place and purpose in life. Julia is joyful, and that's what is so groovy about her. You can see that when you watch old clips of her tv shows (and I watched a lot of Julia Child as a kid): the woman likes what she does. And she is not perfect and she occassionaly busts an omelet, but she doesn't let that stop her. GO JULIA!

If I ever get up the courage to make anything with pastry, I'll let you all know.