New Year 2019 Post - Redux

This was originally posted on my Wix blog under the title 2019:

Oh hey, 2019. I didn't see you there. I wasn't really expecting you to be up this early. Come sit with me (pats couch cushion).

Listen, I don't want to lay any heavy responsibility on you so early in the year, but we need to talk. No, no, don't get up. Please, stay and hear me out. It's important that you hear what I have to say.

Now, I understand that you are not responsible for the sins of the years that preceded you, but I do believe that you need to be cognizant of their missteps and mindful not to repeat their more problematic actions. Yes, yes, I understand that you had nothing to do with the events of the past, but their legacy is not good and I see this as your opportunity to prove that you are not all the same.

Let's start with 2018. I know that you two are close and I don't want to speak ill of the past, but, did you see the wave of amazing people that 2018 took? Anthony Bourdain? Aretha? Don't you think it was a little selfish to take so many talented people in one year? And 2018 took one of my own inner circle, far too soon. What the hell was that about? I can't get past the way that 2018 took from us. The greed is astounding. The last three years, in fact have allowed loss from attacks of hate and terror that never should have happened. Have these years no shame in their reckless permissiveness of hate and rage?

2019, you need to be the year that makes a shift away from hate, that stops freight train of negative emotion that is fueling our national discourse and making us mistrustful of others and of one another. It sits squarely on your shoulders to see that we make a move toward kindness, toward unity and toward inclusion. I know that it is a big responsibility, but I am confident that you can do it. My greatest New Year's wish is that you find the confidence in yourself to make it happen. Now go make me proud and if you find yourself having moments of doubt, just come sit with me again and I'll talk you through it. You can do it. Prove me right. Please?

Holiday 2018 Post Redeux

This was originally posted on my Wix blog, under the title "Turkeys, Elves and the Definition of Insanity":

Almost every year, I find myself hosting Christmas for my large, extended family. Either by my own hand or by my husband generously electing me to the post of party queen, every December plays out like the last. Part of my problem is that I hate uncomfortable silences and when the question of who will be hosting Christmas starts to get thrown around in the months leading up to December, the silence of the response is usually deafening. I find myself twisting uncomfortably in the silence and when I no longer take the cricket-song that I hear through the hollow void of replies, I blurt out my bid for it. This has resulted in me winning 27 out of 27times, uncontested. Tell them what I won Johnny: Announcer voice: You've won five days of cleaning, seven trips to the grocery store, nine hours of cooking, three days of decorating, two trips to the liquor store, a beer run, a trip to the party store and two insanely swollen feet!

Luckily, the same does not hold true with Thanksgiving. My sister-in-law loves to do Thanksgiving and I would go as far as to say that she has a lock on the holiday. Thanksgiving is the one holiday of the year that I can guarantee that I can be a guest and that my feet won't swell and throb like two Smithfield hams at the end of the day. It's a holiday where I get a job or a few jobs and I am joyful in the execution of these jobs. You want a sweet potato casserole? I'm your girl. What's that you say? A Chocolate Cream pie? Why of course and I'll throw in a Lemon Pound Cake for good measure.

This year, I was so blissful in my guesting duties that I made a pie, a cake, the Serious Eats Hassleback Potato Gratin (you MUST! Really!) and I had energy leftover to throw together a spur of the moment cranberry sauce. It's easy to be a sport when you haven't been washing floors, scrubbing toilets, vacuuming, dusting and pulling the gizzards out of the ass-end of a giant bird for the last 48 hours.

The burden of hosting is something that is not completely understood by my husband, who seems to think that hosting consists of making a beer run and having the freedom to start cocktail hour earlier than would be socially acceptable on any other day of the year. Every year he looks at me on the morning after a Christmas soiree in almost complete confusion, as I sit with my feet up, on the verge of tears, with a combination of bewilderment and exhaustion on my face over having survived the hosting of another family Christmas celebration. Every year, it pushes me to the brink and every year (like the definition of insanity), I do it again, expecting a different result. The need for change is clearly on me.

So this year, I will wait in discomfort for someone to throw their Santa hat into the ring. I am not going to volunteer, no matter how deafening the silence becomes. I will duct tape my own mouth closed, if need be. I will be resolute in my decision to stand down. But...you might want to check my feet on December 26th. If they are spilling out of my shoes and pulsating like a defective neon sign, then my resolution wasn't worth the Christmas wrapping it was written on.

March 17 2019 P.S. - I did not cave. Man, my feet feel good!

Sooooo...Turns Out Wix is Not For Me

I tried, really I did.  But, having my own domain name was not worth all that I sacrificed by being on the Wix platform. Without going into a litany of all the things that I did not like, suffice to say that the platform and interface were not for me.  So, I'm back.  Back where it all started years ago and back from my cookbook inspired mini-hiaitus from blogging.

I am going to port over the postings that I wrote on my Wix blog and share them here with a giant glass of "I was wrong" and a side dish of "Mea culpa".

The things you learn when you strike out on your own (SMH)...

Packing Up and Moving to New Digs

I feel so grown up.  I finally got my own domain.  It only took me nine years of blogging to make the big move. 

Blogger, you have been a faithful friend and confidant for almost a decade.  I am sorry that we won't be rooming together any more.  Please don't take it personally.  It's not you, it's me.

My new address is www.thepedestrianpalate.com .  Please stop by soon, but apoligies in advance, it is a work in progress.  I am still waiting for the delivery of some content, but I think you'll like the space as it is open and modern.

Thanks again blogger. I'll leave the keys right here.

The Restorative Powers of Girl Time

It seems to me that almost everyone has a happy place; the place where the stress of life instantly melts away and is supplanted by a feeling of well being, of calm.  I have many happy places.  Places that are an antidote to the office and to the daily grind.  Some of my happy places are very far away and infrequently visited. The top place on that list for me is Rome.  But, since its hard to visit a place like Rome very often, I also have happy places that are more local and convenient.  I visited one of them this weekend.

Each year, a group of my best girlies and I go on a long weekend away.  We don't go far and we don't go fancy.  Usually it is somewhere within the NY tri-state area and ever since one of my friends inherited a log cabin in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania, it has been one of our go-tos.  The goal of our girl's weekend is to do as little as possible, eat and drink as much as possible and to laugh.  Our most recent weekend delivered on all of those things.

We have a few traditions that we tend to stick to, like making a midnight run to Walmart (just because we can) and hitting up the American Ribbon Factory.  And while I get how a side trip to a place where ribbon is made and sold has a "Griswald-esque", world's largest ball of twine ring to it, we wouldn't trade it for anything.

One of the greatest surprises of the trip was a meal that we had at a restaurant called "Garlic" in Stroudsburg, PA.  It was literally around the block from the Ribbon Factory and had some of the best food that we have had on our many trips to PA.  The restaurant is primarily a steakhouse, but offers many seafood dishes. I am disinclined to order seafood in a landlocked state, so we all went with the steak side of the menu and it did not disappoint. We had an array of Filet Mignon, NY Strip and Ribeye steaks and while I hate the term "bread program" this restaurant had a strong one.  Thinly sliced, chewey sour-dough type bread was delivered to our table warm and studded with roasted garlic cloves.  Along side the slices were a few ciabatta rolls, that revealed Italian herbs and sundried tomatoes when opened up for buttering.  Any surprise we all filled up on bread?

When we got back to the cabin, it was prosecco and birthday cake in celebration of one of our friend's birthday.  I made one of those cakes that spills out sprinkles when you cut it open, which actually worked out and did not collapse before offering its yield of colorful spillage.

As lovely and relaxing as the weekend was, it is the time spent with friends that makes the trip restorative and satisfying.  Everyone works very hard and has minimal time to get together.  This gathering of women is an opportunity to kvetch, to bounce things off like-minded individuals and to laugh.  Mostly to laugh.  And as I reflect back, I know that I got so much more out of the weekend than six, ten yard spools of Christmas ribbon.  I came back to center and got my head right. And while we did not solve any of the great problems of society, we made each other feel better and we figured out who tracked the deer poop up the stairs.  You know who you are and we all still love you.

The true sign of love for a friend is making them a cake that vomits sprinkles

What, no snacks?

Local, Surprising, Crazy

I am one of those non-New Yorker New Yorkers that feels  a connection to NYC, as it is the closest major metropolitain area to where I live;  the hinterlands of Long Island.  It is not the actual place that I live, but I spend a lot of time in New York and the boroughs.  I have a deep appreciation for its vitality, energy and exceptional food and drink. However, this does not make me a New Yorker.  And there are those that might remind me of this with taunts and names, such as "Bridge and Tunnel".  I get it, I get it.   To you, I am an invader. A poser.  A carpetbagger in the place where you actually lay your head at night, every night and where you wage war each day with all of the ridiculous and sublime that NYC has to offer.

As something of a theater nerd, we see a lot of shows, both on and off Broadway.  This weekend, we were in the city to see an off-Broadway production at the Minetta Lane Theater.  It wasn't a play, but a reading of a screen play, by Billy Crystal, called "Have a Nice Day", which was was being recorded for Audible.  The Minetta Lane Theater is a small, intimate theater in a far corner of the East Village, just bordering on the West Village.  The performance was terrific.  It included many famous faces, such as Annette Benning, Kevin Klein (who was valiantly battling a head cold), Rachel Dratch, Justin Bartha (the fried groom from the Hangover) and a collection of talented comedy players.

We found parking on East 9th Street and planned to walk through Washington Square Park, something neither of us had done in about 25 years.  We had an early dinner reservation at Minetta Tavern and we shuffled through the park in a hurry, as neither of us had eaten since breakfast.  Still, in spite of our hurry, I could not help but appreciate the beauty of the arch, the central fountain and the dog park on the far end, filled with fluffy pups of every size and variety.  It was crowded, unseasonably warm and truly beautiful.

Central fountain. Washington Sq Park.

Looking toward the Freedom Tower from the West end of Washington Sq Park

We walked up to MacDougal Street and hooked a left toward Minetta Tavern, tummies rumbling and anticipation building.  As we headed down MacDougal, a tall, dirty and very agitated man came stomping up the pavement toward us.  He was yelling something that I could not make out at first and when we got close enough to him, I could see that he was shoving people out of his way.  Intentionally walking between couples and shoving them apart at the shoulders to clear a path for himself.  As he careened toward us, I tried to move to my left in order to separate from my husband and create a clear path for him, but his arms were long enough that once he got to us, he was able to shove us both on the shoulders and yell "Excuse me!".  I was in something of a state of shock.  A stranger had put his hands on me in an agressive way.  I looked down and caught a glimpse of my feet.  I was wearing pointy toed boots.  I was suddenly over come with a need to kick him squarely between the legs. I went from shock to anger in the blink of an eye, once I had composed myself long enought to play back the fact that a crazy, dirty old creep had put hands on me. I turned back to look for him and he had already gone a block and a half past us, making his way into the park.

Your garden variety crazy old guy

I thought through the scenario in my head.  What if I had chased him down and kicked him?  What would have happened?  Would he have tried to kill me? Would it have worked out in any kind of positive outcome?  No. Definitely not.  Shaken up and still a bit stunned, we went in to Minetta Tavern and had a couple of cocktails at the bar, while we waited for our table.  By the time they seated us, I had settled enough to remember how hungry I was.  Food was flying by us, looking good and smelling good.

Confit Duck Leg on Parsnip Puree

We started with a confit leg of duck before our main dishes of steak frittes and pork chop.  My appetite was strong, so I didn't wait to take a picture of my steak.  I just dug in.  It was topped with a disc of garlic butter and it was insanely good.  We ended our meal with a three way Pot de Creme (chocloate, coffee, vanilla), that was so delicious, I wanted to lick the ramekins.  At this point, our encounter with Captain Crazy, was fading a little and I finally felt settled.

This was the first negative encounter that I have had with anyone in NYC in what may be a thousand visits.  There is no overstatement in that number as I worked in Manhattan for a few years and I have been back for personal  reasons once  or twice a month over the past 10 years.  I'm not saying that I have never had someone yell things at me or aggressively panhandle, but I have never been physically assaulted like that.  Will this encounter change my love for NYC or my willingness to go in and just hang around?  Not in the slightest. In my opinion, that could have happened in any gathering where there are a large number of people.  It did not have to happen in the city.  It could have been anywhere. I will not change a single thing about the way I live my life. I will defiantly continue to be an New York City interloper, carpetbagger and Long Island Railroad riding Bridge and Tunnel Bitch.  Except, I am probably going to invest in a pair of steel tipped boots.

Have a Nice Day Playbill

Cast of Have a Nice Day

Washington Square Arch

Mashing Up My Cocktails

Italy is my favorite place on the entire planet, bar none.  Not a day goes by when I am not daydreaming about my next trip. When I think about travel, it is always Italy first, but every now and then, I let my mind wander to other European destinations that are on my bucket list.

Lately, I have been thinking about Spain.  Like Italy, it has a relaxed way of life, centered around a cafe/bar culture with iconic food and drink. We are considering a run to Madrid in the winter, if we have enough airline miles to do it for low/no cost.  The very possibility of this has gotten us doing research.  And when we do trip research, we dive in pretty deep.

One of the things that came out of our research about Spain is a drink called the Tinto de Verano.  It is essentially a slightly sweetened red wine spritzer.  Similar to a sangria, but simpler and made by the glass, a la minute. This summer, I discovered that I LOVE a similar Italian drink called an Aperol Spritz.  The composition of an Aperol Spritz is equal parts Prosecco, Aperol and Seltzer.

This afternoon, my husband opened a bottle of red wine and started experimenting.  He threw a healthy glug of aperol into his glass of wine and topped it with a splash of seltzer.  It was unexpectedly delicious. I added a couple of slices of fruit and got the measurements down to a repeatable recipe and a cocktail was born.  It's kind of like the bad baby that resulted from a foolish night of passion between the Tinto and the Spritz.  We have named the love child "Bacio da Madrid" or Kiss from Madrid.  Give it a try before it's officially cider and whiskey weather.

BACIO DA MADRID

5 oz Fruity Red Wine (Rioja, Shiraz, etc)

1 and 1/2 Tablespoons Aperol 

4 Oz Seltzer (orange flavored seltzer works really well here)

1 Slice Lemon

1 Slice Orange
Ice

Fill a large wine goblet or tall glass halfway with ice.  Pour over the wine and aperol and mix well with a spoon.  Drop in the lemon and orange slices and stir again.  Top off with Seltzer.

Mommy

Daddy

Bad Baby