This day I was to meet the small tour bus right off of Union Square, which had a green market that day. It was pouring down rain, but the plants and produce were still gorgeous. Sadly, I will forever remember Union Square as the place where a vendor let me stand under his tent while he waited for his co-workers to show up, and I gave the instructions to our vet to euthanize our dog Elmer, and then made funeral arrangements with the dogsitter and a friend who was willing to help. This had been going on all week. Elmer started having seizures the day after I left. I had been communicating with Jim all week, and the outcome was anticipated, so I wasn't a complete mess. I was happy to get on a bus with about ten other jovial people.
Because of the rain, in lieu of a walk in a park, we voted to instead stop at a Jacques Torres chocolate shop. It was beautiful with Easter goodies all over the place. Even the Peeps had berets! I had a spicy hot chocolate that was wonderful. I haven't tried to reproduce it, although of course I bought Jacques' chocolate cookbook, because the experimentation process would be a guaranteed ten pounds.
The rest of the tour was old-fashioned pizzerias and historic sites. One of the best features of the tour was the playing of movie clips set in Brooklyn that were played on the monitor as we
drove by the sites. Lots of fun, and it made me want to rent "Saturday Night Fever".
I just can't escape Elvis. One of the sites was the Army Deployment Center where Elvis shipped out.
On the way back to Manhattan we drove through some ethnic neighborhoods- Ukrainian, Russian, Greek. They were very interesting but I'm glad I wasn't walking through them.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Lower East Side Tenement Museum
I had wanted to visit this for a few years. Mid-twentieth century, a tenement was condemned because of its wooden staircases. It was boarded up for over fifty years, and when the boards were taken off it was discovered that not only had it not been vandalized, it only had minor rain damage and a time capsule of everyday life was inside.
The first apartment was three small rooms occupied by a German immigrant family. The father disappeared, and the mother supported her three kids by taking in sewing. She would have had to sew by a small window because the wattage of the light bulbs must have been about 10 watts. No indoor plumbing. Not only did they have to trek all the way outside to the outhouse, water would have to be schlepped up the stairs for cooking and bathing. Eventually the mother grew her business well enough ,and with an inheritance, eventually moved the family out.
The second apartment was also as small, and this family's left-behinds were from immigrant Italians. The tenement museum people were able to track down the youngest daughter and have a recording of her memories of the apartment.
The whole experience was fascinating to me, and I have a new appreciation for what immigrants were willing to tolerate for a fresh start here.
It had been many years since I'd been on the lower east side, and some gentrification was obvious. The Essex Street Market was a fun place with many small food vendors. I didn't time my visit well enough to eat at Shopsin's with the very colorful owner Kenny and his insane son Zack (Amazon search "Eat Me"by Kenny) , but the stalls were a lot of fun to visit and I bought treats.
I then browsed some shops down the street and ended up in a luggage store. While I negotiated the price of a backpack the guy told me I was a human calculator. That's a compliment I'm very proud of, considering where it came from
The first apartment was three small rooms occupied by a German immigrant family. The father disappeared, and the mother supported her three kids by taking in sewing. She would have had to sew by a small window because the wattage of the light bulbs must have been about 10 watts. No indoor plumbing. Not only did they have to trek all the way outside to the outhouse, water would have to be schlepped up the stairs for cooking and bathing. Eventually the mother grew her business well enough ,and with an inheritance, eventually moved the family out.
The second apartment was also as small, and this family's left-behinds were from immigrant Italians. The tenement museum people were able to track down the youngest daughter and have a recording of her memories of the apartment.
The whole experience was fascinating to me, and I have a new appreciation for what immigrants were willing to tolerate for a fresh start here.
It had been many years since I'd been on the lower east side, and some gentrification was obvious. The Essex Street Market was a fun place with many small food vendors. I didn't time my visit well enough to eat at Shopsin's with the very colorful owner Kenny and his insane son Zack (Amazon search "Eat Me"by Kenny) , but the stalls were a lot of fun to visit and I bought treats.
I then browsed some shops down the street and ended up in a luggage store. While I negotiated the price of a backpack the guy told me I was a human calculator. That's a compliment I'm very proud of, considering where it came from
Sunday, June 28, 2009
New York Moments
Maybe native New Yorkers don't particularly notice the things I call New York moments. Those times aren't necessarily pleasant. New Yorkers will argue about anything.
One day when I was exiting the Herald Square subway station I could hear, and then see, a pretty good-sized jazz band. They were pretty good and somewhat captivating. Tacked high on the wall behind them was homemade sign- "If you would like a CD, please wait until the trombone solo is over"- as the trombone player was also the CD seller.
There's a great quilt shop a couple of blocks from the culinary school. It's the only quilt shop I've ever been buzzed into.
I watched a hustler close to the Empire State Building work his card game. He had a small group of young men playing with him. The hustler had an accomplice who made appeals to the young men's manhood. I'm sure she was also the lookout. I didn't watch long enough (I was astonished that anyone would still fall for that), but I'm sure the guy made some decent money before the cops showed up.
Every afternoon when I would get back, before going into the hotel, I'd sit in Greeley Square, Horace looking over all of us, and people watch. There just isn't a better city to watch humanity going about their business.
I made no restaurant reservations. I was really having a hard time deciding exactly what I wanted. Jim and I had been travelling a lot, and we always eat very well when we travel. I was feeling somewhat satiated by fancy food, but I found my place, right up the street from my hotel on Broadway. It was an old-school Jewish deli, complete with very functional chairs and tables and bright lights. One afternoon I was the only customer without a yarmulke. When you sat down you were brought a bowl of cole slaw and a plate of homemade dill pickles. Oh yeah. Matzo ball soup. Roast beef and gravy with mashed potaoes. Latkes. Pastrami. Knishes.
My heart was broken when, the Saturday before I was leaving, I was all set to have my Last Supper there and they were, of course, closed. Seriously old-school. I went to Macy's instead.
One day when I was exiting the Herald Square subway station I could hear, and then see, a pretty good-sized jazz band. They were pretty good and somewhat captivating. Tacked high on the wall behind them was homemade sign- "If you would like a CD, please wait until the trombone solo is over"- as the trombone player was also the CD seller.
There's a great quilt shop a couple of blocks from the culinary school. It's the only quilt shop I've ever been buzzed into.
I watched a hustler close to the Empire State Building work his card game. He had a small group of young men playing with him. The hustler had an accomplice who made appeals to the young men's manhood. I'm sure she was also the lookout. I didn't watch long enough (I was astonished that anyone would still fall for that), but I'm sure the guy made some decent money before the cops showed up.
Every afternoon when I would get back, before going into the hotel, I'd sit in Greeley Square, Horace looking over all of us, and people watch. There just isn't a better city to watch humanity going about their business.
I made no restaurant reservations. I was really having a hard time deciding exactly what I wanted. Jim and I had been travelling a lot, and we always eat very well when we travel. I was feeling somewhat satiated by fancy food, but I found my place, right up the street from my hotel on Broadway. It was an old-school Jewish deli, complete with very functional chairs and tables and bright lights. One afternoon I was the only customer without a yarmulke. When you sat down you were brought a bowl of cole slaw and a plate of homemade dill pickles. Oh yeah. Matzo ball soup. Roast beef and gravy with mashed potaoes. Latkes. Pastrami. Knishes.
My heart was broken when, the Saturday before I was leaving, I was all set to have my Last Supper there and they were, of course, closed. Seriously old-school. I went to Macy's instead.
Pate Choux and Me
In the previous post I failed to specify exactly what I baked in Pastry I. My mother-in-law has tried to teach me her secrets to a perfect pie crust with no luck. So has my Aunt Velma. This time in class I made my first successful pie crust. The class as a whole made Fruit Tart, Banana Walnut Frangipane Tart, Individual Lemon Cheese Tarts with Strawberries, Individual Chocolate Hazelnut Tarts, Coconut Custard Pie, Pecan Pie, Blueberry Crumble Pie and Cherry Crumble Pie.
2nd day- Fruit Tarts, Tarte Tatin, and two versions of Apple Pie
3rd day- Pate a Choux, from which we made Eclairs, Profiteroles, Paris Brest, and Cream Puffs
I think it was early in 2001 when sister-in-law Anita and I went to Paris to visit her daughter, my niece. We spent a couple of days at Le Cordon Bleu. Before attending class I was wondering what the chef/instructors would be like. The impression I was stuck on was the very tall, imposing and stern chef that Audrey Hepburn had in the original "Sabrina" movie. The first day we were going to take a fresh market tour (that alone could justify a whole post to itself), then bring ingredients back to the school and watch the chef prep the meal. When the chef showed up he was young and adorable. He spoke very little English but was charming.
The second day we were taking a hands-on class on savory appetizers, including Gougeres, which start off as Pate Choux. We had Chef "Sabrina". I made a stupid mistake right off the get-go with my Pate Choux, and showed my mess to the translator, a young American work-study student. She explained to Chef Sabrina, who scowled and said "Non!". The translator got me new ingredients, I proceeded with my re-do, and thank goodness, my gougeres turned out lovely. I asked the question of why some looked so different. Some were high and fluffy and some were flatter like cookies. This was a really important question for me because I had struggled with inconsistent gougeres at home and could never figure it out. Chef Sabrina's response, via the translator, was "I've already answered that question." I quickly decided that a) I was already the class dunce and b) you know what? I'm paying for this class, so I asked him to repeat his answer and he did.
I had a more pleasant experience with gougeres in NYC.
2nd day- Fruit Tarts, Tarte Tatin, and two versions of Apple Pie
3rd day- Pate a Choux, from which we made Eclairs, Profiteroles, Paris Brest, and Cream Puffs
I think it was early in 2001 when sister-in-law Anita and I went to Paris to visit her daughter, my niece. We spent a couple of days at Le Cordon Bleu. Before attending class I was wondering what the chef/instructors would be like. The impression I was stuck on was the very tall, imposing and stern chef that Audrey Hepburn had in the original "Sabrina" movie. The first day we were going to take a fresh market tour (that alone could justify a whole post to itself), then bring ingredients back to the school and watch the chef prep the meal. When the chef showed up he was young and adorable. He spoke very little English but was charming.
The second day we were taking a hands-on class on savory appetizers, including Gougeres, which start off as Pate Choux. We had Chef "Sabrina". I made a stupid mistake right off the get-go with my Pate Choux, and showed my mess to the translator, a young American work-study student. She explained to Chef Sabrina, who scowled and said "Non!". The translator got me new ingredients, I proceeded with my re-do, and thank goodness, my gougeres turned out lovely. I asked the question of why some looked so different. Some were high and fluffy and some were flatter like cookies. This was a really important question for me because I had struggled with inconsistent gougeres at home and could never figure it out. Chef Sabrina's response, via the translator, was "I've already answered that question." I quickly decided that a) I was already the class dunce and b) you know what? I'm paying for this class, so I asked him to repeat his answer and he did.
I had a more pleasant experience with gougeres in NYC.
Friday, June 26, 2009
NYC , my way
In March I returned to NYC and the Institute of Culinary Education. It had been three years since I'd been. My week started off with three days of "Pastry". My hotel was only ten blocks away from school, so I walked. One of the things that is frequently said about New York is that the city has a certain electricity, an energy level that isn't really felt anywhere else. In the mornings in Manhattan I definitely feel that. I like being part of the very large and purposeful crowd. Everyone is intent on getting where they need to be.
There is comfort in familiarity. 50 W. 23rd has a really slow elevator. Still slow. Once in the kitchen it's nice to know where things are stored, what you can ask from the assistant, what the receptionist can do, where the restrooms are. Some students come with friends. If you come alone you're paired with someone by the teacher. My partner this time was a Thai woman, Orewan, in the city visiting her daughter for a month. She apologized for her poor English. I assured that I was impressed that she could communicate anything, and that when I'm in her shoes in China I can barely say anything intelligible.
Class starts with an overview of the recipes of the day, lots of note-taking. The teacher assigns different dishes to the teams, and then we quickly delineate responsibilities and get going. The teacher gives us a time table. There is no time to mess around, and everyone gets to work. Orewan obviously reads English better than she speaks, because she follows instructions perfectly. I feel a little bad that she doesn't comprehend the friendly back and forth with the other team at our table.
We work really hard and I'm in my "zone". Mistakes are made and things have to be re-done.
Every day I learned a lot and had boxes of pastries to share with the hotel staff. Never let it be said that I don't know how to use my pastries. Maybe the front desk would have gotten me a dorm frig really quickly anyway, maybe the concierge would have arranged for a driver to the Bronx on Sat. and been as pleasant about getting me a great ticket to "Hair". Maybe the doormen would have been friendly every time I got back to the hotel anyway. I'm just saying. Pastries can be advantageous hotel currency.
There is comfort in familiarity. 50 W. 23rd has a really slow elevator. Still slow. Once in the kitchen it's nice to know where things are stored, what you can ask from the assistant, what the receptionist can do, where the restrooms are. Some students come with friends. If you come alone you're paired with someone by the teacher. My partner this time was a Thai woman, Orewan, in the city visiting her daughter for a month. She apologized for her poor English. I assured that I was impressed that she could communicate anything, and that when I'm in her shoes in China I can barely say anything intelligible.
Class starts with an overview of the recipes of the day, lots of note-taking. The teacher assigns different dishes to the teams, and then we quickly delineate responsibilities and get going. The teacher gives us a time table. There is no time to mess around, and everyone gets to work. Orewan obviously reads English better than she speaks, because she follows instructions perfectly. I feel a little bad that she doesn't comprehend the friendly back and forth with the other team at our table.
We work really hard and I'm in my "zone". Mistakes are made and things have to be re-done.
Every day I learned a lot and had boxes of pastries to share with the hotel staff. Never let it be said that I don't know how to use my pastries. Maybe the front desk would have gotten me a dorm frig really quickly anyway, maybe the concierge would have arranged for a driver to the Bronx on Sat. and been as pleasant about getting me a great ticket to "Hair". Maybe the doormen would have been friendly every time I got back to the hotel anyway. I'm just saying. Pastries can be advantageous hotel currency.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
New York City, 30 years ago
When I was in college, I dated a guy from Brooklyn. He was a street peddler, selling mostly sterling jewelry. Peddling is, and was, restricted to certain areas. However, the prime vending spots, like the Wall St. areas at lunch time, were illegal. The worst that would happen if you were nabbed was a ticket. Errol had a whole stack of them in the glove compartment of his VW Bug. They would only pose a problem if you had to go to court and all those tickets came to light.
Errol's roommate, Frankie, was like the Artful Dodger to me. We would stand on the sidewalk close to each other. The guys were always on the watch for an unmarked NYPD van coming down the block. At that point you would close up your display case, gather your things, and run away. I can remember looking to my right and hearing someone say "Here they come !", then l ooking to my left and Frankie was nowhere to be seen. When I was with Errol, his business was expanded, with a wagon of wool scarves ($5 each, 2 for $9) attached to his primary equipment. My job was to sell scarves, and at the moment of escape, hold on to the wagon from the rear and help steer us to safety.
That's what I remember most from my first visit to New York. That, and "Stop looking up at the buildings. You look like a tourist."
Errol's roommate, Frankie, was like the Artful Dodger to me. We would stand on the sidewalk close to each other. The guys were always on the watch for an unmarked NYPD van coming down the block. At that point you would close up your display case, gather your things, and run away. I can remember looking to my right and hearing someone say "Here they come !", then l ooking to my left and Frankie was nowhere to be seen. When I was with Errol, his business was expanded, with a wagon of wool scarves ($5 each, 2 for $9) attached to his primary equipment. My job was to sell scarves, and at the moment of escape, hold on to the wagon from the rear and help steer us to safety.
That's what I remember most from my first visit to New York. That, and "Stop looking up at the buildings. You look like a tourist."
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Home Now
I got home with no travel glitches. I had a really good visit to Shanghai, and of course it was wonderful to be with Jim. But I am so grateful for the fact that I can look out my window and see green as far as the eye can see, and it's mine, and when the green stops I see blue sky. I see stars at night and I can watch the moon move across the sky. I can use tap water to brush my teeth. The language barrier here is navigable. Driving around Tupelo is stress-free. There are lots of birds in our backyard. Of course, I missed the dogs most of all.
On Mar. 29 I leave for New York, where I'll be going back to culinary school, among other things. I'll do a couple of posts then.
On Mar. 29 I leave for New York, where I'll be going back to culinary school, among other things. I'll do a couple of posts then.
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