Coming Soon

Coming soon:

-An unexpected yet exciting new career path!

-An "I swear upon my sweet lil' kitty's soft white belly" new blog entry every other week!

-Thanksgiving at Bar Americain!

And in the meantime...

-Why is it that I forgive Ethan Hawke for leaving Uma Thurman, but not Billy Crudup for leaving Mary-Louise Parker (I mean hello, Fried Green Tomatoes? Proof? Weeds?)? I oohed at the former and booed at the latter (in spite of the latter's applause-worthy monologues) during part one of The Coast of Utopia this past weekend.

-How much do I love Veselka's hot and cold borscht, stuffed veggie cabbage, and cheese or potato perogies, plus catching up with my former roommate? The service, I don't love so much, but the food, it makes up for it.

-The new Compass restaurant: no more deluxe red dining booths to splurge in with your NYC BFF before you break up with your boyfriend (who you'll get back together with a few months later and eventually move in with, but you don't know that then) a complex (overly fussy?), whimsical menu, plus a big bang for your prix-fix buck.

More soon, and happy Thanksgiving!

Vacation Degustation Part Deux

Friday, September 15

My Grandma Flo -- yes I really do have a Grandma Flo(rence) -- has kept a silver dish full of M&Ms on her living room coffee table for as long as I remember. Everytime I visit her, I take one step in the door and am swooped up in her warm, strong, powdered embrace. Then I tell her I need to get some of my "medicine."

11:00 a.m. M&Ms in hand, I retired with Grandma, who in her heyday was quite the looker and had a ricocheting laugh you could hear from several blocks away, to her den. We talked about how her parents, my Great-Grandma Rose and Great-Grandpa Dave, met in Prospect Park in Brooklyn. Grandma was born in New Jersey but lived in Florida before moving to Charleston, so her accent is a subtle mix of New Yawk speak and Southern drawl, peppered with Yiddish. She practiced the stories she'd tell about my Dad as a mischievous young'n at the surprise 60th birthday party that my Aunt and I had been feverishly planning for him.

2 p.m. Over a lunch of salmon and fried green tomato sandwiches at the Mustard Seed Cafe with Dad, my worry that he suspected something about the surprise party helped take my mind off my 10-year high school reunion that was to start in a few hours. The reunion provided a perfect cover for coming to Charleston for the weekend, although Dad asked repeatedly why Jon was coming in just for 24 hours and was missing half of the reunion.

Saturday, September 16

Noon: Jon arrived in Charleston exclaiming (as I knew he would) about the candy apples at Rocky Mountain Fudge, and we proceeded to the James Island County Park for part two of the reunion. The previous night consisted of cocktails and appetizers on a restaurant back porch, and was fun and relaxed. One girl in particular looked so good that people didn't recognize her, which, from watching movies like "Romy and Michelle," I thought was the opposite of what's supposed to happen. Not as many people as I'd expected are married with kids and living two houses down from their childhood homes, and people are doing interesting things too, from teaching ballroom dancing to building cabinets.

1 p.m. Jon had been disappointed that we weren't going to have time for his favorite Charleston fast food, BBQ from Melvin's, but as I had secretly suspected, the reunion committee read his mind and the afternoon in the park was catered by Melvin's. Before I came along, my Jersey boy had never tasted BBQ southern style. Melvin's uses an "Original Secret Sauce," which is mustard-based. Mustard is common in South Carolina BBQ, but I never knew why...

According to the South Carolina Barbeque Association, there are four styles of BBQ: vinegar and pepper, light tomato, heavy tomato, and mustard. South Carolina is the only state that is known for serving all four types. The mustard style is most commonly associated with South Carolina due to, who knew, S.C.'s German heritage. Apparently in the 1700s, the Brits in S.C. recruited German families to live there, and the mustard sauce can be traced directly to those settlers.

10 p.m. Like good Southerners, we ended our day at a friend's house listening to the screams over the Clemson/Carolina football game and rubbing our overstuffed bellies.

Coming up in Part Trois: My Dad gets the surprise of a lifetime.

Guilt Interlude

Gosh, I have absolutely positively not much of an excuse for not having posted parts II and III of my culinary adventures in Charleston, and I still will. I swear on the soft little head of my I-have-a-new-fun-for-mommy-habit-of-peeing-on-the-bathroom-floor cat that I will. Soon.

In the meantime...

Garlic and Sapphires by Ruth Reichl and But Enough About Me: A Jersey Girl's Unlikely Adventures Among the Absurdly Famous by Jancee Dunn: read it

"Veronica Mars" season three: watch it

"Half Nelson": see it

EastVillageRadio.com: listen to it

The Red Hook Ball Fields at the corner of Clinton and Bay Sts. in Brooklyn. The Times recommends: huarache or quesadilla with pork or chorizo; Honduran tacos with beans and cheese or with grilled steak; ceviche mixto; pupusas with beans and cheese; and chicken tamales, through the end of October; Annie Leibowitz exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum, opens October 20th: go to it

Clam dip and miniature heirlooms from the Union Square Farmer's Market; bento boxes at Sapa; and limencello purchases and wine tastings at the relocated Astor Wines & Spirits: eat and drink it

Vacation Degustation Part Un

Thursday, September 14

7:30 a.m. Wolfed a Newman's Own "O," an Oreo-like cookie, while stressing over last touches on freelance story on maintaining a healthy weight. Maintaining many "Oreos" on a plate was a necessity for me during the writing of said story. I like the smell of chocolate-coated irony in the morning.

10:30 a.m. Shooing all thoughts of Morgan Spurlock away, or so I thought, at La Guardia I ordered a sausage and egg biscuit from McDonald's. The first bite was soggy yet flavorful, and the sausage reminded me of the Saturday morning fast food syrup-coated pancake and sausage breakfasts of my youth. A few bites later, and getting more disgusted by the minute, I began to wonder from what exactly that extra crispy crunch of the sandwich sprung. Then, Morgan Spurlock apparated in front of me. I looked around to see if I was dreaming. Everyone else in the airport continued reading their papers and talking on their cells, but they were New Yorkers, aka primed to ignore the outrageous. With Morgan at my side, I declared aloud that I’d never eat McD’s again (not even a chocolate sundae), and tossed the remnants of my food into the trash as I walked back to the food court for a Luna bar and a Volvic. I also got Jon a German Chocolate Cake lollipop.

3:00 p.m. Having missed my connection from Charlotte to Charleston (to my dismay, Morgan opted to stay in New York), I sidled up to a bar stool and ordered a spicy Bloody Mary. Bloody hell, I thought, if I am going to have to spend yet another precious vacation day stuck in the airport, I might as well enjoy myself. Damn terrorists. I ate my leftover plane pretzels as extra consolation. Then I explored the Charlotte airport. Wonder of wonders, not only does it have rocking chairs, a business center, a live piano player, cheeky moving sidewalks, and nice light, it also has Brookwood Farms BBQ, Rocky Mountain Fudge, the Yadkin Valley Wine Bar, and Yovana, some new kind of yogurt shop from the folks at TCBY. I left Jon a gleeful message about the German Chocolate covered apples at the fudge shop and sampled the peanut butter fudge.

6:30 p.m. All week I'd been looking forward to dinner with my dad at G&M upon my arrival in Charleston. I would have had a glass of sauvignon blanc, the best gazpacho in my world, and a toasted croissant smothered in goat cheese. I've been ordering the latter two there since I was in high school. I blame the damn terrorists for instead forcing me to order a Bean Burrito and a 7-Layer Burrito at Taco Bell. As I did, I silently apologized once more to Morgan. But I didn't feel too bad: I didn't want to risk missing one moment of 36 Views, the lovely, unusual play that's currently in production at Charleston's Pure Theatre, which was directed by one BFF, Dana, and stars another, Matt.

12:00 a.m. Matt and I threw what little caution was left to the culinary wind, and split a double order of smothered and diced hash browns and nursed decafs at Waffle House.

Despite my early morning, bad food, late flight, and missing luggage, it was good to be home.

Coming up in Part Deux: Gazpacho and croissants aren't the only things that take me back to high school. Find out what I ate at my 10-year high school reunion.

Date Night

It was a dark and stormy night (a Friday in New York City, to be precise) on which even Edward George Bulwer-Lytton would have stayed in; the weather down South had blown wind and cats and dogs of rain up the coast, and street trash sped across a mostly deserted Houston Street like it too wanted to evacuate for the last weekend of the summer.

As Jon and I hurried to our favorite dive bar, we reminisced about our first time there, which was a month or so after we met. The dive is next door west of Nolita House, and I do not know its name, nor do I want to. The name has been a mystery to me for the last 5+ years, and I'm happy for it to stay that way so that we can continue to call it just, "our dive bar."

After playing a rousing game of we've-got-the-whole-back-room-to-ourselves musical chairs, Jon and I settled into a stiff-backed leather banquette. He with his preferred Sierra Nevada Pale Ale draft, and me with my appropriately named Dark & Stormy. When I saw it on the drink board, I took one glance outside and knew I couldn't resist. The dive's recipe called for rum, fresh squeezed ginger juice, Rose's Lime, a splash of soda, and two slices of lime wedged on the rim. The tartness of the lime juice was enhanced by the ginger's spiciness and both were countered just so by the smooth rum. My dearest took a sip, looked at me like I was a madwoman, and yowled that the drink had burned a hole in his throat. I smiled unsympathetically and noted that I'd like another except it was time for dinner.

While our flavor palates don't always align, they're similar enough that Jon and I could share all of the swoon-worthy pintxos (tapas) during our virgin meal at Bar Carrera. This one-year-old this month bar and dinner spot is next door to and owned by the same smart dude as Bar Veloce, and focuses on Iberian wine, Spanish sherry, and Basque tapas. We ordered all five of the plates that the waiter recommended, which at $3.50 a pop are easily the best deal in the city. As we waited for our food and sipped glasses of red, I admired the lean set-up of the kitchen: there were no empty bottles or adornments for show. Each foodstuff and piece of equipment behind the bar was there to be used, from the small deep fryer for patatas brava, to the olive oils, breads, cheeses, chocolates, and only mildly offensive Serrano ham legs.

Along with the patatas brava, which are served with red-pepper mayo, we had the pan con tomate on grilled brioche topped with olive-oil powder; 80-day aged Serrano (not at all offensive to the taste); crisp yet luscious chorizo sandwich on a honey mustard coated baguette, and the most heavenly slices of juniper glazed pork belly served with white bean puree...you know how the phrase "melt-in-your-mouth" is sometimes used to describe something that is tasty but does more of a crumble-as-you-chew disintegration in your mouth? Well, the pork belly really did melt over my tongue. Oh the delight of the real deal!

I skipped with light food coma delight as we walked home discussing plans to return and order the rest of the menu on a future date night (yay, a second date!). Next time, after I taunt Jon with another Dark & Stormy at our dive, I will also order a glass of Bar C's Txacoli Txomin Etxaniz, a white wine that's traditionally poured from as high as the bartender can arch his arm. The bartender/waiter at Carrera is tall, and boy did that wine look pretty as it toppled into others' glasses.



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I have started writing for a new women's online magazine called Form and Style (formandstyle.com). For the time being, my first story, on women and cooking, is subscription only. If you happen to read it, yes, the description of the fridge's contents was an apt description of mine until the boy and I moved in: condiments, low-fat milk, olives for martinis, a Brita pitcher and some leftovers.

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If you live in or near Charleston, go see 36 Views at Pure Theatre. My BFF Dana directed it and my Matt is in it.

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Crikey. Rest in Peace, Crocodile Hunter.