Bowling Green and Battery Park

If you read yesterdays post about Bowling Green park, I said I would be going there today to remember the historical events that happened 234 years ago. I went, and sat there, among lots of tourists who had no way of knowing that today was important for any other reason than that they got to take a crowded boat to the Statue of Liberty. I tried to get into my "reflecting on historic moments" mindset, but it just wouldn't happen. During the day it is just too full of people and noise to really reflect on anything other than the fact that I really don't like tourists. I'm sure I would like them if they were in their own cities, but for the most part they have no idea that they are missing out on lots of interesting places and things that are right in front of them. To emphasize this, I took a picture:

In the foreground is one of my favorite things in NY, the fence surrounding Bowling Green. Like I said in my last post, it was installed in 1773. It is still there. But do the tourists find it at all interesting? I'm sure some do, but most of them want to look at the ugly bull statue as you can see by the group of people standing around it in the background. And it's amusing that there is a British flag flying alongside the American flag. Considering the reason I went there today was to remember when Washington's troops tore down a statue of the King of England.

Here are some other things that have changed. I posted this painting yesterday and took a picture today that is in the same place more or less. What a difference. I can't complain that it's different but it's interesting to see what has changed. Here is another one, which shows that most of Battery Park is landfill.

Herman Melville wrote of this area in Moby Dick;

"Right and left, the streets take you waterward. Its extreme down-town is the Battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of land. Look at the crowds of water-gazers there."

I looked at them. They were all waiting in lines for things. There was a man wearing an umbrella hat playing steel drums and another man holding a radio playing music and expecting tips. And hundreds of people selling photos of famous New York attractions, or caricatures or Jonas Brothers pictures. I sat and watched people until it got too hot and I went back to Bowling Green and sat in the shade for a while till it was time to go. I watched a whole group of tourists walk through the park, not even noticing the plaque out front telling about the fence and the park. They walked directly to the bull.

I could go on for days about comparing the bull to the statue of the King that was torn down 234 years ago today, and say things about the government and the economy but I already typed it all and read it and I sounded too preachy so I deleted it. You're welcome.

So I'll leave you all with a Melville fact. He worked at the Customs House for years, which is directly across from Bowling Green. I bet he used to sit there on his lunch break. Here is a picture of the building, which is now a Native American museum.

There were no stinky nerds wearing 18th century military dress. I was the only stinky nerd. I had a nice day walking around and I hope the next time I go there it will be 3 a.m. which is my favorite time to hang out in the financial district. Because I'm the only one there. And maybe some ghosts.

Happy July 9th everyone.

The History of Tomorrow

I am an over-zealous blogger today. But it's too hot to do anything else.

Tomorrow I'm going to take myself on a field trip to my favorite park. I'm going to sit in the park and think about history because I'm a nerd. Let me tell you why. (Why I'm going to the park, not why I'm a nerd. That's a secret.)

The park I'm going to is called Bowling Green. It's the oldest park in New York and probably the smallest. You may know it because it has that really ugly statue of the Wall Street Bull which I visited a while back at 3a.m. for a quick ride:

Here is some background on the park, with a little help from Wikipedia. It is the original site of the Dutch fort of New Amsterdam and it served as cattle market between 1638 and 1647 and parade ground. In 1675, the Common Council designated the "plaine afore the forte" for an annual market of "graine, cattle and other produce of the country". In 1677 the city's first public well was dug in front of the old fort at Bowling Green. In 1733, the Common Council leased a portion of the parade grounds to three prominent neighboring landlords for a peppercorn a year, upon their promise to create a park that would be "the delight of the Inhabitants of the City" and add to its "Beauty and Ornament"; the improvements were to include a "bowling green" with "walks therein". The surrounding streets were not paved with cobblestones until 1744.

I really like the part about how it was leased for a peppercorn a year. I'm guessing they really didn't need the peppercorn, it was more of a formality. Kind of like the commercials where they tell you to lease a car and only put a penny down.

Anyhoo, the park was the delight of the inhabitants of the city, where they would go and push hoops around with sticks and other early American forms of entertainment. Maybe some of them would sit in the park and drink their flagons of ale and view the 4,000 pound gilded lead statue of King George III which had been erected in August 1770.

People didn't like this statue very much. In 1773 the city had to pass anti-graffiti laws and installed a cast-iron fence, (which is still there today and my favorite part of the park.)

Then on July 9, 1776, after the Declaration of Independence was read to Washington's troops at the current site of City Hall, (which is about a 5-10 minute walk away) the local Sons of Liberty rushed down Broadway to Bowling Green, where they knocked over the statue. and ripped off the cast-iron crowns that topped sections of the surrounding fence as well. Here my friend Wiki helps me with the description.

According to folklore, the statue was chopped up and shipped to a Connecticut foundry to be made into 42,088 patriot bullets-at 20 bullets per pound (2,104.4 pounds). The statue's head was to have been paraded about town on pike-staffs-but was recovered by Loyalists and sent to England. Six pieces of the lead statue are preserved in the New-York Historical Society; one in the Museum of the City of New York as well as two in Connecticut (estimated total of 260/270 pounds); The event has been depicted over the years in several works of art, including an 1854 painting by William Walcutt and a 1859 painting by Johannes Adam Simon Oertel.

So tomorrow, July 9th 2010 I'm going to go sit in that park and think about what happened there 234 years ago. Surprisingly (or not?) the parks department has no event planned to commemorate this anniversary, which is apparently less important than events such as "Hip Hop Kids Secret Agent 23 Skidoo" (???) and Swedish Cottage Marionette Theatre. If anyone reading this post would like to join me in my sitting and thinking about history, you're more than welcome. If my printer wasn't out of ink I was going to make little pamphlets to hand out so other people know why it's an important day.

I was wondering if anyone else would go there tomorrow because of the anniversary and I imagine that if anyone does, it will be really nerdy people dressed in 18th century military uniform and I will have to avoid them and their body odor. And whatever concoction of Old English and New York accent they come up with to sound "authentic" (which is always about as unauthentic as you can get if my experience of historic role-players serves me correctly.)

I'll post what happens tomorrow when I get home. Hopefully sans stinky nerds.

Why can't we all just get along?

I decided to check out meetup.com because I have no one to hang out with and I thought maybe I could find a group near me that would have some people with similar interests so I could make some friends. I hoped maybe there was something for people who liked nature, since we have a huge park here that is mostly woods, or maybe something for couples so Mike and I could make some new friends. Apparently not.

Now as you may know, I'm not racist. I don't care what race people are. If they act stupid it's not because of their race, it's because they are stupid. So don't get mad when you read me complaining about this.

I would say 80% of the meetup groups are for specific races only. I'm not just imagining that, because they have names like, "P.S. African- American & Latino Literati Salon", "MCCC - Married Christian Couples of Color", "Black,Thirty-Something, and Fabulous!", "The N.Y. People Of Color Genealogy Meetup Group", "Black Women of A Certain Age, NY Vicinity", "The African-American & Latino Literary Salon Meetup Group", "Arabs and Jews friendship", "BLACKANOMICS - NEW YORK", "New York City Brazilians and Brazilian Culture Meetup", "NYC Modern Orthodox Jewish Singles Club 30's-50's", "NYC Puerto Rican Culture", and on and on. A majority of the others are religious, which I guess is a little better because you choose what religion you are, so I could technically become Jewish and go to the Arabs and Jews friendship group. But I'm not going to.

So it got me thinking again, as I have in the past, about this phenomenon of every race except for white people being allowed to discriminate against other people. Usually white. And here is my point: If white people had groups named "White, Thirty-something and Fabulous!" we would get the crap beat out of us and be called white supremacists or Nazis. My favorite is "Whiteanomics - New York". What would that even mean? What does Blackanomics mean? Why are other races allowed to discriminate against white people? The first time I thought about this was while watching BET. Was I not supposed to be watching it? One may argue that every other channel is mostly white people, which is the case. I agree that there aren't really too many people on TV who aren't white. But it's not because white people don't want them to be. What would happen if white people made a channel only showing shows made by white people, with white actors, and wouldn't let anyone else on the shows? Again, they would be criticized or worse. Whats with this deliberate segregation? For so long, people of different races and colors wanted to be equal. And now that we all have the same rights, we have started separating ourselves, but in a different way.

If we are not supposed to discriminate against people, why are people still doing it? In this case that I'm bringing up, it's reversed, and I'm glad that we can all use the same drinking fountains and doors and bathrooms and go to the same schools. I have never even thought about race as much as I have since looking at these meetup groups. It bothers me that I am. I just don't understand why, a girl such as myself who would enjoy the company of these 30 something and fabulous women, would not be allowed to because of my skin color. Maybe they're just stickin' it to me. I certainly wouldn't join a group that only allowed white people.

I do understand that there is still discrimination in many areas of the United States and that is sad. But this is New York. Probably the most diverse city in the United States, if not the world. Everyone who came here is from somewhere else. Here are the stats:

White (non-Hispanic) 35%

Black 28%
Hispanic (any race) 27%
Asian 10%

As compared to the entire U.S:

White (non-Hispanic) 67%

Black 12%
Hispanic (any race) 11%
Asian 4%

If there is any city where people are equal, it should be New York. Our percentages are very close, and out living proximity is even closer. I'm pretty sure in my building alone there are people from at least 10 different countries, probably more.

Where am I going with this? Don't ask me. It's kind of a question that can't be answered. Not by me at least. I don't know why it's OK for anyone to discriminate against anyone else. White against Black, Black against White against Hispanic against Jewish against Arab etc. Whats the point? Let me and Wikipedia break it down for you into some bad-ass science:

In humans, melanin is the primary determinant of human skin color and also found in hair, the pigmented tissue underlying the iris, the medulla and zona reticularis of the adrenal gland, the stria vascularis of the inner ear, and in pigment-bearing neurons within areas of the brain stem, such as the locus coeruleus and the substantia nigra.


Dermal melanin is produced by melanocytes, which are found in the stratum basale of the epidermis. Although human beings generally possess a similar concentration of melanocytes in their skin, the melanocytes in some individuals and ethnic groups more frequently or less frequently express the melanin-producing genes, thereby conferring a greater or lesser concentration of skin melanin.

And that is how it all began. Sure, we're from different parts of the world and we all have different ways of doing things, different music, dancing, holidays, religions, and beliefs. But that's just because people are different. When we all began our long journey from what is now Eastern Africa, we all looked the same. Hairy and naked. It was only because of our environments that our skin colors changed, but as the groups separated, so did their beliefs and ways of doing things. I know this is a very simple explanation of millions of years, and that there is no way of ever fully understanding another person even if you accept them completely.
 
If we can't get along completely, here is what I propose: You know how some very well known black comedians make fun of white people? I think that is hilarious. We are a pretty ridiculous group of people. We take ourselves too seriously. We never really let loose. We can't dance very well. We're awkward. These comedians also make fun of black people. They make fun of everyone indiscriminately. I say, instead of everyone inwardly thinking about the things they don't like about other people, why don't we just make fun of them in a friendly joking manner? If you can laugh at yourself, this could be a great way to make new friends and not worry about offending anyone. I'm not a fan of political correctness. It makes for lame conversation, not very funny jokes, and a lot of inhibited feelings that could otherwise be brought out and resolved. I propose that we all start making fun of each other. Why not?

Seeing as I've already gone on way too long about this, I'll leave you with a picture that will remind everyone that we're all ridiculous and there's nothing wrong with laughing at yourself or anyone else who does something funny. Even if they're making fun of how you talk or what you look like.

Lessons of Literature

After living in Tucson for so long, living in New York is like being thrown into some strange carnival with different food smells, different music, and lots of strange people walking around. I like to watch people and I got to do a lot of that over the last week. I was also reading Herman Melville's biography because I'm a little obsessed with him and I had lots of time on the train to lose myself in words and personal reflection. There was one part that really struck me. It was about Ishmael meeting his soon-to-be best pal, till death do they part, and I had been thinking about how we perceive other people and how they might see us. When Ishmael first meets Queequeg, he is shocked by his appearance. Face tattoos have and always will be something I think of when questioning the character of a person. In Queequegs case, it was a custom of his tribe and not some idiotic youth fuelled rebellion against parents who hate face tattoos. Ishmael at first is afraid of him because of the strange rituals he has, and the ways in which he does things that are not the way ol' Ishy would do them. Of course, we are all human (maybe) so there is always something we have in common, but initially I tend to be wary of anyone I don't know or anyone whose character seems superior or assholey. Or has face tattoos.

In my own recent experience with other cultures that I have not been familiarized with, I've noticed a strange phenomenon among older Chinese men. I was in chinatown for 40 hours last week staring out a window. Sometimes I would stand outside. In those few minutes I would spend outside, countless older Chinese men would blatantly stare at me, even keeping their head turned toward me once they had passed. And this wasn't a "check-out". It was like they were sending me evil eyeball rays of hatred. Had I offended them in some way? I was dressed in business attire, so it couldn't have been my clothes. Did they think I was one of the young Americans living in the overpriced luxury apartment building towering over their neighborhood? I don't know. I wouldn't blame them for not wanting their neighborhood becoming something other than it is. But I didn't quite understand the evil death ray eyes. And as strange as it is, I don't have any friends from farther east than Moscow so I can't ask what I did wrong.

Melville comparison:
Fortunately for Ishy, Queequeg is a very nice guy. They have to sleep in the same bed so it's a good thing. One part of Moby Dick that really made me think was when Qq and Ishy are sitting by the fire, and they have been in each others company for only about a day, this happens:

"If there yet lurked any ice of indifference towards me in the Pagan's breast, this pleasant, genial smoke we had, soon thawed it out, and left us cronies. He seemed to take to me quite as naturally and unbiddenly as I to him; and when out smoke was over, he pressed his forehead against mine, clasped me round the waist, and said that henceforth we were married; meaning, in his country's phrase, that we were bosom friends; he would gladly die for me, if need should be. In a countryman, this sudden flame of friendship would have seemed far too premature, a thing to be much distrusted; but in this simple savage those old rules would not apply."

It made me wish that people were less what we have become. We don't trust anyone, and to die for someone would be out of the question. It's hard to make friends, especially ones you can trust, who would help you even if it was inconvenient for them. Those who would are friends who have been around for years, not only a few days.

There is nothing I can do to make people change, but if everyone would care about their fellow humans to even a tiny degree, the world would be better. I'm not trying to be miss America with some world peace crap. I just wish that more people would consider other people when doing the things they do.

I guess I will never know why people in chinatown stare at me or why people in my neighborhood want to steal my wallet, but I know that when I get the chance, I always treat people with respect. I smile at people who look at me, and give leftovers to homeless people who would probably rather I give them beer. And I've done that too. I'm too nice. But, if I want people to treat each other well, I have to make an example. So I will continue to care about people. Let's all take an example from Qq and be friends with people. Just don't get any face tattoos.

Quiet and why I currently appreciate it.

It is very quiet right now. I don't think I have ever appreciated the quiet as much as I do since moving to NY. Quiet in Tucson was still just a little noisy, especially where I lived, right next to a train track. I don't mind train noise though, but here there is noise. Noise you wouldn't believe. Since spending a few days in the ol' Manhattan I've had noise overload without even noticing it. Mostly honking, yelling, cars, sirens, kids screaming, etc. It makes me glad for once that I live up here, at the very end of the city. It's loud during the day, but at night it's quiet. There aren't any drunk young people yelling because young people who move to NY don't move to the Bronx. That's cool with me.

I've been working at the front desk of an upscale apartment building in Chinatown that is mostly filled with people my age. The men wear suits and the women look like they want to be models but I'm pretty sure their dads pay their rent. They can't be models. Some of the people are really nice. One couple just moved in today and brought me a cupcake because I was nice to them. Isn't that my job? Well, I was nicer to them than the fake models. The fake models treat me like some kind of lower life form so I treat them like what they are. Fake models. I let them think I'm dumb and they're in charge. It feels good to know that my apartment is five times larger than theirs and we pay five times less. I don't really care about their apartment, but I like to think about things I would tell them if I weren't being payed to be nice to them. I try to make small talk with them and I don't know if they think they're too good to talk to me, or if they don't understand what I'm saying. Maybe their over-priced clothing has some kind of intelligence deterrent.

The connection between these things is that I'm really glad to not have to listen to anything or smile at people who think they are better than me. I like the quiet. It's really nice to enjoy it after hours of hearing people thank me for pushing a button to let them into their own apartment building. Apparently people who pay for over-priced apartments don't know how to use keys. If they want to get in the front door and I'm not there, they have a little thing they wave in front of the lock that unlocks it. Keys are so 2009.

So I'm going to go to bed since it's 2 a.m. and enjoy the quiet. I've got a lot of things I want to write about but they'll have to wait till I'm not tired.

This is how I have to act at work.

To the people who live in my neighborhood

Where I live.

Dear people who live near me,

I know this isn't the best neighborhood. I knew that when I moved here. If we could afford some fancy apartment in Riverdale I don't even know that I would want to live there because the people would probably be really snooty and boring, and I like living somewhere that is interesting and different than other places. But I do have some complaints.

To the guy whose car alarm goes off whenever someone breathes within 30 feet of his car, I'm sure there is some way to fix that. I understand that this isn't the safest place on earth, but at this point, even if someone was breaking into your ugly 1980's sedan, you wouldn't know because it's the 9th time in 3 hours that the alarm has gone off. Do you really go out and look at your car every time the alarm goes off?

To the people who honk incessantly while waiting for whoever they're waiting for to come out of their apartments, twice is enough, and laying on the horn is like announcing, "Hey! I'm a complete asshole who doesn't know how to use a cell phone!" Everyone has a cell phone. My grandparents had a cell phone before I did. People with 25 kids on welfare have a cellphone, and I know those are the people you're honking at, so just call them.

To people who are unaware of personal space, slow walking, and/or meandering on the sidewalk:

Jerome Ave. has a lot of people walking on the sidewalks. Some are trying to get somewhere, some are trying to beat their children in public, some are explaining something to the police, some are shoving their 4th double cheeseburger in their stinky mouth. I am someone who is trying to get somewhere. No one seems to have any clue that there are other people on the sidewalk. I really wouldn't care about having to weave in and out and around people, if they wouldn't glare at me when I brush by them in a hurry. People in Manhattan walk fast. Please, people of the Bronx, learn something from them. It's really not that hard to be considerate of other people.

To people in the grocery store:
1. There is absolutely no extra room in an aisle for me to squeeze around you and your cart. I will wait patiently until you have chosen your item, but when you glare at me because I'm in your way, well, I want to slap you with your giant bottle of soda. Some people are really nice and will apologise for not even being in the way, but most look at me like they wish I was back in some European grocery store where they think I came from.
2. Learn how to raise children. Most kids I see in the store are pretty nice. They are very friendly and considerate. I bet they have great teachers. They just don't know better than to yell things in public, or act inappropriately, because that's what their parents do. And I don't think I've ever seen a kid do anything wrong in the grocery store, but I've seen a lot of parents react as though they had. And I've seen plenty of parents treat their kids like crap for not doing anything but ask for something they like or maybe get a little over-excited. They're kids. Hopefully they will grow up to be much better adults than their parents. Please stop ruining their childhood in front of me.
3. Hey teenage deli guy! It does not take a half an hour to cut a half pound of ham.
4. To the produce department, When you run out of something quickly, it means people like it. Please order more.
5. To the meat department, I don't even want to look at what you have done to what could have been decent food. It is cut wrong. It's all too thin. And expensive. I don't even want to look at what you have. And the goat meat! I can eat cows and chickens fairly easily, but goats? No. Goats are like pets. I know, it's a cultural thing, but I had to say something.

And last but absolutely not least, the "Candy and Beer Store". I love this store. I know the people who work there and they sell me things waaaay cheaper than what other people pay. I bet I could go in there right now and tell them I don't have any money and they would give me what I wanted because they would believe I would pay them tomorrow, which I would. You see, they do this for me because everyone else who goes in there is an asshole. They smoke in the store, they loiter, they try to steal the cat who lives there. They get in the way of people who are trying to pay for things. They speak at decibels that can be heard in space.
And like everyone else I have complained about thus far, they have no idea that other people exist.
So I guess that is the thing that bothers me most about where I live.

I'm going to walk to the candy and beer store now, where I assure you I will be accosted by unpleasant things, but I will know that while I may feel alone in a world of people who don't notice that I exist, at least 5 people will read this and understand.

Food

When I started writing this blog again, I was considering making it a food blog because that seems to be what I'm most obsessed with, besides beer and cats. (Both of which might be considered food.) But I decided against it when I realized that there are lots of people writing about food, most of which have more experience with it than I do. These people work at restaurants, or make things that I generally have no interest in cooking myself. (Who has time or reason to make their own cheese?) I don't consider myself a food snob since I love simple foods like a cheese pizza or the occasional fast food hamburger. Food snobbery makes great tasting things seem inaccessible to regular folk, but that's just because theses recipes take pride in too many ingredients, strange technique, or kitchenware you can only buy in the country where the dish originated. Do I have a store within an hour of here where I could buy a sharkskin wasabi grater? Probably. Do I need one? No. But they tell me I must have one because it grates the wasabi so much better than anything else. But I don't make my own sushi. I did once, and it was good. But I would rather leave it to the professionals, who can make multiple types, which taste great, and can deliver it to my door for the same price that it cost me to make 2 rolls. If you are thinking that I'm saying, "Don't try to cook things that are difficult" you're wrong. There is nothing I love more than cooking something that takes forever, takes skill, or takes a few beers to get careless enough to try something really different. But I also don't like to spend too much to make it.

Recipes. I think of them as the sheet music of cooking. (Sheet music I can actually read). But as far as my every-day cooking goes, I don't use them. That's how I play piano. I never read music, I just look over the chords and wing it. I play by ear and I cook by taste. I've been told that playing music by ear is a talent most people don't have, and I think that cooking without a recipe is also a talent, but one that is easier to learn than looking at "F#m7" and knowing what piano keys to put your fingers on. If people concentrate on ingredients of foods they like, and know what those ingredients taste like separately, they can combine them (I'm gonna be cheesy here) in a symphony of flavor! Example: I know that I love balsamic vinegar. You can't go wrong with balsamic. I know I find chicken to be pretty flavorless (maybe just Bronx chicken) and I know that when you put balsamic vinegar on something hot, its water evaporates and you are left with a kind of glaze. Put it on chicken while its grilling? You get balsamic glazed chicken. Throw that on some good Italian bread with mozzarella and roasted red peppers and you have a great sandwich. Do you need to search through recipes to make it? No. It's science mixed with common sense.
I'm going on and on about this because I just spent 5 hours going through cookbooks, Saveur magazine, and websites trying to find some recipe that would impress Mike. I got so frustrated thinking of all the pans I would have to wash, the tools I don't own yet, and the grocery list that would make it impossible for me to make it up five flights of stairs with the bags, that I decided to go with one of his favorites, the aforementioned sandwich, which has all of 5 ingredients. Match that with some cheap wine and an easy brownie mix for dessert, and I have a happy boyfriend. And I'm happy because while I'm writing this I'm enjoying the cheap wine.
Back to cookbooks.
I have lots of cookbooks, and food magazines, and I watch food shows constantly. I think, "Wow! I'm gonna make that Tom Yum Goong!" It's the initial excitement that soon wears off when I realize that I really don't want to run all over Manhattan to find ingredients for some Thai recipe that calls for 1.Galangal (??) 2.Kaffir Lime Leaves, 3.Prik Pao. If I lived in a Thai neighborhood? Sure. But the Bronx ain't no Thai neighborhood.

Another affliction that I'm, uh, afflicted with, is my lack of "food heritage". Mike is Italian, French, and Irish. He loves Italian food. He can drink like the Irish, and (Ahem) loves like the French. (Sorry mom.) I, on the other hand, while very mutt-like, have a family that didn't retain its national heritage or its food. My dads side is Croatian and Polish, and the only things we retained from those regions are good looks, olive skin, and great legs. My moms side has been in the U.S. for hundreds of years. The things I consider to be my food heritage (mom side) are beans and cornbread, pie, and various meats. Very American. And tasty. My dad is a good cook and always had me cooking something with him for dinner. We would grill everything. Meat, fish, vegetables, pizza, anything that could be grilled was grilled. That's why I have a hard time with this whole apartment living thing. I grew up in a grill based world. And I'm really glad for it because It's tasty and healthier than, say, poaching your fish in butter or something. And it takes skill to get a steak just right, a skill which I pride myself on. Speaking of food heritage, the last time I was visiting my dad in L.A. I was telling him some things I like to make. I said, "One of my favorite things I made recently was chicken with a Chile Verde sauce. You know, tomatillos." He gave me a strange look and said, "I never taught you how to use tomatillos!" Like he was upset that I have my own food brain. It was funny, and I came to realize that a lot of my favorite ingredients like bell peppers and chorizo, are not things he would ever make. I've grown up, I guess, into my own food-person.
One thing I have not grown into, however, is the use of fruit with meat. It's everywhere, and it's popular among the high-end types, carrying their Dolce and Gabbana bags, (55 gallon $2000 dog crates) and "lunching" at places I could only dream of affording. I love a fancy restaurant as much as the next girl, but I don't want my sauteed pork cutlet on a bed of seared figs and some kind of reduction. Separate? Sure! Applesauce with my pork? No problemo. But uppity food is as unappealing to me as uppity people. Plus I know that a bugs favorite place to have sex and lay its eggs is on figs. It's true. Ask the USDA.

Anecdote:
My friend Brian and I used to talk about the finer restaurants in L.A. and began referring to their "plating technique" as "Tall Food". They pile everything up in the middle of the plate to create a sort of tower. Some gratin-type thing at the bottom, 3 asparagus tips as a kind of foundation, 2 ounces of a fancy meat, and some micro greens at the top. Want to impress your mother? Tall Food. Then take her out for a hamburger so she's not still hungry.

Am I too negative about food? I go back and forth between wanting cheese pizza and wanting something ridiculously expensive or high-end. If I was rich, I might not be so negative about the fancier things. If I was rich, I would have a platter of oysters sitting here by the computer to eat at my leisure. I would sear fois gras in the salty tears of the sturgeon who's eggs I would be eating on toast points. I picture myself laughing hysterically during all of this.

On a lighter note, It's time to start making dinner for my Italian Frenchman who should be home soon. He's going to be glad that we're having those balsamic chicken sandwiches with mozzarella and red peppers, and not apricot prune stuffed pork medallions with a pomegranate reduction atop a poached quail egg. I'll be glad too. Not because I wouldn't want to make the fancy crap, but I've been drinking that cheap wine and I don't know that I could poach an egg right now.

Girl on Grill

Last night I was cooking dinner and started thinking about some of the differences between NY and Tucson. There are lots, and for the most part the differences are better in NY. Like not having to drive and all the cost that goes along with it, being able to walk places, Seasons, and people who read. There is one thing though, that I will never enjoy. I can't grill. I don't have any outdoor space of my own. The last year in Tucson every meal I made with the exception of 3 was cooked on my grill. I am not a big fan of indoor-meat. Have you ever had a steak cooked in a pan? Its terrible. It gets that dull brown color and tastes like dead animal. When you grill something it comes to life! The meat gets some black parts, some deep brown parts, some bloody parts, and lots of the fat you're not supposed to want drips off and makes even better "fat smoke" that leaves a tasty flavor on yer meat. Oh how I miss grilling.

But there was one solution... Mike bought me this grill pan which is wonderful in every way other than not leaving any tasty charcoal smoke on food and I suppose thats healthier. It's also hard to clean. Actually, my burgers are better on this thing than any I cooked outdoors. (Probably because I can control the flames under it with a knob, and I clean it.) I further realized how convenient the grill pan is when I looked outside this morning...

This is the lonesome grill I can see out my bedroom window, living behind the building with no one using it. It makes me sad. I'm guessing someone who lives on the 1st floor gets back there by going out their window since it's otherwise blocked off. I took this picture a few hours ago, and to emphasize my point, there are footprints that look like maybe lastnight someone walked toward the grill, realized it was too cold to cook outside, and walked back without even giving it a friendly pat on its lid.

New York is not a grill-friendly city unless you live upstate or are fancy enough to have your own backyard. That is why I continue to talk about how someday we have to move to Yonkers or some place where I can grill and plant tomatoes and herbs and other things that don't taste as good when you buy them at a crappy grocery store in Crown Heights. Maybe someday I'll get my wish. Until then, the grill pan will do.

Just for humor, a picture I took when we lived in AZ---->>>>

We didn't have any big marshmallows.