We Live ONE BLOCK Away From This…
You know the only thing more long-overdue than this blog post? Us finally becoming members of the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens. We live, literally, ONE BLOCK from the BBG, so it is a travesty that we have yet to join. Well, as a birthday present to Threads, I bought us a membership, so now we can go whenever we please. We are already planning picnics. This was a great time to join, too, as the cherry blossoms are currently in full bloom, and are amazing. Friday, after Threads got home from class and I got home from work, I grabbed my camera and we ran over to the BBG to soak in the cherry-colored goodness. It was beautifully overcast, which made for some serious OMG-style light for my trusty Sigma 50mm.
And then, of course, there were the people. The BBG was packed this Friday, which offered some amazing people-watching opportunities.
These two were cute as a button, which made me feel like less of a creep sneaking up behind them with a camera…
Not only was the BBG packed, it was packed with photographers. Well, mostly people with cameras, but also some serious-as-hell photographers, including this cute older Japanese couple. They were packing some serious gear, both film and digital, and I stalked them for a little while, too.
I know making the distinction between “photographers” and “people with cameras” may seem slightly pretentious. As a defense, I offer Exhibit A:
“Back up! Back up! No, closer! Yeah, stick your head between those flowers! Yeah, that’s it, hold one next to your head!”
Congratulations, you made it through a pretty long blog post. As a gift, you get this guy:
SNOW!
It’s snowing again today. Not too much; it’s not even sticking, but it reminded me to post photos from our epic snow adventure on Jan 21. We were actually supposed to head out of the city that weekend to visit friends. We knew it was going to snow, but didn’t realize it was serious until our Connecticutian (is that right?) friend cancelled, because the snow was too bad to drive. We woke up Saturday morning (deliciously late since we didn’t have to catch the train anymore) and pulled back the curtains to reveal a winter wonderland! We immediately (meaning a few hours later, after we lounged around, cooked, and ate a leisurely brunch) ran outside.
Properly bundled and layered, of course.
Winter boot-clad, we headed towards Prospect Park.
Past the Brooklyn Museum, and the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens…
Past Grand Army Plaza, and into the park!
The park was absolutely full of people enjoying the snow. Kids were hurtling down the hills on any piece of plastic they could get their hands on. We learned quickly that those plastic devices have no steering mechanism of any kind, and walking along the bottom of a hill was like passing through a gauntlet of speeding children.
Dogs were out playing, too, and we spotted three distinct snow reactions:
- Oblivious Dog: completely unaware that anything has changed.
- Holy Crap What Is Going On Dog: usually high-stepping like a cat in shallow water, or planted on the ground, not wanting to go anywhere near more of that crazy cold white stuff.
- OMG THIS IS AWESOME Dog: The best kind, as you can guess. These dogs were all about the snow. They jumped and ran and played and chased each other and dug and had a grand old time.
I have no dog pictures for you, though. Sorry. But here is Threads in a tunnel!
Once our feet turned completely numb, we headed out to wander the neighborhood and find something warm to drink.
We decided to use this opportunity to hit up a place we had been wanting to try for a while: Der Kommissar. If you know us, you probably know we love German food. So far, it has been a little bit hard to find in New York, and then I discovered Der Kommissar. It is modeled after an Austrian Würstelstand. Don’t know what that is? Don’t worry, we didn’t either. Apparently, Würstelstands are an Austrian institution, a small bar offering up street food in the form of sausages. Der Kommissar has a bunch to choose from, a few different sampler plates, some great sides including sauerkraut, a bunch of beers on tap, and schnapps. It was quiet when we rolled in, and Hellraiser was on the big projection screen (don’t ask, we didn’t). We ordered two beers and the three-sausage sampler platter, choosing weisswurst, kasekrainer, and debreziner. The weisswurst was semi-bland, with a spongy texture (the waitress warned us - we didn’t listen), and the kasekrainer was delicious, with little tiny bursts of cheese in every bite. The third one was good too, but I don’t remember exactly what it tasted like. It’s not on the regular menu, so sue us. The sausages came surrounded by sauerkraut, potato salad, pickles and peppers, and various mustards and sauces, all equally delicious and fun to pair in different combos with the different sausages. After we demolished the entire plate, the waitress yelled, “SHOTS!” and before we knew what was happened, schnaps was pouring into an awesome set of Reservoir Dogs shot glasses. That’s probably why I don’t remember what the third sausage was like anymore.
I guess we weren’t done having fun, because we sure didn’t want to go home yet. We wandered across the street to another bar and got some delicious cocktails, and I took these photos of Threads. I like her laugh. She’s easy on the eyes, no?
Luckily, around then our neighbors/friends (we have friends!) called us up to invite us over, so we booked it to the subway. We drank some more, had a great time, and I told too many stories about my favorite high school Biology teacher/high school football announcer (RIP Mr. Burns, AKA The Mighty Mitochondria, AKA Cilia-The Long Whip-Like Hair, AKA Yellow Hanky on The Field, AKA Moooooove Those Chains, AKA Jack Miller’s BBQ Sauce - You Know Its A Killa When You Cook With Jack Milla, AKA Ice….Cold….Coca-Cola).
All in all, a great Saturday.
Village Wanderings & The Mermaid Inn
Recently we both had a day off and decided to spend it wandering a neighborhood we hadn’t visited: Greenwich Village. It was a sight for sore eyes, full of delicious non-gridness. Right turns, dead ends, obtuse and acute angles (high school geometry woohoo!). The grid is great, the grid is easy, but the grid wears us down. We were so used to the funky angles and old houses of the Marigny, and now we are surrounded by right angles. We needed something refreshing, something old school. Greenwich Village was just the thing. We wandered for a good while, just looking at the houses and trying to get lost. If we hit a major avenue, we turned around and dove back into the chaos. Nowadays, the Village is a pretty hoity-toity neighborhood. Everyone had beautiful window boxes with season-appropriate plantings. They must have their gardener re-plant when the season changes, because everything was full of holly and other wintery plants.
We found a great little bakery/coffee shop and stopped in for some tea AND CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES. Ahem. Sorry.
We stumbled upon a bunch of other great shops, like Murray’s Cheese Shop, which was stinky heaven:
And BookBook, which is a bookstore and is also fun as hell to say. BookBook. BookBook. I picked up a copy of Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian for 8 bucks!
But all of this was just a way to kill time until 5:30. For at 5:30, friends, the oyster happy hour at the Mermaid Inn begins. Maybe it’s homesickness, but we have been craving oysters on the regular ever since we got up here. Too bad they almost always cost at least $2.00 a piece. Yes, $2.00 each. I know, it’s godawful. Luckily, a couple of restaurants do a happy hour with $1.00 oysters. We have been searching those places out like bloodhounds.
So we pile in the door at 5:30 with a bunch of other bivalve-crazed New Yorkers and settle down at a table. The interior is cozy and warm, white walls covered by a fantastic variety of framed photos. We begin munching on some crackers and butter while we look over the menu.
We settled on a dozen East Coast and a dozen West Coast oysters. The East Coasters were Barcats from Chesapeake Bay and the West Coasters were Tree Hills from Victoria, British Columbia.
We dove in, trying them by themselves, then with various mixtures of lemon, horseradish, cocktail sauce, and mignonette. They were bright, salty, meaty, and delicious.
While Threads was in the restroom, I checked in on Facebook with my phone (she hates when I do it at the table), and got a nice surprise: we got a free side dish just for checking in! The deal didn’t apply, unfortunately, to the lobster & truffle mac-n-cheese, so we got some roasted brussel sprouts. And, then we got the mac-n-cheese anyway. Because, seriously, who could resist that? And it was just as amazing as it sounds. As the dish emptied, a few fork battles broke out for the last bites. We aren’t ashamed.
Then, for free, everyone in the restaurant gets a little thing of chocolate pudding for dessert! As if my mind wasn’t blown enough, the waitress dropped a blast from the past onto the table: fortune-telling fish! She was halfway through asking us if we knew how they worked when she saw my face and realized I knew EXACTLY how they worked. I’m not the only one to have seen these before, right? Little thin red plastic fish; you put them in your hand and they curl up from the heat - there’s a guide on the back of the packet describing your future based on which way the fish curls. SO. STINKING. AWESOME. Way to go the extra mile, Mermaid Inn.
Christmas = PIES
In case you didn’t know what we did for Christmas, let me catch you up.
PIES*. Pecan pie and beef pot pie. Yeah, I listed dessert first, so what?
BEHOLD. PIES.
*All pie artistry courtesy of Threads.
That’s a Spicy Meatball!
Sometimes we get a wild hair up our ass to cook something fancy, complicated, or all from scratch with the best ingredients we can find. The catalyst this time was an issue of Saveur, which I picked up because I spied amongst its pages an article about traditional Puerto Rican food.
I had just spent a week at some training for work, where I met a sassy Puerto Rican. When she wasn’t teaching me inappropriate Puerto Rican slang, we were talking about FOOD. Specifically, I wanted her to confirm a legend I had heard of a highway called the Pork Highway. The legend says that there is one highway in Puerto Rico that is lined, for miles, with small open shacks. Within these shacks, dedicated alchemists toil throughout the day, transforming whole hogs into piles of the most amazing roast pork the world has ever seen (except at Cochon). Well, she confirmed the legend as true. And then, like manna from heaven, I found a copy of Saveur at the airport newsstand, within which lay an article detailing all of the island’s culinary delights.
I’m getting off track here. The issue also contained a great article on the history and characteristics of Italian-American food. Featured among the recipes were the meatballs of Di Palo’s in Manhattan. I read the whole article, and I don’t know what it was – maybe the photo of the finished dish - but on the flight back home I decided we had to make those meatballs.
I instantly knew where we were getting the meat for the meatballs (the recipe called for pork, beef, and veal). One thing New York has a surplus of are amazing specialty shops. For one of our grocery trips to Trader Joe’s (Yes, we shop there now. Yes, we are addicted.), I poked around the neighborhood on Google looking for a butcher, and I discovered Paisano’s. All of the 5-star Yelp reviews in the world couldn’t have prepared me for the meaty feast that awaited me inside the door. Every meat product you could imagine, lined up in neat rows beneath a gleaming glass case. And butchers who know their craft. Order a steak - they can tell you how to cook it perfectly. Need a special order? Call ahead, it’ll be ready. I know those may sound like little things to most people, but to someone raised on supermarket butchers - short on staff, product, and knowledge - this place is heaven. THIS is why we moved to New York.
On to the recipe. This is a bit of a departure from our regularly scheduled programming, but I documented the creation of this dish. And we are going to relive it. Hold onto your hats.
How do we get from this…….to this?
Easy. Finely chop 5 cloves of garlic
Brown the garlic a bit in a pot, then add:
1 tbsp. dried parsley
1 tbsp. dried basil
2 28-oz. cans whole peeled tomatoes in juice, crushed
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
Cook for 60 minutes, then add:
¼ cup sugar
And cook for another 20 minutes.
MEANWHILE…
In a bowl, add ⅓ cup shredded provolone
¼ cup finely grated parmesan
¼ cup finely grated pecorino
¾ cup breadcrumbs
Cheat on the cheese, add more if you want. Because it is CHEESE. No more explanation needed.
Add ⅓ cup whole-milk ricotta
3 eggs, lightly beaten
salt and pepper
10 oz. ground pork
5 oz. ground beef chuck
5 oz. ground veal
Mix all of it together (the squishiness is the best part) and form into eight 2½ inch meatballs
Then, the most important part. Turn off some of the lights in the apartment, and take DRAMATIC MEATBALL PHOTOS. Convert to black-and-white for best effect.
Throw them balls in a skillet over medium-high and brown ‘em all over. You’ve gotta be patient and let them sear for a good while before turning them over, or else they will break apart a bit, and then you will have delicious cooked bits of meatball in the pan, which you can then sneak bites of when your girlfriend isn’t looking…
What?
Um, then cook them for about 10 minutes, turning. You’ll probably have to do them in batches, since you have such big balls.
What?
Then, add them to the sauce. Stand over sauce and drool for 30 minutes while they cook.
Next, cook some pasta and take badass photos of it.
Once it has been thirty minutes, let it cook some more. Because, seriously, you can’t go wrong doing that. If the sauce gets too thick, add some water then let the water cook down to “desired consistency”. It’s kind of impossible to screw up.
So, while it is cooking, break off some delicious chunks of Parmagiano-Reggiano that your cool Italian friend brought you, and drizzle some delicious (and surprisingly sweet) balsamic vinegar that your Italian friend brought you over the top of it.
OH, AND WINE. LOTS OF WINE. Serve your pasta up. ADD MORE WINE. TO YOUR MOUTH.
We Need New Goals
We need new goals. This is something we have recently realized after many late-night conversations. Our last goal was so audacious; I think we are still in shock that we achieved it. Threads applied to the best fashion design school in the nation (probably the world, too) and she was accepted. Then, after a lifetime of living in Louisiana and being never more than a 3 hour drive from nearly all of our family and friends, we packed up and moved to New York City.
New York and fashion school had been our goal for a while. Problem was, it was a vague, anything-but-concrete, sometime-in-the-future goal. We were working towards it, but very slowly, as if some future version of ourselves would eventually come along and realize the goal for us. Once we made the decision to stop screwing around and just go for it (we weren’t getting any younger), everything was a whirlwind. With a crazy, downhill rush, our lives snowballed towards New York. We landed here, looked around for a second, and were both immediately swept up into everyday life. Which for Threads, at least, has meant spending almost all of her time at school or elbow-deep in homework projects. We are in a completely new, very exciting place, but we have been mired in work, school, regular chores and activities. Groceries, cooking, laundry, work, homework, sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat. This isn’t to say we aren’t enthralled by New York. We are just in what can be best described as purgatory. Let me (attempt to) explain with a half-baked theory of mine.
As I see it, New York has two parts that I have named: 1) Its texture and 2) its heart. New York’s texture is everything that people from all over the world love about New York. It’s what the songs are written about. The bright lights, the tall buildings, yellow cabs, the subway, noise, people, hustle, bustle, delis, hot dogs, pizza-pie. It’s there, in your face every day. You walk out of the subway station and it smacks you in the face. “Hey, asshole, you’re in NEW YORK. Isn’t this amazing? Be amazed!”. You look up at the tall buildings, you watch as the people and cars whizz by. New York’s heart is the underlying reason the city is amazing. It’s all about access. In New York, you have access to everything. This is the place everyone comes to make it big, to be discovered, to meet people, to collaborate, to start a business, to get some culture, to see the world. New York’s heart is the real reason New Yorkers love the city. Yeah, they love the texture too, but they wouldn’t be here (and New York wouldn’t be New York) without the access. Access to jobs, to people, to opportunities, to a different way of life.
Now here’s the rub; here’s the purgatory we are in right now. The texture is losing a little bit of its luster. I still gawk and gape and I’m amazed by the city every day, but as anyone would, you start to get a little bit used to it. You ride the train every day, you see the same buildings. At the same time, we haven’t yet fully found the city’s heart. We haven’t found our place in all of it. We know those connections, people, and opportunities are out there, we just haven’t found them yet. I guess this is the best way to describe it: we aren’t tourists anymore, but we aren’t New Yorkers yet.
Yet. That’s the key word. We don’t want you to think we are miserable or we are complaining about not meeting people. We have met tons of amazing people. Lots of them are our neighbors in our building, which is the best possible luck we could have. This is just a temporary stage, and one that was to be expected. We will find New York’s heart; we will become one with her. It’ll just take some time. Who would’ve thought that patience is the one thing you’d need in the city that never sleeps?
So, what we realized a few days ago was that we need new goals. Otherwise we risk becoming stuck in the day-to-day and never working toward anything bigger. We were still living in the glow of our previously-realized goal, and we forgot to move forward. Without new goals, there will be no progress. Without new goals, we won’t figure out how we fit here. Without new goals, we will never become New Yorkers.
Reason #64,819 Why New York is Awesome
Tonight, we could go to a midnight showing of Aliens, Raider of the Lost Ark, OR The Blues Brothers on the big screen.
A Visit From The Italian Stallion. And, Thanksgiving.
No, not that one. I’m talking about Simone Scurzoni. Italian, wedding photographer, foodie, and all-around awesome guy. He hails from Reggio nell’Emilia (map) AKA Reggio AKA the second half of Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese. Don’t ask him about why his town’s name got second billing after Parma’s. And don’t ask him about those jerks from Parma, period. In fact, just start calling it Reggiano-Parmagiano cheese. I know, most people just call it Parmesan. We will figure something out.
Anyway, I met Simone at a 2010 NYC photo workshop held by Ryan Brenizer. We kept in touch through Facebook, mostly because we are both the type of people who incessantly post about food on there. So, two weeks ago, Threads and I were poking around in the food market inside of Grand Central Terminal (yes, there is a food market inside of Grand Central), and I saw a huge wheel of Parmigiano-Reggiano. I Immediately thought of Simone (sorry, Simone, I know there is more to you than just cheese), and wondered when his next trip to NYC would be. At the same time, across the world, Simone was planning to travel to NYC. He didn’t know that we lived here now, because he shamefully did not follow this blog. He was googling something about NYC photography, and, BOOM my name pops up. Most likely because Google knows we are Facebook friends (Google knows all), and not because I’m a prominent player in a “NYC Photography” Google search. He discovered that we are now New Yorkers, and immediately got in contact with me. The universe is a weird place sometimes.
We made plans to hang out once he got here, which happened to coincide with Thanksgiving. This was super exciting for us, because we weren’t sure how our Thanksgiving was going to go.
Everyone kept asking us what our holiday plans were, but we didn’t have any. We’ve only been here a few months, Threads is busy with school, and we don’t have the money saved for a trip. It just didn’t seem right to come running home just yet, so we were planning on sticking it out here. Unfortunately, most of the few New Yorkers we had befriended were bailing out of the city for the holiday. We decided to make a gumbo for Thanksgiving, as a balm to heal our wounds of loneliness. And now, with Simone coming to town, we had someone to share it with!
Simone came over on the day of, and immediately presented us with gifts from the Italian homeland. He showered us in cheese (of course), balsamic vinegar (sweeter than the stuff here), ragu di cinghiale (it’s, um, ragu sauce. We haven’t tried it yet. Cinghiale means wild boar, but I don’t think there’s wild boar meat in it), and…wait for it….TRUFFLE BUTTER.
Edit: Threads confirms. There IS wild boar meat in the ragu. So awesome.
We were unfortunately behind on prep work for the gumbo, so Simone graciously offered to cook us up some truffle butter risotto to tide us over. And HOLY MOTHER OF GOD was it good. So good that we almost ate all of it. Almost. Also, while we were cooking and eating, Simone pulled his camera out and surreptitiously took some photos. The photos helped convince me that Threads and I need to get some professional portraits done. Because the few times I’ve been in front of a camera instead of behind it, and the camera was handled by a pro, the results have been amazing. Enjoy a snippet of our lives, courtesy of Simone:
After we ate, Threads thought it would be nice if we delivered the miniscule amount of leftovers to our only neighbors who had stayed for the holiday. I traipsed up the stairs with 2 ounces or so of risotto, and when the door opened to D&G’s place…BAM, Thanksgiving Party! D’s sister and her boyfriend were there, along with G’s brother, sister-in-law, and niece, and they were already elbows-deep in a beautiful spread of Thanksgiving goodness. They invited us all upstairs, tasted the risotto, and immediately fell to the floor in ecstasy. OK, that’s an exaggeration, but the risotto was good. Damn good.
Thus, our lonely Thanksgiving was transformed into one full laughter, family (albeit someone else’s), food, wine, and more laughter. Don’t believe me? PHOTO PROOF:
Excuse the half-naked toddler. These things happen. She did manage to create an intense pillow fort on the couch. I guess she worked up a sweat.
Check out that spread. Crazy, right? There was pie overload.
See that big bowl of white? Yeah, that’s all homemade whipped cream. And that was just bowl #1 of it. It tasted amazing on top of Threads’ pumpkin pie. Threads even made a gluten-free version for Simone, because she is amazing. He enjoyed it fully:
All of these photos got transmitted via the magic of Facebook to Simone’s ragazza (which I think is Italian for girlfriend). It was pretty cool to make an international connection instantly so she could see our party in near-real-time. It was also interesting to learn the Italians have a saying that translates directly as “when the cat is away, the mice will play”. See? We aren’t so different after all.
And no, Italian people don’t sound like THIS.
The Leaves! Oh, The Leaves!
A lazy fall Sunday journey in Manhattan…
First, watching ice skaters in Bryant Park, which has been transformed into a magical winter wonderland of commerce:
Commerce which includes, among other things, BELGIAN WAFFLES.
Before:
During:
After:
Then, a jaunt into Central Park to see the leaves…
And, possibly my favorite photo ever…
