OTR — NYC December 2009

December 22nd  — The Road to Madison Square Garden

New York after a long day. Traveling has changed since 2001. The security lines are longer (although Spokane’s lines are certainly reasonable most times), you can’t bring bottles of wine on the plane (you have to find friends at the other end of your trip that have a wine cellar, I have a separate list) and the peanut rations have gone from nice solid peanuts to some sort of thin skinned pimple-like-commodity inside a bag that is difficult to open and when it does burst open the skies are filled with these rolling throat blockers. You have some options — Alaska will sell you online snacks, a small (but more than you would ever want to eat) vial of soft cheese to spread on your cracker. One of the packages comes with four slices of salami (they found a sausage factory in lilliputin so the diameter is about one inch) and a ginger cookie. The thing about a ginger cookie is that once they are old it doesn’t matter how long you keep them they are just old and stale, not spoiled.   I took the airport route and with plenty of time changing planes in Seattle I sought out a sandwich shop. I suppose calling it a sandwich shop is inaccurate, the compressed grains are stuffed with various labels liike turkey, ham, beef and in most cases, they are interchangeable — only the price changes. I peered at the object they called a roast beef sandwich. An apparently brown piece of meat (or perhaps a piece of cardboard had fallen from another box onto the bread). In some ways the cardboard makes more sense because it will absorb whatever moisture it is they slather on the bread and still stay intact, but with the grain modules they disintegrate as soon as you pick them up leaving a blob on unidentifiable meat on the seat next to you (or if the plane if full on the sleeping person next to you — when the person wakes up and before they notice the blob it is a good time to go to the bathroom. Call it airplane etiquette) and a slice of something off colored, perhaps it was used as a tomato slice in a movie shoot, or as Mars in an old sci-fi movies, we had places for these obsolete vegetables in those days, now they end up on our airport sandwiches. I was pretty sure they could fake meat and tomato but I was surprised to find they were clever enough to fake a pickle slice. The deli “spear” resembled a peeled asparagus with warts although I’m thinking the former might have tasted better. The one thing the spear did was exude a rather toxic liquid that puddled in the bottom of your box. Maybe we should pay more for the flight and have them give us food again? *(and for those who care, kissing a warted object at tne thousand feet won’t get you a princess. I guess they haven’t updated modern fairy tales to go with our modern travel.)   As I mentioned I was looking for food for the trip and then I saw the sign had changed from sandwich shop to coffee and pastries. I purchased two of the rather imposing cooked batter (or perhaps mortar) objects. I read somewhere that bran muffins help your digestive system, I’m sure none of the lab rats had eaten this particular form of “bran” culture because it sank to the bottom (literally) and remained with you on the entire flight. If the whole plane had eaten one of these and passed over a magnetic field I fear for the consequence. This last episode may have been my last on the road venture.   Because your stomach can’t swirl the food around and deposit it in a natural way our plane circled Newark several times until everyone was able to clean their receptical out without a plunger. When we stabbed the ground with our landing I noticed that the blob of food had reappeared on the person’s lap next to me, only this time I didn’t have anything to do with it. They mumbled something like the bag use to have a bigger opening I knew it was time for me stand up, collect my kindle and get ready to deplane. I was going to the Big Apple, there couldn’t be any bad food experiences once you got off New Jersey soil and entered the food capital of the world, right?   Look for NY2 — they have zip trip delis in Manhattan.

December 24th

Arriving in Newark I retrieved my bag from the round suitcase exhibit. There were a couple of people who seemed to be grabbing every bag that came down the chute and running out the door leaving a bunch of puzzled people waiting for their bag to arrive. Having a torn green bag with a wornout label seemed to deter the baggage nabbers from grabbing my belongings.

The Air Train to NJ transit is an easy way (although you have to lug your bags) to get into New York. It arrives in Penn Station and from there you have to decide how to get to your hotel. If you can walk or take the taxi you will get there much faster, most times rather than wait in line for a taxi, particularly if you are coming in around rush hour (which is most of the days).

After settling in at the condo I decided to go to an Irish Bar on Lexington Avenue, it was New York, can’t waste time watching the Family Feud when you can witness it in person at any of the big department stores at Christmas time.

When I got to the Irish Bar my companions told me that it was a long wait so we wandered over to a Lexington Street Deli. On the way I saw an older woman lying on the cold steps of a building, shivering with torn paper cup next to her and a few coins spilling out.

Inside the warm deli I went to the soup tureens. I couldn’t identify any of the soups so I looked at the names. They were easy enough, squash soup, clam chowder, split pea but I still couldn’t recognize them because the scum on each pan had glossed over the boiling landscape below. I remembered my idea for a soup zamboni to clear the surface of scum and leave a fresh sheet of soup. I never did get a reply from one of those 800 numbers you call at night to leave your idea with a venture capitalist. I wonder if they got my idea?

The pizza had a sheen to it and again it was hard to tell the pepperoni from the mushroom from the tomato. I passed over that option as well.

I settled for a plastic plate of penne pasta with carbonara sauce. The main virtue of this dish was that there was just a picture of it and you didn’t actually have to see what it looked like in the pan. They brought it out from the kitchen and handed it to you. I had a few bites and decided that this was no way to start a trip in NY with a base of mortar on my stomach.

I ordered a cup of hot tea with extra sugar, grabbed an extra fork and napkin and headed toward the subway shop. I set the cup of tea down on the steps and the hot dish of pasta. I put a little money under the plastic and went down the street.

Hope everyone has a good day, there will be more tomorrow but if you get a chance send out a couple cans of food to the food bank or whatever person you know could use a little boost today because it is cold out there on the street and sometimes in our heart we want to do something extra, but we just don’t get around to it.

Merry Christmas and the next NY we will delve back into the trip. There are lots of places to talk about before Santa arrives.

December 25th

Friday — The Editor was scheduled to arrive at noon. People have a misconception about editors. A lot of them think they are mechanical engineers of the printed page and things are either right or wrong — that would be wrong. Editors purport to be such creatures but in reality they are opinionated masters of several languages that also claim to know how to fix (or at least organize how you can fix) anything. I had prepared myself for the visit by brushing up on my Altar Boy Latin, picked up a few local slang tips on how to order coffee and learned that all things were either uptown or downtown — other directions don’t matter in the NY subway system.

With troublesome eyes I knew it would be a challenge to meet the Editor one-on-one so I decided to use my strengths — food and drink.  I went to Delmonico’s (this is not the steak house, perhaps a better description of their food would be stake house, a kind of woodeny texture to all of the stainless steel coffins that floated in their steam table) to get a few bagels for the abode, plain cream cheese (who could complain about plain cream cheese?), two Pepsi’s, “a light coffee” (not a regular one with cream and sugar understood) and bottles of large water that said right on the label — Best Water in the East.

I gave the Editor three different ways to reach the room from Penn Station (where he was arriving from Boston) he, of course, picked a fourth way, walking through Times Square and Fifth Avenue. As I waited for him to show up I got hungry so I took a little nibble out of the onion bagel and wrapped it back up, putting the nibbled side down on the counter. Editor’s are too busy stabbing you with their pen to turn bagels over. When the Editor arrived he wanted to see his accommodations. I had decided to put him in the maid’s quarters. The maid’s quarters is an extra room, one floor down from the main room and has a trundle bed, two windows and a bathroom. He said he would be comfortable there but I noticed he had already taken out the spiral notebook and started writing things down. When an Editor takes out a spiral book you know that you are going to get several memos. I made a note to tell Elizabeth (our maid from Ghana) to tear out the pages each day while we were gone.

We walked over to Bistro 60 for lunch — a neighborhood bistro that was founded in 1993. That in itself is an amazing thing to survive so many years as a restaurant in New York. It was Christmas and people seemed to be in a good mood (everyone was drinking wine at lunch.) The Editor launched into the Omelette du jour — how fresh was the cheese? how smokey was the ham? how green was the spinach? Was it a tomawto or tomayto? Were the mushrooms domestic or found by a certified pig? and finally were the onions from Walla Walla or Visalia. He carefully chose the ingredients he wanted. The omelette was accompanied by Lentilles Ravigotte — a very flavorful lentil salad and french bread.

Lunch at the Bistro was a great cosmopolitan experience. Many of the tables were filled by business men and women, talking about deadlines, the stock market and busy-body government agents. I looked as plates of food went past our table. Luncheon steak and fries to our right was “Entrecote Grillee a la bordelaise pommes” — grilled steak with a red wine reduction sauce; his companion had “gateaux de Crabe avec salade d’arrugula” — crab cakes with arugula salad never sounded so good. I saw the Editor make a couple of notes. I figured he would send a notice to the restaurant about their spelling or perhaps it was my pronunciation of French words that left him to concentrating on his notes. To the left of me a very well attired woman ordered “Foie de Veau saute aux oignons et pomme puree” — I like Calf’s liver with onions (with a home made ketchup in a small bowl with its own tomato sauce spoon) but it didn’t seem French enough.  I was on a mission to try different soups that I like to make at home so I went for the Soupe a l’Oignon which had a rich stock (half beef and half chicken), home made croutons, a generous whisk of sherry and melted shaved cheese. As I was savoring my “Truite Meuniere, pommes vapeur et asperges” I saw an incredible dish of Duck salad with portobello mushrooms and pine nuts go by (Salad de Canard et Portabello aux Noix de Pignoles).

Just as I thought we were through (an Editor is always very concise and sparse) the Editor jumps up and announces to the entire restaurant that our table would be remiss if we didn’t order a dessert and not just any dessert he ordered Profiteroles au chocolat chaud — profiteroles with hot chocolate. I got into the spirit of the moment ordering fresh pressed French coffee and as I watched the editor lick the plate of chocolate (I was glad to have finished my portion by this time) I thought — people do change and maybe it was the Christmas spirit, or maybe somewhere over the past years while the Editor sat in his office in Boston making sure the American Heritage Dictionary was correct he decided to let life explode. I imagined him breaking a number two pencil in half,  just for the hell of it. He now throws words out of the dictionary to make room for new words. Now we have Muggle, cyberslacking, frankenfood, riffage (an example of riffage according to Darach McGarrigle, whoever he is, maybe a muggle) would be — instead of saying “make love” you say “humpage.” It is some sort of annoying way to pluralize verbs with “age.” and of course, meatspace (the physical world as opposed to the virtual world).
It’s a crazy meatplace out there. Bistro 60 is located on 60th Avenue a half block off Madison. I would give it a definite go there if you are in the area.

It was so great to start at this restaurant because it reminded me that there are a lot of neighborhoods in NY and each of them has its own story to tell us if we will just sit back and listen. We might even find out a thing or two about our companion if we open our ears. As we were about to leave I noticed the Editor pull out a spiral book. He was writing something down about the dinner menu. I shudder to think what it was or maybe it was a word I said at lunch he wants to include in the dictionary in the 2010 version.

We went back to the mansion because in a few moments Bluebelly Wyllis was supposed to arrive. He had shed his doctor’s paraphenalia to come down to NY and he was going to stay on the couch. I felt poorly about lying on my tempurpedic bed knowing that the two doctors from Harvard would be sleeping on trundle beds and davenports for the next few days — I almost couldn’t choke my afternoon cognac down.

Bluebelly Arrives–At 3:00 Admiral Bluebelly Wyllis arrived. He called the room once and when I couldn’t get to the phone in time he headed down 5th Avenue looking for bars on his way to the Bowery. The admiral has a fleet of five ships: the two wooden boats are waiting for the wires to be replaced that were eaten over the past five years while the crafts were in drydock; the other three vessels used to blow up easily but seem to have been compromised by the Nantucket leeches that now cover the bottomside.
I was able to rouse him on his portable device and he immediately came back to tell us stories of the sea and finish off the two six packs of Brooklyn Lager we had picked up at the convenience store. Our plan was to meet the Librarian and go to the place where whores eat — Puttanesca. (No reflection on the Librarian, of course) Puttanesca is located on 9th Avenue near 56th Street, the heart of Hell’s Kitchen. There are great windows looking onto the street so you can people watch. The restaurant boasts it can seat 225 people and it probably can but if it seated 150 people we would have been more comfortable, 225 is a bit crowded. The menu seemed to be designed initially for people getting off work who wanted a quick, satisfying meal but quickly morphed into a restaurant that was tempting the locals to eat their often. The Caesar salad had a lot of anchovy and garlic, just the way Caesar Cardini of Tijuana wanted it to taste like when he invented the combination back in the 1920’s. I tried the Insalata di Barbabietole. Warm red beets, thin style cut beans, leeks, Montrachet goat cheese, caramelized walnuts and a raspberry vinaigrette.  We tried the whore’s Penne and it was prepared with black olives, anchovies, capers in a light tomato sauce and a dish called Fusili Norcia which had a sweet/hot Italian sausage with diced carrots and an aurora sauce. (I love sharing a couple of pastas with friends as an appetizer or first course. That way everyone has to spill red sauce on their clothes so I don’t feel out of place.) For my main course I had Ossobuco d’Agnello– a braised lamb shank with caramelized pearl onions, lentils in a ragout sauce. An excellent dish. The Captain had to have a bit of the sea so he chose the Cioppino Classic with stewed fish, mussels, saffron broth. The Captain thought the dish was no better than he could have gotten by pulling one of his galley slaves out of the bowels of the ship to stewage up some catch. Because of the shellfish I wasn’t able to confirm the description but I’ve heard of a galley slave being noted for their cooking exploits. Although we didn’t try it the table next to us was complimenting the chef on the monkfish medallions wrapped in speck (a lean smoked ham product).  One of their pastas was folded into the shape of the flying nun’s headress. The waiter told me that Sally Field’s sauce was venison ragu.
After the dinner the Librarian headed back to Brooklyn but not before telling me about a couple of places to eat later in the visit. I renewed my card and promised to see her on Monday. Bluebelly and I headed for the mansion while the Editor went to the Carnegie Cigar Club to listen to the greatest standup Bass player in New York, his son Rob. Bluebelly and I had a couple of quick beers and then raced back to the Carnegie Cigar Club for the second set. It was the usual NY cigar bar– lots of layers of smoke from $25 to $160 each emanating from individual chimneys at each table; small bamboo steamers with pork, shrimp and vegetable dumplings with a wasabi sauce on the side, gardens growing out of certain drinks and fruit salads out of others; the patrons were dressed in $70 tee shirts with Tiger Woods, Kobe Bryant and Mark Sanford. Everyone has their own hero. The partorons had brochures for hiking the Appalachian Trail and C Street gatherings. They had bulging Federal Express envelopes to send out to all of Senator Ensign’s former employee’s families. The scotch was served in fish bowls and the beer was a micro brew served in a 16 inch tall chimney, I assumed to keep up with the cigar theme. We sat down in the corner to listen with the Editor when a tiny man wearing a bowtie with a black coat and white shirt rushed to our table–the Bourncer.  “What do you think you are doing?” he snapped at the Admiral. “What do you mean?” said the doctor having lost all confidence as the head of the fleet. He beganfumbling for his stethoscope. “Why do you think you can come into this place, looking like that?”  This was puzzling because I had worn a shirt with collar, a coat that at night in a dark place like this could have been mistaken as being purchased at Abercrombie. The Admiral was wearing garb that certainly would have passed the dress test in college. We shrugged our shoulders and then followed the laser beam in his hand to the floor where it circled the Admiral’s shoes. Now I admit that the tennis shoes were new and very flourescent white but they certainly couldn’t have been misconstrued as some sort of shoe bomb plot. “You can’t come into a place like this wearing shoes like those,” the Bouncer said. All of the patrons were nodding their heads and for a moment I even thought the Editor was nodding agreement because he didn’t want to get kicked out. It had been a long time since I had been asked to leave an establishment (not since that incident in Pioneer Square with Jabba after Gaylord Perry won his 300th game). Usually it was for a reason like lack of sobriety but for tennis shoes? The Editor pleaded our case and even tried to make the Bouncer understand that the word tennis shoe came from British English meaning training shoe and what we were wearing came from American English which was a modification of the word sneakers. (I have to admit after this explanation I almost threw the Admiral out, we can’t have such demonstrations of language at a night club.)
The Bouncer didn’t understand what the Editor was saying but he was sure that he was being made fun of. I tried a different tactic.  I asked him if Woody Allen would get kicked out this joing because all he wore were sneakers. Woody Allen even wore them to the ballet with a tuxedo. The dizzying words were taking their toll on the Bouncer but he said “rules were rules.” The Editor convinced him to allow us to listen to one solo bass song which Rob dedicated to us, the deportees. After the song we were escorted out. The Editor said he noticed I stuck my finger in the wasabi bowl of the patrons next to us who kept saying that “rules were rules.” It was almost a mantra.
The Admiral and I headed back to the room. I knew the Arsonist and his accomplice were due in at any time. It had been a long day but what could go wrong tomorrow, Gonzaga plays Duke in Madison Square Garden. NY4 — a rendezvous with destiny.

December 27th

Well, all I have to say is that we played poorly. However, Michigan State got beat by more than 20 points last season and wound up in the title game. Nine first year players playing in Madison Square Garden, a top 25 ranking, more than ten straight years in the NCAA — 20 years ago when I could sit anywhere I wanted in the kennel I would have laughed at anybody who said we could do that. We should be thankful for what we have — a great program, coach and a lot better food than they serve in Madison Square Garden and for a lot less money. (Although I will say that a plastic glass full of Pilsner Urquel with a hole in the handle to hold a thick pretzel stick is a good idea for an arena if I had been able to go to see a game that day.)
NY4– one of the top ten storms in history, there would be so much snow that Yeti (formerly the abominable snowman, rumor has it he fired his marketing director but I’m not sure the new one is doing that good of a job either) and Bigfoot are planning a holiday party in Central Park.  The Mansion Five braced ourselves for the event. The Apple gang bought new boots.
Worried that we might not make it to dinner I planned my day accordingly. Girst, a trip to Del’s with the Editor and the nonSurgeon. (During our midnight football games in the commons it was decided that if Bluebelly ever became a doctor he shouldn’t be a surgeon, he didn’t have good hands then and you can’t teach good hands — although operating with velcro gloves would be interesting. On Saturday Del’s was boiling its water, mainly so the rats wouldn’t get sick, an unhealthy rat can spread disease the counter man told me (in Spanish or Russian so I might have lost somthing in the translation.) We tried the plain bagel with cream cheese, two eggs scrambled (I found out that if you ordered an egg over easy they started out cooking them that way but always finished it off by breaking the yolk and scrambling it — that’s an over easy scrambled egg I guess).  The Editor was spending the day with relatives so the surgeon and I headed out for Katz’s Deli. I know most people are familiar with it because of the orgasm scene in “When Harry Met Sally” but my experience with Katz’s revolves around a large pastrami sandwich (I’m not saying it doesn’t cause orgasms, I’m just saying the pastrami sandwich has a historic reputation), bowls of pickles, large portions of potato salad and a check in system that requires you to get a ticket when you go in and you don’t go out if you don’t present them with the ticket when you leave. I’ve seen hundred pound people enter Katz’s and when they reached three hundred pounds (which takes several hours) were still unable to leave because of the ticket situation.
Since all things are connected we left the place where Harry met Sally to meet our GU friends at Mustang Harry’s near Madison Square Garden. Mustang’s opened in 1996, it has a large bar and dining area downstairs and claims to have an intimate mezzanine level for groups. That part of the statement is true, it would have been a nice place for fifty GU fans to meet before the game, completely insane for 200 people to meet. It was like one of those travel puzzle games where if you didn’t move a square the right way you can’t get out of the maze, that was us.  It was fortunate that  they had a sturdy wrought iron railing to keep our fans safe, yet not too high that a Duke fan couldn’t accidentally fly over the railing on his way to a diner’s plate of Mustang Wings. The appetizers in the mezzanine included a vegetable plate with bleu cheese dip, calamari with a yogurt dill sauce  and chicken satay. (not bad and everyone left with a streak of white dip on their coat) We all left for the game but unfortunately we walked into a NY bermuda triangle so we have to fast forward three hours to our next adventure in NY.
When we got to Times Square we got tickets at Tkts (discounted day of show tickets) for Race — a new David Mamet play. He is one of those mystical writers where the financial backers aren’t allowed to read the script for fear they might link it to the public. One reviewer said his plays are more secretive than picking a pope. (I thought I noticed white smoke when we exited the theater, turned out it was just the subway exhaust turning white from the storm). I’ve seen a couple of Mamet plays and they are usually very clever, twists and turns, often some politically uncorrect characters or dialog to make a point.  Race had all of this but some of it was more predictable than I remembered any of his plays being before. I’m either getting wiser (I know, not likely) or Mamet is getting older and more formulaic (probably despite his words that he is getting smarter in his pre-review of his own play) or maybe I just slept through a few of the important transitional dialogs (ok, I probably did) but in my defense the play was less than an hour and a half and it is hard to get a good sleep in a play that is so short and all those people rustling around you during the intermission to get a $10 glass of white juice.
NY5– the food tour.
And the snow storm wasn’t too bad, lots of the snow is gone, you just have to learn how to hop off the curb without hitting a big puddle of slush and water or hitting a slick spot beyond the puddle and ending up as a Sir Walter Raleigh garment until the light changes. But NY people are polite, when they use you as a stepping stone they often say thank you.

December 29th

What is a good food tour and why does writing about it take longer than the tour itself?   Interesting questions, but I have no answers. So I recommend you sit back, open a bottle of Bailey’s (you know who you are) or get a double tall latte with cognac on the side and enjoy. For those who wonder if all these things happened, all I can say is that the Editor is still protesting that I had him standing up in a French restaurant yelling “Profiteroles” but it is my story.
The New York Biscuit company came about when eight bakeries merged together in 1801. Included was the Josiah Bent Bakery that made a thin bread which made a “crackling” sound when you bit into it and a durable biscuit to take on long sea voyages. (I guess they didn’t like the green bread I find occasionally in my bread bin at home, particularly after coming home after a trip, say to New York.) In 1890 forty bakeries from the Midwest called the American Biscuit Company merged with the New York Biscuit company to save costs and formed NABISCO, National Biscuit Company. The Oreo cookie was born here in 1912. (The name was for the “OO” in cookie and the “re” was for the lard cream in the middle “Oreo”.)   The building was shut down in the mid 1940’s and it was almost fifty years before it was reopened. The piers became obsolete for modern ship travel and commerce. (The Lusitania had once docked at this pier.)
It took almost 2 1/2 years to clean the pigeon poop out of the 200,000 square foot building. It was opened in 1997 with 18 tenants who braved the reputation of the meatpacking area to develop a unique market for their products.   We gathered in front of the Chelsea Wine Vault on a sleepy Sunday morning. The streets in this area still had a good amount of slush left over from the storm so both our group and the one following us were stomping around the market place, dislodging future puddles from our shoes.
Our guide, Diane, came over to tell us she would be our leader, gave us each a bottle of water and then rocketed towards her first stop– a window that depicted products from the original owner of the building, NaBisCo.
One of the first things I noticed about the building was the decorations, a kind of eco trash extravaganza. The decorations were 100% “green.” There were colored globes hanging from the ceilings made out of discarded plastic party cups and silver wreaths and about a ten foot tree that was made out of reused wood and wire products which was decorated with thousands of trashed cd’s and plastic bottles. Different lights shone through the displays creating a great holiday atmosphere and to think of all those decorations we’ve been putting in the blue boxes all these years. The fountain has discarded drill bits, the handrails are made out of rebar, they made sculptures out of stone and aluminum and recycled industrial objects. Two ballasts adorn the hallway (one moored the Titantic and the other the Lusitania), several of the steel doors are from the now defunct Gimbel’s and the giant clock was purchased in Europe, brought to the United States and the only thing missing were the internal parts. It is a great spot to “meet” people at the market. Here is a link to the clock and the decorations.

Next came two bakery outlets — Eleni’s cupcakes and Amy’s Bread.
Amy Scherber began her bread enterprise in 1992 with a small storefront on Ninth Avenue in Hell’s Kitchen. She started with 5 employees. She now has over 150 employees and her breads are used many of the high end restaurants in Manhattan. After graduating from St. Olaf College in marketing it took her three years to decide that cooking and baking were her passion so she went to culinary school at the New York Restaurant School and then worked as line cook and pastry chef at Bouley. She traveled to France to learn more about cooking bread by working at three different bakeries. You can watch the bakers through plate glass windows. Every loaf of bread and roll is handled individually by the bakers before it is put into the oven.   Eleni’s is known for her cupcakes and they are excellent. The rest of the bakery goods fall into the category of  hand painted art cookies. You can get a batch of election cookies, her yearly tribute to the nominees for the Oscars or basketball cookies. Edible Art?
Buon Italia has a large selection of Italian and Mediterranean products. It is impossible to cover all of their products from beans and cheeses to antipastos but I took a little time to explore their world of dry meats.
Bresaola is an air cured meat made from the beef loin. It has a garnet like color and is very lean. I would serve it drizzled in an extra virgin olive oil with shaved Parmagiano Reggiano over the top. Coppa has both sweet and hot varieties. The salami is made from salted pork, naturally aged. The hot coppa will have red pepper added to it. Guanciale is a cred pork made from the cheek and jowl of the pig. It is fattier than pancetta with more intense flavor. Lardo is a type of salumi. It is made from the layer of fat directly under the skin of the pig, cured with salt, spices (usually hints of pepper and garlic). They served us a Mortadella pistaccio on our tour. The name comes from grinding the ingredient with a mortar during medieval times near Bologna. Pancetta pepata is a cured pork and used in pasta preparations, as an appetizer on crusty bread or with slices of fruit. They have five different prosciuttos aged from 14 to 16 months. The whole leg is smoked in the different preparations and then deboned. The San Danielle you have to order ahead and they will contact you about how much it weighs in Friuli and you pay by the pound before it is shipped. Everything is flown over for next day arrival. (It is $30/pound and the leg weighs about 18 pounds before curing). They have several different types of salami including cacciatorini (sweet) cotcechini and sopressata. Zampone is a fresh pork sausage that is delicate in flavor. Might grill it and serve as an appetizer or on the side of a plate of pasta. The other meat we tried was Speck from the Alto Adige region of Italy. You start with an extremely lean whole pork flank and cure it. They recommended serving it like prosciutto but because it is smokier they thought it would work with asparagus rather than a melon. They use it to flavor soups and stews. They have five kinds of Riso, five kinds of saffron including some Crocus Sativus that cost $165 per ounce. Twenty kinds of extra virgin olive oil, beans, flour, polenta, preserves, sauces, spices, cheeses. This is a place to go if you are interested in Italian cooking ingredients (and don’t forget to try a few of their in house preparations from the deli case too).

Chelsea Market Baskets
The guy in the purple shirt was pointed out as the inspiration of the store. He was formerly head of Bloomingdale’s gift baskets division (or one of those divisions). They sampled us on a Camembert Cheese and a chocolate truffle but those are mundane gift items compared to other items like his Tyrrells Court chips. Made in Herefordshire, England (I know they should be called Crisps but apparently Mr. Chase was targeting America) they come inflavors like asparagus wrapped in black pepper or mature Cheddar and chives or Ludlow sausage and mustard. His candied popcorn (candied popcorn predates Cracker Jack’s 1896) comes in many flavors like fleur de sel caramel, pimenton de la Vera dusted with smoked paprika or Madras curry coconut with cashews. Probably won’t find any Oreo’s in his baskets.
Chelsea Wine Vault To me this place is a two tiered wine busines. On one level they have a knowledgeable staff of seven people who have been involved in the wine and food business. (The come from wine country in Italy and the storied Ritz wine program.)
It was closed on Sunday morning byt Vladimir (one of the wine buyers and educators) let us in to see the collection which is good — probably a stronger emphasis on imported wines (only a couple of Washington wines). The second tier and maybe more important is the 10,000 square foot, state of the art security and climate controlled wine vault where you can store your wine. (Of course they will help you fill it up if you want.)
L’Arte del Gelato
Sure we had to wait out one of the big storms and slosh our way from the 14th street station to Chelsea Market but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try the gelato, and this one of the big surprises on the tour. L’Arte del Gelato was created by Francesco Realmuto and Salvatore Potestio. They were originally co-workers in the diamond market. According to their website they missed their home and mostly their gelato. (King Apple was attracted to their plight.) They couldn’t find a satisfying gelato in all of New York so their only hope was to make it themsleves. They brought in Pistachios from Bronte, Sicily. They mixed things up and have creations like gianduia with hazlenuts from Langhe, Piedmont.  They have panna cotta, tiramisu, mascarpone and a grapefruit Campari Sorbetto (that transports you to the Amalfi coast says their website). We tried several of their gelatos on the tour including chocolate with chili, ginger, green tea and my favorite ai frutti di bosco (mixed berries with a great raspberry base). If you go to the market try one of these cones.
There are some glitzy moments at the market. After all the Food Network is housed upstairs. One of the stars of the market is Chef Masaharu Morimoto, born and raised in Hiroshima, Japan. He learned the art of sushi and traditional Kaiseki cuisine by training under several of his country’s esteemed master chefs. After running his own restaurant in Japan for five years, Chef Morimoto moved to New York City to explore Western cooking styles. Fifteen years later, he has become well known for his unsurpassed culinary talent in fusing international ingredients into culinary masterpieces, best demonstrated in the TV show Iron Chef. Among Chef Morimoto’s passions is his collection of traditional Japanese culinary tools. His restaurant has a contemporary Japanese menu which infuses traditional dishes with Western ingredients and preparation techniques. Morimoto’s sashimi salad appetizing platter of seared toro, smoked salmon, barbecue eel, tuna and hamachi presented in blond wood box and flavored with five different sauces. Other signature dishes include The Duck, Duck, Duck is roasted duck leg and a “duck sandwich” (made with cucumber and a foie gras infused croissant) accented with a red miso sauce and a soft duck egg. The restaurant was closed so we didn’t get a chance to sample anything but it is truly an imposing place.

Ronnybrook Dairy
Here is a place that reminds you how good things used to be in the world of food. (and how eccentric some people are in going back to those times) Ronnybrook is all about the cows. They have a closed herd which are grass fed and able to wander around the range freely. They have not introduced any new cows to their herd in more than ten years.  The health and happiness of their Holsteins come first. (The cows get sick days, the workers don’t.) In the spring, summer and fall the cow’s diet is fresh pasture on their Hudson Valley farm. In the winter the cows only eat hay grown on their own farms. Their statement says that cows that are pasture fed contain five time the level of anti-carcinogens as cows managed in confined housing. I’m not sure what that means but if you can get healthier by eating their ice cream and drinking their milk I am for it. It doesn’t stop there. The cows have their own “comfort” stalls (a four inch soft mattress to sleep on) where they are milked and where they sleep in the winter. In the summer they sleep on pasture. They also give their cows massages. The milk is pasteurized but not homoginized so the cream floats to the top. The cream is “spooned” off for you coffee at the counter or can be shaken up to give full flavor to the milk. The NY Times called it the “Dom Perignon” of milk!
Sarabeth’s Kitchen Sarabeth and Bill Levine started their first bakery-kitchen in 1981. In 1991 Sarabeth became the first private restaurant for the Whitney Museum of American Art. In 1998 Sarabeth opened her bakery and cafe at the Chelsea Market. She started making small batches of jam and marmalade in her apartment and selling it to a few local markets until the FDA said she coudln’t sell it under those names because “if you don’t have enough chemicals like a high percentage of pectin, you can’t call it jam.” (Makes you wonder about those jars of jam at the market). Sarabeth decided she didn’t want all those chemicals in her jam so she coined the phrase “spreadable fruit.” We got to try her mixed berry on fresh hot biscuits. She also had a raspberry/orange marmalade to sample.
The Fat Witch Bakery Fatou Soumahoro,a baker at Fat Witch Bakery in the Chelsea Market, is from Ivory Coast. The Ivory Coast is one of the world’s leading chocolate producers. She suggested that the bakery honor her native country by adding some exotic flavors, like black pepper, coconut and fresh ginger, and also coffee and peanut butter, to its dense brownies. The result is a line called the African Witch. And on Friday, Saturday and Sunday, from 1 to 4 p.m., Ms. Soumahoro and compatriots, in African dress, hand out samples of the intriguing and subtly spiced African Witch brownies at the market. We weren’t there to sample the voodoo brownies but I find the story fascinating and their website has a lot of witch hats flying around.  http://www.fatwitch.com/
Bowery Kitchen Supply –The original store is on Bowery Street. Their supplies run from small gadgets and professional quality knives to furniture, butcher block tables, sinks, rice cookers, stoves, etc. You have to turn sideways to walk down the aisles. (and I’m talking about you skinny people too, not just us experts in eating).
For those of you who have seen “It’s Complicated” the restaurant scenes were filmed at Del Posto, one of Mario Batali’s restaurants. We visited the restaurant and it is truly a beautiful place — I’ve got to think Mario’s partners brought him into the 21st century with their ambiance and menu. They call their menu transgenerational. I’ve been thinking a lot about the trends lately — every plate has to have something you can’t identify. My conversations with the servers lately seem to go like this.
“I like the vinaigrette.” “It isn’t a vinaigrette it is Bellini Citronette. We have our own proprietary recipe because it enhances the Bibb lettuce.” or “I like the sauce on the gnocchi.” “Are you talking about the gnocchetti Sardi and Salcornia?” Now I might be wrong but there isn’t anything else on the plate that looks like gnocchi. “Yeah, the little potato balls,” I answer.  I think that is transgenerational service. Might not get your coffee refilled but you will be schooled in what the dish is. That’s just a per peeve, the actual reason I brought up Del Posto is that they rented their restaurant out to the film makers of It’s Complicated for twice the daily receipts/day. The downstairs room Barbaresco can hold up to 350 people for a private party and the upstairs is as large so say 700 people at an average check of $50 plus dollars times two — maybe $70,000.00/day or more. That’s new generational filming.
The Lobster Place Seafood Market had an incredible array of fresh fish, chowders and bisques. Because I am shellfish challenged these days I didn’t have any of the lobster bisque but I didn’t see any half full containers being dumped. My companion the apple dotted bean counter finished their bowls.
A few words about the meat packing district. At the turn of the 20th century there were more than 250 slaughter houses and packing plants. The docks were adjacent to the buildings, large hooks hung from the awnings in front of the storefronts as meat was weighed, hacked and whatever else they did at meat plants in those days before Upton Sinclair wrote “The Jungle.” There was an elevated railroad track to deliver and pickup the meat. There were all night restaurants catering to the workers and the night life was a bit rough at times. By the 1940’s a lot of the commerce had shut down including NaBisCo and the area fell into a center for drug dealing, prostitution and had a reputation of being unsafe. Now just twnenty years after the revival began it is becoming a fashionable place to be and the Chelsea Market is certainly a treasure in the city. There are high end boutiques like Diane von Furstenberg, Stella McCartney and Alexander McQueen.(I’m taking this from the tour guide, I hadn’t heard of any of them. I guess I’m shopping at the wrong places.) The elevated freight railroad that went to the different meat packing houses has been turned into the High Line which is modeled after the Promenade Plantee in Paris (although the nude bathing and other activities from the high rise tenants in their picture windows has caused some consternation to the families walking along the promenade.)
We finished the tour at an Italian steak house about a block from the market, Macelleria’s. The restaurant is an old meat packing house. The dining room is modeled after a butcher’s shop with dangling meat hooks, carving tables and a very large “ghost-white” bust of a cow implanted into the wall. Our final treat of the day was an Oxtail ragu with penne pasta. The reduction sauce with a slight peppery nuance was outstanding. The restaurant is noted for its Prime Dry Aged steaks as well a variety of Italian pastas, veal and duck dishes.
So that’s the food tour and we hadn’t even started our culinary experience of the day!!
NY 6- Mario Batali’s coastal seafood restaurant  ESCA

December 29th — Ragtime

After the food tour I headed up to Times Square and got tickets to Ragtime. Ragtime has been nominated for serveral Tony Awards and to me it had all the
elements I think of in a great Broadway Musical — a good story line (this one is based
on the E. L. Doctorow book. I would have to say the play was easier to follow and
get through than the book, am I getting old?) superb cast who could sing (not some
famous movie star who was can’t sing, think Mama Mia) and a simple set that worked bringing in the three different stories as they unwound. I would recommend the play,
even after a food tour I was able to stay awake!)

Mario Batali Empire — I’ve watched Mario clomp across my television in his orange
crocers; I’ve got several of his books, met his parents in Seattle on several occasions, eaten sandwiches from Salumi. I was excited to go to one of his restaurants. With a group of six I wasn’t able to get into Babbo or del Posto. We got into ESCA — but why were we able to get in there? The popular chefs and/or restaurants have a very punitive
reservation system. You can call 30 days before you want to get in but not before
nine o’clock eastern time and then they only have a limited number of tables that seat six, etc. No faxing or email allowed. (In the case of the Herbfarm, French Laundry and others can be even more restrictive, you might only be able to call in once every four months for a reservation and then probably not get it.) Still, I have those Batali cookbooks I’ve been using so I was glad to be able to get a reservation. Because I had the Admiral, the salmon troller and the Queen Charlotte
fishmonger with me I thought it would make for a slippery conversation that might be off the scale. And besides, Mario thinks Olive Oil is gold, that’s a good enough recommendation for me.

If you read a review about ESCA it will probably say that it is a southern Italian seafood trattoria. What does that mean?  I think of a trattoria as a place like a cafe or a bistro. Simple food, well prepared at reasonable prices. I don’t think ESCA met that definition. The fish is prepared in a very simple manner but it is not simple nor is it at bargain prices. Maybe ESCA should be described as Babbo Empire’s Simple Seafood. (BESS). The chef, David Pasternack, is a fabulous talent. He won the James Beard Award for best chef in New York. One critic referred to him as the “Fish Whisperer.”  Expectations are everything but paying attention to the food is more important. I will have to admit I spent a fair amount of time with the wine steward so I am going to give you a glimpse of what I remember them serving us with a little help from their menu.

A lot of people associate sushi with the Orient. What’s an Italian chef to do? Call it
crudo. It basically means raw in Italian and Spanish and it seems to be catching on. First, it can be expensive so the proprietor wants have it as an alternative to cheaper appetizers and who can resist the waiter when he says it is the chef’s “special” selection of crudo. (five pieces, twenty-five dollars and not enough to share). Many restaurants have jumped on the fish wagon, It has to be fresh and the chef needs to know how to handle his sea salt, olive oil and lemon for it to be good.

(We avoided the dilemma of which or how many crudo to choose by choosing the Tasting Menu which included crudo but it also meant that everyone at the table (now seven since we added the Admiral for authenticity) had to have the tasting menu. We had an agreeable group but be warned it isn’t for everyone and you may have protestors in your group.)

The Fish Whisperer started us out with olives and a selection of crudo’s that varied. We had an amuse-couche of thin sliced tonno with sea salt and black pepper mired in a pool of olive oil with flakes of paprika. There was a dish called Burrata which was a combination of mozzarella cheese and cream topped with a dollop salmon roe. I think one of dishes was a tilefish with sea salt or a pink snapper with red clay salt. Not being a fisherman I wasn’t paying enough attention but from the description in the Crudo menu it was something of this nature. I like sushi, I guess I even like crudo (and this fish was fresh) but I lost track of it with the rest of the dinner.

We had a calamari with “local” squid, I guess you have to have a local union card to be on the menu, hot red pepper, lemon and herbs. (It is possible that others were eating shellfish, the chef was accommodating my allergies).

The pasta was spaghetti neri with squid ink spaghetti, cuttlefish, green chilis and scallion. This was a fantastic dish with lots of intense flavors.

The next dish was Cuore. Nantucket Bay Scallops with a salad of shaved fennel and early Florida citrus. Everyone raved about the scallops and they looked perfect, they added some extra shaved fennel to my plate and it was a delightful salad to cleanse the pallet.

I liked the Mediterranean sea bass cooked in sea salt. It was grilled perfectly (although still not as good as the Smoked sea bass at Betelnut in San Francisco).

They had a tasting of their evening’s desserts. Home made carmel gelato in espresso, mini cookies, biscotti, pear tart and a hazlenut cake with gianduja creme and bittersweet chocolate.

The wine steward served us a large selection of wines that he felt would be good for the dinner.

We started with a Prosecco from Veneto. Lots of effervescence and not too sweet. I find a lot of the commercial Proseccos we get here too sweet.

The next wine was a Roero Arneis. Arneis is a dry white wine similar to a crisp Chardonnay. This one was made by Bruno Giacosa one of the great red wine makers in the world. Lots of crispness to this Arneis.

We had Trebbiano d Abruzzo from Emido Pepe. Again a white wine with lots of acid to go with the fish courses.

The wine steward then served us a selection of very good Italian reds, not just cheap, light reds that often come with tasting menus.

The first was Dule Cannonau Riserva from Gabbas. The Cannonau is a variation of the Grenache brought to Italy by the Spaniards during the 15th to 17th centuries. The Gabbas wine is richer and deeper than most Cannonau wines with blackberry aromas.

Second was a Morellino di Scansano Riserva from Morisfarms in Maremma, Italy. The wine is made from a “chianti cousin” in Tuscany. The wine comes from the Southern region of Tuscany and I think the wines have more berry flavors than the chiantis from the North.  This wine benefits greatly from aeration so pour youself two glasses, one to sip on and one to enjoy later.

Third was Sagrantino, a wine from the village of Montefalco in Umbria. I was surprised to see this wine at a fish restaurant because the wines are often very tannic. It was served with the pasta neri and the intense flavors of the squid and pepper went well with the wine.

We finished the night off with a Moscato di Asti from La Spinetta. Light fruity wine, I could see this sipping this wine on a hot afternoon in August (unless of course you could get a 20 year old single malt scotch).

The food was great at ESCA. The wines were very interesting. But I left thinking it could have been a little bit more for $170/person. Can’t fault the chef, the company had recovered from the event at Madison Square Garden, the service was good. (I think I would like to try Babbo or del Posto and see if I had the same reaction. Maybe I just needed that roasted rack of lamb with tail ragu alla puttanesca or seared duck breast with apician spices as the main course.) Maybe it just was too expensive for what you got — I’m not going lose sleep over it, but if any of you go there I would like your assessment.   (On another note the Admiral and I did wander down to one of the bars that our mothers told us not to visit in New York — an Irish Pub off broadway — to have a couple of Black and Tans. Always worth the price.)

December 30th — Brooklyn

The Librarian was anxious for us to visit Brooklyn. (Perhaps she had found a way to get even for my overdue stories?) She had picked out a Polish restaurant for the group — Teresa’s at 80 Montague Street. I like getting out of Manhattan for part of a day and going to Brooklyn is easy. We were serenaded with Feliz Navidad between Times Square and 14th Street. This group was performing on the same route a year ago and their summer song was La Cucaracha. At the end of a verse they would pass around the sombrero. If you closed your eyes and forgot about the temperature outside it would have been hard to tell the two songs apart. We rambled through the tunnels and closed stations in lower Manhattan until we reached Brooklyn Heights.    For more than twenty years Teresa Brzozowska has been serving up Eastern European cuisine. It was known as a breakfast place serving up blintzes, potato pancakes and thin coffee. Some people complain about the service but there isn’t really enough of it to complain about. When your luncheon platter of kielbasa, pierogis, cabbage rolls and cooked cabbage is less than $10.00 you shouldn’t worry about whether the service staff has been to Le Cordon Bleu for training. Many of the waitresses have been there for years and before that they probably were serving up the same kind of food in Warsaw. The food isn’t amazing, the decor standard cafe, the water refills are slow in coming but there is a comfort about Teresa’s that I like. You aren’t likely to find a movie star sitting next to you at Teresa’s but even more comforting is you aren’t likely to find a tourist who is sure that the person sitting  in the corner booth is Steve Martin. Teresa’s was serving two kinds of borscht — white and red on the day we were there. The first one was made of cabbage and potatoes, the second from red beets. Both were excellent even though one reviewer of the restaurant complained that the vegetables weren’t uniform in size. Many of the patrons come every morning for coffee and eggs. The Dumpling Gang walked over to the Promenade which has a spectacular view of the Manhattan skyline. From there we braved the streets of Brooklyn which were not shoveled once you got off the main drag and headed to our destinations on Water Street. (about a half miile)
Almondine Bakery 85 Water Street Brooklyn, NY    DUMBO (Down Under Manhattan Bridge Overpass)
What do you look for in your local bakery? I look for Herve Poussot, formerly of Le Bernadin and Windows of the World. I look for buttery croissants that flake all over your sweatshirt (this was a walking and eating expedition, not project runaway) when you eat them. Crisp crust and airy centers on the baguettes, cookies the size of your hand and creations that are too tempting to name — one log of chocolate looks like cyrano de bergerac and one of the round loaves of bread like a mini-dome. Poussot doesn’t use molds to bake his bread he wants the bread to have direct contact with the stone of the oven.
It is an advantage to go to a bakery with the apple dumpling gang. What you don’t eat, why you can take it home for later consumption and who cares if it has a little bite mark in it. For pastries we started with “Opera” an almond sponge cake, chocolate ganache layers of coffee butter cream. The chocolate eclair was the best in the world declared a customer who I believed had had a few pastries at this shop. The chocolate mousse was encased in a chocolate cake and topped with chocolate shavings. The Regal was a chocolate dacquoise with creme chocolate on a flourless cake with chocolate mousse. (none of that made it to the mansion). The almondine was a flourless cake with a crunchy wafer, chocolate mousse, praline creme and chocolate dacquoise. The chocolate trio was dark, milk and white chocolate mousse with a chocolate sponge cake, an apricot tarte with layers of butter crust and a raspberry muffin that actually had mouthfuls of raspberries. The almond croissant is one of the bakery’s signature breads.
Did I mention the breads? The French Baguette was white organic flour and the Almondine Baguette was made with whole wheat. We went looking for salami’s and cheeses to have with this bread back at the room.  The multi grain loaf consisted of whole wheat, white flour, yeast, oats, flax, sunflower, sesame, poppy and cracked wheat berries. Now that’s wholesome.  Dacqyoise is made with layers of things like almonds, hazlenut meringue and buttercream or in the case of the dessert we had chocolate buttercream.
We decided to take the long jaunt over to Jacques Torres (former executive chef of Le Cirque) to try the world’s best chocolates. We looked both ways before scaling the mountain of slush on the street (I don’t think Water Street is on the city plowing chart) and crossed over to Torres.
Jacques Torres Chocolate, 66 Water Street Brooklyn, NY
Jacques Torres grew up in Bandol France (The Bandol region in Provence is known for their Rose wines — try a Domaine Tempier this spring). At the age of 15 he decided he wanted to be a baker and began his apprenticeship in his hometown. He apprenticed for two years before going to La Cadiere d’Azur. In 1980 he went to work with Michelin two-star chef Jacques Maximin. While working for Maximin he earned his degree of Master Pastry Chef and taught at the local culinary school in Cannes from 1983-1986. Throughut his training Jacques had his eyes on the Meilleur Ouvrier de France competition. In 1986 he won the M.O.F. medal, the youngest chef to ever win the award. Jacques spent years working on product development for companies like Cointreau and was chosen to represent France in the rededication ceremonies for the Statue of Libery, won many local and international awards. In 1988 Ritz Carlton hired Jacques as their Corporate Pastry Chef.

The list of Jacques’ culinary awards and achievements during that time included consulting and product development for Cointreau and Valrhona; participation in the rededication ceremonies for the Statue of Liberty honoring French President, Francois Mitterand and United States President, Ronald Reagan; Le Figaro’s Culinary Cruise through the countries of the Mediterranean; receipt of the gold medal of the Japanese Pastry Chef Association; winner of the 1986 French Championship of Desserts; culinary weeks in Tokyo, Sydney, Melbourne, and Spain; as well as participation in numerous competitions and culinary events in France. In 1988 he was hired by the Ritz Carlton to be their Corporate Pastry Chef, overseeing all of their properties. In 1989 Sirio Maccioni enticed Jacques to come Le Cirque (often rated the best restaurant in New York) by building him a custom-built kitchen. You many have seen Jacques on teh Today Show or various TV Food Network shows or in the Julia Child’s Master Chefs series.  He has launched his own show “Chocolate with Jacques Torres” on the Food Network. The DUMBO location allowed him to custom design his own chocolate factory, so let’s see what Chef Willie Wonka has to offer us.
His website offers a lot of information (including most of the above information) including how to melt chocolate and how to store it. Don’t just throw it in any old drawer and leave it until next year. His wedsite is, of course, mrchocolate.com. And here is a recipe for the world’s best chocolate chip cookie (according to the NY Times after extensive research):
Chocolate Chip Cookies Time: 45 minutes (for 1 6-cookie batch), plus at least 24 hours’ chilling

1. Sift flours, baking soda, baking powder and salt into a bowl. Set aside.
2. Using a mixer fitted with paddle attachment, cream butter and sugars together until very light, about 5 minutes. Add eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Stir in the vanilla. Reduce speed to low, add dry ingredients and mix until just combined, 5 to 10 seconds. Drop chocolate pieces in and incorporate them without breaking them. Press plastic wrap against dough and refrigerate for 24 to 36 hours. Dough may be used in batches, and can be refrigerated for up to 72 hours.
3. When ready to bake, preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a nonstick baking mat. Set aside.
4. Scoop 6 3 1/2-ounce mounds of dough (the size of generous golf balls) onto baking sheet, making sure to turn horizontally any chocolate pieces that are poking up; it will make for a more attractive cookie. Sprinkle lightly with sea salt and bake until golden brown but still soft, 18 to 20 minutes. Transfer sheet to a wire rack for 10 minutes, then slip cookies onto another rack to cool a bit more. Repeat with remaining dough, or reserve dough, refrigerated, for baking remaining batches the next day. Eat warm, with a big napkin.
Yield: 1 1/2 dozen 5-inch cookies.
Note: Disks are sold at Jacques Torres Chocolate; Valrhona fèves, oval-shaped chocolate pieces, are at Whole Foods.
A couple of observations. Both of these retail outlets are very small. If you spilled a glass of milk at your table you are likely to milk dot the gang sitting to either side of you because there are only four very small tables at Almondine. The whole customer area was probably 150 square feet and this was luxurious compared to the retail outlet at Torres.  The total customer space at Torres had to be under a 100 square feet. These businesses are about the production. At Torres there was one small table to sip your hot chocolate but lingering wasn’t encouraged either. The counter at Torres was like going in to a diamond shop with glass covered display cases showing you the chocolate gems. Vertical displays of various chocolate gift ideas.
We slushed our way to the York subway stop. Amazingly when it is windy you are always walking into he wind in New York. Perhaps it is the way the buildings are structured to quick freeze tourists. We stumbled into our room to rest, each of us lay down with a baguette under our pillow. It isn’t that we don’t trust each other, but you do sleep easier knowing your bread will still be there when you wake up (although I once woke up with an end of my baguette torn off. I followed the crumb trail and found that three of the four sleepers had suffered the same fate. I noticed the fourth person was buying a crumb tray the next day to hide his tracks.)
About 7:30 we found our energy hiding under the wine cabinet, pulled it out and went to see what was happening in the Village. We wanted to go see the Bitter End. Home to many of the early folk and comedy legends (Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Judy Collins, Pete Seeger, Harry Chapin, Kingston Trio, Peter, Paul and Mary and may comedians like Woody Allen, Bob Newhart and Bill Cosby).When we got there it was crowded and there were four “folk” singers on stage doing a songwriter circle. We paid the cover charge when we learned that Judy Collins was the host. (I have a few friends who are too young to remember Judy Collins, maybe too young to remember folk music but for us old folk groupies it was a great moment to hear Judy Collins sing again in a small folk club in Greenwich Village!)   In 1973 while I was visiting the future governor of South Dakota who was going the law school at NYU I went to the new Chinese restaurant in the Village, Suzie’s. Here is a place where forty years in business hasn’t changed the decor or menu much. The menu looks like I remembered it– Hot and Sour Soup, Pan Fried Noodle dishes (crispy on the bottom, soft on top), Pork, Beef, Shrimp and Chicken dishes. Everything seemed the same including their press as one of the best Chinese restaurants in New York (I know, I have favorites in China town too). But what amazes me is that you can still walk into the restaurant at midnight and they will stir fry your dish to order, not a bunch of leftover stir fry with extra corn starch on some steam table. However, and this is big news, they have succumbed to the new fad of Bubble Drinks. Some sort of smoothie with tapioca — mango, peach, pineapple, etc. flavors. (I noticed the Vietnamese restaurant on Ash and Northwest Boulevard is serving these concoctions as well. The last time we went there my friend, Hecla, had one.)
As we headed towards the condo we knew that the next day would bring us some heavy browsing. The Apple and I  were going to the Bowery. I remembered a verse from the song “The Bowery” (from the musical “A Trip to Chinatown”)
I went into an auction store, I never saw any thieves before; First he sold me a pair of socks, Then said he, “How much for the box?” Someone said “Two dollars!” I said “Three!” He emptied the box and gave it to me. “I sold you the box not the sox,” said he, I’ll never go there (Bowery) any more.
The Bow’ry, the Bowry They say such things And they do strange things On the Bowry! The Bowry I’ll never go there anymore.
Yep, that was our destination for NY8

January 1st — The Bowery Boys

“Unheard of,” cried one of the cast members. “Not respectable,” another mumbled, “not respectable at all.”
I woke up, my heart thumping. I heard a large knocking sound coming from the living room. In my vision I saw angry members of our troupe trying to cage Dot, the Christmas chipmunk, because she had squirreled away some of her Almondine bread and Torres chocolates for another day. They were turning the furniture over, threatening to waterboard her if she didn’t talk. As the knocking grew louder I heard one of the crabapples say, “Dave, it’s almost eleven, we’re going to go to the museum soon.”
Oh, a knock-knock dream joke.
The Teacher and her pupil were headed to the Metropolitan Museum to look at Christmas Trees. She said that they have some paintings there as well. (I thought about this. It seems like most of the people have to die before they get their paintings hung, or at least cut their ear off. I am not sure it is a gallery to aspire to for a young artist.)
The Bowery Boys were going to skip this school excursion. We were headed for the bowels of the city.
Our first destination was the Essex Market. The Essex Market was the idea of Mayor Laguardia in the 1940’s to try to calm the riots that were taking place between the police and firemen (think Irish) in the area and the vendors who were encroaching on the streets to make room for their goods (think Italian and Jewish) and making it impossible for the Irish to do their jobs (arresting Italians and Jews, and watching their tenements burn unencumbered.) Laguardia knew it would be difficult to get these three groups to agree (and anyone who has ever been in a group like this knows what he was facing) so Laguardia declared that there was too much congestion on the street and proposed the Essex Market be built. The vendors moved inside, the police were happy they could arrest Italians and Jews again and all was well.
When we emerged from the subway at Bowery and Delancey I was struck by several things. Unlike Times Square, Wall Street or Central Park this area had wide streets and many of the cars were civilian (ie not taxis). You didn’t have to worry about which 5th Avenue store the people bought their suits or dresses from, these people didn’t have suits (except the one way back in the apartment that fed the local moths).  Scarved heads, trash can liner gloves and mismatched galoshes were the dress of the day. (The Bowery Boys didn’t feel too out of place, we were a little overdressed in our matching New Balance tennis shoes but the rest of our outfits worked.)  In the old days the heads of the family would wear red galoshes to show their rank. (I think the Cardinals adopted some form of this dress code, galoshes for the head I think is the technical term.) However, today many of the Essex street people wear one black galosh size 10 and one red galosh size 14. It is difficult to tell their rank in society or how much you should put in their cup. Size 14 people seem to want more money than the size 10 inhabitants. There is a Czech movie (based on a Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale) about Magic Galoshes. I think the people kept making bad wishes and ended up unhappy but I know if I had my Magic Galoshes on this day I would have beamed us over to the Ronnybrook Dairy because it was Eggnog day. I looked at the trash on the sidewalk, the broken needles in the alley and cigarettes crushed out on the sidewalk.We might have made our first travel mistake.
The Market began as four large enclosed markets with stalls for dozens of vendors. In the 1950’s many of the Jewish tenants moved to other boroughs (and the Italians settled in Little Italy) making room for a significant Puerto Rican population who moved into the area. The market reflects that mix with the meat and fish markets, fruit, vegetable and grocery stands filled with Spanish/Mexican items and Jewish Deli. I couldn’t figure out why this market had such cache in New York. In 1955 two of the buildings were closed because supermarkets were making it difficult for small businesses to survive.  The market area continued to deteriorate and by the late 70’s the reputation was at its lowest level (although one Irishman told me it couldn’t get much lower than when the Italians lived there.) In 1995 the city decided to resurrect the area. More young people were choosing to move into the area because the housing was cheaper than the fashionable areas. The market now boasts four different meat and fish shops; six different gourmet food stalls (like Batistas where you can get Hispanic foods and canned tropical items or Viva’s where you can get fresh Mexican specialty food items like green bananas, yucca, coconuts, cassava even in December. Coming soon is a French bakery, I told you this was an up and coming area. We stopped by Anne Saxelby’s Cheesemongers that features more than 30 different local dairies. There are five different produce stands and two restaurants. You could get a haircut at Aminova’s Barber Shop (voted best barber in New York by the Village Voice in 2001 when you could still a haircut there for $7.00 — For those of you who care, I didn’t go there) or get relics from Santa Lucia. If you only have one place to go I would head over to Chelsea; if you have time to do both, go to Essex Market as well. It will probably tell you a lot more the evolution and decline in market than the tourists visiting Chelsea Market.
We got back on the subway and went one stop to the Bowery. I’m not sure what I was expecting to see but again there were wide streets and not many people on the sidewalks. We did a three sixty at the corner. (Just close your eyes and imagine the Bowery Boys piroutetting on the streets of New York.)  Every direction brought us into contact with a kitchen supply shop. Some of them had $4000 stools for your restaurant on the Upper West Side and some, like the Bowery Kitchen Supply, had 65 gallon rice cookers and stacks of milky white dishes.
Some Historical Perspectives of the district:
The Bowery dates back to 1650 when it was a Dutch Colony. (The Delanceys owned most of the land east of the Bowery. I understand a bit more what the title of the movie “Crossing Delancey” was about.) In the early part of the 19th century the Bowery was a fashionable place. South of Canal Street near the Bull’s Head Tavern was the Bowery Theater, built in the 1820’s. The largest theater in the country it was gaslit — six times it was burned down and five times it was replaced. This area of the Bowery is now a large part of Chinatown. The Bowery Theater District (which was the place to go before the better hookers moved up to Broadway and, as you know, theater goers are a fickled lot.) The Bowery evolved into a carnival area with crowded trolleys and pedestrians, organ grinders and chestnut sellers. The street was lined with pawnshops, pool halls, tattoo parlors, hotels you could rent by the minute, hour or day. Theater became Burlesque — a musical was an act that sang two songs between raunchy jokes.
The Bowery Boys wandered through the Kitchen Supply aisles. Space is precious so unless you walked sideways you would never be able to see the stacks of plates, pots and specialty cookware. (I can’t even imagine two people trying to pass each other. In fact we heard about two people who were stuck in the aisles for days. They were eventually purchased by two restaurant owners who used them for soup stock. They didn’t seem to be surprised that the nice hunks of beef were there, they were just amazed that the price had gone up.)
I guess I would just go the Bowery Kitchen Supply at the Chelsea Market nowadays (unless you are opening a restaurant or planning a large cauldron of soup).  You can walk through the aisles and most of the items are things you might want in your kitchen at home.
Never discouraged the Bowery Boys discussed their next move. Right — lunch. Notice how wordy the author gets when he hasn’t had lunch?
We decided to go one more block and see what was there. Drugs. Most of our drugs are in pill boxes these days and labeled Sunday through Saturday and come in the mail. We declined.
We walked another block. The streets sounded familiar (Elizabeth, Mott) — one of my favorite Chinese restaurants is on Bayard between Elizabeth and Mott.   We stopped a patrol woman. “Really, one block.” The Boys jumped and down in the mud puddle. We would be sitting down for lunch soon. We were only one block from Little Italy. We turned left on Mulberry Street and there, in front of us, were all the restaurants we had visited over the years. I had coffee at one in the morning with Tonya’s gang on Mulberry Street a year ago; I had eaten at Umberto’s and Angelo’s. My friend, Bowery Rat two, used to go to Benito’s I back when Fitzgerald was coach of the Zags. I have had an Anisette or two at Benito’s II as well. (Did you ever notice the little things that make you hungry. I’m listening to Meatloaf on my headset and craving mashed potatoes. I’m just glad I didn’t put on Smashing Pumpkins or Red Hot Chili Peppers).
So we wanted a new place to go. Blind Bowery Boy decided he was tired of me picking out platters for him so we stopped at an Italian shop on Mulberry that sold tee shirts, replicas of the statue of liberty and reading glasses. Who better to ask than the proprietor of a small shop on Mulberry street for a luncheon suggestion. “Do you have any stronger ones?’ BBB asked. She pointed to the next revolving display stand. “Where do you go for lunch around here?” I asked. “Some say next door is wery good,” she replied. “No, where would you go when you just want to spend a little bit of money and get a good lunch?” “Some say up the street, wery good and across the street too.” “Is that where you would go?” “No,” she said. “Where would you go?” I asked again. She folded her hands like she was going to say a prayer and then started waving her hands in front of her in a serpentine motion, I thought maybe we were going to get a recommendation for a famous “snake in the grass” Italian place where only the mafia goes. “Ho Hop,” she said. “Could you spell it?” I asked. “W O H O P,” and her daughter started hopping up and down like a bunny, also doing the serpentine. “What kind of food?” I asked. “Wery Fresh Fish,” and she did her thing again. “Cantonese style.” Now I got it, a tank of swimming fish, that’s fresh. “You pick, they cook for you.” (Now I’ve never eaten at this restaurant on Mott St but it has been in Chinatown since the late 1930’s and now I had a reason to come back to NY. Of course, I was starting to doubt my sanity for asking a Chinese lady selling reading glasses on Mulberry Street where to eat Italian food.) “These will do,” BBB said. I tried one more time, “If you were going to eat Italian near here where would you go.” She looked up and down the street. I’m sure she didn’t want any of the Italians to hear her suggest an Italian place. “Sells, $10.00” she said to BBB as she rang up the glasses (I’ve never seen a pair of glasses fold into such a small pouch, no way BBB was going to keep these glasses very long. He would either leave them somewhere or sit on them during a Zag game. In fact, he might not be able to read this email.) “What’s the name of the restaurant?” I asked again. She looked at me like I didn’t know how to speak English. “Sells, just up corner, turn right one block. Best pizza, half price of these places,” she smiled. She must have guessed my English was rusty. She spelled it out for me. “Sells.  S-A-L” So the Bowery Boys were headed for an Italian restaurant recommended by a woman from Canton. Her five year old daughter smiled at us as we left the shop.  I bent over. “Is it a good place?” I asked her.  She said something like (in perfect English, of course)  “The best pizza and they’ll help you with your English too.”
Once you have a destination you have a chance to enjoy the area. It was mid afternoon in December, snow on the ground and people were congregated around tables drinking cappuccino and sipping on Sambuca. Others were talking about soccer and none of them mentioned, or seemed to know about, any recent games in Madison Square Garden. We immediately saw Sal’s on the corner. We walked in the door. There was a narrow six foot hallway that was separated from the pizza oven by a glass topped wall. There were a couple of long wood paddles leaning against the counter and small dishes of pizza ingredients. Sal’s has been around since 1975. There were a five small tables to sit at, probably enough seating for 15 or 20 people depending on how much you like your companions. In the back, behind a swinging door with tomato sauce finger prints on it, was a kitchen. In the corner was a small door that had a bathroom sign. I don’t think the inspectors actually everopened the door to check to see what was in the closet.
Sal started the restaurant in 1975 and featured his family’s Southern Neapolitan cuisine. (The restaurant is on Broome Street –cross street Mott). As we waited for our menu I looked at the pictures on the wall. It appears that James “Tony Soprano” Gandolfini is a fan of Sal’s as well as Joe Pesci, Sarah Jessica Parker, Paul McCartney and soon, the Bowery Boys.
I was on a soup mission I so I started with the Stracciatella — an Italian Egg Drop Soup. I first started making this dish after meeting the Romagnolis in Cambridge in 1971. At its best it is a complexly flavored chicken broth served boiling hot in a soup bowl, An egg is dropped in the bowl as it is brought to your table and “soup scrambled.” They would take a fork and stretch the dropped egg out in a stringy fashion lending the soup its name. The soup was most welcomed after a day walking in the slush. BBB had the Caesar salad. Now this salad was invented in Tijuana, Mexico but what was in front of us wasa version of Neapolitan Caesar salad that had little to do with the original. That said, it was a good Italian dressing and had romaine lettuce, there the similarities stopped. But why would we go to Sal’s for either of these things, the little girl was a pizza whisperer, she didn’t mention salad, she said get the pizza. We went with one of the 9 inch pies ($6.00 and a dollar more for extra toppings. The 18 inch was $12.00. This place was cheap). We decided on the Italian sausage, mushroom, prosciutto. All pizzas are made to order, and started when they were ready so. if they were having a conversation in Italian with someone on the cell phone you were going to wait. You can’t make a pizza with one hand and talk with two at the same time. We waited for about thirty minutes before our pizza arrived but it was a perfect thin crust pizza, lots of flavor in the marinara sauce (not too much of the sauce, just enough for flavor, not a big glop of ketchup like sauce some pizza joints use to hide how old the mushrooms are) and great Italian sausage and prosciutto.
We started out to see the Bowery and ended up in Little Italy eating pizza. It was a good day. Our next duty was to get tickets. BBB took his harem to see 39 Steps (If you thought that was a Hitchcock movie, you are right).
I had seen 39 Steps with Sam after a few cocktails in Little Italy the last time I was in New York so I decided to see, “Hair.” All things considered it is as relevant today as it was in the early 70’s.  (Of course going to Hair would mean I would have to get back to the Palace and wash my coiff, I wouldn’t want to go to “Hair” with messed up locks.) Hair won the Tony Award for the 2009 Best Musical Revival on Broadway.  Since I’m not doing music reviews I can only say it was exciting when the cast members came up to the balcony to rub their hands through the hair of those most deserving (long beautiful hair?)
A couple of interesting side notes that has little to do with my trip: The run of “Hair” in Boston was forced to shut down in April of 1970. Alan Dershowitz was one of the original lawyers defending the producers of the show. Secondly, native Bostonian Marcia Hines was not allowed to be the lead in Hair because she was too young (nudity and age I guess. This wasn’t really the Age of Polanski.) Marcia had gone to Woodstock in 1969 and when she wasn’t allowed to be in Hair got on a plane for Austria. When she got off she was in Australia where she became a 16 year old star in Hair. A couple of years later she also became the first black woman to have the lead role of Mary Magdaline anywhere in the world in Jesus Christ Superstar. (Her daughter Deni Hines also starred in this role making her the second black woman to have ever played this role on a major stage.) Over the years Maria has overcome her childhood asthma attacks to become Australia’s (yeah she stayed there and became a citizen — not sure why she thought she was headed for Austria) biggest female star and was voted Queen of Pop three times.
We went our separate ways for the play and arrived back at the Mansion about 11:00 pm with a few snowflakes on our head. One half day more to go. The trip was almost over.
NY 9– A French Bistro and then a quiet train trip to airport.

January 4th — French Bistro

Alain Ducasse, one of the most celebrated chefs in France, opened Benoit Bistro on West 55th (near 6th street in the former La Cote Basque restaurant) less than two years ago. The original Benoit in Paris was purchased by Ducasse in 2005. The Benoit Paris dates back to the turn of the 20th century. Ducasse and his partner, Pierre Schaedelin, use many of the original recipes as a foundation for their menu in New York. Schaedelin’s credentials include several years at Le Cirque and as Matha Stewart’s private chef. He is old school –terrines, torchons a rabbit sausage and lots of sauces. His favorite recipes include Choucroute, tarte flambee, coq au Riesling and liver spaetzle. Alain Ducasse is often referred to as the “six star chef” because he has gained Michelin’s top three stars for both his Louis XV (Monte Carlo) and Restaurant Alain Ducasse (Paris). I haven’t made it to either of those restaurants so I was glad he opened a restaurant in New York for our tasting group of four.
My first choice was the Soup a la Oignon Gratinee. I’ve had a few memorable onion soups over the years at different French restaurants including Lutece and Jean Georges. I think one of my main complaints is that restaurants cook the onions too long, sometimes they get over carmalized (think near burnt) and it overwhelms the soup. The main thing I remember about all of the soups from these French restaurants is that the onions are golden brown, no more. Then they add the flour and cook about three minutes to form a roux. A good white table wine is then added. This stops the cooking of the onions and allows the wine to flavor the entire soup and then add the Fond Blanc de Volaille (chicken, leeks, carrots, onions, celery, garlic, bouquet garni and pepper — a full flavored chicken broth that MUST be cooled and the surface fat removed. Alain says they just want the stock, not the chicken (which you might use for a chicken salad, who cares, not in my bistro though.). While the soup is simmering you melt butter and saute the bread on both sides. Stir about half of the bread into the soup with Emmental or Gruyere Cheese and cook for about ten minutes more, pour the soup into tureens, put the remaining bread on top and then the cheese. (I probably make the French chef gods angry but in my friskier days I would use one kind of cheese for the soup pot and another for the topping).
Then I did the three course lunch:   We started off with a smoked salmon, sherried wild mushrooms in a cream sauce topped with a poached egg. Now I believe that the thing that makes French cream sauces so good is that they use cream — you don’t find skim milk in these recipes and soy would be treason– and they use butter –substitutes that claim “they can’t believe it is not butter” are thrown out. I’m not saying you should eat this dish every day because pretty soon you would need cattle scales to weigh yourself, but I am saying if you are going to enjoy the cuisine, go for it and if you don’t think you can eat all of it, don’t worry, the apple and partner will help you.
The foursome tried two different entrees. First the museumers ordered the crusted salmon in puff pastry with julienned vegetables and a shallot tarragon sauce. Cooking fish in puff pastry is one of my favorite methods. By the time the crust is a golden brown the fish is cooked having infused itself with the sauce. Alain’s cookbooks have several different sauce recipes — this one had julienned vegetables (carrots, leek and celery). The sauce had white wine and cream of course with some springs of tarragon and thyme. I imagine they used a bay leaf and shallots as well.
Chef Schaedelin is known for his choucroute so the Bowery Boys went with the home made Bratwurst Sausage with red cabbage and root vegetables. (A few words about home made sauerkraut. The typical chef would start their sauerkraut in September, cutting the cabbage, salting it heavily, add juniper berries, cover it with cloth and wood and weight down with heavy stones. I did this to perfection about thirty years ago, thought about even starting my own pickle outlet. I let it sit for six weeks. When I went to open the lid I noticed the rocks were pulsating a bit. I opened the lid and let out a horde of some kind of crawling mass. In the next few days I tried to follow the sauerkraut trail around the neighborhood. As I followed the slime I saw pawprints that seemed to dissolve into air. (It was reported that several cats had disappeared.) I should have finished reading the recipe.  You are suppose to open the lid every two days (for three to six weeks) and skim the horde off. At Benoit they make their own a couple times a year. When Andre Soltner of Lutece used to purchase commercial kraut he would go to Schaller & Weber. (The chefs say if you purchase it retail try to get it “fresh” in a bag, never canned and avoid most bottled. Also look for the lightest colored kraut.) I looked up Schaller and Weber. They have been in business since 1937 (now I have another reason to go back to NY and I could go therir shop on my way back from the metropolitan museum — or go there first and carry around a bag of sauerkraut while I contemplate Van Gogh and Monet.) They have a lot of sausages on the Schaller site but I didn’t see the sauerkraut so I’m not sure if they only do this for wholesale accounts or if they have stopped making it. Anyway, back to the meal. The sausages and red cabbage were incredible.  There was so much more flavor in the Bratwurst, not like the pale whimpy kind we see so often in our restaurants — the kind where you are pretty sure they scraped everything off the counter and put in a casing.

So now we were down to my last dessert in New York.

The Bowery Boys again anticipated that whatever we ordered we would get, and whatever the museumers ordered we had a good chance of getting some of it. (We encourage our companions to eat as much bread as they like.) They ordered the chocolate profiteroles with ice cream. Now to make this dish come out right you have to use a chocolate with a high mass of cocoa for flavor and lot of butter and cream for texture. Bistrot 60 was very good but the chocolage sauce at Benoit was just a bit better. (Can you hear the Editor shouting from his Boston cubicle?) Pared with a good cup of French press coffee the meal was perfect and we hadn’t even started on the Bowery Boys choice: Apple pie with home made ice cream. The pie was about three inches in diameter and filled with apples that had been sauteed in butter and sugar! I got the feeling that they might have used a small creuset pan to bake these pies since Ducasse is the Le Creuset spokesman or king or something. There was a light dusting of confectioner’s sugar on the outside and it was served with home made ice cream. There is nothing wrong with home made ice cream in winter. It is like the East Indians who eat spicy foods to keep them cooler, you should eat ice cream in the winter to keep you warmer.
One note: Two frenchmen were at a table to the left of me. One of them was eating escargots and another had a duck foie gras terrine with toasted Parisienne brioche for appetizers. I wanted to stay and just watch what they ate. Those French are captivating, perhaps it is the accent.
I bid my friends good-bye and headed back to the room to pick up my bag and head for Newark. December is a wonderful time in New York if you like to look and listen to the sounds of the city. There were lines of shoppers at Abercrombie and Sak’s Fifth Avenue that stretched half way down the block.  These people were waiting for customers to come out of the store so there was enough room for them to go inside and shop. A guard was at the door counting people who left and letting the same number of people in. I guess it would motivate you to pick up something while you were in there. I picked up my bag and headed for Penn Station to take the PATH to Newark. I had three and a half hoursl I had two books to read while I waited for my plane at the airport.

I took the subway to Times Square and Transferred to Penn Station. When I got there the taxi line was about three quarters of a block long. The condo clerk had mentioned that the tunnel had long delays for taxis and buses, it was hard to get a taxi and that the train was the way to go.  I went into the bowels of New York to get my train ticket. Track number 12. I had three hours before my plane would depart and it was a 26 minutes train ride to the airport. I pushed my way on to the train, grabbed a seat and settled in for the ride to New Jersey. (I should note that we started out of Penn Station a few minutes late but no big deal.) We had gone about a mile or two, hard to tell underground, when we stopped. They announced we would have a short delay, then about fifteen minutes later announced we would have another short delay. Then they announced the train in front of us was having problems. The ticket taker said it was off the tracks; I asked if that meant it was derailed. No, it was off the track. I don’t talk New York trainese so I let it go. The safety crew checked our train and because the backup light wasn’t working we couldn’t go back into the station. We would have to wait until the train ahead moved. We sat there for two hours (people get a little angry when they are trying to catch a plane. They didn’t seem to care if they were shooting the messenger eiterh. They screamed and jostled the railroad employee every time she came through the car.  I still got to the airport 30 minutes before departure and looked at the board. 17 flights out on Alaska Airlines, 16 delayed and one was on time. Yeah I couldn’t believe it either. I rushed up to the ticket counter.
“Can’t let you on because of TSA rules — no one gets a boarding pass within thirty minutes of departure,” the emplyee smiled like he was so happy to deliver the message to me. He didn’t seem to care about the train. Acted like they were in on it. Now I wanted to jostle that train lady too. My dilemma was that because of the snow storm earlier in the week they had cancelled hundreds of flights from the surrounding airports and the standby list was long.
“Oh, you won’t be getting out tonight,” the agent said. “Looks like I could confirm you with a flight was the 26th.”
They don’t even care if an old man cries. They don’t even offer you a kleenex.
“OK, let’s do that and I’ll try to go standby earlier.”
“Can’t do that,” he said.
“Why not?” I asked.
“You can’t book another flight when your plane is boarding. You have to wait until it leaves.”
“But I can’t get on it.”
“That’s not the point.”

I got ahold of the squatters at the condo.
“Good News I’m coming back.”
“Who is this?” they asked.
“Dave,” I said.
“Dave’s not here?” they replied. Was I traveling with the Firesign Theater group? After a few minutes they agreed not to take all the keys and let me back in. When I arrived the museumers had gone to a play and Mr. Apple was resting in the Apple. I sulked for a few minutes, stretched out on the couch and closed my eyes. I awoke about two hours later. I was too agitated to sleep so I got a great idea, if I wasn’t getting back to Spokane in time to shop why not use my time wisely and shop in NY. I remembered seeing that Macy’s was open 24 hours a day before Christmas. I put my coat on about 10:30 pm and headed out. What could go wrong taking a subway to Macy’s to shop late at night. There would be lots of sane people out on the subway when I planned on returning about 1:00 am.

NY 10- Slap your way through Macy’s, Christmas Eve Day in NY and listening to Christmas Carols while on hold waiting for an airline agent to talk to me.

January 4th –2  The Last Note

Now you know what some of my notes look like and sometimes late at night I hit the wrong button — send, save, they should not be so close on the tab. So here it is NY 10A– the final day.   I summoned the elevator to the 22nd floor, talked weather to the elevator operator, smiled at the desk clerk, nodded to the doorman and turned right on 5th Avenue. (These are all rituals that must be strictly observed. I once nodded at the elevator operator and he called a few minutes after I settled down in the room to ask what I wanted sent to the room. When I told him nothing he explained that if you nod to an elevator guy it meant someone was coming by you wanted him to give a ride to your floor. I never nodded again, it only took me six years to figure out what he was saying. I was so glad I never nodded to the desk clerk, what would they think of me?  I entered the train station at the end of the block and took the R train down to Macy’s. It was a windy evening with a touch of snow. I decided to walk around the block and look at Macy’s windows first. They had a few scenes from Miracle on 34th Street but the windows seemed less exciting than in years past. I actually liked the Bergdorf Alice in Wonderland style window displays better.   Macy’s is a huge store and it seemed like every sign said I was entering a different store — Macy’s 7th Avenue Store, Women’s petites and Starbuck’s; Macy’s Broadway, linens and Starbuck’s; I went to the bedding, linens shop and as I looked down the aisle I noticed several mannekin’s hands draped over the side of the bed. Upon closer obvservation the hands were attached to people sleeping. I guess they were trying out the mattresses and found them satisfying.  I went into the basement and at one time I was in some electronic store that wan’t Macy’s. It separated the stores between 7th and Broadway. (?) As I wandered the sock aisle I heard some slapping sounds. “You Crazy, you poked me in eye.” Two security officers were standing around a female customer and an elderly female cashier. I imagined that she was temporary help, midnight in the sock department, being slapped by a 35 year old customer who wanted all of her purchases for free because she had been accosted. A customer actually stepped between the two women until a female security officer could arrive from Starbuck’s. There is something about the Christmas spirit. I realized that shopping on Christmas Eve Morning (ie 12:10 am) was a mistake. I paid for my socks and headed out. This might seem like an easy task but when I got on the street I couldn’t see a subway station or pretzel cart. I’m sure that are a lot of lousy jobs but standing at a pretzel cart at 12:30 am on Christmas Eve Morning has got to be right up there. The patrons in the subway stops seemed a bit weary. There were several people who had obviously gotten off work and were heading home; there were a few in the stations who were still trying to collect tips but they were just as likely to have them stolen by the current patrons as having anything added to their cups.
It was almost one in the morning when I returned to the Palace. I was quite careful to talk weather to the elevator operator. Dot Org was still up and we exchanged comments about our evening and I sat next to the coffee table and started looking for flights. She had found one for me but it was over a thousand dollars and I had decided that I would be home alone in New York. We found one flight on Delta and while I couldn’t raise them on my cell phone to verify the flight she was able to get them on her gizmo. Even though both Dot Com and I had the information in front of us on two different screens the agent said the flight didn’t exist. I woke up about six in the morning and started looking for flights again. It was looking dismal until the same flight from Delta showed up again. First Class (standby status) on Delta. I punched in the numbers and this time instead of telling me to call an agent I was confirmed. I had leap frogged over all of those who were going standby economy and I had gotten a special day of price for the First Class. Don’t know if this works all the time but it seemed worth trying.   I was satisfied that I had done all I could do to get a flight out that day. The Window Lookers were heading to Bloomingdale’s and Barneys. Extremely excited to accompany them the Bowery Boys were lured away at the last moment to do one more escapade in New York — The Shake Shack.   We took the subway to Madison Square Park. The shackburger is hand formed, the frozen custard legendary (high praise for an institution that opened its door in 2004) and the hot dogs better than a street vendor’s. There web site shows three intimate poses of their hamburger, a hot dog from bare bun to the works, crinkle cut fries and a pornographic style collage of milk shakes. The Bowery Boys looked around the subway area and coudln’t see the shop. We walked over to read the plaque about William Seward (appropriate figure for a cold day in New York looking for shakes) and noticed a large grey building “Shakeshack”. We hit it just right, there weren’t any lines. We walked through the park (the paths were formed like the Lousiana Territory) and walked up to the Shack. CLOSED TWO DAYS A YEAR – Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. (If you want to see the web cam and view the shake pictures you can go to shakeshacknyc.com — no relation to Dot Org. There you can visit the Shack-mosphere camera.) Other tourists would have been crushed. It was getting late and our main goal of the day had been squashed but the Bowery Boys think ahead. We were headed for 14th Street Station and the best Marshmallow Shake in the world. (We were actually going to do this any way to compare the Shakeshack shakes with the Stand’s shakes.)   The Stand is on 12th Street and University in Greenwich Village. They were open on Christmas Eve, in fact you can get $3.00 Mimosas from noon to five, a good thing for NYU students. I ordered the Classic Beef Burger with red onion, lettuce, tomato, sliced pickle, homemade ketchup and dijon mustard (No French’s yellow or Hunt’s here). The burger came with a tempura fried bread and butter pickle!! Samurai pickles. The burgers are excellent but what you really come for are the shakes, they cost as much as the hamburgers and twice as much as the Mimosa. Do you order an applie pie shake, dandelion & Burdock Soda with banana gelato, fresh blackberry soda (no they were out of all of these) what you order is their world famous Toasted Marshmallow Shake. There are bits of toasted marshmallow in the shake and two beautifully toasted marshmallows on top. Would I come here all the time? On the surface a “No” would be appropriate until you combined it with what the area has to offer — one of my two favorite bookstores in the country, The Strand. Once  you finish your shake you can walk two blocks to the Strand, home of 18 miles of new, used, review copy and rare books. The Strand has been in operation more than eighty years. It started on Book Row (4th Avenue) and owner Ben Bass named it after the publishing street in London. Of the 48 bookstores that were once part of Book Row (which ran from Union Square to Astor Place) The Strand is the only one that survived. They have the best book web site I have found and you can even see their guest authors live on their video cam. A Northwest note: One of the current owners, Nancy Bass Wyden, married Senator Ron Wyden from Oregon. I picked up a couple of Christmas presents and the Bowery Boys headed back to the Place — a few minutes behind schedule. With four of us traveling and leaving before rush hour (if you can tell that from regular hours in NY) we took a taxi to Newark. Our taxi was a Hybrid. The Pakistani driver said he only uses $10/day on gas instead of $60 and in the stop and go traffic it seems to make a lot of sense. We waited a long time to get into the tunnel but once there the ride was quick and I parted my friends — leaving them at Alaska Air and headed over to Delta. The plane was overbooked but paying customers on first class got priority so I walked up and got my boarding pass, tripping over the backpacks and carry-ons. I was feeling bad for everyone who got left behind as the plane pulled out of the gate and headed for Minnesota but I knew I had one more hurdle, could I get on standby in Minnesota?   One obstacle I didn’t forsee was that First Class no longer had cognac available. I think they need to rename this class to Barely-a-step-above-economy class. Because the flight was 2 hours and 20 minutes they didn’t have their little movie screens available or dinner. (I was able to get a pasta salad which was better than I had expected but didn’t make me forget about Benoit.) The Stewardess (this was a Delta flight flown by Northwest, I guess they are the Horizon of Delta now) was getting off in Minneapolis and heading the next day to Copenhagen and returning to the US via Detroit. That must have been a strange trip given what happened the next day on the Northwest flight from Copenhagen to Detroit.
Minneapolis — Our flight was supposed to be a direct flight to Spokane. When we got to Minneapolis we stayed our plane, waiting for new passengers to get on. After fifteen minutes we were told that they had changed planes for our flight and that the flight was running late. Plenty of time to get food if the places didn’t close early on Christmas Eve. The Burger King was open. It didn’t make me forget about the Stand. After an hour we were sent to another gate. The plane they wanted to use had been grounded in Chicago due to the storms. Iowa City, Closed; Sioux Falls, Closed. The cancelled flights were piling up on the board. Everything from the Midwest coming into Minneapolis was being delayed or cancelled.  I still wasn’t sure if I was getting on the plane in Minneapolis. Several people had been waiting to go standby but I was ahead of them, after all, I was barelyaboveeconomy class. They needed to move a crew to Spokane for the next day (which I think is the primary reason they decided to go)  so they found an unneccessary plane for us to travel on and again, the last open seat was first class so they put me on.   Still no cognac but it was nice to be heading home. And, as you know if you read my notes in NY10,  when my son picked me up at the airport he said, “Dad I don’t think your friends can take any more NY episodes right now.”   So,
Happy New Year to everyone and for now, the real final end of the NY saga.