Posts from the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

Dream Weaver.

My friends. It has happened. I have experienced the culinary ecstasy that is now deemed New York’s best lobster roll. It was every bit of gastronomic magic I could have imagined. The man behind the curtain wasn’t there to accept, but his precious team members were. And yes- I brought the muffins.

Although my introduction to this delectable little treasure inconveniently overlapped with my attempt to go on Atkins, I did somehow manage to sample the roll, bisque and chowder and I now know in my heart this is my new go-to spot for crustacean goodness. Walking inside Luke’s Lobster felt like walking into any number of shacks along the New England coast, but far cuter and friendlier. And not that I need to escape the UES, but what a lovely little beachy oasis. Can’ t wait to go back!

Renegade Clammer.

Since my introduction to the world as an unwieldy tot I have always followed the beat of my own drummer, never really coloring within the lines, or willing to follow rules meant to confine me. So, I might harbor a somewhat unreasonable distaste for authority figures. I have never enjoyed being told what to do and more often what not to do. For some nefarious reason something I am naturally excited to do on my own becomes contemptuous once I am ordered to do it.

I accept that it is completely unacceptable as a grown adult to feel threatened by people holding positions of power. I also accept that no one is perfect, so I am allowed this flaw. And as my father always says, “No one ever likes the police, until they need them.” Well I would like to add that “No one likes the shell fishing warden until he is finally nice to you.”

Clamming is a favorite activity of mine, however it is heavily regulated along the shores of Cape Cod, so I am subject to the shackles of authority each time I embark on a clamming excursion. Each time I show my license to the “warden” so he can ensure I am officially allowed to fish and each time I have to measure each shell to ensure the appropriate length and each time I must subject my bounty to a thorough assessment before I am released. I have a horrible memory seared into my mind about the time he made me put a scallop back since it was far before scallop season and ever since I have resented this stoic elderly fellow.

It wasn’t until he allowed my mother and I to bring our catch without his final check and told his partner that he should “let em go, these ladies are good” that I finally accepted him within my heart. That action and those words solidified our indestructible bond. So until I break another rule and inevitably get scolded, this one’s for you Clamming Warden! Thank you for entrusting me to a world of shellfish!

Ode to Bun Bun.

This past Thursday, I not only had the pleasure to accompany my boss’ daughter Addie* to school, but as an added bonus I was also able to share her joy in her beloved childhood crutch, Pink Blanky. My boss and I were dropping off Addie and then continuing on to an out of office event and as we arrived at school Addie showed me her treasured childhood blanket. I was informed that Pink Blanky was actually at one time pink, not the graying mass it now represents.

“ I used to have bunny rabbit just like Pink Blanky, Addie” I said with a mature grin as I simultaneously pictured Bun-Bun perched on my bed in my current apartment.

“And then when you turned five you had to give him back right?” My boss asked with pleading eyes, apparently trying to wean her child off of the aforementioned blanky.

“Yes. “ I said firmly without hesitation, snapping out of my Bun-Bun induced haze. “Because I became a big girl.” I said smiling at Addie to let her know that this right of passage would in fact turn out alright.

As my confident smile wavered, I wondered if little Addie would call my bluff. Hop back in her carseat and demand to be driven back to my apartment to check if Bun Bun in fact had been given away at age 5. Of course she just smiled shyly and clutched on to Pink Blanky for dear life, for fear I might snatch it away a few months early. The fact is Bun Bun is still a pretty large staple in my life. He/She/It didn’t go away at age 5, 15, or 25. In fact I am pretty sure Bun Bun will be around as long as I am.

Bun Bun came to me one Easter filled with matching pink PJs, larger than life in its pink fur and white fluffy cheeks. It now sports matted gray fur and is fairly stretched out due to years of being confused as a Popple, but remains just as much of a staple as when received as a tot. Bun Bun has traveled far and wide with me, across seas, crammed in suitcases, and attended all four years of Cornell with me. As sad as it might sound, Bun Bun is my longest standing friend. And although it might presently be taking a back seat to my newest ball of love, Bun Bun this one is for you!

*All names have been changed to preserve confidentiality.

Oh How I Missed the South.

I have learned in my vast travels that there is always one certain business type that over saturates any given destination. In New York people scoff at the bounty of Starbucks, although there always seems to be a line around the block for the nectar of an extra hot no foam soy latte. In Florida, I was astounded by the bevy of Sushi-Thai restaurants, however horrified I was by the bastardization of both Japanese and Thai cuisines. And now after a fantastic road trip from Virginia to North Carolina I have discovered yet another gem that floods the streets below the Mason Dixon Line.

They are a fusion between pawnshops and gun shops called Pawn and Gun Shops. (Clever I know.) Typically these are differentiated by owner. For example Hal’s Pawn and Gun might be on Rt. 7 while Jeb’s Pawn and Gun might be located a few blocks over on Rt 121. Frightening? For a gal unaccustomed to such a high volume of either, the fusion was mildly overwhelming. However, as my journey south continued, the sheer proximity of the dynamic duo caused me to temporarily consider trading in my work laptop in for a glock.

I opted against it since I would have been fired and I think I can safely assume I would be a terrible shot, however I did enjoy a brief fantasy involving me sporting a coonskin cap and riding horseback in a manner somewhat reminiscent of Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman. I am now back in NYC gun-less and fancy free, but that sweet memory will always remain. And now time for a sporadic moment of gratitude for those things NYC. Thank you to the homeless man whose obscenities alerted me to the fact that my shirt was nearly entirely unbuttoned on my walk home today. No wonder that breeze felt so glorious…

Muffins Galore.

Although I wrote a previous post about not understanding current day technology in jest, it seems that this particular sentiment has shacked up with my declaration of love for Luke’s Lobster to produce what happened last week. Maybe common Internet knowledge temporarily escaped me or perhaps it was a Freudian memory lapse, no one can be sure- however what is certain is that my blueberry muffin offering has been made more public than initially intended.

Long story short what was meant to induce a few chuckles amongst friends may or may not have reached the subject of my profession. So after dusting off my muffin recipe and testing it out at this weekend’s cocktail party I am ready to follow through on my promise. I may not deliver on the clams since I don’t think they’ll make it past my stomach post Cape Memorial Day clamming excursion, however muffins are en route once I have confirmation those UES doors are open.

Coastal Companions

In case you haven’t heard there is a new lobsterman in town and I have been dying to get a piece. I basically can’t turn anywhere without hearing more about Luke’s Lobster, a restaurant in the East Village primarily offering Lobster Rolls, and I still have yet to get my hands on one. Despite the fact that haven’t tasted the delectable crustacean filled treat, I have determined that there is substantial evidence to indicate that Luke from Luke’s Lobster is my soul mate.

1. Hello he’s adorable, I’m adorable, and together we would just be a bundle of cuteness.
2. I am a licensed shell fisherwoman. I know they’ve been looking to expand to clam rolls….
3. He’s opening a new shop just four blocks away from my apartment! Coincidence? I don’t think so.
4. New England blood runs deep right? ME? MA? We are basically neighbors!

Okay my reasons might be weak and sparse, but I am fairly certain they might pan out to something substantial. I plan to welcome him to the UES with a basket of blueberry muffins, ones that once provoked a marriage proposal, and a bucket of clams. Stay tuned.

Digital Who What Now?

In the recent past, it has come to my attention that I am officially old. I don’t know if I somehow blacked out or entered a coma for a few years, but I have become completely out of touch with how the current world operates. It all started when I told a friend I would tweet her from St. John to let her know how my trip was going. Then I realized that I don’t think you can actually tweet someone and even if it were possible, I don’t know how to do it.

Four Square? Isn’t that a recess pastime in which a dodge ball is passed from one student to another in chalk drawn court? Apparently it is now an online tracking system in which users can run micro communities and predators can monitor one’s every move. I tried to participate, but I think I actually was thinking of the previous version and I have yet to successfully become the mayor of any online businesses.

Chat Roulette? Maybe I am just sensitive, but I don’t need another venue in which to get instantly rejected or otherwise horrified. I am not sure of the end goal for this service, but I definitely am too scared to find out. I don’t have an iphone or an ipad or any kind of berry. Other than the frozen strawberries in my freezer for a.m. smoothies. I guess I need to enter the digital era? I might start to get a little lonely all by myself in the real world.

And finally- the reason why I love New York currently. Yesterday I had a picnic in central park, played chess, and planted my very own marigold in honor of Earth day. Central Park- I love you and plan on having as many picnics as physically possible now that my picnic backpack has been replenished. See you around!

Show a little compassion.

While witnessing somewhat of a break-up last week while out dining with a friend, I had a pretty substantial revelation. Although, I cannot be certain of what I witnessed since this is in no way about me, but a stranger at a restaurant, the intimate nature of the restaurant allowed me to heavily eavesdrop and observe and my overall extraction from their painful dialogue was that this was indeed a break-up. Based on my gatherings, I reached the conclusion that there should be a dress code for break-ups.

If you know you are going to have a serious discussion that could potentially end emotionally or uncomfortably, you need to dress for the occasion. You want to look composed enough to indicate your care for the other person, but casual enough to designate that this is not a date that will end on a celebratory note. Darker colors might be appropriate and convenient in the event that you need to make a quick getaway from your venue if the recipient causes a scene.

In this particular situation the female, who I will note, in an unbiased fashion, was shockingly gorgeous, was dressed in a grey dress with black tights and flats. This is a safe choice for any occasion; however the male was sporting a glorified version of a Hawaiian shirt with jeans. I will also note here that it was clear that the male was putting the kibosh on the relationship.

If you are bringing an unsuspecting person into a negative relationship space, don’t mock the solemn tone of the event with a Hawaiian shirt. Hawaiian shirts indicate your desire to start a conga line, roast a pig, or consume a million daiquiris. It should not however, indicate the end of a romance. A button down, subdued tee or a muted sweater would be appropriate. If you have festive plans post break up, wear a little something to cover the flamboyance of your party top.

Alternatively, if I were to initiate the end of a love I wouldn’t wear anything too revealing or low-cut. I am aware that I am exceptionally considerate, however I find this similar to wearing a mini skirt to church, shorts to a funeral, or a long white dress to someone else’s wedding. It’s just inappropriate. I know I committed to focusing on my love for New York for posts moving forward so I will leave with this, the day following awkward break-up I was able to get my knives sharpened, new spring scent selected, and kitty groomed in under an hour. God I love this glorious land of convenience. I vow to remain more focused following my long awaited tropical beach getaway next week.

Love Love Love

Reason number 85 million why I love New York City is because of the sheer volume of obscure businesses within a 2-block radius. Of course the bounty of Starbucks, pizza by the slice, and Duane Reade is exceptional, but the remaining bevy of randomness is what has captured my heart. Manhattan is essentially an oversized grocery store checkout filled to capacity with impulse purchase options.

It is nice to know if I am looking for an antique overstuffed owl shaped love seat, a rare orchid, or a palm reading I won’t have to look far, but more often than not these things are purchased simply because they are there. I can easily go to the bodega to grab some milk or a pack of gum and within moments I am the owner of a pocket watch, a phonograph, or pot bellied pig.

New York has everything I need and everything I don’t. It fuels my undiagnosed ADHD, while simultaneously keeping me grounded and sane. I literally could purchase every $5 pashmina, subway churro, and pirated DVD offered to me. Potentially, there could be a day when New York lets me down, but until then my adoration continues.

I think I’ll go with this theme for a bit. New York I love you.