November 2007 Archives
I landed on a day when it was a balmy 60 degrees in New York.
As tourists and Macy's Thanksgiving Parade were floating by on TV, the flight attendant crackled in nasal vowels on the airplane PA, "If you brought a coat with you, you might want to put it on. It's 23 degrees out there."
Welcome home, indeed.
By the time I returned I'd brought the cold weather with me. It's not in the 20s yet, but they say we may have our first snow accumulation this weekend, and I'll be into my first real winter in New York.
How could I have missed this?
Last Friday was Domino Day, an annual event in The Netherlands that attempts to break the world record for most falling dominoes.
Several teams took part in the competition. This video was most impressive:
My days have blurred together in an endless, unvarying cycle of wake > work > eat > drink > read > write > sleep. To mix things up a little, I travel, but those opportunities have been too few and far between.
Still, a change of pace is necessary. Now that cold weather seems to have really set in, memories of my seasonal habits are creeping back to the surface.
For as long as I've had a place of my own, the period beginning Nov. 1 and ending sometime mid-January or February was baking season.
As I developed better stovetop skills, it became cooking season as well. In addition, if the weather was cool, I'd bring out my trusty walnut, ebony and rosewood knitting needles and whip out holiday gifts in cashmere, mohair, merino and silk. (Only the best for friends and family.)
Since moving to New York, I have lost the will to cook, which, for those who know me well, is like losing the will to live. I stand in front of my tiny stove, pull out a saute pan and can only muster enough spark to make scrambled eggs and tea.
Pathetic.
Working in the kitchen involved all of me. Every meal for friends and loved ones involved thought, instinct and emotion — not just about the food but about the people who'd be eating it.
I liked to make every dinner a tailored and memorable experience, if not for my friends, then at least for me. Occasionally, I'd receive nice post-dinner notes or phone calls. But more often I'd get oohs and ahhs during the meal and a happy look on guests' faces as they left. Like all cooks, professional and otherwise, I find the joy of cooking is in feeding people who like what you've made.
Back in L.A., I had a nicely outfitted kitchen with just enough space for two to cook in while guests hung out by the fake fireplace playing board games, talking over drinks, or trying to spin the Levitron (to this day, the best and most-cherished going-away present coworkers have ever given me).
After applying apartment therapy, I tried to step up my game by making lots of new things. Thanksgiving dinner, however, remained semi-traditional, something I learned by instinct and by talking with friends. Here's what else I learned.
• I like cooking for people who mean something to me. Therefore, it's unlikely I'll ever become a professional.
• I never had enough people to have a whole bird, so instead I baked drumsticks and breasts that, thank goodness, came out with enough moisture and enough flavor to be edible. I can't tell you my baking secret, though. You'll just have to hope for a dinner invite.
• Cooking parts as opposed to a whole bird saved everyone from the dreaded "fun with turkey" period that inevitably follows T-day. Besides, aside from the wish bone, no one ever asks for parts other than breasts and legs anyway. Geez, that reads kind of ... ahem.
• Duck breasts will shrink by more than half their size in the oven, despite 24 hours of soaking in red wine and seasonings and being cooked under foil.
• Overmashed potatoes will turn into glue. Don't wing it like I did. Read this advice instead. Or use potato flakes. Unless you hate them.
• Chestnuts must be peeled while hot, otherwise the shells and skins will stick to the nut and the ensuing futility of your efforts will make you cry. Or cuss.
• Accidentally burning the tips of your fingers while peeling is helpful — you'll eventually stop feeling pain and you can work faster. Put the hot, peeled chestnuts into a hot, damp towel surrounded by foil until you need them. If the peeled chestnuts dry out, steam them.
• I love chestnuts, but StoveTop stuffing is scary.
• Make green bean casserole.
• Some people like their cranberry jelly shaped like the can it came from.
• Canned pumpkin makes good pumpkin pie if you don't want to make yours from scratch. Pillsbury pre-made pie crusts are also a trusty go-to brand.
• If you buy a whole frozen pie from Trader Joe's, you should have gone last week. By now, the traditional pie might be harder to find and you'll be stuck with the pumpkin mousse pie which is not the same. Not by a long stretch.
I went out to celebrate a friend's dinner this evening at the boite Jean Claude.
Being the new person in a large group of old friends, and being in a restaurant where the noise overwhelmed all else, I found myself answering the same question many times.
This, of course, is natural. Happens all the time when you're in a group setting. Normally, the question most frequently asked is "What do you do?" It's innocuous and a good entry into discussion.
Being socially patient and occasionally mischievous, I sometimes give different answers. But after hearing an interview about American identity and how it's so closely tied to our work many years ago, I've been trying to figure out a better (or at least less common) first question in a social setting. (All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.)
Unfortunately, "how do you know the host" isn't a fail safe, and will only get you so far, so I'd love to hear your favorite first question in a social setting.
This evening's group was entirely different. The most popular first question was "Where is your husband?"
When I answered, the look of pity in each questioner's eyes made me furrow my brow. After all, I'm somebody on my own.
Last week was crushing — most definitely a low point in a year of many radical changes.
When you hit bottom, the best way to go is up. And the best way to do that, I've found, is to stay busy.
• The geek in me has been thinking about upgrading this site to MT4, but first, I think I'll finish "Transcending CSS."
• I began reading "Proust was a Neuroscientist," but it was very dry, so I turned to "An Alphabetical Life," by Wendy Werris, who lives and works in L.A. as a literary escort and seems to have had a very fine life in books.
Sometimes it makes me think I missed my calling. When I was little, I spent lots of happy hours in the library devouring books, and to this day, I've wondered what a great thing it would be to be a publisher.
Of course, in order to know what I was doing, I'd have to learn the ropes. What better place than New York?
But as many old-hand editors will tell you, the book business ain't what it used to be. For one example, read the wonderful, "The Forest for the Trees," by Betsy Lerner. If that doesn't make you fall in love with writing, editing and the literary life — and make you lament the state of the book industry today — you've a heart of stone, my friend.
• The Where to Eat map is in need of a redesign as well. I've got a head full of ideas, a pocketful of notes and a handful of software tools, including amMap, Yahoo Pipes and of course, the Google Maps API. Now, I just need my hosting service to stop going down.
• I'm doing a taste test to see if there's any different between the Naked an Odwalla versions of strawberry-banana-C smoothies. Naked calls theirs strawberry-banana-C. Odwalla gives theirs the far more fun-sounding name Strawberry C-Monster.
Why the sudden interest in C? There's a very bad cold going around that's been dropping people like rocks. They say the important stage of killing a cold is the first few days, before it sets in.
So far, Naked seems the way to go.
— Joe E. Lewis
About a week ago, I received an invite to Whisky Week at the Brandy Library in Tribeca, perhaps the most-mentioned bar in town that specializes in "brown spirits." (They have more than 200 different kinds of Scotch alone.)
The first thought was, "Great! Now I have an excuse to visit DeNiro's part of town." But on more careful consideration of the week's offerings, I dashed of a quick email to make a reservation for the Balvenie tasting.
Those who like Scotch will probably call me a wuss. Scotch, for years, was thought of as a man's drink, the kind of thing that would sear your eyes and put hair on your chest.
But maybe eight or nine years ago, Scotch got a marketing revival, and that's about when I started my own exploring. Thanks to the nice guys over at Wally's, I got to try a lot of different brands. Most of them tasted like dirt.
But there was one standout: the Balvenie DoubleWood. Here was drink of wood and vanilla, one that reminded me of log cabin fires in winter, one with no trace of peat: perfect for the colder months. Until recently, it was the only Scotch I'd ever bought a bottle of. (The Macallan 12 year Sherry Oak has since joined the list.)
So in the evening I took the train, dashed into the Brandy Library woefully late, spiraled my way downstairs and walked straight into a men's club. Here, for the first time, was a restaurant/lounge where the straight men outnumbered women of all stripes and gay men.
Most of them were in expensive-looking suits. A few of them were accompanied by women in expensive-looking dresses who draped themselves on their arms or over their shoulders or by their sides like cardigans and throw blankets.
Undaunted, I whipped out my best accessory for the situation: a smile and a hello to the man behind the bar.
Three bottles were on offer for the evening: the 12-year-old DoubleWood, the 15-year-old Single Barrel, and the 21-year-old PortWood — each distinctive, and each very good in its own way.
Unlike many of the men, I took no notes. Since taking a class in wine tasting a long time ago, I've come to realize that the sense of taste is very individual, as are people's reasons for enjoying what they eat and drink.
The point was driven home by the stocky spirits sommelier, Ethan Kelley, who said he grew up in New Jersey and used to be a kindergarten teacher. After about an hour of free pours and hors d'oeuvres (including some truly divine lamb shanks), Ethan began the real business of tasting.
Taste, he said, was personal, a judgment and comparison based on individual history — where you grew up, what you put in your mouth, what you breathed and felt and all the memories associated with those things. No two people will ever taste the same thing the same way, so tasting notes, in his opinion, are merely one person's opinion, no more important or valid than your own.
I decided I like Ethan.
And here's what I learned: sampling spirits is different from sampling wine. Don't stick your nose into the glass or your eyes will water and you might sneeze. Instead, hold the glass so it's below your chin, open your mouth and inhale slowly through your nose. Swirl if you want to, but most spirits have enough alcohol that the smell will rise on its own.
Try it and see if that doesn't improve your experience.
I also discovered the DoubleWood is still a wonderful combination of wood and vanilla. A short pour and a good book or magazine will still be one of my favorite ways to close out a long day.
The 15-year Single Barrel has the DoubleWood's vanilla, but a different wood taste (since it's only aged in, duh, a single barrel) and more bite because of the higher alcohol content. Add a few drops of water to cut down the alcohol if it burns. No one will say anything, Joe Lewis notwithstanding.
The 21-year-old Portwood might be my next purchase when the Macallan's is done: here, the Doublewood's smoky, woody character stays, but the drink feels heavier and tastes more like honey and nutmeg. In fact, many people in the room mentioned the word "pumpkin pie." (So much for the "individual" theory, huh?)
After the tasting was over, we were handed gift bags — mostly it was literature, but tucked at the bottom in white tissue paper was a pair of stout little snifters.
Scotch, anyone?
No Plot, No Problem! Write a Novel in November
Good luck to everyone registered for the venture. Remember: 1,700 words a day will get to you finished by Nov. 30.