Be Careful of What You Wish For

I have always been amused at the experiences I have when eating out with Big Daughter. Case in point, when my friend and I went to Balthazar for breakfast a few months ago, we were squeezed into a tiny table between a friendly, tattooed older Soho rocker babe and several intimate couples. We were pretty much in the Gobi Desert. So much for the experience of being in Paris, I think it was more like Libya. When I went back to Balthazar with Big Daughter a week or so later (yes, I am sometimes a glutton for punishment when seduced by pretty white china teapots and bread baskets with chocolate bread), we were seated smack in the middle of the main dining room at a prime booth, complete with overly attentive service. We were in Paris in NYC! I don't know which comes first in NYC, food or beauty -it sure seems that beauty is where it's at. (Of course, after reading that waitstaff in Balthazar must cover bounced checks, I will no longer eat there). That same day, we also got a prime spot for lunch at Gemma, the new space in the Bowery Hotel complete with, you guessed it, a lot of solicitous waiter attention, We joked that this was our B for restaurants day because later that evening Big Daughter took the family to Buddakan (where she's a hostess) and we were treated like royalty. A testament to her hard work and sweet manner. I was impressed by Buddakan; the food, the professionalism and the ambiance. Every manager came to say hello and each of them was truly an ambassador of hospitality. But I'm getting beyond myself. Big Daughter does not expect this special service but aside from Buddakan, where is she known to staff and co-workers as a genuine, hardworking sweetheart - she is unfortunately attended to because of her looks. I am sympathetic because it means she can never hide, or be anonymous and disappear in plain sight (all things I take for granted). Recently, she took me to Rohm, a lovely new Thai restaurant on E. 20th between Madison and Park. For whatever reason, I had some misgivings -perhaps it was Friday night on Park Avenue (something I never even consider.) Or maybe it was my mood - I am not always the best company at 8:30 p.m. on a Friday night, after work and then my private clients. But she persisted, her friend Shan and his family had just opened the restaurant and she had promised to stop in. Big Daughter is very loyal to her friends. When we arrived, the place was buzzing and every table was taken, and people were still pouring in. Shan seated us in the upstairs area, which gave us a vantage viewing point of the whole space. On the ceiling, there was a striking collection of hanging lanterns. Unfortunately, our status as special friends of the owners meant that we tasted the wonderful food faster than the long-suffering table sitting next to us. In this case, beauty made things ugly and we were both mortified (as was her friend). As each appetizer kept arriving, and 8 pairs of eyes looked at the food -one of them a very, pregnant mother-to-be, it became increasingly difficult to enjoy the food. In desperation, I rifled through my bag and offered crackers, fresh-cut mango and cheese. In addition, we handed over a side of rice which accompanied the tasty green curry with duck. Rohm had just been mentioned in Citysearch and was overwhelmed with business. There is a dearth of affordable, good Thai in the Flatiron district and Rohm hit the spot. The cook apparently had a panic attack in the kitchen (after preparing our food) and mixed up all the food orders. We were thinking of eating under the table but that was not an option. Big Daughter's response to the confusion in the kitchen and the envy at the adjacent table, was to accuse me of being "a good Samaritan." I knew she was starving but found it hard to enjoy the very well-prepared food. Oh the perils of success and beauty -hand-in-hand they can be a true bane on one's existence and kill the appetite -even in a good restaurant like Rohm!

The Comfort of Tea (and Coffee).

From mid-January to the end of March, Carl is officially in the throes of March Madness frenzy. I feel like a football wife, except that I've been officially left for college basketball not pro-football. To add insult to injury, the Australian Open is being televised late at night so he's become a night owl, prowling the apartment while he watches Federer dispatch Blake and Ivanovic blow Serena off the court. I am quite bereft in my suddenly-single status but continue to find a measure of comfort in visiting new tea/coffee places and vicariously experiencing the thrill of discovery with those who accompany me. Since an early morning sojourn in the E. Village was necessitated this past Monday morning, I mapped out a stop at Abraco Coffee (E. 7th Street at 1st Avenue) for Carl and to Gramstand Tea (Ave A. between 13th/14th) for me. I was certain Carl would love Abraco and he did. Although I wish he'd notice me a bit more, his appreciation of the coffee will have to suffice. As we waited for his coffee, little one kept winding my grey wool muffler around my neck, pulling it with a yank and I think, attempting to strangle me. I'm certain she was reacting to a continuous low-grade anxiety that I'd been buzzing around with for most of the weekend. This is noteworthy because I've been told that I am quite calm in nature. Later on, when we returned home, I noticed one of my favorite earrings was missing. Apparently, little one hooked the beautiful citrine green earring into the scarf and tugged it out of my ear - an ominous sign. Whenever I lose something, it reflects change. That is certainly the case with the earring (but that's another story entirely). When I called Abraco to see if the earring might have been found, the lady barista obligingly looked on the floor for it and then said "you come in a lot so I'll hold it for you, if I find it." I was flattered to be confused with a regular so I just said ok. While we were at Abraco, Carl could not seem to order and kept schmoozing. I think he was a bit distracted with thoughts of impending basketball glory, this is why I'm buzzing around with low grade anxiety; the man has disappeared! I've been ignored a bit too long mister and I'm dying here. Nonetheless, in the spirit of love, I smoothly intervened and ordered Carl a drip coffee. The lady barista at Abraco was a total sweetheart, and completely unfazed by Carl. She asked why we were out on such a cold morning. She also agreed with little one's rejection of an offer of a black sesame seed cookie. The lady barista told little one that she too would have wanted, like little one firmly stated, a chocolate chip cookie. Abraco was empty and peaceful so early in the morning. Big Daughter and I visited Abraco Saturday afternoon (as she slowly dissolved into pudding mush due to caffeine withdrawal after our monthly pedicure at Jin Soon on E. 4th Street). The place was packed to the gills with customers. I'd noticed Abraco during one of my many neighborhood walks in prior weeks. It looked like a sweet little -and I mean little -space just above First Avenue. Big Daughter's coffee fit gave me an excuse to visit (since I cannot digest coffee but love the smell.) Because it was so crowded, we hesitated about entering but were firmly and gently urged in by a young, friendly blond surfer-dude type sitting on the bench outside. He said we'd regret it if we didn't try the coffee. The "crowd" was comprised of several coffee-drinkers savoring their coffee standing up and there was actually no wait. The Warhol-look-alike barista asked Big Daughter if she wanted a "drip coffee" and she assented. It took a few minutes to make and I was able to examine the cardamon cakes, olive bread and cookies. Big Daughter unwittingly offended Mr. Warhol barista when she requested Sweetnlow. When told "we don't carry that stuff here," she huffed out and made me buy some at the neighbor deli for 15 cents. A few minutes later, Big Daughter admitted the coffee was "amazing." Monday morning, after bringing Carl and little one to Abraco for his coffee, I left them briefly at Odessa for a quick breakfast, while I ran an errand. I then whisked them down to Gramstand Tea on Avenue A (between 13th/14th). Little one was having her bangs trimmed at Trini in Private, a new salon that my long-time hair stylist recently opened at 12th street and 6th Avenue, and we had a little extra time before the appt. Big Sister complains that little one "tosses" her hair around after having her hair washed and dried following the trimming of bangs. I reminded Big daughter of her many manicures at a tender young age but she claimed to have been more modest. The battle of vanity. Anyway, I had visited Gramstand a few Saturdays ago and was thrilled to discover "Proper chai" listed on their menu. They prepare their chai with either halfnhalf or soy and steep the tea leaves in the milk for a very creamy, smooth finish with a hint of spiciness in the taste. Gramstand is a simple place with two futon couches in the front part of the cafe. There's a row of constantly-occupied tables in front of the counter. On my previous visit, a young woman was using two tables and seemed put out that we asked to sit at the adjacent table, where she had spread her papers. There is also a downstairs seating area. The crowd at Gramstand is quite eclectic and very much a mix of young e. villagers and those who carry a whiff of real time spent in the neighborhood. Little one's eyes alighted on some legos and an etch-a-sketch toy. After asking me if she could play with them, she was instantly content. Carl was happy to read the paper and I of course, drank my chai. It was a time of pure bliss for all of us.

Dennis Foy- When food is prepared for its own sake

Our dear friend, and honorary family member, Miss M. was in New York City for a quick visit from L.A. for a few days between Christmas and New Years Day. In our family, there is a special place reserved in our hearts for Miss M. She was the first caregiver we ever hired for little one and we never worried when Miss M. was home with little one. Since she just graduated from USC (You Go Miss M!!) I thought dinner at Dennis Foy restaurant, (313 Church Street, between Lispenard and Walker) would be a good choice to celebrate this major life moment -and it was. I'd been wanting to eat at Dennis Foy for awhile and this presented the right opportunity. Miss M. and I met for dinner the Thursday evening after New Year's Day, one of the first seriously cold nights in NYC. The wind was so gusty, it pretty much blew us in the door. Miss M. had spent the previous few days snowboarding in Pennsylvania, yet when I met her, she still exuded an aura of Southern California warmth. The dining room at Dennis Foy also carried an inviting elegant, tropical warmth. Throughout dinner, I kept looking at one wall in particular which was painted in layered, tonal shades of gold. The art on the walls was the chef's own work and his varied paintings evoked the work of English artist, Howard Hodgkin, whose pieces are beautiful foggy blocks of jewel-like colors. Since my dinner with Miss M., I've been reflecting on the experience. This is not a restaurant that panders to the latest trend, or the latest big spender, for that matter. Eating at Dennis Foy provided me a rare glimpse into what it means to eat good food. Something quiet and serious was going on in the kitchen. It's the complete opposite of the big, brash, larger-than-life New York City food scene where everyone becomes a wheeler/dealer -the chef, the wait staff and the diner. Every dish was showcased as an edible array of jewels. It was quite enjoyable to sink into the luxury of simply eating beautifully prepared food. Now, as I meander around NYC, I can't quite get Dennis Foy out of my head. It's a warning bell, dinging against my vulgar interest in the "next best thing". The Jane Austen of restaurants -subdued, austere and very complicated. I sincerely hope Dennis Foy becomes a Tribeca mainstay. Esquire voted them Best Restaurant for 2007 and I understand why. The only comparison I can make - to help the gentle reader understand what I'm trying to communicate - is with Le Miu, a very unique Sushi restaurant in the E. Village (at Avenue A right off 7th street). I feel the same energy happening there with Japanese food and sushi. It's also prepared with a similar quietness of effort and intensity. Our defining moment at Dennis Foy was when the waiter came back from the kitchen and informed us that the chef wanted us to pick another dessert because our choice -the chocolate cake- "did not turn out so well that night." This was after a starter of exquisitely simple haricots verts (green beans), which were astonishingly good. Who would have thought green beans could be elevated to such a level? Miss M. started with pate -which was also very good. We switched plates midway to share our appetizers and not even a crumb was left behind. I selected scallops for my entree and she opted for steak. The scallops melted in my mouth and the steak, which arrived with beautiful bright green peas and mashed potatoes swirled together like an artistic palette of color, was the perfect touch on a cold, frigid night. The waiter presented the last little uneaten piece of steak to us in a gorgeous little bag so we could take it home. We ended up with a sublime chocolate souffle for dessert.

Thursday Night Date Night

After a short hiatus, Carl and I resumed Thursday night date night last week. The goal of Thursday night dates, according to me, is to transport us out of our normal routine of work, home and family. This can be very stressful for Carl as he believes that one can rarely escape the routine of life. Much to his surprise, he has begun to enjoy these evenings. He is generally game to accompany me unless a major sports event is going on. In the past months, I stopped picking places for wine and cheese which has significantly impacted his motivation to join me. Not only does he find such places annoying, he complains that wine makes him sleepy -which is actually true. Last week, we ended up at Spitzer's Corner, (located at the corner of Rivington and Ludlow Streets). I walked by Spitzer's Corner several times in prior months, and also read about it but wasn't drawn to it. Initially, I visited them out of guilt because the week before, on the Friday after New Year's Day, little one and Carl stayed home and we made plans to meet for lunch. We planned to meet at Shopsins (now located adjacent to Saxelby's Cheese in the Essex Market) but it was closed. For some odd reason, whenever I try to visit Shopsins it's always closed -this is at least my third attempt. I saw a chalkboard in front of Spitzer's Corner that said something about brunch so we went in and checked it out. Carl is always great for that, he has no problem walking into empty spaces that look closed and asking questions. I have a thing about going into places that look closed, I just can't do it. Carl thinks that's ridiculous. Anyway, after we walked into Spitzer's Corner, little one began wailing,saying "no, no, not here." She's known to get in this kind of state for no discernible reason. The hostess was slightly perplexed but gamely told us the lunch specials. I apologized to the hostess, because little one had increased the volume of her wails. Under the threat of death by wailing, we reluctantly opted for Inoteca (which is directly across the street). Carl made a vain attempt to go to some Turkish place on the corner but I wasn't having it -falafel and coca cola was not cutting it. I think little one found Spitzer's Corner a bit plain. It was completely empty when we walked in, with the wooden picnic tables, backless benches and wooden walls creating the feeling of being in a cabin in the Northwoods. Maybe that's why I went back, because I've spent some time in the Northwoods and it's beautiful and isolated at the same time. The only difference is that outside of Spitzer's floor-to-ceiling windows a big, bustling city is meandering by so the effect is a bit surreal. Little one is extremely attuned to how places and things feel. It runs in the family. I have been known to leave a place because the chairs look funny. At Spitzer's Corner, I was intrigued as I read the list of ales/beers on the blackboard. A while back their pork fat popcorn was featured in a piece in the NY Post about the exotic popcorn wave hitting NYC - so I decided Carl and I would try Spitzer's Corner Thursday night. Little one, in fact, encouraged us to go there without her. On a side note, lunch at Inoteca turned out perfect sans meltdowns. I've had lunch at Inoteca several times in the past 6 months, and dinner once or twice in the past year. The quality of the food at Inoteca is outstanding. I talked Carl into the butternut squash because I ordered it for lunch on one of the last warm fall days. It was accompanied by polenta and tasted so naturally sweet, creamy and soothing that nothing else was needed. At our recent lunch, the waitress was very sweet to little one. She admired her new markers-we always bring paper and markers or coloring books. I was proud of Carl. He had a plastic bag of white paper and little one had her new colored markers. The friendly waitress brought her mini grilled paninis with a tomato dipping sauce. I had the meatballs and they were just what I wanted. But back to Thursday evening at Spitzer's Corner; I was surprised to have so much fun while I was there. There was a mixed crowd, and it was a bit noisy but the overall vibe was relaxed. The appetizers were presented in a way that made us eat them all. The pickle plate wasn't too salty or too sour and was a nod to the Jewish roots of the Lower East Side. The shrimp was served in a tall beer glass and accompanied by tartar sauce and cocktail sauce. They were pretty filling. I selected a winter wheat ale that was described has having hints of vanilla and citrus. I normally can't drink beer, but this one went down pretty easily. At the end of the meal, we ordered the bag of just-made donuts. They were warm, and covered with cinnamon and brown sugar. As I sat and looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows, I thought about how much the Lower east side has changed since the mid-1980s. Not too long ago, walking around Stanton, Rivington and Essex streets was like being in the Wild West. I started out in NYC at the corner of Suffolk and Delancey with my college boyfriend, Michael and his cousin John. We stayed for a few weeks with Michael's sister. In my minds eye, I can still see her sitting on the fire escape in a man's white t-shirt wearing vivid red lipstick and looking very French, with her-then boyfriend James. He later found us apartments in his building at E. 12th street. James had a pit bull before everyone and their grandmother had one. Michael, John and I were so poor then that we would gather our pennies and dollars and go down to Ratner's on Essex Street and eat soup and challah bread. When Ratner's closed several years ago, I was heartbroken. On our road trips back to see Michael and John's family in the Midwest, we would stop in the early morning at the Bialy place on Essex and Grand and buy a big, warm fragrant brown paper bag filled with Bialys. We would eat them in the car as we drove out of NYC and across Pennsylvania and Ohio to Indiana. I watched the stream of people walking by the window of Spitzer's Corner and I was nostalgic for those gritty, heady days when we listened to David Bowie, Iggy Pop, Prince and Bryan Ferry. I remembered the flea markets on Canal Street where I bought a leather mini-skirt and a green, oversize wool sweater and thought I was so cool. Untitled, a great postcard store, was still on Spring Street in Soho and all the great galleries were still there too. My first job was in Soho and I made $150/week. During my lunch break, it was a thrill to go to Untitled and pick out postcards. Afterwards, I would eat at Food, a collective restaurant with great big slices of homemade bread. Then I would visit galleries and view the work of up and coming artists who are now mainstream - Peter Halley, Jeff Koons, and Richard Tuttle among others. Being at Spitzer's Corner melded the past and the present in a way that left me feeling young despite the memories evoked.

The Wisdom of Tea

When I moved back to the U.S. with my family at the age of 12, I was truly a fish out of water. We landed in St. Paul, Minnesota during the heart of winter, arriving into a arctic landscape of below-zero temperatures, towering snow drifts and nordic restraint. I was in junior high then and I cried every day -much to the dismay of my studious, older sister who was frequently summoned to the main office to comfort me. Her refuge was her studies, and she was none too happy to leave them for my despair.

I desperately missed the Indian and English friends we left behind in Kumasi, Ghana as well as the tropical warmth and openness of West Africa. It was only recently, since I took up the habit of visting teahouses like Podunk, (E. 5th Street between Second Avenue and Bowery) and Verdigris (13. S. 3rd Street, Hudson, New York) for a little teatime that I finally regained a sense of belonging that had evaded me for so long. It was the little things that made living in Africa so special. There is the simple memory of my mother receiving a little jar of "starter" yogurt from one of our Indian friends so she could make her own Indian-style yogurt at home. The magical sight of myriad, flickering candles arrayed around the end of our neighbor's balcony, as we celebrated the Hindu Festival of Diwali; the long, dusty car trips from Kumasi to Accra (the capital of Ghana), and from Ibadan to Lagos, (the capital of Nigeria).

My mother would prepare Samosas and fried egg sandwiches to eat on these trips. To this day, I can't eat Gulab Jamin, an Indian dessert of fried balls of dough in a thick sugar syrup, without thinking of my younger sister. As a child, she was addicted to my mother's homemade Gulab Jamin. Any leftover Gulab Jamin would mysteriously disappear when it was her turn to be downstairs while my older sister and I took "forced" afternoon naps upstairs.

It was a drastic change for our family to relocate to the Northwest suburbs outside Chicago and our family rituals were strangely truncated. There was the erratic Sunday afternoon tradition of eating my father's famous curry and homemade Halvah. If we reached for multiple glasses of water as we ate, my father would laugh delightedly. Forget the fact that we were all breathing like dragons due to the spiciness of the dish. His recipe remained his top secret.

If my father decided to make Halvah, I knew he was in a jovial mood. We were not as well-acquainted as I would have liked. Drinking chai has allowed me to tap into a larger genetic connection that restores the dislocation of our relationship. After my father died two years ago, I found solace in preparing my morning chai. Grinding the spices - black pepper, cardamon and cinnamom - was both contemplative and restorative. It was comforting to engage in the daily ritual of boiling the water and tea, setting it aside, boiling the milk and then rebrewing it all together. A soothing habit during a difficult time. I've since stopped this practice as it's more fun to drink other people's chai.

My father was happiest when life was simple. After leaving India to obtain his PhD at the University of Minnesota, he spent his entire life traveling all over Africa working as an agronomist (in Nigeria, Ghana, Ethiopia, Botswana, Swaziland, and Togo) - he was always on the go. On those Sunday afternoons as he prepared Halvah, he was content. Taking a little butter, he would mix in a few tablespoons of flour, add powdered milk and then brown it all together in the frying pan until it crumbled together and voila, dessert.

On Thanksgiving, he would play his records of Bollywood Musicals and Ravi Shankar; we would eat Turkey and stuffing to the accompanient of sitar music. Later, after I moved to NYC, I went in search of Indian food and sitar music in the restaurants on E. 6th street in Manhattan and Jackson Diner in Queens (when it was THE place for Indian food).

My old friend Goyal, himself an Indian deity of goodwill and common sense, owns Dresse Shoppe, (Second Avenue at 5th Street). Dress Shoppe is a small store specializing in all manner of Indian goods: bridal earrings, quilts, kurtas, prayer beads; you name it, he has it. At our first meeting (back when his store was next to the old American Express office on 9th Street between Lafayette/Broadway) Goyal said to me after looking at the name on my credit card, "If you're Indian, I'm Dutch." At least once a year, I drop into Dresse Shoppe to say hello to Goyal and his wife. While I'm there, I always buy beautiful, colorful silk kurtas for all the girls in the house,including me, or long ornate Indian bridal earrings. Funnily enough, I never leave that store without being convinced by Goyal to buy one additional thing.

Last spring, I read an Indian novel, Sacred Games, by Virkram Chandra. It was a compelling, epic story that touched on class, love and life against the backdrop of the kudzu-like corruption in India. It was recounted through the eyes of the main character, a detective who finally captures a legendary gangster. In the story, the detective, along with many other characters in the story, frequently stops to drink chai throughout the course of a day. I think of them often whether I have an hour at Podunk, or ten minutes at Pakistani Tea House. In these moments, I am able to reflect as I sip/slurp my sweet, milky aromatic chai, and return to a community that is familiar to me.

Here are a few of my favorite places:

Podunk (E. 5th Street between 2nd Avenue and Bowery). I mentioned Podunk in the Hot Chocolate post but Podunk's real focus is tea - really, really good tea - all kinds of it. Elspeth and family have created an oasis of calm in this small, sweet tea room filled with little mismatched chairs and tables. When I open the door to Podunk, I am assailed by the scent of love - in the smell of scones, cardamon cake, ginger cookies and lefse, just to name a few - baking in the oven. I bring only special people to Podunk because it is truly a temple of tranquility for me and a select group of others. I know this, because we see each other at Podunk regularly. If you meet the wrong person at Podunk, chances are high you will not see them again. I can attest to that! There is something in the air that repels bad energy pretty quickly. Elspeth carries a large selection of teas; green, black, herbal, and a large variety of custom-blended chais. She is extremely knowledgable about what a particular tea can do for the gentle drinker. In that regard, she will take time with a customer to decide on the right blend. Lately, Elspeth makes me a decaf ceylon with chai and rooibos added in. This soothes me, before I set off to meet my Wednesday/Friday evening clients. Podunk is completely unique. The only other place that carries the same scent of love in the smell of the food is PieNThigh in Williamsburg. I don't say this lightly because I am always searching out, and visiting tea rooms all over NYC.To establish my credentials, here are a few places of note:

Chae An, a Japanese-style tea room (on 9th street between 2nd Avenue and Third). (Don't tell Elspeth but I go there only when she's closed, which is hardly ever because Podunk is closed on Mondays.) A large part of Chae An's charm is simply ascending the smooth, wooden stairs one flight to the tea room. I always have a slight feeling of anticipation as I do that. At the entrance, there's a little counter with seats (sort of sushi-style) where customers can watch the chefs making the 15-grain porridge, which arrives with tiny side orders of pickled plum, seaweed, little potato dishes etc. That tea is finished off with a black sesame creme brulee or green tea ice cream.

Chae An also offers traditional teas sets with scones and cookies as well as tiny shumai dumplings. The space is very soothing. There is a private, little room with tatami mats and low tables. The tea selection is extensive - I recently broke away from always selecting chais and tried an Assam, which was very smooth. The customers are predominantly Japanese, which I think attests to the high quality of the food/tea.

Sanctuary Tea Room- This was mentioned a few blogs ago, as a Thursday night date destination. Sanctuary T has an impressive selection of teas. I love their chai tea for breakfast. It comes in a large, glass tea cup and tastes very creamy and smooth. I order it with soy. Sanctuary T is interesting because it's a tea room that has also positioned itself as a lounge. They offer tea-infused cocktails which are quite good.

I always see a good-sized good crowd in there around 9:45 p.m., when I walk home after meeting my Friday night clients. All of the food at Sanctuary T is prepared with varied tea infused flavors, and it's very tasty. Being small plate sharers, Carl and I are delighted with the portion-size at Sanctuary T. We usually share the salmon and the roasted vegetables.

At the urging of one of the waiters, I tried some new teas: Russian Caravan - it has a deep, smoky flavor, and Imperial Wedding, which has a very layered taste - sort of green and black together and pungent. We often go there for breakfast on Saturday mornings because little one's ballet/gymnastics class is nearby (at Watts/Thompson Street). A few weekends back, we met Carl's very special friends, Steve and Nancy, who were visiting from San Francisco, for breakfast. It was a great success. A lot of the staff at Sanctuary T is Serbian. They are extremely warm and hospitable in manner which adds to the pleasant experience. As I listen to them talk, it's fun for me to translate to myself. I lived in Belgrade in 1986, and big daughter is half-Serbian so it's like being home.

Common Ground - A very very cool, hippiesque coffee/tea space at Jane and Horatio Street. When I have my once-a-month Council meetings at the 15th street/7th Avenue site of my office, I disembark the 1 train at Sheridan Square and walk down W. 4th street to Common Ground. The walk, and the chai, prepare me for these War Room-like meetings where my co-workers and I develop strategies for tackling the multiple obstacles challenging anyone who works in the mental health field.

Early in the morning, Greenwich Village is still charming, and it's a very sweet time-warp walk. At that time of day, we pedestrians are civil and courteous to each other. I pass sleepy people heading into what must be the neighborhood deli to get their newspapers and coffee. This is reassuring to me as I watch, and read about NYC housing becoming a domain of the wealthy, very wealthy and superrich.

Lately, I've been talking Carl and little one into taking a trek up to Common Ground on Sunday mornings for breakfast. It's fun to jump on the No. 1 train and get them to walk from Sheridan Square. Little one likes to act like her legs don't work, but I'm able to distract her until we reach our destination. Even for little one, the well-kept brownstones and picturesque streets we pass are entrancing. Tartine is actually accessible at this time - with a few early birds reading the paper and drinking coffee. They (unfortunately) do tea bags there, but it's still a charming place.

At Common Ground, I always order the Masala chai and the grilled cheese sandwich on multigrain (the only time I eat bread). Carl loves the coffee. For some reason, he makes a lot of requests of the lady owner. She is fiercely sweet in manner and kind. I can see her becoming annoyed at him. To thwart this, I do all the ordering. In this way, my Common Ground frequent-buyers card gets quickly filled up, and I get a free drink. I've already gone through one.

I'm not quite sure what the story is with Carl and fierce sweet lady owner. He's usually not demanding in that way (those who read this blog know that Carl refuses to go to fancy places). On a recent walk to Common Ground, Carl told me Cafe Cluny was "wierd" and he quashed any ideas of breakfast there. Carl is an old hippie. It's possible that he's too comfortable at Common Ground. So it's the reverse - hippie as demanding consumer. Big Daughter loves this place too. I brought her there one morning for breakfast. She had an iced mocha, a piece of cherry pie, an everything bagel and half of my grilled cheese - it didn't add an ounce to her skinny little body. Go figure.

Wild Lily Tea Room (Chelsea) I think they closed, but the vibe was English tea house mixed with Zen energy and nice. I remember feeling soothed and eating Japanese-influenced tea snacks.

Kiva Cafe - I talked about their hot chocolate a few blogs ago. They have great teas - it's always fun to smell the aromas of the teas in the jars on the counter. They make a really nice Chai along with an assortment of green and black teas.

La Colombe Torrefaction - they were in the hot chocolate blog, but they also have a really nice Lavender Earl Grey tea.

Amai Tea and Bake House (17th Street and 3rd Avenue) I wrote about them in a previous blog - A really special, Japanese influenced tea room.

Plaza Hotel (High Tea) I had High Tea here back in the 1980s when I was dressing punky and had a purple streak in my hair. It was the standard high tea and I did really like it. I know the hotel is gone, but I have to check to see if tea is still offered.

Brown - a restaurant on Orchard (between Hester and Essex) serves an amazingly brewed milky chai. For some reason, New York Magazine gave them a wierd review. I really like the food and the energy of this place. The chai comes in a little iron Japanese tea pot brewed with the milk and I swoon.

Alice's Tea Cup (Upper West Side ) I thought it was a cool space and I liked the food. They have a lot of good sweets.

Ritz Carlton Battery Park. Their afternoon tea is pretty cool with all sorts of whipped pudding-like things and interesting sweets, along with the scones, cream and cookies.

Neue Cafe at the Neue Gallery (Upper East Side)- they have traditional Austrian desserts (Sacher tortes and such) and good teas if you're up for the wait. It's usually crowded here. I liked the tea and desserts, but the atmosphere is a bit strained. I always feel like I have to rush.

Blaue Gans - Tribeca (Duane Street between W. Broadway and Church). They serve really good teas at breakfast, or in the late afternoon. The Vanilla 1900 tea is a real winner. I had Vanilla 1900 this morning at breakfast with a danish and I was set for the day. (I wrote about them in this week's blog under breakfast.)

Punjabi Deli (2nd Street and Second Avenue). All the cab drivers come here for their lunch/snack stop. The proprietor makes a good cup of really good "ghetto" Indian chai for one dollar. I say "ghetto" because it's a tea bag in milk/water with cardamon pods, spices and sugar and then frothed at the cappuciono machine.

Khushdies (Essex at Rivington Street)- same deal as Punjabi Deli. Their chai is so hot that I can take it on the J train over the Williamsburg Bridge, if I'm heading back to work. When I reach my office, it's the perfect temperature to drink. I sometimes buy some pakora to go and it's like the old days!!

Pakistani Tea House (Church at Reade Street). Also mentioned in the breakfast blog. Same deal as the above two places but I recommend an order of just-made Nan to accompany it. This is a perfect remedy for a migraine (I swear). Little one is now a convert so Carl has to buy two chais or I have none!!

Verdigris (13 S. 3rd Street, Hudson, New York). Part of the draw of visiting Verdigris is the beautiful drive to Hudson (about 2 hours). I love looking at the Hudson River as we drive over the Rip Van Winkle Bridge. Ten minutes later, we are at Verdigris, an inviting tea shop, bakery and gallery just off Warren Street, the main drag in Hudson. When I arrive at Verdigris, I experience a sense of homecoming. Kim, the owner of Verdigris, is a NYC native (she taught art at Long Island College) and has since relocated to Hudson. Kim is the unofficial mayor of Hudson. She has so much civic pride and caring for Hudson and this same, careful care is expressed towards her customers. At Verdigris, Kim offers a wide selection of teas for the discerning customer to drink, buy or sample -black, green, herbal, and many chais. There's a little tea library where customers can browse among little jars of her tea selections. Customers are encouraged to open the jars and smell the tea. Little one and I did this while Regina, the baker, warmed up our Broccoli and Pasta soups. I finished all of my Pasta soup on our visit two weekends ago. Normally I don't like beans, but the broth was wonderful with a light parmesan flavor. I hadn't eaten much that day and my stomach was rebelling with cramps. Kim suggested a locally-produced, herbal Five Mint tea to drink and sure enough, my stomach calmed down. The homemade cheese biscuits and cornbread which accompanied the soup were very savoury and hit the spot. Before leaving, I bought some tea leaves and tea chocolates (Chocodrops) for Christmas presents. Little one added homemade gingerbread cookies in the shape of flowers as additional presents (while eating at least two of them). Carl kindly bought me a beautiful book on Tea (which I read in bed when I got home). It's an amazing book about the history of tea. There are many other sweet baked goods offered at Verdigris, biscotti, pumpkin breads and other delectable sweets. Afterwards, we took a walk down picturesque Warren street and looked in some art galleries and little boutiques. It was the perfect afternoon.

*There's a place called Gramstand Tea (Avenue A at 14th) that I have been meaning to try. I mention it here as an incentive to get over there.