Food as a remembrance of things past

Last week, while Carl and little one were in Washington D.C. from Wednesday to Saturday for the First Round of March Madness, I went traveling down memory lane here in Manhattan. In their absence, I unexpectedly journeyed back to the E. Village neighborhood where I first lived, and subsequently visited a few, old favorite haunts. It was a weekend of traveling without departures. Big daughter's friend I. is visiting from Belgrade and we walked around the city Friday and Saturday, while Big Daughter was working. Thursday evening, I met my good friend, Lady L. - also mother of little one's best friend/adopted sister little Miss A.- for a long-planned dinner. Lady L. has been wanting to hear first-hand about my daily life and I suggested eating at Hearth (12th Street/1st Avenue). Until I arrived at Hearth, I was still debating alternative dinner choices. Hearth is located directly across the street from the site of my first New York City home, and there-in lay my ambivalence. Home was a typical, top-floor railroad-style apartment with three rooms; entry through the kitchen, no bathtub and seriously slanted floors. There were three of us and we each paid $300 in rent. Those days are long gone. In 1982, E. 12th street was a dicey street to reside on and rent was cheap, many of my friends/neighbors were smoking heroin and dabbling in art. I found solace and comfort at De Robertis Bakery and Caffe, Sal Anthony's Lanza's and Sapporo East, a punked-out Japanese sushi spot -all which remain neighborhood fixtures (on First Avenue between 10th/11th streets). Brunetta's, a small family-run Italian restaurant, is now a restaurant called Tree. Back then, it was our spot for Sunday evening supper after a day at the beach. Early on a summer Sunday morning, my roommates and I would drive out to Amagensett, pay five dollars to park and spend the day at the beach. Around 3 p.m., we would get back on an empty Montauk Highway and zip down the Long Island Expressway for a quick trip back to the E. Village. While we waited for dinner, I would visit Brunetta's owners, a husband and wife who spoke mostly Italian, in the small kitchen in the back - my adopted version of a grandmother's kitchen. One time, they were stirring octupus in a rich tomato sauce. I remember the sight of the long pink tentacles floating in the water. The proximity of Hearth to these combined memories unnerved me. Despite a very tasteful experience, I couldn't reconcile the professionalism of Hearth with the grittiness of the neighborhood in which I came of age. While I waited for Lady L. (who apologized for taking a short, sweet nap with her little one) I ordered a glass of prosecco, requested some Creme de Cassis in it and made my own kir. It was fun to read the comprehensive and winsomely-written wine menu. I love to read about wine even though I barely drink it, an armchair wine connisseur. Lady L. was amenable to us sharing some appetizers -Yellow pepper soup with paddlefish caviar, Peekytoe crab salad with Meyer Lemon, potatoes and arugula and New Zealand Snapper crudo. We ordered one entree, Roasted Sturgeon with Braised Cabbage, Pork Sausage and chickpeas. We also ordered a side of homemade gnocchi. The Yellow pepper soup and caviar melded together in a very satisfying manner and the crudo tasted like sashimi. Neither of us had ever eaten Sturgeon. We found it to have a very clean taste. For dessert, we selected tea (courtesy of In Pursuit of Tea) and shared a tasting of tart, tangy homemade sorbets (blood orange, mango and banana)accompanied by two perfect crescent-shaped sugar cookies. I couldn't stop eating the mango sorbet. While we finished our conversation, I sipped Keemun, a black tea from China and mixed it with milk/sugar to ensure that I would be able to sleep, despite the caffeine. Lady L. was drinking her favorite, Gemaji, a barley-like Japanese tea. By the time we left, every seat was taken. The dining room featured an open kitchen space with a counter and stools for diners seeking a direct kitchen view. Lady L. and I were seated off to the side in an adjacent small, narrow room with a brick wall. It was not unlike an upscale, open version of my first apartment. The restaurant's front room had a bar at the entrance and opened into a large room with tables. Hearth was buzzing when we left, yet I was strangely bereft. A visit to a strange, new land. Lady L. was open to a quick stop at De Robertis Bakery and Caffe. It was time to buy little one's Easter basket and the ones for sale were not overly ornate. While paying for the Easter Basket, I spied a grain pie made with Ricotta cheese. According to my research, it's a Neapolitan Easter specialty called Pastiera and can contain wheat berries, wheat husks and even rice in addition to a custard of eggs/ricotta cheese. During my regular Friday afternoon tea, I mentioned the grain pie to Elspeth. She pulled out her Finnish cookbook and referenced a Finnish version but pronounced it "eggy". For an Easter treat, I decided to bring a grain pie to Podunk on Saturday, since I planned to escort I around the E. Village. When we visited De Robertis Bakery and Caffe on Saturday afternoon, it was packed with customers buying Easter treats and there was a quiet contentment underneath the hustle and bustle. Elspeth loved the grain pie, pronounced it not eggy at all, and savored the undertones of candied orange. Big daughter joined us for some coconut vanilla chai tea with heavy cream. My friend M dropped in as well. Lately, she divides her time between NYC and San Francisco and is in NYC for a few weeks. M. brought me a beautiful pair of hammered gold earrings. When a large group of French tourists came in, I suggested we beat a speedy exit so the next round of memories could get started.