The Tao of Soy Custard and Gardens

On my way home from work this evening, I was hopeful to find homemade soy custard for sale, just outside the Centre street exit of the Canal stop on the J line. For the past couple days, I've been coming down with a cold. The thought of eating, warm, fragrant soy custard was comforting. Big Daughter met me for lunch in Williamsburg today. We decided to visit our old standby, and favorite lunch spot, Diner. The menu has been revamped, so no more pressed Cuban sandwiches. They've added Shepherd's Pie and some other yummy choices, and their specials are still great. As we finished our lunch - she had Beef Ragu with two poached eggs on top, and I had beer-battered cod and a few french fries with A-1 sauce - I noticed the waitress walk by holding teapots. Our waitress confirmed that Diner is now serving tea, courtesy of In Pursuit of Tea. I was happy to order some Keemun, which I doctored with milk and sugar to get me through the afternoon, as my throat was getting sore. The restorative effects of the tea had worn off by the time the day was over, hence my wish for soy custard. As I walked up the subway stairs, I was happy to see a familiar sight, the large, blue shopping cart that holds a huge vat of steaming custard. A small group of vendors regularly ply their wares outside the subway entrance, but the soy custard vendor is there sporadically. After little one began attending a Chinese Catholic School on Bowery, Carl discovered a wily pair of fruit vendors, neighbors to the soy-custard vendor. They sell their fruit outside, rain or shine or snow. Carl is thrilled to buy not-too-ripe strawberries, bananas, oranges and grapes from them, while he practices a few choice phrases in Mandarin that he's learned from little one. Prior to finding them, Carl would purchase fruit, some a bit too ripe, from vendors on Park Place and Church, when little one was in a day care next to Ground Zero. In both cases, he established personal relationships with the vendors -such that they always gave little one an extra apple or orange. Carl has continued this dynamic with the couple, who interact affectionately with him. They enjoy the back and forth; the haggling over any errant change, and the subsequent rounding off of the amount due. They indulge Carl's request to visually check, via the scale, the exact poundage of fruit and together they confirm the total purchase. Recently, when I happened to unexpectedly meet Carl at the fruit stand, lively pointing and gesturing occurred, and the word "pretty" was mentioned (much to my liking). I should note that I have purchased fruit there several times but without Carl, it was clearly not memorable to the duo. When I buy fruit, it is a straightforward process. I select green,under ripe bananas, firm grapes and some miniature tangerines. There is no haggling. At the soy custard shopping cart, this approach serves me well. I've become acquainted with the young, high-school-age, custard-purveyor, Ms. Li. She automatically asks if I want a small custard, and then lifts up the fabric-wrapped lid, places it carefully to the side and in deft, elegant motions, scoops out enough soy custard to fill a small plastic to-go container. The top of the custard is covered with smooth, latticed patterns as she gently replaces the lid. After placing the sealed container in a small plastic bag, she adds a little container of sugar-syrup. This is usually dinner, when I'm lucky enough to find her. The custard is still warm, 15 minutes later, when I arrive home. I take a slotted spoon and scoop some custard out, leaving liquid behind, add a drop of the sugar syrup and voila, dinner. This past Sunday, in the same spirit of comfort, I requested that Carl, little one and I take a drive upstate. Big Daughter took the New Today bus from Chinatown to Philadelphia, to visit a friend at Bryn Mawr. In warmer months, I generally map out day drives to different gardens (Innisfree, the Institute of Eco Systems in Millbrook, Montgomery Place etc.) Since we needed to be back by 4 p.m. (for a March Madness basketball game), I googled gardens in upstate New York and found Boscobel. Located near West Point, Boscobel is a short,pretty drive along the Palisade Parkway and around Bear Mountain. An old house with beautiful grounds, Boscobel is perched on a bluff overlooking the Hudson River. We walked along a mile-long Woodlands trail through a still, stark forest of trees without leaves. Little one acted as the leader and instructed us to stay in a "straight line" behind her. It was an easy walk, and there were little yellow triangles marking the way. As we wound our way along the trail, we caught glimpses of the Hudson River. During the walk, I forgot how tired I was. Near the end of the trail, little one and I rested together on a wooden bench and looked up at the vivid, blue sky for a few tranquil moments. The sunlight had turned the tops of the trees silver. We weren't too far from one of my favorite cafes, Two Alices Coffee Lounge, located in Cornwall-on-Hudson. The short drive to the cafe wended scenically along Bear Mountain with spectacular views. It was our fourth visit to Two Alices, a comfortable, welcoming cafe with a retro-style setting. They carry a wide selection of teas; green, black, chai and prepare them in iced/latte versions along with great baked treats and soups/sandwiches. Little one gamely ate half of her curried carrot soup and then had several miniature-sized chocolates. Carl had a wrap with cheese/vegetables and read the Daily News. I peacefully sipped an iced chai latte. We made it home in time for the basketball game and Davidson lost by a hair, literally.