In mid-to-late August, it's my habit to visit Diner, at Berry and Broadway in Williamsburg, Brooklyn and order their heirloom tomato salad for lunch. Usually served with a simple bread salad, the heirloom tomatoes reign supreme in late summer. This time, after consultation with the waitress -who actually remembered me from a spring visit with Big Daughter- I also ordered a melon salad with prosciutto and heirloom tomatoes. The melon slices were translucent, and had a light pink, flesh color. In size, they made me think of Cavaillon melons -which I used to order at Grand Central's Oyster Bar back in the days at the U.N. The taste was completely different though, refreshing and light. The plate looked like a still life. Alongside the melon were two perfectly-shaped red circles, that looked like plums. They too were heirloom tomatoes. As I was eating, a table of three arrived and one of them asked what I was eating. I described both salads and he also opted for the melon salad (and mistook the tomatoes for plums). We were seated so closely, I couldn't help but overhear their conversation as I ate. It was all about art, but without attitude. Diner can be a bit sceney, not quite boho-squatter, but with a clientele moneyed enough to look homeless by choice. This table seemed to be the real thing. Serious young Latino men, who put their heart into their art, by the sound of it. Years ago, when Big Daughter was a baby and we lived on N. 5th street in Greenpoint, everyone referred to Williamsburg as the "South Side," (in a West Side musical kind of way). An invisible wall divided the north and south sides, and you crossed the divide at your own peril. I have nothing against the recent inhabitants of Williamsburg; mostly young and beautifully/creatively dressed. Nonetheless, my late summer lunch felt a bit more meaningful, because it harkened back to the genuine ferment of the 1980s East Village art scene. It brought back memories as I listened to their discussion about fellow artists in Miami and Genoa, Italy. A few weeks ago, I had a similar experience when we dined, en family, with Young Sir C, (Big Daughter's companion), at Trestle On Tenth, a Swiss restaurant at 24th street and Tenth Avenue. Big Daughter had just returned from Belgrade and it was a testy time in our household. She and I usually negotiate issues of re-entry during our first few weeks together under the same roof. I'd been meaning to try Trestle on Tenth for a good while, and this seemed the perfect moment. I was pleased to see that they place a premium on neighborhood "regulars." It was a gentle contrast to the fancy dining scene that so often defines Chelsea. As a steady stream of patrons trickled in, many were seated in the backyard garden. We sat next to the front window, with a direct view of Tenth Avenue and battled our way through a fiery political discussion about the recent capture of Karadzic. It seems apropos that we were eating on neutral territory. As we read the descriptions on the menu, we became hungrier, and the food did not disappoint. Carl ordered one each of the sides for the table; grilled asparagus with goat cheese and almonds, green beans with lovage and tomato, gratineed pizokel (little dumplings) with onions and gruyere and beets, and we devoured them all. I chose chilled tomato soup with crabmeat, basil and corn (and gave Carl the crabmeat because it's too rich for me) and a butter lettuce salad with bacon and buttermilk dressing (which was large enough for everyone to taste). It was refreshing on a warm summer night. Big Daughter ordered Roasted Chicken with seasonal vegetables in consomme and Carl followed suit. Young Sir C opted for the smoked and roasted pork loin with corn, green and wax beans and yellow squash and pronounced it outstanding. Little one shared my soup and Carl's chicken, and then promptly fell asleep on my lap after eating her dinner. We were too full for dessert but they also looked wonderful. Soon, I plan to visit for breakfast and order just the chocolate tart and a tea.

Love for food and Cartier Love Bracelets

U.S. Open Tennis is a few weeks away and by this time, Carl has usually turned into a whirlwind ghost; now you see him, now you don't. In our family, we are used to seeing -but not speaking - to Carl, as he gets in gear for his favorite summertime event. In response to my temporary status of head of household, I've insisted that we rent a car every Sunday and drive somewhere, preferably the beach. This has led many people to believe my amazing tan from my recent trip to Croatia has simply improved on it's own. My reasoning is that Carl will recharge during the drive, and after swimming in the mighty Atlantic. More importantly, during these excursions, I am hoping he will actually talk to us. He's usually more verbal on the return leg of the day trip, but I'm working around this. Last weekend, he spontaneously suggested that we drive to Orient Point, one of my favorite beaches located at the eastern most point of the North Fork. I've been visiting Orient Point since 1982, and generally take a day pilgrimage in the late Spring, to start summer and during late fall, to commemorate summers end. Driving the narrow spit of land to the beach area is like being in Maine, with marshes on one side, and a piercing blue and calm ocean on the other. Most of the beach goers are Greek and Russian and the aromas wafting off the barbecue's are pretty amazing. Beach goers must walk past the barbecue area to get to the beach, and it's always a sensory experience. Some people seem to bring their entire kitchen. There are always a few anglers at the far end of the beach, and Carl and little one love to check out their catch. Last Sunday, I looked over and saw little one reeling in a fish. There are two traditions on the ride home; the purchase of smoked fish from Alice's Fish Shop in Greenport, and homemade ice cream at Magic Mountain in Mattituck. I generally stay away from ice cream, due to all the aftertastes. Not so at Magic Mountain. Their butter pecan is exquisitely creamy and rich. Little one goes into a soporific daze as she eats her ice cream. Due to the gargantuan size of the cone, I generally insist the three of us share one of the huge cones. Aside from our Sunday day trips, I had given up Saturday breakfasts and assumed that Thursday Night Day Night would be cancelled for most of July and August. I am happy to report that Date Night continues. A recent memorable Thursday Night Date Night involved a visit to Cartier (52nd Street/5th Avenue), to look at the Love Bracelet - not the diamond-encrusted one - but the simple gold circle inscribed with love on a silk cord. During a moment of clarity, standing on a beach at our friend's house in Sohola, PA, I requested the bracelet as a symbol of Carl's commitment when he vaporizes before my very eyes. Despite much hemming and hawing up until to the last moment -and an offer of cold, hard cash - we made it to Cartier. Being a person who has never wanted diamonds or pearls, I liked the idea of the Cartier Love bracelet. When I actually saw it in the store, I was pleased to discover that the original Love Bracelet was both affordable and elegant. Most importantly, a significant portion of its cost went to the charity of my choice. Carl was quite taken with the bracelet as well and found it understated. His original reasoning was that when he gives me things, I feel worse afterwards. I agreed that this could be true, since I often must do battle to get gifts from him. I conceded that I may well be resentful after receipt, due to the significant energy expended to get the item. Carl was apparently convinced by my logic. Afterwards, we took the M20 down Broadway in Times Square to Tribeca and headed over to One Dominick (the new cafe at the Hear Theatre). Being fans of Jimmy's No. 43, we wanted to check it out (as it's part of Jimmy Carbone's empire). Despite the unassuming space, we were both taken with the food; I ordered the cheese plate, an assortment of Italian cheeses and an especially refreshing watermelon salad with cubed ricotta and mint (Anguria). Carl ordered Fava beans in a puree, (Fave e Cicoria), which the waitress enthusiastically endorsed - and he loved. We shared a great glass of red wine and ordered another. Little anise flavored biscuits,(Tarralluci), were especially good with apricot preserves to accompany them. One of these days, I'll stop in and try the bread pudding,(Budino) for breakfast. In the meantime, the Love Bracelet never leaves my wrist. Who ever said you couldn't fill up on love for breakfast, lunch and dinner?