The demise of the slow cooker and other stories -part 2

Since the demise of the slow cooker, our family has teetered precariously on the edge. Carl and I tried, but failed, to defuse the simmering anger between us. On Sunday, during an interminably rainy day, Big Daughter, little one and I returned to my East Village apartment, where Big Daughter grew up. Now, there are three of us. As the family member who yells, I'd learned, in recent years, to contain this bad habit. Three weeks ago, early on a Monday morning, I found myself yelling again. Not a good thing for the family, nor for me. Despite the gift of several gentle conversations over lunch, dinner and afternoon tea, the family crisis continued unabated. One memorable conversation was with my friend, and former co-worker, Lady C. Over the summer, she'd introduced me to Lovely Lady, a quirky cafe on Elizabeth Street, between Prince and Spring Streets in Nolita. A few Saturdays ago, I found Lovely Lady shuttered and closed, after a recent fire. I wasn't surprised. When I'm in crisis, my little universe usually goes into flux. I see this as a signal of impending change. We found our way to Room 118, a comfortable little bar/restaurant, just around the corner. As we sat at the bar and reviewed my career transition and the family crisis, Lady C. listened quietly. Being a pragmatic person, she was reflective about the many transitions. Exactly one year ago, she and I negotiated an intensely stressful period at my program, prior to her departure. My resignation validated our hard work, and her earlier and difficult departure. Endings can have that effect. Their meanings often emerge much later. As we talked, Lady C. had two beers, and I finished half of a strawberry capirinha prepared with muddled strawberries. Eventually we decided to share crispy deep fried potato croquettes, pork shumai and a very fresh, bracing ceviche. The bar food at Room 118 is excellent, and the bartender was low-key but attentive. The following Monday, Lady M. and I met for lunch at Inoteca, at the corner of Rivington and Stanton Streets on the Lower Eastside. I arrived a few minutes early, and was told by the staff, that the restaurant would open in 15 minutes. It was a stilted welcome. Lady M. confirmed hearing the same thing, when she arrived 5 minutes after me. It was cold that day, and there was no room at the inn. Given the recent economic downturn, we expected to be ushered in enthusiastically. Due to my scrambled state, we opted to have lunch there anyway. I ordered the cheese plate with condiments. Despite my stated dislike of blue cheese, a blue gorgonzala was included. The waitress graciously offered to change it, but it was too late in the meal. Lady M. had a panini and we each drank an Aranciata. I brought home an order of polenta. Lady M. was very balanced as she acknowledged the many negotiations of couples, within the context of family and work. Later that week, I met Lady S., one of my oldest friends, at Podunk, on E. 5th Street, between Second Avenue and Bowery, for tea and conversation. It's easy to talk to Lady S., because she never takes sides. She also has a great sense of humor -even when it seems like Humpty Dumpty is soon to fall off the wall. This can be very helpful, when someone like me is upset. In the middle of our conversation, Big Daughter called. She's been struggling with our family crisis, and had a brief, but necessary meltdown on the phone. Being a mother, partner and an individual can be a bit difficult. Sometimes, I simply hope for a little piece of me. I found that for an hour on Thursday afternoon at Cha An, the East Village Japanese tea room on E. 9th, between Second and Third Avenues. Instead of my usual choice of six appetizers, I opted for the sweets and tea. There were two miniature scones, one tiny green tea macaroon, and a sliver of pound cake -all accompanied by very fresh whipped cream and a little container of berries. Prior to that, I was served two sandwiches on miniature, bagel-like rolls -one with salmon and the other with melted butter and raspberries. I ate the salmon, and a tiny corner of the bread and raspberry. As I bit into it, it was warm and yeasty -but best in the smallest doses. I brought home one scone and the pound cake. Sometimes sweet things make me itch, and that's what happened later on that afternoon. We are no longer a family who eats together. Big Daughter has returned to her favorite E. Village haunts for dinner; 7A and Odessa. Carl met little one and I for breakfast at Chatham Square, our breakfast haunt for dim sum, the other morning. When little one complained of a stomach ache, I was sympathetic. I agreed that it's difficult to eat, when everything changes. After hearing that, little one found her appetite and began eating her sticky rice and shrimp dumplings. I drank my iced tea and Carl said he wasn't hungry.

Moments of reflection and Chaiwalla

Carl made a delicious turkey dinner on Saturday evening. To compliment the roasted turkey, I found two great recipes in this month's Gourmet magazine; one for green beans and the other for roasted yukon potatoes. They were quick and easy to prepare, but most importantly, tasted really good. That morning, I obtained a verbal recipe for homemade cranberry sauce with lemon zest, from a mother at little one's ballet class. Cranberry sauce is actually easy to make. I had the idea it was very time-consuming. My former work colleague, and good friend, Lady C., came bearing her darling new baby Ella, her husband, Sir M., and cupcakes from Cheeks Bakery on Metropolitan Avenue, on the edge of the South side of Williamsburg and Greenpoint. I generally visit Melanie, the baker at Cheeks, at least twice a week to chat. I also bring home good things for breakfast. It was a big treat to be on the receiving end of the vanilla and chocolate cupcakes. Big Daughter was also pleased. She had asked me to bake cupcakes, but I was a bit strapped for time. Early Saturday morning, there was a brief, but unmemorable commotion, when I asked Carl to take little one to ballet, since I had two early-morning clients. He was fixated on slow cooking the turkey, and momentarily flummoxed at the interruption - until he realized that he could run home from ballet, and resume the task. Flexibility is a learned technique, and in our home, a negotiation. By Sunday morning, I was ready to sit back and look out the window during our usual car trip. Since the laundry room at Carl's building is being renovated, as part of an overall building upgrade, I figured we'd drive the laundry over to my old laundromat in the East Village. Carl's building lobby is looking pretty swanky these days. The doormen, who have been in the building for years, are now wearing uniforms. Carl signed his lease in 1974, when Tribeca was a barren, wind-swept desert of few people and many tall buildings. In the early 1980s, I would visit my best friend Lady C., at 175 Franklin. She was right across from what-used-to-be Riverrun, and next to the now-defunct Socrates Diner. I remember squeezing my very pregnant belly into a booth at Socrates, when we met for lunch, just prior to the arrival of Big Daughter. Later, when Big Daughter was an infant, and then an adorable and spunky toddler, I would frequently visit Ms. R, my very first employer. She hired me as an editorial assistant/secretary at Plenum Press on Spring Street, between Varick and Sixth Avenue. Under Ms. R's influence, I learned about Sunday morning brunch at Capsuto Frere's on Desbrosses street. Sitting on the sliver of outside balcony and eating smoked trout, I was taking another kind of Sunday drive. Shopping at Bergdorfs and dinner at the Watts Happen Inn on Watts street, were also courtesy of Ms. R. She introduced me to the Ear Inn, which still holds strong, although I rarely visit. In those days, Tribeca felt like the Wild West, and the Ear Inn it's local saloon. I almost expected the NY version of Billy the Kid to show up. When we went out dancing on Thursday evenings at Area, a nightclub on Hudson Street, we often saw Matt Dillon and Mickey Rourke in the crowd. Back then, they were like urban cowboys. It's only fitting therefore, that Sunday's drive ended up at Chaiwalla, a tea cafe located in Salisbury, Connecticut, which has been a favorite of mine for a long time since Lady C. and I visited Chaiwallas back in the 80s. Could it really have been that long ago? I checked with Elspeth, my dear friend and proprietress of Podunk, a tea room on E. 5th between Second and Bowery. She said it very well may be. Elspeth was a neighbor of Chaiwalla's, once upon a time, before bringing tea to us lucky people in the E. Village and NYC. Lady C. used to know the owners of El Teddys, the Mexican restaurant on W. Broadway at Franklin, that-is-now Tribbles, the home/garden store. That particular trip, she borrowed the car from El Teddy's owner, and off we went. I came back with a beautiful wrought-iron table and two chairs, which Lady C.'s then-fiance graciously hoisted on a rope, through the living-room window of my tiny E. Village apartment. At that time, I also had an extremely elegant trunk and rug belonging to Lady C. Trained as an architect, she had the eye of an interior designer (and was often hired to redo interiors). Memories can be so specific and comforting. Salisbury still feels like it did, that late Saturday afternoon in the late fall, full of smoky light and early autumn chill. As we drove through Kent, Connecticut and along the Housatonic River on Sunday, I thought of life in the 1980s. I was not yet a mother, and very much floating about in the heady days of graffiti art, punk and E. Village and breakfast at Odessa, learning social manners particular to NYC. Prior to Lady C., I had lived with Miss F., a former couture model who provided me entree to NYC hot spots like Area, the Roxy, The World and so on. I was a wide-eyed naif, but smart enough to go along and observe the scene. These days, Big Daughter has access to the hot spots. She's more of a homebody -between college, work and her dog, Gigi (who really likes eating cat food). When Big Daughter jokes about taking me out, I laugh off the invitation. Staying out late is too hard for me, and I can only manage about two sips of alcohol. We didn't drink in the 80s either. Back to the Sunday drive. As we drove out of NYC, and avoided the marathon traffic, I googled directions to The Aldrich Museum of Art in Ridgefield Connecticut. We ended up taking the Tappan Zee bridge up to Katonah and then heading over to Connecticut. Not a memorable ride, but the trip through Kent, Connecticut was all the more spectacular afterwards. The Aldrich is a very modern, open space. One of the current exhibits featured celebrity photographs by the painter Elizabeth Peyton. Her friends were in the pictures - people like Marc Jacobs, for example. I think her paintings are presently at the New Museum in NYC. In the gift shop -always a required stop -little one found two books, and what she called a "lunar module." I bought Colorstrology, a book linking your birthday to your color. I looked up the birthday/colors of different people. Carl's was described as "deep and probing." Big Daughter was described as a hard-worker and being "born for the limelight," and little one was described as "charismatic and jovial but definitely not a pushover." From the Aldrich, we drove east to Chaiwalla, past forests of brilliant acid-washed foliage, and the meandering Housatonic River. Little one was hungry, so we stopped in Kent and got her a snack, but I felt like a fish out of water. It was just a little bit too preppy for my tastes. Salisbury was another 30 minutes of absolutely beautiful scenery. At Chaiwallas we sat by a large bay window in the back, overlooking a sloping lawn with one table and two chairs in the early twilight. Little one and I headed in, while Carl sorted out which part of the paper he wanted. When he entered, the cake plate fell onto the floor, and there was a brief silence before the waiter picked it up. Carl and I shared an Indian spiced tea. Little one started crying when I initially said she must choose between a Chai float (Chai tea with chai ice cream) and cheese toast, saying "but I want it so much." She ended up with two orders of cheese toast (melted Cheddar open face on toast) and ate the ice cream out of the float. As we drank our tea, another glass was dropped on the floor, and the owner laughed as she picked it up. I had just enough cash to cover our afternoon tea break. On these outings, Carl pays for the car and I pay for the day's activities. The sun was setting, and the windows were slightly foggy. The two patrons closest to us were making plans, and across the room, I could hear snippets of poetry being read aloud by different members of a small class. As the day wound up, and dusk approached, the prospect of leaving my program seemed manageable. November 28 is my last day. Although I love the program, it's time to move on. One circle closing, another opening, and still the comfort of Chaiwalla.