Jelly donuts and diamond rings

There is something about jelly donuts and diamond rings that seems compatible. I was the recipient of both this week -and each came at the perfect moment. When times are tough -and they do feel tough - food becomes only about comfort. En route to work the other morning, I decided it was time for a jelly donut at the Polish G.I. Delicatessen, 101 First Avenue, between 6th and 7th streets. Years ago, when Big Daughter was a small, beautiful jumping bean, we loved getting our cheese, ham, kielbasa, and different types of sweets there. Sometimes we also bought flavored syrups, which I mixed with seltzer for her summer drinks. The other day, Big Daughter brought home some of their kielbasa and sauerkraut. A whiff of those long-ago days motivated me to make a visit to purchase ham, and more kielbasa. The store had been remodeled since then. It didn't feel so cramped, and the same sweet ladies were still working there. I was making black bean soup from scratch, and wanted to add some smoked kielbasa to it. As I left, I eyed the jelly donuts in the front window. Most mornings, little one and I still have breakfast in Chinatown before school, unless she's spent the night at Carl's. On the mornings we aren't together, I usually walk over to Egg Custard King to get an iced milk tea. Luckily, they have two locations -one at Mott Street, between Canal and Bayard, and the other, Egg Custard King Two Cafe at 271 Grand Street. I find walking very zen, as long as I have my Ipod, which Big Daughter loaded with an eclectic mix of songs. That, mixed with walks in different neighborhoods, makes me feel like I'm traveling. Since I am presently working on the Lower East Side, around FDR and Clinton street, I structure my route around my taste buds. Hence the jelly donut -also known as Paczki. I looked it up and found an entry on the Serious Eats website. Good thing I didn't read about it until I had eaten it. Apparently, it's loaded with calories and eaten on Fat Thursday -as a pre-Lenten treat. I can say that it tasted great -although I did have a stomachache afterwards. Lately, I've been ruminating on a shift in my eating habits. Going out for dinner has lost its appeal. It has been replaced by going out for favorite breakfast foods. Perhaps eating out is directly related to economic comfort, or maybe it's the loss of my dining partner. Speaking of Carl, despite living separately, we remain united about ensuring the well-being of the two beautiful girls. To that end, we decided a visit to little one's paternal grandmother on Long Island, was in order. Family dynamics notwithstanding, little one seems more comfortable with her grandmother, when both parents are in attendance. Given her grandmother's big back yard, our dog Gigi, also visited. He romped happily outside, while little one romped happily inside. Although Big Daughter was working, she was in complete approval of the visit. Her extended family in Belgrade is her mainstay, and she spends as much time with them as possible. In the middle of the visit, little one's grandmother graciously offered me the use of a gift certificate from Fortunoff's. They are apparently going out of business. She proposed that I select some jewelry for an early birthday present. I was agreeable, and we drove out to the Fortunoff's store on Long Island. It wasn't a madhouse, as we feared, and I ended up with a beautiful diamond ring. Diamonds are my birthstone, and until recently, I never owned a diamond ring. First, a black diamond ring for Valentine's Day from Big Daughter, and then the diamond ring from my former mother-in-law. I think of both rings as honoring motherhood and family. Circles of jam and diamonds, both immeasurably sweet in their own particular way.

Birthdays and small fires

Big Daughter turned 20 yesterday. To celebrate, she suggested that we have lunch at Cafe Habana, 17 Prince Street, at Elizabeth in Nolita, where she recently began working as a hostess. The staff recruited her one evening, as she was having dinner with her best friend, Lady D. Big Daughter's father, the Big N., arrived Thursday from Belgrade, for a month's visit. Being a fan of all things Cuban, he liked the idea of lunch at Cafe Habana. I had flatly refused to join Big Daughter and her friends later that evening at Cafeteria, and he seconded me. We would have been fish out of water. When we met outside Cafe Habana, little one was holding a trio of multicolored balloons for her sister. Earlier in the morning, little one had asked to speak to me privately on the phone. She cried, as she expressed her upset with me, for giving her older sister the birthday gifts without her. We spent Friday together, buying several presents for Big Daughter; flowers, chocolates, a foot massage, sandals, and a gift card from Think coffee, 1 Bleecker street at Bowery. Big Daughter is quite enamored with their iced Spanish lattes, and the gift card will allow her exactly five. Little one had also selected a birthday cake recipe from her special cookbook. After I apologized to her, she regained her good spirits. It helped when her sister said, "now, you can give me another present." I was instructed to buy five chocolate-covered strawberries. The balloons were too big for Cafe Habana, so Big Daughter put them downstairs until we finished eating. The three of them ordered Cuban sandwiches, and I opted to share with little one. In addition, Big Daughter suggested that we get two orders of the Mexican-style grilled corn with chili powder and queso blanco, and an order of molletes, toasted cuban bread with refried black beans and chorizo covered with cheese. Feeling that 20 is a major accomplishment, I ordered a margarita. It arrived in a lemonade glass. I sipped it gently throughout the meal, with no negative side effects. The food was so good, the Big N. felt like he was back in Havana. Cafe Habana is perennially busy and that makes it a lot of fun. It has the rare talent of attracting a mixed crowd of all ages, making for an eclectic, buzzing atmosphere. Speaking of buzzing, I'm starting to wonder about fire gods. I am presently at 2-0 - after nearly burning down the house down a second time - this past Tuesday evening. Both girls have been sick with colds. Big Daughter became sick first, and developed an inexplicable craving for bacon. Somehow, the bacon caught fire in the pan, and flames started shooting out. According to Big Daughter, I started the fire, because I can't tolerate it when she's sick. A faulty premise. Nevertheless, it was pretty embarrassing. After I poured water on the pan, the apartment filled with smoke, and the smoke alarm in the hallway began beeping loudly and insistently. The neighbors mobilized and turned off the alarm. I was too mortified to answer the door. For days, the smell of moldy, wet blankets was in the air. Luckily, Big Daughter received several birthday bouquets of flowers, which perfumed the air with the scent of hyacinths. I am thinking of combustibility. Reverting back to single motherhood-status - with a 20 and 6-year-old - is no easy task. Big Daughter is pretty militaristic in her approach to house maintenance, and little one would like her parents united. These days, I frequently ponder the vast differences between genders, especially with regard to the issues of intimacy, families and child-rearing. The fact that mothers actually expand and contract in the process of creating families, is even more profound than ever to me. As he waited for birthday cake, the Big N. observed that each girl comes with her own father. I noted that each one is truly the apple of her father's eye. As little one and I began baking the birthday cake, the oven was still a little smoky. I had scrubbed out the burned spots, but a few remained. Terrified of triggering smoke alarms, I positioned fans all over the kitchen and opened my bedroom window. Little one anxiously observed some smoke. I reassured her, and it soon abated. Although we planned a pink cake with pink icing and sprinkles, ours ended up a soft orange color with light purple frosting, crowned with sprinkles. It was surprisingly tasty. Young Sir. C., Big Daughter's boyfriend, even had a second helping. He remarked on the pleasing crunchiness of the sprinkles. I had some for breakfast this morning. Carl got the last piece, when he came over to interview a new babysitter for little one this evening.