Safe Havens in stormy ports

Two weeks ago Monday, I noticed that the Mott Street Egg Custard King II was closed, and there were workmen in front. By that Tuesday, the sign was gone, and Egg Custard King II was no more. I was bereft. In these times of change, the familiar is the norm. Last fall, we developed the habit of stopping in for a snack, after little one's ballet classes on Saturday afternoon. In recent months, as Carl and I have constructed our separate lives, the tradition has continued, now that he accompanies her to ballet. Even so, whenever I stopped in with little one, the staff always set the table for three. No matter the weather, I always have a taste for their iced milk tea. The staff at my local Chase branch, next door at Mott and Canal, had no idea what happened, so I walked over to the original Egg Custard King at 271 Grand Street at Forsyth. It took some effort, but finally the manager was able to tell me that the Mott street cafe had relocated to Eighth Avenue in Sunset Park. She reassured me that the Grand street location had no plans to close. Continuing on the theme of the familiar, my friend Lady L., invited me to dinner a few weeks ago. Being a fan of Chanterelle, 2 Harrison Street at Hudson Street, I chose Macao Trading Co, a much-heralded collaboration between Chanterelle and Employees Only, 510 Hudson Street, a restaurant well-known for its cocktails. The food was good at Macao Trading Co -chorizo with chunks of melon, shrimp wrappers, Chinese-style, and rice pudding with port-soaked fruit. Early on a Tuesday evening, the place was buzzing with a mixed clientele. Funnily enough, I had no idea of the x-rated decor at Macao Trading Co. Nonetheless, while waiting for Lady L. at the bar, I detected an undertone of decadence in the stylized post-colonial setting. As the man next to me struck up a conversation, I found myself referencing my two girls. Normally, I am home supervising little one's homework on a Tuesday evening. That evening, however, she and Carl were in Boston for March Madness. Call me old-fashioned, but my heart will always remain with Chanterelle. In a recent review of Macao Trading Co, Frank Bruni, the New York Times restaurant critic, described Chanterelle as "stodgy and stately." I beg to differ. Chanterelle is not a place I visit often. But when I do, I am assured of a particularly unique experience. For a few short hours, I am transported into a world that is about good food and people actually talking to each other. During our dinner at Macao Trading Co., Lady L. gave me a book, The Last Chinese Chef, by Nicole Mones (who also wrote Lost in Translation) Lady L. picked it up on a recent business trip to San Francisco, and thought I would enjoy it. In a nutshell, the book is set in contemporary China, with a theme of loss and growth, against a back story about respect and tradition for food. After dinner, Lady L. and I said our good nights. It felt good to step into the chilly night air. Walking quickly through Soho, I was grateful to be heading home, as I walked past the cube at Astor Place. Speaking of tradition, Big Daughter's father, the Big N., has been in NYC for the past month and a half. During this time, our reconstituted family has fallen into a pattern of eating dinner together. Despite a full course load at New School, and her part-time work at Cafe Habana, 17 Prince Street at Elizabeth, Big Daughter has been cooking up a storm. Our meals have become a safe harbor during these turbulent times.