The estimable Miss K,(aka Big Daughter), and I just had a blow-out fight. As we screamed briefly and loudly at each other, I was wondering what Miguel, our long-time neighbor was thinking. The fight was ostensibly over my missing Kiehl's mascara -but in actuality, much bigger things. The walls of the apartments in our East Village are so thin, at times it seems like we are all one communal family. Most days, I might catch a whiff of Miguel's amazing cooking, or hear my other neighbor running a bath, late at night. For some reason, the upstairs neighbor always walks around late at night, but I'm used to it. Memorial Day weekend brought the sudden disappearance of Young Sir C, Miss K's long-time boyfriend. He headed upstate for the three day weekend, and drove out of her life with just one phone call. It's hard to fight with Miss K when she's been stunned by such a painful event. Yet, as her mother, I want her to experience joy in her life -a tall order. I watch her working so hard at school, and her two jobs, and worry that she gives nothing to herself. I am learning that the hard part of parenting is wanting your child to be happy, while knowing it's none of your business - at a certain point. Sunday evening, I stopped in to visit Miss K. at Cafe Habana, at 17 Prince Street in Nolita, to see how she was doing. On the spur of the moment, I decided to have dinner at the bar. That way, I could lend Miss K. some love without distracting her at work. The shredded pork was pretty good, and I even ate the rice and beans. The real surprise was the chelada, a Corona mixed with lime juice and salt. It was pretty refreshing, even after a few sips -since I have no tolerance or taste for more than that. The bartender approved of my brief visit, and noted that few parents come in to see their kids working. As usual, the place was packed. But getting back to our fight. This afternoon, Miss K was certain I was in a snit, due to my burgeoning romance of a few weeks. I was equally certain that our fight had nothing to do with Mr. Delicious, and said as much. The larger issue of having things has been on my mind for awhile now. A large part of leaving Tribeca stemmed from a sense that each family member had lost their sense of joy, due to the ongoing tension between Carl and I. Since it's inception, this blog has always been about food -certainly something that gives me joy. It's hard to say which it was; the food, the discovery of a particular place, or the overall journey. That has changed in the past six months. Economics is just one part of it. In a larger way, the need to travel in search of new tastes is gone. It's been replaced by the real issues of life: the idea of home, friendship and love. Food has become more of a backdrop to those things. Since moving back to the East Village, I have been meeting my closest girlfriends for lunch - and good conversation- at least twice a week. Lady E. and I eat at Saravannas Bhavan, a vegetarian South Indian restaurant at 26th and Lexington, every Saturday. I'm so hungry to talk to her, I usually eat only the desserts on the South Indian Thali. In the past months -prior to making the acquaintance of Mr. Delicious, I might add - there have been many conversations with friends about the new truths of our lives. While our family constellation remains the same, i.e. the players are still there, the truths are different now. In late April, the delectable Miss E. took me to Macondo, 157 E. Houston below Second Avenue, for a belated birthday present. We discussed her upcoming nuptials, and my second time around the block as a single mother. I was pleased to see that I was not feeling so alone. It also helped that the hot chocolate at Macondo was as amazing as I expected, thick, glossy and with hints of ginger. More recently, Lady M. and I finally made it to the Smile, a general store, cafe and tattoo parlor at 26 Bond Street, between Lafayette and Bowery. It had a Williamsburg vibe, which I liked, with wooden tables and chairs and an eclectic design. The candles in the front of the store smelled pretty good, and the staff was very welcoming. We shared a chocolate brioche, the cheese plate and the mozzarella and tomato on seven grain toast, as we talked about her third pregnancy, and my fears about romance. A week prior, we stumbled on Emporio, an Italian restaurant, 231 Mott Street near Prince Street, that's related to Aurora on Broome and West Broadway. I had the gnocchi with pork ragu, and Lady M. tried a panini. Both were very good. We talked about the nice farmhouse vibe at Emporio. On Memorial Day, Carl and I took Salena to her paternal grandmother's house for breakfast. Of course, en route, we stopped at the original Egg Custard King at Forsyth and Grand, for my favorite iced milk tea, and little one's noodles. Carl was slightly surprised to hear that they didn't have change for a twenty -and I had only $2 of the $4. He had planned to go in and get his own coffee anyway. I had specified milk last time, but they added sugar -and he was loath to repeat the experience. For breakfast, Carl's mother made Matzo brei, matzo dipped in egg and fried. It's very comforting -and she'd kept it warm in the oven. Along with the applesauce, I kept sprinkling sugar on mine. Afterwards, little one played the piano with her grandmother, and they watered plants. This is their usual routine. Soon after, we headed out to the beach. Sunken Meadow was not too crowded, and I decided to brave the chilly water. It was like swimming in ice cubes. On the way home, as little one slept in the back seat, I told Carl about Mr. Delicious. He was not surprised, and commented that I had seemed nervous in recent days, and understood that I might feel guilty. Both of us acknowledged our intention to remain good friends, and continue spending periodic quality time together with Salena.