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.

The sameness of change, lighthouses and lemon poppyseed biscotti

The funny thing about change is that most things still stay the same. This past weekend, little one, Carl and I -along with Gigi, the dog-took a beautiful walk along the Hudson River. Our destination was the Saugerties Lighthouse, a historic lighthouse located at the mouth of the Esopus Creek on the Hudson River. It was the perfect way to celebrate my 48th birthday. The walk was simple and took us through the woods, as we meandered along the Hudson River. Gigi was in heaven. He was straining at the leash, as he nosed his way down the path, sniffing like a little mad hatter. I was surprised to see how much the Hudson River resembles a small ocean, with its wide expanse of beach. We met several other dog owners who had the same idea. All of them were friendly. The walk ends at the Saugerties Lighthouse, which is reached by a wooden boardwalk. It is also a bed and breakfast and I could definitely understand the appeal of staying there. Especially at night, with the water lapping gently at the moorings. There were tables and benches situated around the lighthouse for those who chose to have a small picnic. We may well do that -although I worried that Gigi would jump into the Hudson River. Gigi is like Curious George, the adventurous monkey, just the dog version and he likes to swim. Afterwards, as we drove through Saugerties, I spied the Hudson Dessert Company, 264 Main Street, Saugerties. Somehow, I know that this would be a bakery after my heart. It was. I picked up some lemon, poppyseed biscotti which had a wonderful taste of lemon and poppyseed -and were low in sugar and carbohydrates. Little one and Carl loved their ginger spice cookies, and I even got Carl's coffee right. Afterwards, we drove back down to the city and collected Big Daughter. She was just finishing her shift at Cafe Habana. As a treat, I walked Gigi over to see her. Big Daughter couldn't pet him, due to hygiene concerns -but she was thrilled to see him. We dropped Gigi off at the East Village and headed out to Astoria for Greek food. I had researched a place, but at the last minute, as we were parking, we were directed to a place at 33rd Avenue and 21st street. Our referral source, an amiable man celebrating Greek Orthodox Easter with friends, described the place as "down home Greek cooking." He couldn't recall the name, and said "you'll see the lamb roasting on the spit in the window." There was a brief Taxi Driver moment, when a skinhead looking man tried to take Carl's parking spot. For a minute, we all thought he'd take it. Carl does not like confrontation, but valiantly honked his horn to indicate he was taking the spot. The man looked at him and all of us, and then left. I think Big Daughter intimidated him with her beauty. Anyway, the check said Anna's Greek Restaurant and the awning said Psitoplio. Whatever the name, it was packed with Greeks celebrating Orthodox Easter, and random neighborhood types eating Sunday dinner. We ordered two Greek salads, which were fresh -and sparing with the feta. When Young Sir C. arrived, he had some salad and agreed to share the small butcher plate with us. This was a platter of sliced chicken, lamb, and pork with toasted pita triangles and tzatziki sauce, the thick yogurt and cucumber dip often put on souvlaki. Essentially, it was a make your own miniature souvlaki- and really good. The waitress was impressed with how much we ate. Big Daughter ordered some homemade sausage, and we also got an appetizer plate of the traditional dips: taramosalata, tzatziki and skordalia, the garlic and potato dip. It was all good. Little one and her big sister both started with a bowl of chicken lemon soup. The waitress said there was no dessert, so we drove back to the city. Since I was full, I suggested we stop in at Chikalicious Dessert Bakery, 204 E. 10th Street. The big and little kids had vanilla softserve with fudge and chocolate pearls in that order. I had a chocolate shake and Carl had coffee. They managed to sneak a cupcake with a candle, and everyone joined in the happy birthday song. Little one is happy to be with her entire family in one setting. She also loves spending time with Carl and I. We try to ensure that this happens a few times a week. A few weeks ago, I forgot about early pick-up before the Easter break, so we ended up eating Vietnamese on Baxter. Little one was tickled -although she said "I cried, that you forgot." Carl said he was worried that I was hit by a car. I have trouble remembering all the early dismissals sometimes. Anyway, during our weekly lunch date on Monday, my dear friend Lady M. obs served that children love to spend time with both parents. We were both rattled to discover the closing of Amai Tea Cafe, at 16th and 3rd Avenue. Lady M. and I had been in the habit of going there for good tea and conversation. After a few false starts, we finally ended up at Cafe Pick Me Up, at the corner of E. 10th and Avenue A. It's been in my neighborhood forever, and as the rain began to fall in earnest, we were momentarily warm and safe.

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.

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.

Little one and I made 32 valentines for her classmates the other night, and nearly burned down the house. As I was cutting the valentines, and gluing different colored versions together, as per her instructions, the tissue paper suddenly caught fire with a burning candle flame that had flared up. I grabbed the smouldering stack of multicolored construction paper and threw it in the kitchen sink, after stomping on it. We were both frightened by the swiftness of the flames -and the combustibility of the tissue paper. After that, little one decided to blow out another candle, which was burning quietly on a corner table. As we met for our regular weekend lunch date on Saturday, my dear friend, Lady E., wondered if the fire was a warning. Her comment is well-taken. Love and passion, like fire - have a way of burning out of control and then subsiding, sometimes into ashes. The prior evening, during good food and conversation,(part of her weekly Friday evening dinner with friends at home), Big Daughter inadvertently said "I wouldn't want to be without a valentine on Valentine's Day. As her long-time friend Ms. R winced, Big Daughter started laughing, after I observed that I was none for the worse as the day approached. Of course, on Saturday afternoon, Big Daughter presented me with a beautiful, and delicate silver ring inscribed with tiny black diamonds. At Christmas, I had swooned over a stunning ring with black diamonds given to Lady L., a dear friend, and the elegant mother of little one's best friend, by her husband, Sir M. Big Daughter remembered how much I loved that ring. I was thinking about my valentines this past weekend. Big Daughter and Little one of course, but also the myriad friends and varied joys I have in my life. Another dear friend, Lady S., had commiserated with me about the making of valentines. She observed that in the preparations, Valentine's Day is not always so sweet. Lady S. also had the dubious honor of making 32 valentines with her sweet 7-year-old. We compared notes. By the 25th valentine, both of our daughters became tired and asked us to write the word "valentine," for them. Despite their weariness, Lady S. and I were touched by their sense of fairness. When we began to waver, after cutting out so many hearts, they insisted that each kid in their class receive a card. Earlier on Friday, I stopped in at Bond Street Chocolate, 63 E. 4th Street, between Second and Third Avenues, to buy a chocolate Jesus Christ for Big Daughter, along with four chocolate skulls, one chocolate Ganesh for Lady S, and little printed chocolates for little one. At the request of little one, I picked up a mix of four bonbons for Carl. I reminded her that "daddy doesn't always like gifts." Little one confidently said "he will from me," and she was right. A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of meeting Lynda Stern, the very cool proprietress of Bond Street Chocolates, when I stopped in to check out her beautiful store. We ended up talking about kids and motherhood, and I brought home some amazing chocolate toffees. They disappeared that same afternoon. Big Daughter, her boyfriend, Young Sir. C, and little one, pretty much inhaled them. The Friday before Valentine's Day, I was happy to see customers buying large boxes of bonbons and other chocolates. Ms. Stern was cool and collected, despite negotiating a delay for an order of additional gift boxes, and needing to replenish some of her offerings. In this uncertain economic climate, it is comforting to see a new business thriving. It was also sweet to see that Young Sir C., and Big Daughter both purchased gifts for the other at Tiffany's. Despite a minor upset due to miscommunication, they made it to Valentine's Day. Young Sir C. narrowly avoided the doghouse. I threatened Big Daughter with puppy biscuits with Valium in them, after she tossed his Valentine gift at him. I was on my way to collect Minnie, our Himalayan Persian cat, from the very loving, pet groomers at Puppy Love and Kitty Kat, 420 E. 9th between First Avenue and Avenue A. I was afraid they'd report me to the ASPCA, because Minnie was so matted. I'd cut some large sections of matted fur off, leaving her looking slightly grotesque. After we moved to the E. Village, Minnie hid behind a closet for awhile. When she emerged, Gigi, the dog, was a little too loving -and she continued hiding. I also fell off the wagon with her daily grooming. Minnie came home looking like a gorgeous little lion. Later, I went to collect little one from Carl. We decided to have dinner at Sharaku, a good, reliable Japanese restaurant at 14 Stuyvesant Street, actually 9th street, between 2nd and 3rd Avenues. When I arrived, little one handed me a big pink stuffed rabbit and a box of German-made cookies, along with a beautiful bouquet of pink and white roses. She excitedly showed me a purple, stuffed rabbit and cookies for her sister, and loved the chocolates for Carl.

This past Sunday, I stopped in at Lassi, 28 Greenwich Avenue, to try their jasmine-infused hot chocolate. It was mentioned in a listing of hot chocolate offerings in Page Six, New York Post's Sunday magazine, and sounded good to me. I loved it, but could only drink a little -it was so rich. I ended up carrying it, while I walked with Lady E. to a late lunch in Little India on Lexington Avenue, between 28th and
26th streets. Lady E. wanted to try something new, so we ended up at Tiffin Walla on 28th Street, between Park Avenue South and Lexington. They are a sister restaurant to Chennai Garden, a few blocks away on 27th street. Both places have pretty decent weekday lunch buffets for $6. My few sips of Lassi's hot chocolate carried such a pleasurable punch, I was unable to drink the excellent chai tea at Tiffin Walla. I took it home as well. Lady E. and I shared the South Indian Thali, and a chaat, both of which were good. Tiffin Walla is peppy in decor, and while the staff appears grouchy, they are actually quite nice. Hot chocolate makes me think of kindness and warmth, both of which seem to be in short supply these days. As the world as we know it comes to a crashing end, I find myself dodging bullets, as per my dear friend, Lady M.'s recent observation. After several difficult, and ultimately disappointing job interviews, I am realizing that working for myself is the better proposition. Those who are working in organizations seem more scared than those who are independent. Speaking of kindness and warmth, little one was excited on Saturday, when I rented The Sound of Music for her, at our local Blockbuster on Broadway at Ninth street. In our family, The Sound of Music is a big tradition. I remember pilgrimages to the local movie theater, after returning from Africa. During a family trip one summer to Austria, my sisters and I each received the traditional Austrian dresses. I actually wore mine to a family reunion in Minnesota. Big Daughter watched The Sound of Music throughout her childhood as well. As she and little one began watching the film, I reflected on the comfort it always provided me. The opening scene over the Alps brought it all back. I was happy to comply, when little one, and her Big Sister both requested chocolate chip cookies, after I finished making dinner. Even better was hearing that the cookies "tasted like clouds." The East Village kitchen is so tiny, I run out of places to put things. I ended up adding the brown sugar directly to the flour, rather than the egg and butter -and skipped the white sugar. Hence the "cloud" sensation. Early Monday evening, sweetness was in the air at Gottino's, 52 Greenwich Avenue between Perry and Charles streets, where I met up with another friend named Lady E., for some Vin Brule and little tasting plates. We had some catching up to do. We were content to wait for the Vin Brule, while we talked about her recent engagement, and upcoming wedding ceremony. I ordered the La Tur cheese, a soft cheese made with sheep's, cow and goat milk, served like a delectable dessert with berries, some sliced porchetta and an amazing glass of sparkling wine called Bracetto. From the little I read about them, both La Tur and Bracetto hail from the Piedmont region of Italy. It would be great to visit Piedmont and savor more tastes. Lady E. ordered the Kunik and Robiola cheeses, both served with fruit preserves. She liked the Bracetto so much, she also ordered a glass. When the Vin Brule arrived, it was accompanied by two figs dipped in chocolate. As we bit into them, the chocolate and fig merged with a crunchy nut in the middle, which delighted us. Big Daughter could give me chocolate-covered figs for Valentine's Day, and I would be in heaven. I took the remaining porchetta home, since I couldn't finish it. When I opened the bag, I found a beautiful, caramel-colored Bartlett pear, and was thrilled to receive that unexpected gift.