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.