The Tao of Soy Custard and Gardens

On my way home from work this evening, I was hopeful to find homemade soy custard for sale, just outside the Centre street exit of the Canal stop on the J line. For the past couple days, I've been coming down with a cold. The thought of eating, warm, fragrant soy custard was comforting. Big Daughter met me for lunch in Williamsburg today. We decided to visit our old standby, and favorite lunch spot, Diner. The menu has been revamped, so no more pressed Cuban sandwiches. They've added Shepherd's Pie and some other yummy choices, and their specials are still great. As we finished our lunch - she had Beef Ragu with two poached eggs on top, and I had beer-battered cod and a few french fries with A-1 sauce - I noticed the waitress walk by holding teapots. Our waitress confirmed that Diner is now serving tea, courtesy of In Pursuit of Tea. I was happy to order some Keemun, which I doctored with milk and sugar to get me through the afternoon, as my throat was getting sore. The restorative effects of the tea had worn off by the time the day was over, hence my wish for soy custard. As I walked up the subway stairs, I was happy to see a familiar sight, the large, blue shopping cart that holds a huge vat of steaming custard. A small group of vendors regularly ply their wares outside the subway entrance, but the soy custard vendor is there sporadically. After little one began attending a Chinese Catholic School on Bowery, Carl discovered a wily pair of fruit vendors, neighbors to the soy-custard vendor. They sell their fruit outside, rain or shine or snow. Carl is thrilled to buy not-too-ripe strawberries, bananas, oranges and grapes from them, while he practices a few choice phrases in Mandarin that he's learned from little one. Prior to finding them, Carl would purchase fruit, some a bit too ripe, from vendors on Park Place and Church, when little one was in a day care next to Ground Zero. In both cases, he established personal relationships with the vendors -such that they always gave little one an extra apple or orange. Carl has continued this dynamic with the couple, who interact affectionately with him. They enjoy the back and forth; the haggling over any errant change, and the subsequent rounding off of the amount due. They indulge Carl's request to visually check, via the scale, the exact poundage of fruit and together they confirm the total purchase. Recently, when I happened to unexpectedly meet Carl at the fruit stand, lively pointing and gesturing occurred, and the word "pretty" was mentioned (much to my liking). I should note that I have purchased fruit there several times but without Carl, it was clearly not memorable to the duo. When I buy fruit, it is a straightforward process. I select green,under ripe bananas, firm grapes and some miniature tangerines. There is no haggling. At the soy custard shopping cart, this approach serves me well. I've become acquainted with the young, high-school-age, custard-purveyor, Ms. Li. She automatically asks if I want a small custard, and then lifts up the fabric-wrapped lid, places it carefully to the side and in deft, elegant motions, scoops out enough soy custard to fill a small plastic to-go container. The top of the custard is covered with smooth, latticed patterns as she gently replaces the lid. After placing the sealed container in a small plastic bag, she adds a little container of sugar-syrup. This is usually dinner, when I'm lucky enough to find her. The custard is still warm, 15 minutes later, when I arrive home. I take a slotted spoon and scoop some custard out, leaving liquid behind, add a drop of the sugar syrup and voila, dinner. This past Sunday, in the same spirit of comfort, I requested that Carl, little one and I take a drive upstate. Big Daughter took the New Today bus from Chinatown to Philadelphia, to visit a friend at Bryn Mawr. In warmer months, I generally map out day drives to different gardens (Innisfree, the Institute of Eco Systems in Millbrook, Montgomery Place etc.) Since we needed to be back by 4 p.m. (for a March Madness basketball game), I googled gardens in upstate New York and found Boscobel. Located near West Point, Boscobel is a short,pretty drive along the Palisade Parkway and around Bear Mountain. An old house with beautiful grounds, Boscobel is perched on a bluff overlooking the Hudson River. We walked along a mile-long Woodlands trail through a still, stark forest of trees without leaves. Little one acted as the leader and instructed us to stay in a "straight line" behind her. It was an easy walk, and there were little yellow triangles marking the way. As we wound our way along the trail, we caught glimpses of the Hudson River. During the walk, I forgot how tired I was. Near the end of the trail, little one and I rested together on a wooden bench and looked up at the vivid, blue sky for a few tranquil moments. The sunlight had turned the tops of the trees silver. We weren't too far from one of my favorite cafes, Two Alices Coffee Lounge, located in Cornwall-on-Hudson. The short drive to the cafe wended scenically along Bear Mountain with spectacular views. It was our fourth visit to Two Alices, a comfortable, welcoming cafe with a retro-style setting. They carry a wide selection of teas; green, black, chai and prepare them in iced/latte versions along with great baked treats and soups/sandwiches. Little one gamely ate half of her curried carrot soup and then had several miniature-sized chocolates. Carl had a wrap with cheese/vegetables and read the Daily News. I peacefully sipped an iced chai latte. We made it home in time for the basketball game and Davidson lost by a hair, literally.

Food as a remembrance of things past

Last week, while Carl and little one were in Washington D.C. from Wednesday to Saturday for the First Round of March Madness, I went traveling down memory lane here in Manhattan. In their absence, I unexpectedly journeyed back to the E. Village neighborhood where I first lived, and subsequently visited a few, old favorite haunts. It was a weekend of traveling without departures. Big daughter's friend I. is visiting from Belgrade and we walked around the city Friday and Saturday, while Big Daughter was working. Thursday evening, I met my good friend, Lady L. - also mother of little one's best friend/adopted sister little Miss A.- for a long-planned dinner. Lady L. has been wanting to hear first-hand about my daily life and I suggested eating at Hearth (12th Street/1st Avenue). Until I arrived at Hearth, I was still debating alternative dinner choices. Hearth is located directly across the street from the site of my first New York City home, and there-in lay my ambivalence. Home was a typical, top-floor railroad-style apartment with three rooms; entry through the kitchen, no bathtub and seriously slanted floors. There were three of us and we each paid $300 in rent. Those days are long gone. In 1982, E. 12th street was a dicey street to reside on and rent was cheap, many of my friends/neighbors were smoking heroin and dabbling in art. I found solace and comfort at De Robertis Bakery and Caffe, Sal Anthony's Lanza's and Sapporo East, a punked-out Japanese sushi spot -all which remain neighborhood fixtures (on First Avenue between 10th/11th streets). Brunetta's, a small family-run Italian restaurant, is now a restaurant called Tree. Back then, it was our spot for Sunday evening supper after a day at the beach. Early on a summer Sunday morning, my roommates and I would drive out to Amagensett, pay five dollars to park and spend the day at the beach. Around 3 p.m., we would get back on an empty Montauk Highway and zip down the Long Island Expressway for a quick trip back to the E. Village. While we waited for dinner, I would visit Brunetta's owners, a husband and wife who spoke mostly Italian, in the small kitchen in the back - my adopted version of a grandmother's kitchen. One time, they were stirring octupus in a rich tomato sauce. I remember the sight of the long pink tentacles floating in the water. The proximity of Hearth to these combined memories unnerved me. Despite a very tasteful experience, I couldn't reconcile the professionalism of Hearth with the grittiness of the neighborhood in which I came of age. While I waited for Lady L. (who apologized for taking a short, sweet nap with her little one) I ordered a glass of prosecco, requested some Creme de Cassis in it and made my own kir. It was fun to read the comprehensive and winsomely-written wine menu. I love to read about wine even though I barely drink it, an armchair wine connisseur. Lady L. was amenable to us sharing some appetizers -Yellow pepper soup with paddlefish caviar, Peekytoe crab salad with Meyer Lemon, potatoes and arugula and New Zealand Snapper crudo. We ordered one entree, Roasted Sturgeon with Braised Cabbage, Pork Sausage and chickpeas. We also ordered a side of homemade gnocchi. The Yellow pepper soup and caviar melded together in a very satisfying manner and the crudo tasted like sashimi. Neither of us had ever eaten Sturgeon. We found it to have a very clean taste. For dessert, we selected tea (courtesy of In Pursuit of Tea) and shared a tasting of tart, tangy homemade sorbets (blood orange, mango and banana)accompanied by two perfect crescent-shaped sugar cookies. I couldn't stop eating the mango sorbet. While we finished our conversation, I sipped Keemun, a black tea from China and mixed it with milk/sugar to ensure that I would be able to sleep, despite the caffeine. Lady L. was drinking her favorite, Gemaji, a barley-like Japanese tea. By the time we left, every seat was taken. The dining room featured an open kitchen space with a counter and stools for diners seeking a direct kitchen view. Lady L. and I were seated off to the side in an adjacent small, narrow room with a brick wall. It was not unlike an upscale, open version of my first apartment. The restaurant's front room had a bar at the entrance and opened into a large room with tables. Hearth was buzzing when we left, yet I was strangely bereft. A visit to a strange, new land. Lady L. was open to a quick stop at De Robertis Bakery and Caffe. It was time to buy little one's Easter basket and the ones for sale were not overly ornate. While paying for the Easter Basket, I spied a grain pie made with Ricotta cheese. According to my research, it's a Neapolitan Easter specialty called Pastiera and can contain wheat berries, wheat husks and even rice in addition to a custard of eggs/ricotta cheese. During my regular Friday afternoon tea, I mentioned the grain pie to Elspeth. She pulled out her Finnish cookbook and referenced a Finnish version but pronounced it "eggy". For an Easter treat, I decided to bring a grain pie to Podunk on Saturday, since I planned to escort I around the E. Village. When we visited De Robertis Bakery and Caffe on Saturday afternoon, it was packed with customers buying Easter treats and there was a quiet contentment underneath the hustle and bustle. Elspeth loved the grain pie, pronounced it not eggy at all, and savored the undertones of candied orange. Big daughter joined us for some coconut vanilla chai tea with heavy cream. My friend M dropped in as well. Lately, she divides her time between NYC and San Francisco and is in NYC for a few weeks. M. brought me a beautiful pair of hammered gold earrings. When a large group of French tourists came in, I suggested we beat a speedy exit so the next round of memories could get started.

The Sweet Taste of Just Desserts

In our household, we are officially dwelling in Love in the Time of Basketball. We are not talking love in the traditional sense. All bets are off -except for those that involve March Madness and events like the Big East tourney etc. Thursday Night Date Night is once again off the books. As far as Carl is concerned, I am a distant mirage. Maybe that's why I just ordered some hip, new summer sandals. I tend to buy shoes when I'm feeling stressed. And no, I don't have a closet stuffed with shoes, maybe just a shelf or two. These days, I am a crazed, working mother rushing madly through life, trying desperately to find just a little more time in the day. Basketball addictions will do that. The household is upside down. Carl is officially disappeared. Big Daughter is in the midst of mid-terms and little one is completely, and utterly, sleep deprived. Bed time is akin to climbing Mount Everest. I'm thinking celebration and Carl is thinking Washington, as in first round of the Final Four, then possibly Charlotte and after that who knows. In the meantime, I continue to think celebration. Last year, after Carl returned from Atlanta - I forget what round of the Final Four it was - I finagled a visit to Del Posto at 15th Street/10th Avenue. I reasoned that chocolate was needed after I single-handedly ran things for several months while Carl buzzed about on a basketball high. His trip to Atlanta had added another layer to my sacrifice. It was a perfect opportunity. I was intrigued by Del Posto's chocolate tasting -several types of dark chocolate served with rum. After a steady diet of basketball, Carl was in an expansive mood. He agreed a thank you was in order (and then almost didn't arrive!). That's usually part of the process. At Del Posto, I appreciated the staff's gracious manner when they didn't quibble with my request for only chocolate. Little one and I were seated in the Enoteca, a less formal seating area near the bar. A grand space, Del Posto evokes an old-style, no-holds-barred Italian restaurant with a dramatic staircase and huge flower arrangements strategically placed. The Enoteca retains the elegance with perfectly-ironed white tablecloths and silverware with significant heft. Little one asked for ice cream. The waiter - who doted on her for the duration of the meal - brought her the perfect serving of one scoop each of vanilla and chocolate on a gleaming silver dish. After finishing her ice cream, little one decided she was hungry. We ordered a side of pasta for her but the true centerpiece was the bread basket. The bread sticks and several kinds of rolls were presented with a delicious degree of warmth. Little one was so entranced, she worked her way through two bread baskets. When the waiter brought the second bread basket, it was as if we were eating edible gold. I suggested that Carl order the goat cheese cheesecake and he was not unhappy. A little later in the summer, I craved Del Posto's thick white tablecloths and genteel service. I convinced Big Daughter and little one to accompany me for an early summer supper. I remember seeing a young man dressed in camouflage. He was clearly enjoying a good-bye dinner with his girlfriend before being deployed to Iraq. I hope he made it back home. The staff treated the couple with the utmost respect. Big Daughter enjoyed the dinner but squirmed a little under the attentive service. She complained of feeling like we'd left town. I replied that was my goal exactly. To achieve a feeling of having traveled in the short distance from Tribeca to 15th and 10th. Before Del Posto and the chocolate tasting, Carl, little one and I had visited Chicago for the NCAA First and Second Round of March Madness. I seized the opportunity to do some serious eating. I suggested that we visit Hot Doug's, a unique hot dog stand operated by a gregarious New York City exile. I don't know who we loved more: the hot dogs or Doug, the proprietor. Carl was not up for Moto (one of my favorite restaurants in the entire universe). He agreed to try Green Zebra, a minimalist, zen-like, contemporary vegetarian restaurant in West Town. I thought about architecture and food while I was eating at Green Zebra -the food was constructed like beautiful buildings. My good friend John, who lives in Chicago, joined us for dinner. He and I laugh a lot when we're together. We see the irony in a lot of things. John's laugh is contagious. When we were at Purdue, his mantra was that less is always more. John spent some time during dinner teasing me about introducing him to restaurants in his home city. While Carl and I were driving back and forth from the United Center between games, I spotted a place called Sip and forced Carl to pull over. Sure enough, it was a Chicago version of Grounded, the very cool tea/coffee place on Jane Street in the West Village. I am already contemplating my thank you dinner for this year. I plan to finagle a visit to Wd-50 but just for desserts. The big question is the five dessert tasting or just three. Sometimes less really is more.

Saturday afternoons of tea and clarity with Miss E.

A few Saturdays ago, my friend Miss E. and I met, as is our weekly ritual, for lunch and art. Miss E. is happy to let me organize our food adventures and so agreed to meet me at Danal (recently relocated from 10th street between 2nd/3rd to Fifth Avenue/13th street). Many years ago - 19 to be exact- I took Big daughter's Serbian grandmother to the 10th street Danal for lunch. Big Daughter was still a tiny little thing (she still is) nestled in her stroller. At this larger, new improved Fifth Avenue Danal, the walls were a beautiful Provencal yellow and the space was significantly bigger. There was a pleasing mix of mismatched wooden chairs and tables and little chotchkes scattered around. Unfortunately the tea was cold, and when I stirred my spoon around the pot searching for tea leaves, I came up with a grand total of three. I asked a passing waitress for hot water and more tea leaves and there was definitely some attitude when she whisked the pot away. The tea pot returned with a small bang a few minutes later, but there were more tea leaves and hot water.

Lunch was not a success for either of us, and I won't mention the food. Our many table mates all seemed to either attend NYU, or teach there and looked happy enough. Most of them were drinking glasses of either champagne or white wine along with their coffees and cappucinos so maybe that was the thing to do. When it comes to tea, the bar has been set mighty high at Podunk, Grounded, Chae An and Gramstand and life is no longer simple.

Miss E. had a terrible migraine and I could see she was in pain. Despite that, she gamely decided to accompany me to the Alexandre art gallery (41 E. 57th street) featuring paintings from the estate of a painter called Loren MacIver. I had read about the show in the previous Friday New York Times Art Section and loved the idea of a painting where flowers wreathe a woman's head. I also loved that Ms. MacIver lived in Greenwich Village, traveled to Paris, exhibited in Pierre Matisse's gallery, and was close friends with the poets Elizabeth Bishop and Marianne Moore and married to a poet herself.

Interestingly enough at the show, I fell in love with a painting of a purple crocus. It was a small, perfect wash of powerful, but muted colors and of course it was sold - there was a little red dot next to it. The purple of the flowers and the blue-green background were hypnotic. If I had $8,000 extra dollars, I would have gladly spent it on the painting so I could look at it every day for the rest of my life. Miss E. also thought the paintings were quite beautiful and was momentarily distracted from the pain of her migraine.

We admired a painting of snow falling through a window and found it quite compelling. As we left, Miss E. and I looked at Bretagne, a painting near the entrance of the gallery. I thought it was a magical meadow in the colors of an early summer evening with its swirls of deep blues and pinky white hues. It was hard for me to walk away from it. If it were possible (and it's definitely not) I would have immediately handed over $75,000 to own it. Instead, I contented myself with buying the catalog so I could take a little piece of Ms. MacIver home with me.

A few Saturdays later, I invited Miss E. to accompany me to the Milk Gallery (450 W. 15th Street) to look at a show of Buddhas created by an aeronautical engineer turned Buddhist priest. The exhibit lasts until March 30 of this year, and was brought to New York City by the Shinjo Ito Foundation. One recent Friday evening, I realized that I was walking by the foundation's information center at 489 Broome Street just above W. Broadway. I made the connection as I glanced through the large glass windows and saw photos of the same Buddhas I'd viewed at the Milk Gallery.

Miss E. met me at my 11th street office and we walked together to the West Village. It was cold and the wind blew through us as we walked west. On the way to the Buddhas, I suggested we stop and eat at Arium, a tea room at 31 Little West 12th Street. I needed to warm up. I'd walked by Arium, a few years ago when Big Daughter, little one and I took a walk in the Meat Market after learning that my father had died. It's complicated, but fitting that we did that and I bought Big Daughter a beautiful coat that day. She still wears the coat and I borrow it once in a while.

That warm September day, the three of us sat outside and had tea and sweets at the now-closed Sashas on Gansevoort Street. But back to Arium, it is a large elegant space that is a combination tea room and hair salon. It also functions as an exhibition space, and there were colorful paintings on the walls. The waiter said they have music concerts some evenings as well (there was a large grand piano on one side of the room), and theme nights like Moroccan movie night with related cuisine.

We selected our choice of tea from an comprehensive tea list. I'm embarrassed to admit I can't remember the name of my tea, but it was good. I ordered an open-faced salmon sandwich with green apples and Miss E. ordered a quiche with a salad. The quality and freshness of our food was very good. The tea was served in beautiful little china teapots and tea cups and the waiter refilled our tea pots with more warm water. I asked to look at the high tea menu and there was a variety of combinations of tea and sandwiches/tea and sweets etc.

Arium was pretty empty when we visited, save for the hair stylists coming and going and the occasional customer, but that added to its charm. When our meal ended, our waiter gave us a little scrap of paper that said $45. He explained that the register didn't work. For some reason, he was unable to get our change for about twenty minutes. We were slightly confused by this but the setting was pleasant and so we waited. When he finally did bring the change, he had another little scrap of paper that said $47. At that point, our waiting seemed pointless as Miss E. realized that she could have left the change. We were mystified by the little scraps of paper with changing amounts.

We then decided it was time to visit the Buddhas. I had read that the exhibition at the Milk Gallery sought to communicate to the viewer, the love and compassion experienced by the priest who created the Buddhas. When we arrived there, a steady stream of people were walking in. I noticed that everyone had a pleasant expression on their face, especially an older woman walking around the gallery with her small dog. The Japanese guard looked at the dog but didn't say anything. A little later, I observed him looking at the dog and owner and quietly conferring, in a tranquil low-key manner with the man handing out brochures at the gallery entrance.

Miss E. and I were both impressed with the Buddhas in the show. We agreed that the overall effect was indeed quite soothing. There were several small gold and black Buddhas exhibited throughout the space and one large, reclining one which could be viewed from all sides. There was also a gift shop in which we browsed and I bought little one a book that explained the meaning of different symbols in Buddhism which I've been occasionally perusing at home. The large, reclining Buddha was the one that possibly provided the viewer some serenity. I certainly felt more tranquil after viewing it.

I'll admit that I was seeking something although I'm not a Buddhist and do believe in God, which is not necessarily a contradiction. As we walked in the rain this afternoon, I realized it was knowing when to let go of angry feelings and move on.

Food as salvation.

When life gets really difficult, as it has been in recent months, my best solution is to change my routine. While I can't give up my weekly visits to the "Temple of Podunk," I've been mixing it up for lunch and dinner.

During the worst of it, I had the unexpected pleasure of being invited to lunch by Carl. He was more relaxed, because the public schools were on mid-winter break and the kids were all at home. We met twice for lunch and I took him to Tiny's Giant Sandwich Shop on the Lower East Side (129 Rivington at Norfolk Street) and Shopsins.

This was my fourth attempt to eat at Shopsins, located adjacent to Saxelby's Cheese in the Essex Market (Essex and Delancey Street). I'd been a bit intimidated to eat at Shopsin, but being with Carl, I felt empowered about eating there. He fits the Shopsin's customer mode; quirky, a little prickly and smart.

If you haven't visited Shopsins, it's worth it simply to read the menu, it's packed so tightly with choices. I took one home and periodically read it on the train for fun. I narrowed my choices by figuring out my food mood and finally selected corn cakes with bananas and walnuts. Carl selected pea soup, raved about it and ate most of my corn cakes, which was fine by me. I prefer nibbling, because I can eat more.

When he asked to order, Carl appreciated our server's response, "If you're in a hurry, you should go somewhere else, it's just my father and I". No sarcasm here. Carl is in favor of plain speaking. He frequently accuses me of not getting to the point (maybe that's why he interrupts me so much). The interruptions irritate me but it's true I can ramble on at times.

Carl also raved about Tiny's Giant Sandwich Shop; ee liked the food, he had a vegetarian sandwich, and the vibe. It was very low-key and kind of punk but friendly. Carl appreciates when a place doesn't aim to be something else. I'm open to places trying to be something else, but so be it. I understand Carl's point, he doesn't get lost.

The people eating lunch at Tiny's Giant Sandwich Shop actually seemed hungry, which is important to Carl. We even had lunch this week, (unfortunately after Carl ended up at the emergency room Monday night - no connection to the food we ate - but he's good- no worries). I decided to take him to Papa Lima Sandwich Shop (Bedford at S. 4th Street in Williamsburg). I'd walked by it frequently en route to PienThighs (which, by the way, is closed until Spring). Papa Lima Sandwich Shop seemed right for an-after-a-visit-to-the-E.R.-lunch.

The two friendly, down-to-earth counter guys talked us into the potato soup with bacon and cheese. As they said, it really was the best soup. Carl ended up with my tomato soup after I ate most of the bacon/cheese topping and half the potato soup. He said he couldn't switch tastes once he began eating the tomato soup. We shared half of a sandwich with turkey, potato chips, lettuce and tomato. I brought the other half to give to little one when I picked her up from school.

During the bus ride home, she was in heaven, crunching on those potato chips. Thursday, I continued the trend of altering the routine and took Carl to La Zarza, an Argentinian tapas place (First Avenue between 10th/11th). It was another home run. We tried the datiles (dates wrapped in bacon), the cheese plate which came with jams (orange marmalade and a raspberry jam in hollowed-out cucumbers) and tiny shrimps with garlic. It sounded very refreshing, but I passed on the blackberry Sangria. I'm so tired lately that even a little alcohol is a bad thing for me.

I'd eaten a piece of Sacher Torte at Blaue Gans (Duane Street in Tribeca) earlier that afternoon during Big daughter's 19th birthday lunch, but I still scanned the dessert menu at La Zarza. The lavender flan looked good to me and I seem to recall something made with dulce de leche among other offerings. There was a selection of ports as well. Very cool place.

Last but not least, this morning I convinced little one to try breakfast at Egg Custard King (on Mott below Canal). She was clamoring to return to Chatham Square for Dim Sum. We took a break from Chatham Square after I began feeling very melancholy there and switched to the bright, clean and modern atmosphere of Hong Kong Noodle Station.

A big part of the draw is the milk tea at Hong Kong Noodle Station. A wonderful, strong black tea with evaporated milk added, milk tea is a staple in Hong Kong. The key is the creamy finish and Hong Kong Noodle Station gets it right. We'd been going to Chatham Square but it became too familiar. I think we'll go back to Chatham Square in the summer. Anyway, I bribed little one with the prospect of iced milk tea at Egg Custard King and she agreed.

Due to myriad morning home activities, we generally take a cab to save time. I've justified the expense by figuring it lessens my overall stress and keeps me younger and lets us have breakfast together. This morning, we were picked up by a singing cab driver who said he was a Russian Jew and sings in Italian. He had an Italian flag hanging off the rear view mirror. A few minutes into the trip, the cab driver asked little one her name, pulled out a microphone and turned it on. As his voice reverberated through the cab in surround sound, he turned on some background music and began serenading little one in Italian. With a strobe light, we could have easily been in a Russian nightclub in Brighton Beach.

Little one buried her head in my lap and was simply mortified. Needless to say, breakfast at the Egg Custard King was a bit of a let down after that. We shared fried rice with chicken and pineapple. Little one got a pork bun, which she devoured. The iced milk teas tasted pretty good.

Valentines of fresh fruit and Indian food

Valentine's Day has always been a dicey proposition in our house - probably because the concept of romantic love is viewed very differently by Carl and I. He believes that bringing fresh fruit home daily is a strong indicator of his love for me (even as he packs much of it up to take to work each day). While I truly do appreciate the constant availability of unripe, slightly green bananas, ripe oranges and firm grapes, I see nothing wrong with the occasional surprise present.

To be fair though, this past Saturday, the unbelievable occurred. Carl bought me a beautiful, military-style black hoodie at Atmos, a very cool Japanese-run, Supreme-esque sneaker store in Harlem. Whenever we visit the Studio Museum of Harlem (more on that below), we visit Atmos.

Carl got some really cool sneakers there a few years back, and now it's a tradition to stop in. Carl said he was buying me the hoodie as part of March Madness (the college basketball season just getting into full swing)- but hey, a great gift is a great gift and I love my Hells Bellz-designed hoodie. I am in favor of any day that allows me to give or receive gifts as a way of celebrating family and friends.

In Carl's favor, it's true that I am definitely not marriage-minded. I fervently believe the wedding celebration should occur 50 years later - if the relationship has positively survived the test of time. As well, I have no desire whatsoever for a ring (sorry Big Daughter - she wants a large rock ) since it seems to me a (large) symbol of objectification.

Over the years, I have utilized Valentine's Day as a way to appreciate those who love me and whom I love. Carl's belief that Valentine's Day is a day propagated by commercial business as a means to make him part with his money was never easy for me to swallow, although I understand it from his no-gift point-of-view.

As Big Daughter put it so succinctly this past Christmas, giving gifts is a sign of intimacy with others. I was slightly concerned therefore, when I realized that Valentine's Day happened to fall on Thursday Night Date Night. I anticipated an uphill battle in having any kind of date night, let alone on Valentine's Day.

I should note dear reader that I was greatly reassured by an article in last Tuesday's Science section of the New York Times that noted Date Nights are only effective when there's change involved. Couples must do things out of the ordinary.

I immediately showed the article to Carl, and emphasized the part that said trying new places, and taking drives in the country are important to maintaining a sense of the new and romantic. Ha! But back to Valentine's Day. Last year, Big Daughter and I had a disastrous experience at Blaue Gans on Valentine's Day. Since then, I have become truly afraid of the specter of Dinner on Valentine's Day. (Disclaimer: The chef at Blaue Gans responded considerately, after I wrote a detailed email about the disastrous events that occurred. He honestly and graciously acknowledged that sometimes people make stupid mistakes. He's right -especially on a night like that.)

Yes, Carl, you did warn me about the idiocy of my choice to eat out on that night. I decided to go to Valentine's dinner at Blaue Gans because of the chocolate dessert, mmm hmm. For about a month prior to the special day, I kept reading the Valentine's Day menu on the glass mirror over our booth at Blaue Gans during our annual Saturday breakfast. The chocolate dessert just kept calling to me until I finally caved and convinced Big Daughter to go with me, simply to eat those chocolate pops. Those chocolate pops were very good - despite the mishaps we encountered. If only I'd known, we could have skipped dinner (which they almost forgot to give us) and just dropped in for dessert, like the couple next to us.

Anyway, back to this year's Valentine Day. Going out for Thursday night dinner seemed like another disaster-in-the-making. Each of our regular places had a special menu, even Sanctuary Tea, our new regular spot. As an alternative, I considered dropping in at Hallo Berlin for a hot dog but the reviews indicated that the hot dogs might never arrive, or at least take hours to show up.

Finally, I decided Indian food would do the trick. I reasoned that few people would choose to eat Indian on a romantic night and there was little chance of roses/candles and an amplified menu. I left Carl a message suggesting that we meet at Saravannas, a great place at 26th/Lexington for South Indian food. (In a recent blog, I mentioned their chai tea.) We generally go to Saravanna's in the summertime, so the staff was happy to see us.

Although there was a wait, it had nothing to do with Valentine's Day, it was simply the usual; a mostly-Indian crowd of families, couples and friends, waiting to eat authentically prepared Dosa's, which are the speciality of the house. Despite our three-month absence, the waiter anticipated our order; the Mini Tiffin, which is comprised of Thali style dishes of farina, different vegetables in spicy, stew-like sauces (potatotes, peppers, tomatoes etc.) and of course, delectable little portions of sweets, a tapioca rice pudding and an orange halvah.

I, of course, ate the sweets first. The Dosa (a long thin, crunchy crepe folded over a filling of mashed potatoes and peas)is always placed in the center of the silver tray. The waiter also anticipated our usual order of the South Indian Tiffin. It contains a multitude of Thali dishes, again with vegetables but this time served with chapati (a soft tortilla-like bread) and a type of papadum (a large, circular, cracker-like bread made of plain flour). We brought home a Ravi Dosa which has pistachios and raisins baked into the crepe.

Since this was a three-day weekend, I'm happy to report that a sense of smaller valentines pervaded. On Saturday afternoon, we visited the Studio Museum of Harlem to see a thought-provoking, beautiful and amazing show by Kori Newkirk, a phenomenal new artist. After visiting Atmos, we crossed the Triboro Bridge to Astoria to eat at at Philoxenia, a Greek restaurant that I've long wanted to try (32-07 34th Avenue, Astoria). I was excited to eat there since I'd read that they recently reopened. They closed before I could visit them two years ago.

The dining room is a large, plesant brick-walled room with windows overlooking the bucolic back garden of the adjoining building. The menu at Philoxenia was simple but extremely well-prepared. We shared an appetizer of four spreads: Taromasalata, carp roa caviar spread, Tzatsiki, which is made with cucumbers and yogurt, Melitzanosalata, a roasted eggplant spread with garlic and herbs and Tiriokafteri, a spicy cheese spread. Little one loved the Tzatziki and Carl loved the spicy, cheese spread.

In addition, we ordered Dolmadakia, lettuce leaves stuffed with beef and rice, their homemade spinach pie, Piperies Psites Me Tire, grilled peppers stuffed with graviera cheese and of course, a large Greek salad. Big Daughter got Bekri Meze, veal and pork stewed in tomato sauce and topped with feta. Sbe and little one both ordered the traditional Greek chicken and rice soup which was liberally infused with lemon. For dessert, we all shared Galaktoboureko, a sweet egg custard encased in thin layers of phyllo.

Not only was the food amazing, it was extraordinarily reasonable. Going to Philoxenia was a big step because we usually eat only at Agnanti, another Greek restaurant that we love in Astoria. After a long, hot day at the beach, the food there hits the spot. Agnanti serves amazing Greek Cypriot style food - one salad in particular is perfect on a hot day. It's prepared with tomatoes, capers, feta cheese and cretan husks (little wheat husks) all mixed together and served cold. Agnanti has amazing fish entrees but I love the grilled sardines. With a little lemon squeezed over them, they are a meal in themselves.

Big Daughter and I always get the grilled Kasseri cheese and little one clamors for a cheese puff with phyllo that's made with a tangy, soft cheese. As a family, we always order too much food at Agnanti. We still eat the complimentary dessert, a semolina honey cake with large stewed cherries in greek yogurt on the side. Since the weather was so balmy today, we decided to visit the Pepisco Sculpture Garden in Purchase, NY.

When I called my friend John in Chicago to talk art (he works at the Museum of Contemporary Art in downtown Chicago) and proudly say that I identified a Giacometti sculpture from afar, he was amazed that we were walking around a Sculpture Garden. John said he was stuck at home because it was 14 degrees and windy!! The Sculpture Garden was gorgeous -even in winter-and an easy 45 minute ride up the Hutchinson Parkway. I can't wait to return in the spring, when the Magnolia trees are blooming.

On our way out of the city, we visited Oro, a new bakery/bar located in Nolita, at 375 Broome Street between Mott/Kenmare. That part of Broome is still a little funky which was strangely comforting. So much of NYC is becoming airbrushed these days, and much of Soho is like a mall. Anyway, for breakfast, I selected a bread pudding. It was the perfect eggy mix of bread and raisins. Carl was happy to share it with me. Little one selected a blood-orange meringue.

Together, we ate little spoonfuls of the stiff, sweet meringue topping and I ate the tangy blood-orange filling. Little one then asked for a cup of potato-leek soup. It was creamy and warm with lots of leeks and potatoes. Carl and I ended up sharing that as well. He also ate her cheese bread with chives.

Oro is an elegant space, with seating in the front and rear separated by a sleek bar with stools. I wanted to try a little chocolate truffle cookie and a bunch of other miniature pastries, but figured we can always go back. There was a nice selection of tea and coffee drinks. Oro is open until 10 p.m. for wine/snacks. There were sandwiches (a smoked salmon with dill and creme fraiche) and quiches too. On the way back to our Zipcar rental, we stopped at Parisi Bakery to get little one a Turkey sandwich with lettuce and mayo. When she saw the sandwich, little one's eyes widened and she said "that's so big." The counterman laughed. I overheard the counter lady tell another customer that Parisi's has been in their present spot since 1908 and the world seemed in balance.

The Shifting Mirage called Food in South Beach

In the past decade, it's become a tradition for our family to trek down to South Beach (Miami) at least once a year, sometimes even twice (if we're lucky and Carl is in a good mood). I say trek, because after hauling two weeks worth of clothes for little one -you need 12 days worth of clothes for 6 days, believe me- her car seat and her stroller on/off the plane, I feel like I've climbed Mount Everest. Forget about my luggage, it's the least of my worries. My carry on bag weighs at least 100 lbs and is crammed with a hodge-podge of snacks (nuts, cheese and crackers,etc) coloring books, crayons and games and various articles of clothing. I bring magazines and Christian Science Monitors so I can catch up on fashion and foreign affairs but never get to read a thing. Big Daughter packs separately. She is fastidious and could never tolerate a communal suitcase. We officially retired little one's stroller last fall but brought it out of retirement for the trip to South Beach, because we always do a lot of walking. South Beach runs from 1st/Ocean to 17th/Lincoln road and our family favors the area near the lower-numbered streets. At this point in her charmed existence, little one believes that her legs are not yet meant for walking. Rather than vainly propose the concept of walking, it's easier to offer her the stroller. This means that one out of every passerby motions at her feet, which dangle out of the stroller and begin dragging on the ground. For the past two visits, we've stayed at the elegant, Art Deco-style Astor Hotel (10th/Washington. We can generally be found at the beach or pool around 1st/Ocean. Over the years, Big Daughter, Carl and I have tracked the ascendance of South Beach from slightly gritty beach town to hip, shining star i.e. E. Village meets Madison Avenue at Ocean Drive. It's always fun to observe the residents and tourists meandering down the street in a style particular to South Beach i.e. stylish but bare with great sunglasses and jewelry. Eating in South Beach is also a unique experience; each year the place you remember liking a lot is closed, replaced by something else. Restaurants in South Beach are a mirage. Beckoning from afar, they generally disappear into a morass of overpriced food and convoluted service. To combat this and adjust to our beach schedule, we devised an eating plan which is comprised of an early breakfast (often the price of a good lunch or bargain dinner in NYC), no lunch and then dinner in big, bright lights (figuratively speaking) because after a day of sun/swimming, we're hungry. When Carl is with us, we have the luxury of a rental car. The car pays for itself in the trip to/from South Beach from Fort Lauderdale airport and allows me to map out exotic food adventures in various Miami neighborhoods for a better culinary experience overall. Last year, I created a food itinerary indicating breakfast and dinner choices for each day of the trip. Changes were allowed only after serious debate, weather considerations or the occurrence of sunburn. Big Daughter was a high school senior then, and on that trip she brought two friends - the Devster (her best friend) and Will -a classmate who joined us for a few days after visiting Florida colleges. Will's mother couldn't believe we a) wanted him on the trip and b)loved him after it was over. Also along for the duration was the Big N, big daughter's dad. The Big N was in from Belgrade and in the spirit of roughing it, stayed at the spartan hostel (in a communal room, yikes)a block from the Hotel Augustine. The Hotel Augustine was a nice hotel save for the manager, who thought we were sneaking the Big N in the room with Big Daughter and friends, natch. During that trip, we had some great food adventures. After a day at the beach, everyone would shower and meet outside of the hotel. Off we'd go, Carl at the wheel of the rental car, me holding my handwritten (and often confusing directions). Big N smoking furiously and commenting on the capitalism of Americans and Will riding shotgun in the back, staunchly defending Carl. In the back seat, little one was watched over by the Devster and Big Daughter with mixed results. The culinary highlights of last year's visit were Garcia's Fish Market, (located in downtown Miami directly over the causeway from South Beach), Guayacan (a Nicaraguan restaurant located in Little Havana) and Monty's (located on the edge of South Beach). Garcia's is one of our absolute favorite places to eat in Miami. It's a real down-home fish market that serves all manner of fresh-caught fish and really good conch hush puppies. Whenever we go there, it rains. It's exciting to sit out on the back porch and watch the big rain drops plop into the canal while a slightly chilly wind dampens us while eating. Maine in Miami. Eating at Guayacan was pretty much what you imagined it would be like to be in Nicaragua and eat amazing food. Monty's is a divey fish place on the bay. They have a raw bar with raw clams and mussels as well as boiled shrimp (we peeled off the shells) and all manner of deep-fried fish along with hamburgers etc. Lots of good old boys (and girls) like to go there to drink so we usually go early for dinner. For our most recent trip to South Beach last week, Big Daughter, little one and I spent six great days in South Beach. My challenge was to map out good food in South Beach proper (something that I hadn't done before). This time it was just us girls. At the last minute, Carl found the lure of college basketball too great to resist. In the spirit of harmony, we didn't protest and I'm happy to report it was a win-win for all involved. We loved South Beach and Carl loved being solo in NYC. I didn't mind pool duty with little one. During this recent visit, breakfast wasn't a problem. Little one and I would generally wake up around 7 a.m., get the newspapers at LeeAnns Pharmacy across the street, pick up a coffee for Big Sister at the French patisserie on Washington and then head out again for a proper breakfast. Big Sister always required coffee before her obligatory gym visit to Crunch. The first morning, little one and I ate breakfast at Joley, the restaurant in the Astor Hotel but that didn't work too well. The water for tea was infused with a coffee taste and the manager was more than grouchy which gave me indigestion. Apparently, Joley had just inaugurated breakfast service that morning and it was enough to dissuade us from repeating the experience for the duration of our trip. Because we were upgraded from a Junior Suite to a Presidential Suite gratis, I couldn't bring myself to tell Corey (the amazing, sweetheart of a manager at the Astor) the truth about breakfast. The next morning, little one and I upheld family tradition and ate breakfast at The Tides, a very fancy (newly-renovated yet again) hotel on Ocean Drive. It's a tradition for us to eat breakfast, once per South Beach visit, at The Tides. This time around, their tea water also tasted like coffee. Carl, I'm pleased to report, has gamely gone along to breakfast at The Tides on past visits. He finds it interesting to observe his fellow breakfast eaters. In past visits, we've encountered a "regular" who looks homeless, but staff treats her like royalty. I wonder who she really is? Little one and I didn't see her this visit. Anyway, as is always the case at The Tides, the fruit plate was phenomenal. It arrived with a small, hollowed-out papaya packed with blueberries, strawberries and raspberries along with generous servings of sliced kiwi, pineapple and one plum. Little one kept referring to the kiwi as celery but ate it all nonetheless. The staff couldn't have been sweeter. Nothing beats sitting in early morning sunshine on the swanky terrace of The Tides and gazing at the ocean. It just screams "ahh vacation." The waiter invited us to visit the newly-renovated lobby and as we checked it out, little one said "this is too fancy mommy." As we wandered about, I worried that one of the 2000 turtle shells affixed to the walls of the dining room might fall on my head. There was so much stuff in the lobby seating area, I thought we might get lost especially among the large piles of dried white driftwood artfully stacked around. After that experience, I opted for a few mornings of fruit tarts from the Patisserie and then ventured out again to the Maison d'Azur at The Anglers Boutique Resort (5th/Washington) for Sunday Breakfast. $104.96 later, I decided they too couldn't cut the tea thing, it wasn't served in a teapot and there were tea bags! The hot chocolate was good though, it was unsweetened and made with real Valhrona chocolate and had a creamy finish. Big daughter and a visiting pal opted for omelets and TWO orders of slab bacon (at $7/pop) and little one ordered two eggs over easy with potatoes. I got the traditional Soupe de Poisson with little toasts and Rouille (saffron aioli sauce), in an effort to remain restrained. I truly love this soup (after having it years ago in the South of France) and this one didn't disappoint. It was a good breakfast made better by the fact that the clouds blew away while we were eating and a clear blue sky emerged. The best breakfast was at the Hotel Victor on our last day in South Beach. I was looking for their little tea/coffee cafe (which I discovered last year) but it had closed. The manager was very sweet and hallelujah, they had tea leaves from the NYC-based T salon. Little one and I shared a continental breakfast (which was a basket of pretty yummy pastries, especially the chocolate bread) and two miniature fruit plates (raspberries, slice of honeydew, watermelon and pineapple) drizzled with a mango sauce. Little one was not enthused about the mango sauce, she pronounced it "weird". The waitress (who was a true sweetheart) kindly brought her another mini fruit plate sans the mango sauce. We had lunch only once. Our first day, we stopped at Lario's on Ocean Drive, after a few hours at the beach. Eating at Lario's is primarily about observing the "scene" of Ocean Drive. Considering the abundance of seriously over-priced tourist traps, Lario's is ok. They have very good strawberry mojitos (the only alcohol imbibed this trip) and yes, Big Daughter did get a few sips. In South Beach, the restaurants on Ocean Drive are packed side-by-side on the sidewalks in front of the various hotels. There is a little path to traverse amongst the tables and it's great for people-watching. At some restaurants, there are platters of food for passerby's to examine (usually a good reason not to eat there). Noteworthy places for breakfast/brunch are: The Front Porch, The News Cafe and the Pelican Cafe (which is affiliated with the Pelican Hotel.) None of them display food outside the restaurant. I prefer breakfast early- between 8-9 a.m. At this time, Ocean Drive is empty and blessedly quiet (hence our affection for Washington Street). There's a special early-morning vibe and the blue green ocean dominates, as it should. Besides the tea at Hotel Victor, I had one other truly amazing cup of tea during the visit, at Hakim's Turkish Restaurant(Alton Road and 10th Street). To get there, we just turned right and walked down 10th street for 10 minutes through quiet, residential neighborhoods with well-maintained art deco buildings. (We'd headed that way last year to Taste Bakery, which Carl loved.) Anyway, during dinner, Hakim, the owner, brought me the black tea leaves to smell (straight from the mountains of Turkey where he said he really did grow up) and a tin of Turkish Earl Grey. He then made me a heavily diluted version of his tea. As he predicted, the tea was a real delight. Hakim warned me the tea would "reset my clock." In a gentle way it did. (When I got back to NYC, Elspeth at Podunk was able to recreate the taste for me by mixing Russian Caravan and some Earl Grey.) Anyway, the food at Hakim's was terrific. Big Daughter and I shared an appetizer plate of cacik (the yogurt with garlic), eggplant dip, cous cous, hummus and grape leaves. It was all tremendously fresh. I ordered spinach pie. I couldn't finish it, so ate it for breakfast the next morning. Big Daughter ate the mixed grill with lamb, Turkish sausage, chicken and beef. Little one napped until dinner was over. We brought home a delicious chicken noodle soup with sweet potatoes added to the chicken and carrots. She ate all of it. Hakim was a decent and thoughtful man who wished every customer a genuine good night at the end of their meal. It was nice to eat at a place frequented by "real" people as well. Our first night in South Beach, we had dinner at Frateli Bufala (5th/Washington) an Italian restaurant specializing in Pizza Napolentano. We walked by it frequently last year but never ate there. The portions were quite generous. Little one had a thin crust plain cheese pizza. It was excellent and enough for two very hungry people (so that was lunch the next day). My salad was a bit wilty although the grilled eggplant was very fresh. Big daughter ordered pasta that came in a Parmesan cheese crust. It was a bit over the top. There were two other highlights for dinner. One was DAvid's Cafe, an old favorite for Cuban food. It's located off Lincoln Road on Meridian. They also have a cafe in South Beach. David's Cafe is not too far from the Ice Box Cafe, which has really yummy cakes. Unfortunately, Oprah spread the word on her television show and it's painted on their window (Oprah's best or something). Since then I find it unnerving to visit the Ice Box Cafe. I always think a marching band should strike up a tune or something. David's Cafe on Lincoln Road, is an unpretentious, comfortable restaurant that serves up generous portions of Cuban food. The appetizer platter is comprised of fried yucca, plantain chips, and croquettes, all of which are quite filling. Little one opted for chicken soup and Big Daughter ordered the pork chops. Her pal ordered the Churrasca steak which arrived with sublime mashed potatoes. The other dinner meal highlight was at Chalan's on the Beach (16th Street/Washington. Chalan's serves Peruvian food but the thing to get is the batidos, or fruit shakes. I ordered one made with blackberries in a frozen milk base and it was sublime (and enough for dinner). I knew Big Daughter would be disappointed in her seafood platter because it was deep fried (even the mussel shells). I ordered Bistec with Onions and simply switched with her. After drinking the batido, I didn't need anything else. Little one had chicken noodle soup and finished every drop. Next visit to South Beach, I think I'll just drink shakes at Chalan's every day and skip the food.