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 It has been replaced by going out for favorite breakfast foods.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.

Hot mulled cider and the winter of my discontent

In the nick of time, my dear friend, Lady E., called me on Monday to check in. I was tapped out, after hosting little one's birthday party at the Chinatown Y, on Bowery near Houston on Sunday. Despite positive reviews, I worried that the food, from Pizza n Kebabs, 9th street at First Avenue, was late. Carl wanted the pizzas and salad delivered between 1-1:30 p.m. I suggested 12:30. He prevailed. The snacks were gone by 12:30, and I was mortified. My friend Lady S., and her delightful twins mistakenly went to the Y at Hester street. They arrived cold and hungry, after trudging around Chinatown, searching for the party. She was relieved that food remained. Other party goers were clearly having fun. It was hostess anxiety. As the party ended, Carl quickly visited DeRobertis Bakery, First Avenue between 10th and 11th, for an extra birthday cake, and a box of assorted cookies. It was a nice touch. As she departed, Lady S. accepted my offer of the remaining cookies. Several friends observed that little one gave no indication of the recent big changes with our family. She was happy and engaged throughout the party, and even made me dance the cha-cha-cha with her. Lady E. had stopped by with a present, but we didn't have a chance to talk. Monday afternoon, we ended up at Gottino's, 52 Greenwich Avenue at Perry Street, for a late-day snack. Normally, Gottino's is half-full on a weekday afternoon. Martin Luther King's birthday notwithstanding - almost all the seats at the bar were taken. Through the window, the falling snow was a pretty sight. Recently, the cold weather has left me feeling like a beached whale on an especially frozen shore. New York is in a deep freeze. Fortunately, or unfortunately, it evinces my first introduction to the U.S. Arriving in St. Paul, Minnesota, during the heart of winter was no picnic, for a tropical girl. Looming towers of snow lined the streets, accompanied by below-zero wind chill. Sometimes snow can be like ashes. In the parlance of my profession, I've been feeling dysthymic -always irritable. The wonders, or terrors of therapy. At Gottino, I struggled to maintain some optimism. It was hard going, until we received the perfect treat of mulled wine, or Vin Brule, as per Jody Williams, the proprietress. She had arrived while we were eating. Her unabashed enthusiasm was contagious, as she stood at the bar, and proudly surveyed her full house. Ms. Williams explained that small glasses of mulled wine are customarily imbibed by skiers on the slopes of Northern Italy. Earlier, I caught a whiff of something spiced, and warm. After observing the counterman filling a small glass from a silver tureen behind the bar, I asked him about it. He explained what it was, and offered us two glasses. Lady E. does not like alcohol. I assured her that a tiny glass of mulled wine was simply for comfort, and it was. For a brief moment, life tilted back to the side of warmth and sustenance. Thursday morning, en route to Carl's apartment, I stopped for breakfast at Falai, 265 Lafayette Street, just below Prince. Big Daughter was packing the last of her belongings. Since her return from Belgrade, we have been fighting our way through the pain of moving. Today's fight was particularly messy, after my melancholy meal. In a fit of pique, I threw the remote. A silly gesture, since I rarely watch television. Two summers ago, little one, Carl and I frequently ate breakfast at Falai, before her Sunday morning soccer practice at the Pace High School track. All white with glass chandeliers, there is a regal, Italian air. Falai has been redesigned since my last visit. Sitting at the counter, I noticed the precise order of wineglasses, and pans and microwaves. There's a different brand of tea, of which the English Breakfast flavor was very good. I hadn't counted on the feeling of dislocation evoked by my visit. Luckily, I calibrated the milk and sugar to make several perfect cups of tea. Not an easy balance at all.

The New Order and the Big Chill

As Carl and I have settled into a routine of separate homes and a shared child, we find ourselves spending time together with Little one on Saturday afternoons. After her afternoon ballet class, we generally get a snack and run errands. Now that she mostly gets unlimited attention from one parent, Little one appreciates these positive times with both of us - at least once a week. In recent months, I was mostly angry with Carl. It was not good for her, or Big Daughter to observe this. I'm becoming accustomed to my nights apart from Little One. Big Daughter remains in Belgrade, visiting her father and his family. It helps that Sunny's Flowers is close by, at the corner of 102 Second Avenue, corner of 6th Street. I can always buy myself an exquisite bouquet of flowers, like I did yesterday; little miniature pink roses, a tulip with waffled edges and something perfectly green with white blossoms. One block from Sunny's, is Podunk, my favorite tea room on E. 5th street, between 2nd and Bowery. Elspeth, the delightful proprietress, changed the menu over the Christmas break. I love the danish cookies with dipping sauce, a thin frosting that usually drips onto my clothes. Last Saturday, Carl raved over his spicy Malaysian noodles at Egg Custard King II in Chinatown, on Mott Street just off Canal. The staff is sweet with me. I keep ordering iced milk teas, despite the chilly weather. Once we picked up the Zipcar, and headed out of NYC, we were possibly the only fools driving upstate in a snowstorm. Carl had graciously offered to take me to the Theory outlet at Woodbury Commons in Harriman, NY, to purchase a suit. Interviewing requires suits, and I was lacking one. When we exited off the slippery Palisades Parkway, to the more-icy Route 17, Little one began oohing and ahhing at the blizzard-like snow rushing past the car windows. After stopping for gas, Carl became nervous about the low visibility, as he resumed driving. Seeing that we were behind a snow plow, spreading salt on the road, I observed this as positive. Little one began announcing every snow plow that passed. Privately, I began to feel guilty about the whole trip, and wondered if we were on a foolhardy expedition. Ironically, the roads were plowed and clear at Woodbury Commons. Small snowplows continually kept the sidewalks clear for shoppers. Little one enjoyed running in and out of the dressing room, until the saleslady was satisfied with my choice. I began to weary of the search, but she insisted that we find the right size pants, and a properly-fitted jacket. The savings were worth the harrowing trip. A $600 suit for $168. Big Daughter called from Belgrade, as we were heading back to NYC. She checked the suit out online, and approved. The wonders of the Internet. This Saturday, there are myriad errands for little one's birthday party, which is scheduled for Sunday at the Chinatown Y on Bowery at Houston Street. Due to a forecast of bitter cold, I requested that Carl again rent a Zipcar, since we must travel all over the city. My friend Lady S. suggested that we visit both the State News Store, 112 E. 86th Street, between Lexington and Park, and the Children's General Store, at 168 E. 91st Street, for party favors. They reportedly have many small toys to fit in several party favor bags, without breaking the bank. Heading back to the East Village we will order one chocolate, and one strawberry shortcake at De Robertis Italian Bakery, 176 First Avenue between 10th and 11th streets. When I first moved to NYC in 1982, I would spend a fair amount of time in DeRobertis. I remember buying small cookies with fig filling, when I didn't feel well. Then, I discovered their Hot Cross buns for Easter. A small pillow of sweet dough. We had the same cakes at last year's birthday. Despite himself, Carl began laughing, when I suggested that we head out to Bay Ridge to eat at Al Safa, 8002 Fifth Avenue, a Middle-Eastern restaurant in Bay Ridge, and then go to Nablus, a nearby restaurant for Middle Eastern sweets, 6812 Fifth Avenue, after the errands are done. Carl is the last of a dying breed; a New York bachelor through and through. He is content to regain ownership of his space and prepare for March Madness, which is soon approaching. I think of the image of Buffalo roaming the open plains, before the settlers came.

Porchetta, Apple Cider and the New Year

Every year, New Year's Day slams into me like a brick hitting a wall, and I don't even have a hangover. It's not the quietness of the city that bothers me on New Year's Day. There's a deeper feeling - it's like temporarily crossing a narrow strait without direction. Maybe that's why so many people drink the night away. On New Year's Day, my friend Lady E. agreed to meet for lunch. We decided to eat North Indian food at Dhaba, on Lexington Avenue between 27th and 28th streets. Apparently, Dhaba is part of a group of several Indian restaurants in NYC. The decor had a larger-than-life quality. It was very modern, all bold reds and purples, with elegant booths. We declined to sit in the window, and regretted our decision for the meal's duration. Every time the door opened, whoosh, a blast of cold air blew in. The chai tea was served in glasses. We were tickled to get sugar, but no spoon for stirring. We used our knives to mix in the sugar. Dhaba offers several kinds of Indian street snacks called chaat. We selected one called Purani Delhi Ki Papri chaat. It came with semolina, flour chips, chutneys and was sprinkled with pomegranate seeds. We also ordered Aloo Gobi Samosa. Samosas are a triangle of dough filled with mashed potato and spices. When I was a child, my mother would make samosas for us to eat during long road trips in Nigeria. Lastly, we shared a mild curry with chicken, green peppers and onions, with an order of Poori, a big puffed, whole wheat bread. Midway through lunch, I had a mini anxiety attack, but kept it to myself. Afterwards, when Lady E. invited me to join her and friends to see the movie, The Day The Earth Stood Still, I declined. It felt little too close to my truth, but I didn't say that. Little one was with Carl, visiting a friend in New Jersey. Big Daughter was in Belgrade. During the holidays, New York City can feel unkind when family is not nearby. It is a humbling feeling. By contrast, New Year's Eve was low-key. It was nice to stay home and read. After finishing some errands on New Year's Eve, little one and I stopped for roasted pork sandwiches at Porchetta. Located at 110 E. 7th street, between First Avenue and Avenue A, it's a few blocks from the E. Village apartment. In late October, I tried to visit with Carl, but was put off by the crowd. True to form, the small storefront (recently voted No. 1 in New York Magazine's Where to Eat 2009 issue), was bustling. People spilled out of the space, into the doorway and onto the street. To escape the crush, we stood outside, amidst miniature, swirling snowflakes, while we waited for our sandwich. Through the window, a man eating inside at the counter, smiled periodically at us. After awhile, little one was cold. We went back in, and found seats at the counter. I was amused to see that 7th street is developing into it's own little foodie destination. After ordering, several patrons, headed over to Butter Lane, a new bakery specializing in cupcakes with really creamy frosting. The frosting is like a cloud of sweet cream. As they left Porchetta, several of them said "cupcakes", with a question mark. I pointed them across the street, almost to Avenue A. I had stopped in at Butter Lane and purchased one cupcake to go, the Thursday that Big Daughter ended up in the E.R. at St. Vincent's Hospital. After we returned home from the hospital that morning at 1:30 a.m., she was thrilled to eat the cupcake, and pronounced it "amazing." Once our sandwich was ready, little one said she liked the ciabatta roll. I liked the pork. We were content. I didn't mind spending $9 for a sandwich on New Year's Eve. Little one expressed a wish to watch the ball drop at midnight. When I returned home at 8, after seeing two clients, she was fast asleep. Carl had come over to watch her. At our request, he kindly brought Carr's crackers - (my favorite), cheese straws for little one, along with cheddar cheese, salami and one 8 oz bottle of sparkling apple cider. He was worried that he bought too little cheese. Bazzini's, in Tribeca -where he bought the food - drives him crazy. He remembers when they were wholesale, Tribeca was like a desert. I was upset that little one and I would not be able to toast the New Year with that single bottle of apple cider. In the spirit of graciousness, I kept quiet. Sure enough, the cider was finished when I returned. Carl had a New Year's Eve party to attend. He agreed to return in the morning and help me recycle the Christmas tree in Tompkins Square Park, before collecting little one. While she slept, I read Under the Tuscan Sun, by Francis Mayes. My mother had mailed the book to me in late October. It was surprisingly comforting to lie on the couch, and read Ms. Mayes' account of a house restoration, interspersed with recipes and musings on eating porchetta. I'd been planning to make a ragu when Big Daughter gets home, and here was not the recipe.