Noodles and

Exactly one week from today, we'll be flying to Belgrade and I'm in the mindset of the new. Pandora's box has been opened - and examined - and I'm excited about returning to Belgrade, after such a long absence. New York City feels like it did when I flew to Paris to collect Big Daughter in 1995 -summer was in full swing and it was hot. During that flight, the plane stopped to refuel in Newfoundland and everyone got off to buy an ice cream cone -except me. Apparently, that was the tradition of the stopover. I had brought snacks and ended up sharing them with my seatmates, a man and his young son. In return, the father invited me to visit his Champagne winery in Reims. Unfortunately, I was too busy in Paris with Big Daughter but I've always regretted not visiting Reims. It was a novelty for me to spend my first night solo in Paris, as Big Daughter was arriving the next day. I can still remember going to a post office to call her and say hello. After one night in an uncomfortable hotel, I ended up switching to the Hotel Rue Abbe Gregoire, a sweet little hotel I'd read about. The staff fell in love with Big Daughter and after they taught her to say "Bonjour", they would let her answer the phones. My older sister flew in from Japan with a friend to meet us. We only lasted a few days together, but that's another story. Big Daughter and I had fun traveling around Paris on the Metro. For some reason, I was frequently confused for a Parisian. This was slightly embarrassing since I would have liked to respond in French. Instead, I was reduced to saying "No Parlez vous Francais." Nonetheless, I still managed to give some people directions. Confusion and assistance are universal themes. In the spirit of exploration on Saturday morning, little one, Carl and I ventured out to Zuckers (a newish emporium specializing in homemade bagels and smoked fish) on Chambers Street, between West Broadway and Greenwich, at 9 a.m. Saturday morning. It wasn't crowded, and we ate our breakfast seated on high stools along a marble counter near the large front window. While we ate, a steady stream of fathers and children enroute to baseball leagues ordered bagels in all combinations. I opted for a cinnamon raisin bagel with smoked salmon, cream cheese and onion. Little one asked for two sunnyside eggs up with a plain bagel to dip into her yolks. Carl ordered a whole wheat bagel with jam. I mostly ate the smoked salmon and onion. It was a bit too rich with the bagel. Little one loved her eggs and Carl was satisfied. He said it was a typical old-style New York Deli, I felt like I was in Chicago. Afterwards, Carl headed to the gym and little one and I bought flowers at the local greenmarket to repot on our terrace. This is the first weekend I felt settled enough to putter i.e. dig in dirt and repot plants. As I look through the glass door, the sight of the colorful flowers is a sign that summer has arrived. The change of breakfast venue helped settle me and make the transition to new possibilities. For me, trips are never merely a visit to a new place. The act of leaving and returning shifts energy, even before we are on the plane. This week, in that same spirit of adventure, we ate at two new places in Chinatown, after little ones end-of-year school concert on Tuesday, and her piano recital. After the concert, little one and I invited her best friend, little Miss A, and her mother Lady L,. to dinner. Lady L. is used to me and my food fussiness and was anemable to my choice, in this case New Wonton Garden. After dropping little one at school, I always walk by the restaurant. I must admit the 2007 Michelin Guide window sticker intrigued me. Inside, the space has a diner-like feel with formica covered tables and an L-shaped layout. While we ate, groups of stylish young asian teenagers arrived continously. They came seeking hot, steaming bowls of noodles with all kinds of toppings either in groups or as couples. The front of New Wonton Garden is set up for a brisk takeout service. After their moment in the spotlight, Little one and little Miss A. were starving. They shared a bowl of noodles in broth, after they devoured one order of steamed pork dumplings. Lady A ordered a noodle soup with braised beef and I ordered one with Roast Pork and Roast Duck. The soups were amazing and I could understand why the restaurant is open until 2:00 a.m. It's a perfect place to head after a late night. Sir M, Lady L.'s husband is a man about town. He confirmed that a few times, he retired to New Wonton Garden for a bowl of soup, after a late,late night. After giggling and canoodling through dinner, the girls each clamored for their own box of fortune cookie, which are neatly stacked in the window. At $1.50 each, it was hard to say no. Little one was quite revved up after her piano recital this afternoon. Carl and I took her to Noodle Village, a newish restaurant on Mott Street right off Chatham Square. I'd read the Daily News review a few months ago, and had it on my to-try list. It was still early when we arrived, and blessedly cool with pleasant newly-renovated ambience. We shared an order of Mustard Green and Pumpkin Congee which was not heavy in texture, but very light, despite being piping hot. The vegetables were simple and unobtrusive. Most of the dumplings were finished for the day, but Steamed Pork and Chive dumplings were available. Carl is not normally a fan of dumplings but pronounced them very fresh. For dessert, I tried the Warm Egg Custard which was like a flan but lighter and brought the leftovers home for breakfast. In one week, we'll be eating homecooked meals in Belgrade with Big Daughter's father and grandfather. As per our itinerary, we're in Belgrade from June 20-23. Then, we'll drive down to the Adriatic Coast for a week's stay in Zaton, a small seaside village in Croatia, until July 1st or so. My last visit to the Adriatic Coast, we'd stayed at a small inn overlooking the sea. It was like a dream, the tuna was fresh caught, the olive oil was made on site -maybe even the wine - and I was in heaven. I hadn't yet embarked on my food adventures, but thinking back, I believe that was the beginning of the end for me. Once I ate food from the source, I couldn't turn back. I can still remember the drive to the inn. The road was literally carved out of the side of a small mountain and time seemed to be suspended. We came down off that mountain and many things changed.

Chocolate Shakes and Milky Way

Late this afternoon, I stopped in at Panya, a small Japanese bakery on E. 9th Street. I was en route to meet my private clients and wanted a simple, filling treat. Due to time constraints and work responsibilities, I couldn't visit Podunk. I craved something cold and chocolate after eating a great lunch today at Shachi's, a small Venezuelan restaurant on Havemeyer Street, next to my office in Williamsburg. Big Daughter and I shared a salad, fried calamari and two arepas, one with shredded beef and the other with pieces of chorizo and grated cheese. The food was wonderful, especially the arepas. Big Daughter was in heaven. Afterwards, she accompanied me to Namaste, a wonderful Yoga studio and massage studio on Grand Street, right off Havemeyer. I'd mixed up a massage appointment and wanted to apologize in person, and re-schedule. Big Daughter was quite impressed with Namaste, and especially with the gentle energy of Caitlin and Debbie, the two proprietors. We sorted out the massage appointment and now, after our arepas, I wanted something cold and refreshing for dinner. As I walked through the East Village, I was flipping my mental rolodex and thinking chocolate shake, and thought of Panya. They've been on E. 9th street forever and are one storefront away from Hasaki, one of the first original Japanese restaurants on E. 9th street. In the past decade, 9th between Second and Third Avenues, has evolved into Japanese-restaurant-row. I love Panya with a passion and find that I drop in for awhile, drift away but always find my way back. It's a mainstay. As I walk to my 8th street apartment, I always look for Panya as part of my regular route. It's a cross between the home kitchen with an overseas flavor. Going out for Japanese food at Hasaki was a big deal, back in the mid-1980s, when I first moved to NYC. Lady M, the elegant sister of my then-boyfriend Sir M.B., introduced us to Hasaki with a real sense of ceremony. I always liked that about Lady M. When it came to food, she tolerated no wasted moments. As I walked past Hasaki, I remembered her unique sense of aesthetic. From the first moment I saw her, Lady M. embodied a very real sense of what was real and authentic. She was completely inaccessible -in a truly cool way- and epitomized the free-wheeling, creative and adventurous spirit of the gritty Lower East Side. I first met Lady M. on a road trip from Purdue University to Washington D.C. In the early spring of 1979, we were visiting the Congressional offices of Floyd Fithian, the Indiana Congressman. We stopped to visit Lady M. She was wearing a blue Norma Kamali jump suit. It was cold and Lady M. put on a long, puffy down coat. This was before they became ubiquitous. That day I received my first lesson on making visual statements. which I put into practice much later on. Lady M. definitely influenced my sense of style. Personal style is a synergy of time, experience and hard knocks. After all that, I earned the confidence to wear what I wanted. Lady M. mixed it up better than anyone else. Back to Panya, where I was reading the drink listings on their chalkboard. I stopped at a shake called the Milky Way. A large part of Panya's charm is the unfailing politeness of the counter staff. Over the past decade, this factor has remained constant. The first young woman was unable to explain the contents of the Milky Way. She got her counterpart, and he explained that the Milky Way is made up of fruit juice, and a little milk mixed with crushed ice. I asked if chocolate could be substituted for fruit juice and he said of course. I had conjured up a shake tasting exactly like a Milky Way candy bar. The end result was a perfectly flavored, thick chocolate shake for dinner. This week, I've been feeling like a visitor to NYC and I always love that. Monday evening, Miz C.N. and I met for dinner at Lovely Lady, a real gem of a restaurant on Elizabeth between Prince and Spring. It's just up the street from Peasant. Miz C.N. had stumbled on Lovely Lady while showing her future in-laws around. Big Daughter frequently refers to me as "lovely lady" - which is fine by me -so the association was immediately positive. I arrived first and took out the NY Times crossword. I can generally complete the crossword on Monday, Tuesday (and sometimes, Wednesday). A young couple sat down behind me. The boyfriend said "Oh yeah! We just finished doing that, so let us know if you need help." More serendipity. Miz C.N. showed up shortly thereafter and ordered a Pimms with cucumber and mint. It was a Pimms Mojito and tasted yummy. I ordered the sparkling Lambrusco. The waitress warned me it was "balsamic". After not eating for four days, due to a vicious stomach virus which felled our whole family during a two week span, the Lambrusco provided the perfect balance. I finished exactly half of it. Miz C.N. and I decided to share a small order of pineapple fried brown rice, stir fried Tofu with sweet chili sauce and a noodle dish with sauteed red peppers and onions. Everything was terrific. I almost went for the Cranberry bread pudding with challah bread. but remembered that earlier, I ate the chocolate almond frosting atop a red velvet cupcake at Sugar Sweet Sunshine, on Rivington just off Essex. This was after visiting the dentist's office for a cleaning. Go figure. En route to collect little one at school, I wanted frosting. I plan to order the Cranberry bread pudding for lunch on another visit. After dinner, Miz C.N. took me next door for a brief visit to the elegant boutique, Erica Tanov New York. She'd stumbled on it after finding Lovely Lady. I swooned over the distinctive candles and one-of-a-kind necklaces, and encouraged Miz C.N. to try on a beautiful leather bracelet with delicate pewter detailing. It fit her small wrist perfectly. Thankfully, this week there have been no more bouts of anxiety. In a stroke of randomness, both Miz C.N. and Sir D., former staff at the Williamsburg office, had asked to meet for lunch/dinner. It's good to see them doing so well in their new jobs. Their companionship, combined with good food, was a soothing balm. I was reminded of how much we accomplished together, and grateful to realize there's more to come.

Spicy Noodles and jellyfish

This afternoon, during my regular Wednesday afternoon tea break at Podunk, Elspeth and I discussed the idea of convergence. Luckily for me, we had this conversation after I finished drinking a highly-refreshing apricot coconut iced tea with blueberries and nibbled on dates stuffed with Gorgonzola cheese, almond tea cakes, cheese biscuits and one delicious chocolate truffle. If I understood Elspeth correctly, convergence is a special moment when things come together -not necessarily due to any specific planning -but as a result of different things aligning. It was helpful for me to hear this as there was another frightening bout of anxiety last week. These moments are also difficult for those around me and the idea of convergence clarified my desire for protection and safety in day-to-day life. This has made for some humorous moments recently. When they briefly forgot my iced chai latte at Cafe Grumpy Saturday morning, I knew I was in trouble when I almost started crying. The main counterman at Cafe Grumpy is - sorry Carl - really cute. He looks really Indian, (apologies if he isn't), is very, very nice -and completely unavailable. Anyway, for some reason, those factors helped me compose myself as he apologetically prepared my chai. Cafe Grumpy is, after all, a temple of coffee. It became clear as I observed another counterman continually doing something, to the top of their very fancy coffee machine. More importantly, I avoided the embarrassment of crying and graciously waited for my tea. Later on, throughout the holiday weekend, several more humorous moments of disappointments occurred. Again, the theme of convergence raising it's little head. Sunday morning, Little one, Carl and I drove out to Sunken Meadow, the United Nations of beaches, on Long Island. It was an absolutely beautiful day. Several of our fellow beach goers commented to each other on the bright, sunny windless day. After we set up shop on our little patch of sand, Carl took little one to the swings, as is his custom. I read for awhile, then wandered down to the beach and observed a Horseshoe Crab scuttling by under the water. After asking my neighbor about it, her son actually picked up the crab and created a small incident. Several people ran over to take pictures and oohed and ahhed. I was wishing that little one could see this and realized that over an hour had passed. At that point, I entertained visions of walking back to NYC and finally, I got dressed and marched over to the swings. I discovered Carl talking to another family and began crying about my abandonment on the beach. The other couple slipped away and Carl looked completely mystified. Suffice it to say, he and little one returned with me to the beach. The next day, Memorial Day, little one, Big Daughter, the Big D, Carl and I were all squashed together on one blanket and one towel. In the spirit of close quarters, Big Daughter and her pal had forgotten their towels. We were at the beach at Wading River State Park, near Riverhead, Long Island. Again, I found myself in an uncertain place. Without mentioning my discomfort, I decided to walk to the water's edge to soothe myself. As I stood there, meditating on the beautiful gradation of green to blue hues of the ocean, I looked down and observed about twenty baby jellyfish floating around my ankles. At that point, I accepted my Kafkaesque state of existence. Discomfort was inevitably in the cards. In an odd way, I found this strangely comforting: a convergence of truth perhaps. Anyway, the day ended on a high note. After driving back to the city, we decided on dinner at our old favorite, Grand Sichuan Restaurant, located at 125 Canal Street, just before the Manhattan Bridge. Carl and I ate there frequently, when we first met. As we waited for our order, we recollected a particularly memorable visit, several summers ago, on a 100 degree day. Big Daughter was on her annual visit to Belgrade and little one was a beautiful idea. After swimming at the Pitt Street pool in the early evening, we had walked over to Grand Sichuan. After dinner, as we prepared to pay, we realized we had no cash. We were requested to leave various articles for collateral; watches, metrocards,jewelry. It had been a few years since we returned. I was eagerly anticipating the Cold Noodles with Sesame Sauce and requested them mildly spicy. After my first bite, I was seized with a fear that I would never get rid of the hot taste in my mouth. Luckily, there was tea smoked duck and Chicken Lo Mein. Carl was happy to finish the noodles and I ordered a Tsing-Tao, which momentarily cooled me off and settled my nerves.

Sweets on a rainy day

In just under one month, little one and I will be traveling with Big Daughter to Belgrade, Serbia to visit the Big N, Big Daughter's father, and his family. It's been 21 years since my last trip to Belgrade. Although I only stayed with the Big N and his family for six months- my life changed immeasurably. I was pondering these changes today, during a wet, rainy lunch-time walk back to my office on the South Side of Williamsburg. Given my fluctuating mood, I opted for two quick stop-offs at Cheeks Bakery and Roebling Tea Room. When negotiating particularly trying moments, a visit to Cheeks is immensely grounding. I'm usually soothed by one or two small treats. Today, I felt the need to arm myself with a myriad of selections - a slice of apple crumble, a lemon curd tart, one plain peanut butter cookie, another peanut butter cookie with raisins and dried cherries, a bag of homemade granola and a walnut scone with a slice of cheddar cheese and pear -all to bring home. There's nothing worse than waking up and finding nothing appealing in the kitchen. After a short chat with Melanie, the exquisitely-talented owner/chief baker at Cheeks, I scooted over to Roebling Tea Room and picked up a significantly peppery Yogi Chai latte. Sufficiently fortified with provisions, but unable to eat more than the slice of cheese and a taste of granola, I reflected on the person I was in 1987. The Big N had graduated Divinity School, and after 5 years in NYC, I was at loose ends. Little did I know how profound our trip would be. Big Daughter arrived just two years later. Although the Big N and I opted to divorce when she was quite young, we remained a family. As I prepare for this trip, I am surprised by the emerging mix of emotions. Carl is a bit mystified by the situation. He tends to take a logical approach to the matter and therefore wonders if Pandora's box should be re-opened. My excitement and anxiety about returning to a place where I was once uncertain and unmoored is tempered by the memories. Belgrade was an amazing place in 1987. For me, it was the twilight of the East and West and a place where I felt loved. Despite my personal angst, I was instantly at home with the friends and family of the Big N. Food was a huge part of the trip and I'm looking forward to becoming reacquainted with Burek (a flaky filo pastry filled with cheese or meat) and the wonderful open-air boats which double as restaurants serving fresh fish on the Dunav River in Belgrade. Tomatoes are a part of every meal, as is the ubiquitous Turkish coffee. I've already googled at least one tea room, and have been promised introductions to many more by a good friend of the Big N. In the meantime, as the trip draws closer, I am restless in NYC. Little one wasn't too thrilled on Saturday morning, when I opted for breakfast at 'Beca, a restaurant in the newish Duane Street Hotel, at the corner of Duane and Church. The dining room is a long, narrow space with bright sun exposure. Even with the blinds down, the effect was very South Beach and minimalist. Little one ordered three eggs sunny side up, with fingering potatoes flavored with rosemary, and two slices of turkey bacon. I ordered a pot of Darjeeling Freres Mariage tea, a side of seven grain toast and homemade jam,and another side of turkey bacon. Carl opted for homemade granola with blueberries and greek yogurt. Midway through breakfast, five men were seated at the table next to us. Snippets of conversation drifted over to us, centered around plans to buy a building in the Financial District. Throughout their conversation, one of them was frequently checking his Blackberry. As we were leaving, I offered to button little one's sweater and he looked up and smiled. The chef, Kristiaan Ueno, was just outside the kitchen and thanked us for visiting. He was thrilled to hear that Carl loved his granola and explained that it was homemade. We weren't surprised to hear that he places a premium on using fresh, locally grown or sourced ingredients at 'Beca. Later that afternoon, we drove little one to a birthday party at the Alley Pond Miniature Golf Course in College Point, Queens. I was mystified at how rapidly Carl rented a car. My requests are generally met with gentle diatribes on the finances of such things. On the drive there, Carl mentioned his childhood recollections of playing miniature golf at Alley Pond. He remembered his continual longing, throughout his childhood, to return for another round. In the spirit of equality, he extended the rental so we could get a snack afterwards off the beaten path -since we had the car. I suggested that we meet my friend Miss E., and her partner Miss A., at the Oak Cafe, 361 Graham, in Williamsburg. Occasionally, I read the restaurant reviews on www.freewilliamsburg.com and was entranced by the review of the Oak Cafe. I was specifically drawn to the description of their ricotta cheese. After consultation with Miss E., we decided to meet around 4 p.m. As I got out of the car on Metropolitan Avenue, I remembered living in the neighborhood as a single mother, when Big Daughter was two years old. Even with the influx of hipsters, I still felt the same ambiance of 1991; a sleepy, homey vibe. We walked through the empty front room into the backyard of the Oak Cafe. The outside deck had a scattering of customers and a late-afternoon summer ambiance, albeit with a slight chill in the air. The waitress gave us the brunch menu, but a few minutes later, she returned with the dinner menu. I ordered the cheese plate, which included the delectable Ricotta and some amazing house made preserves, a Manchego, Gorgonzola, Honey and lightly spiced almonds. I also selected the vegetable antipasto, which was comprised of lightly grilled mushrooms, strips of roasted peppers, marinated artichokes and small balls of mozzarella cheese. Little one was just dozing off in her car seat when we arrived at Oak Cafe. She was not happy to be moved and protested for a bit. After the spicy lentil soup arrived, she calmed down and happily dipped her bread into it. Miss E. and Miss A. were charmed by her as they drank tall glasses of tart lemonade. Carl was more than happy to offer them a ride into the city and my restlessness was momentarily quelled.

Chocolate Tarts and Mother's Day

Mother's Day has become a minefield of colliding emotions in our family in recent years. It's possible that Carl has never recovered from my rejection of the wilted lilacs he and little one proudly carried home one Mother's Day Sunday two years ago. Since then, he tiptoes around the day like it's a grenade soon to explode. Interestingly, as I've been negotiating more anxiety in recent weeks, I've changed my tendency to suppress my feelings and there are less explosions. I'm still mystified about the wilted lilacs, but have realized it's a straightforward deal. I requested them, and they were available at the deli on Hudson street. When I point out the myriad places to purchase flowers, I'm met with a quizzical look. I think Carl expects things to be imperfect. Perhaps that's the point. This year, I steered clear of flowers and I'm happy to report that I scored - yes - scored, a gorgeous cameo necklace. I found it while poking around the gift store at Olana, a National Park Service site perched on a bluff outside of Hudson, New York. A few weeks ago, we embarked on an ambitious and enjoyable road trip with Lady L. and A.T. (little one's best friend and confidante) to Olana. Lady L. encouraged Carl to buy me the necklace, saying, "she deserves it." Much to my surprise, Carl did so. We also purchased a beautiful box, inlaid with ivory, for his mother. She was working on Mother's Day and will be away for a few weeks, so her gift awaits her. Anyway, as the actual Mother's Day loomed, I continued to walk gingerly around some residual feelings of anxiety. This is unfamiliar territory and the family system was definitely uncomfortable with the idea that their anchor might be temporarily sinking. As a result, by Saturday morning, I was distraught and feeling unappreciated. As I ranted and raved at a perceived slight, which occurred Friday morning on a rainy cab ride to Chinatown with Carl and little one, Big Daughter reverted to a "pull your bootstraps up" approach. That did not go over well with me. After I finished weeping, I staunchly protected my (occasional) right to sadness and tears. It didn't help that Carl tends to wander around in a non-responsive daze when I become emotional and begin to rant. Little one was rubbing my back, but she too finally succumbed to the sadness of my mood. Luckily, Young Sir C. (who made an earlier appearance in the blog -see Belcourt) - came to the rescue. He presented an invitation to spend Mother's Day with his parents, at their second home in upstate New York. It was my understanding that the invitation was in the spirit of acquaintance-ship, and not a definitive move to mark any serious business between Young Sir C and Big Daughter. His gracious (and wonderful parents) had organized a day which involved walking through the gardens at Mohonk Mountain House (outside of New Paltz), followed by a late lunch. We had hoped to meet Carl's cousin R. and her family for an early dinner in Chinatown, but quickly realized that time was limited. Carl was unable to rent a Zipcar, without paying through the nose, so we piled into Young Sir C's Jetta, and became cozy. After a quick stop at Jacque Torres on King Street - to purchase a beautiful chocolate "clutch" for young Sir C's mother - we made one more stop at Grounded (in the West Village) for breakfast on the go. This is my preferred pattern as we head out of NYC on Sunday morning road trips. Luckily, there was no line. After we ordered one iced chai latte, one latte, one iced mocha, one coffee, a bagel, a quiche and a cookie - a long line had formed behind us. I was wished an incredulous "Happy Mother's Day" from the sweet counter person, after leaving the $6 change in the tip jar. I also heard her excitedly inform her co-worker about the 20% tip. We continued onto the West Side Highway, where I confess to engaging in a little back seat driving. The Norwegian Dawn, a huge cruise ship, was boarding and I urged Young Sir C to remain in the far right lane. Carl was actually supportive. He remarked that two weeks prior, our exit from NYC was expedited by doing the same thing. Directions and driving can be a touchy subject with us. As we got closer to Mohonk Mountain House, Big Daughter became more and more anxious and finally had a full-blown anxiety attack. I was interested in the parallel process being played out between us. Earlier that week, after many years of calm, I'd had an anxiety attack and finally succumbed to an Ativan to soothe myself. Big Daughter was now asking for the same relief. I remarked that as a mother I seemed to be contagious. She finally fell into an uncomfortable sleep. A little later, as we drove down the main street of New Paltz, Young Sir C. explained that Mohonk traffic is generally heavy on holidays. That morning, he noted the situation wasn't too bad. After leaving New Paltz, the drive to Mohonk was quite beautiful. Everything was lush and green with the vista of the Catskill mountains surrounding us. At the entrance to Mohonk Mountain House, Young Sir C's mother was waiting for us by the guard house. She explained that despite the family membership, the staff was attempting to charge $22 per person for a 1/2 hour walk in the garden. Young Sir C was quite affronted at this (something that Carl was in agreement with). While we waited for his father (who had taken their two adorable chocolate Labradors home), his mother convinced the staff to use the family membership, with only a small additional fee. After his father returned, we took the school bus shuttle up to the garden. We had a pleasant walk and gently became acquainted as we admired the beautiful setting. There were several families in attendance and a general atmosphere of gratitude. Afterwards, his parents escorted us to an amazing lunch at the Village Inn, a restaurant in Krumville. Set alongside a pond framed by tall green trees, the Village Inn was a perfect place for us to settle in. It was quiet when we arrived around 2 p.m., and we were seated at a long wooden table set for 7. Big Daughter had calmed down during the walk. During lunch, she became anxious again. When little one wandered over to sit between us, Big Daughter looked like a thundercloud. Without creating a cold war, I negotiated little one to my other side and remained next to Big Daughter. We started with two orders of Carrot Ginger soup, which arrived with a little dab of creme fraiche on top, one order of Razor clams, a Beet salad with Ewe's Blue and an order of fried Calamari. Although I have discomfort with it, the word succulent aptly describes the Razor clams. For entrees, Young Sir C, Carl and I ordered the Brouffade (a beef stew with carrots and noodles). Carl and I shared our entree, and I left him my portion of the thick noodles. I think they were homemade, but couldn't be sure. Both Young Sir C's mother and Big Daughter ordered the Pan Fried Breast of Chicken, which arrived with a side of herbed polenta. It was heavenly. Little one had chicken tenders, and Young Sir C's father ordered the Pan-fried Trout with herb stuffing. Big Daughter clandestinely sipped my Lindeman Framboise and Carl was momentarily overwhelmed by his glass of dark ale. For dessert, Carl informed me of a Coconut Creme Brulee and I promptly ordered it. When Young Sir C and Big Daughter alerted me to the Chocolate Tart with Carmel and Sea Salt, I asked for one of those too. Young Sir C and Big Daughter also opted for the Chocolate Tart. It was phenomenal and my stomach hurt from the richness, in a good way. I ended up sharing their Chocolate Tart when, in the true spirit of sharing, Carl handed the other Chocolate Tart to our gracious hosts. I was pleased to see them enjoy it as much as I did.

The Tao of Family Dinners

In recent months, the concept of Thursday Date Night has morphed into infrequent dinners alone with Carl, which are snatched between all the scheduling changes that comprise our daily lives. After factoring in March Madness, various days off, school closings for little one (and the graduation of her caregiver); the idea of a date was replaced by the simple ability to sit down at a table sans children. And true to form, this past Thursday night, our new caregiver informed us that, at the last minute, her school scheduled a final exam. In an attempt to believe that we were not slaves of routine, I suggested that Carl and little one meet me for an early dinner at Hataka Ippudo on Fourth Avenue at 10th street in the East Village. Over the past months, I'd heard, and read, bits and pieces about Ippudo and thought Carl would like their ramen soups. He adored Rai Rai Ken on E. 10th between 1st/2nd, but I always felt like it was too close quarters in there. I was the first to arrive at Ippudo. At that point it was relatively calm, with a scattering of customers. I informed the very sweet hostess that we would be a party of three (comprised of myself, an adult and child). For some reason, she and the waiter thought Carl and little one were already there. The waiter escorted me through the restaurant -past a centrally-located, square-shaped open seating area, and down a narrow space to more tables - but there was no trace of them. As I waited, I headed back to the bar and perused the drinks menu of different flavored Sakes. Minutes later, I looked up and saw little one, her upper lip jutting out dangerously and Carl, looking equally grim, coming through the door. Despite my exuberant greeting, I was met with dark looks. Little one was crying about Pizza Hut and wanted to redeem the coupon that she, and her classmates, received for good reading at school. I reminded her that I had googled Pizza Hut and discovered there was one at 33rd/7th, which wasn't too convenient and we were planning to go on the weekend. Nevertheless, in that moment, Ippudo was not cutting it for her. Carl had the look of someone who just joined a chain-gang. It's very possible that he was tired. That morning, he had woken up at 3:30 a.m., due to my restlessness, and ended up talking with me about some rather awful bouts of anxiety I had been experiencing. Although the early-morning conversation went well, I've observed that Carl is unable to sustain a lack of sleep unless it's sports-related. In those moments, he remains chipper and upbeat no matter how little his sleep i.e. he remains in good spirits throughout the day after watching the Australian Open from 3-5 a.m (several days in a row). Once our party was complete, the hostess again signaled a waiter and we made the walk to the other side of the restaurant. We were seated at a large, spacious table and little one was provided a booster seat. Still pining for pizza, she was only slightly placated by the suggestion of noodles, which are usually her favorite thing to eat. She was more receptive to the idea of pickled vegetables (which I'd seen after a quick perusal of the menu). I liked them so much, I asked Carl to get another order, which didn't add to the strained silence at the table. When he gets grouchy at dinner, money is usually his first point of focus and I think he fears any kind of excess. I on the other hand, begin to feel increasingly empty and become afraid that I will have nothing to eat. While we waited for the soups, there was little conversation. I became increasingly irritated as my attempts at making conversation were continually rebuffed. I began to wonder if this had been a good idea after all and considered a looming landscape of miserable family dinners forever. Thankfully, the soups arrived, steaming hot in large white bowls. Carl immediately decided that he had been given my soup (when he fact he received his order). I had started out eating the Shiromaru soup with little discs of stewed berkshire pork and cabbage amidst thin noodles in a pork-flavored broth with tiny scallions. I was agreeable to switching to a spicier broth with small pieces of ground pork and thin skinny noodles. Little one actually ate most of my broth and noodles and then began to enjoy wiggling around the retro-1960s long, red leather seats. After finishing his soup to the last drop, Carl also became more expansive and talkative. He was interested to hear that I was still hypervigilant about my anxiety, and observed that I seemed "excited". I was actually over-caffienated. Earlier that day (due to my own tiredness from our early morning conversation), I had picked up an iced chai latte from Roebling Tea room to keep me alert for the afternoon team meeting at work. As we finished our food, the waiters stopped by periodically to check on us. There were several of them, and all of them were friendly and accommodating. I enjoyed eating my soup in the more spacious, relaxed atmosphere that pervaded Ippudo. I temporarily forgot I was in the E. Village and simply enjoyed the moment. When eating at Rai Rai Ken or Momofuko, I always felt slightly on edge and a little too serious. Ippudo had a racuous energy that relaxed me. Many of our fellow eaters were happily making their way through several large glasses of draft Sapporo as they slurped their soup and talked loudly with each other. Although I felt very comfortable, I had read about long waits for dinner at Ippudo and was mindful of paying the bill without lingering. Sure enough, as we walked out of the restaurant at 7:30, I overheard one couple discussing the hour wait for a table. It had begun to rain lightly but little one was set on having an ice cream cone. As we headed to the M6, we stopped at the ice cream truck (which is always parked outside the uptown Astor Place stop in the warmer weather) to get her a frosty. There was only one other customer, a friendly, young Asian woman, who was dressed in a very hip, urban Tokyo style with a striped sweater, jean skirt and white leggings. Despite the rain, she couldn't stop smiling as she waited to order her ice cream.

Adventures in the City

Finding new places to eat often involves a fair amount of risk-taking and adventure. I must often push myself, and others, out of familiar and comfortable safety zones and embark on tiny adventures. Eating at Pies-N-Thighs last summer was, of course, a great experience. It was not only the food my family and I loved; we also adored the down-to-earth warmth of Sarah and her partners. During each visit there, I was transported back to Edisto, our favorite island in South Carolina. A whiff of Bobq, a tiny little Southern restaurant open Wednesday-Friday and located in one of Edisto's gas stations, would waft over me as I contentedly sat in Pies-N-Thigh's postage-stamp sized backyard. From my office, located in a bustling, commercial neighborhood at Marcy Avenue/Broadway in the shadow of the Williamsburg Bridge, the walk to the calm environs of Pies-N-Thighs, always made me feel as I'd taken a small trip. I generally followed the same route. Meandering through a tidy neighborhood of slightly faded, but well-kept brownstones and little Spanish bodegas, I always anticipated making the turn onto Driggs to get to South 5th street. At the corner, I would see the East River, with one perfect Weeping Willow tree silhouetted against it. As I walked down old sidewalks, some still covered with cobble-stones, I looked at old buildings built in the 1800s. It was a moment of pure bliss. With warmer weather again beckoning me outside for lunch, I am often at a loss of where to go. Pies-N-Thigh's is closed, but soon to re-open. I resorted to walking a loop from the South side over to Bedford Avenue. There is one beautiful garden on N. 5th Street, between Roebling and Driggs and the cherry blossoms were quite spectacular. So, I was quite thrilled recently when Mr. D. (a former therapist on my program) met me for lunch and insisted that we visit Tipico bk. Located on S. 1st Street, just past Roebling, Tipico bk is a Paraguayan restaurant. It is small and personal in space, but big in generosity and spirit. When Mr. D. and I visited there recently, we were initially the only customers. I ordered an iced cocido, a brewed yerba Mate tea, and Mr. D. had a glass of fresh Mango juice. I ended up adding milk to my cocido and found that I enjoyed the slightly bitter taste. After finishing the tea, I experienced a moment of true acuity -and felt a sense of being very clear in my body. (I googled yerba mate when I got back to work and discovered that it is prized for exactly that: providing energy and clarity without the buzz or heart-beating impact of coffee. Yerba mate contains less caffeine then tea/coffee, according to the site I consulted.) While Mr. D and I were eating, a gaggle of Paraguayans arrived. As I observed them interact, I was reminded of the excitement of living in the E. Village during the early 1980s. Two of the young women were dressed stylishly, and without attitude; in skinny jeans and straw fedoras. They were clearly friends of the two proprietors and an easy camaraderie existed between them. One of the young women had an old Nikon around her neck. After we finished our lunch - I had a generous portion of beef stew over polenta (and took half of it back to work) and Mr. D had a chicken sandwich - we passed the young women sitting outside in the sunlight snapping pictures of a friend. It was a perfect moment. The next day, when it was warm and summer-like, I returned by myself to Tipico bk. I was greeted warmly by the same counterman. I decided to sit outside in the sun, at the one lone table in front. It was not a perfect view. The building across the street sported a sign saying "Police will arrest any loiterers" and the super looked at me quizzically as he desultorily swept the sidewalk. A garbage truck came rumbling down the street. It stopped momentarily in front of me to compress a few boxes and I was pleasantly greeted by both sanitation workers. Various people walked by, several of them loaded down with bags of groceries. One old lady with a cane turned back to examine me intently a few times, and then walked on. As I looked up, I caught the eye of a man in the window of the lone luxury apartment building on the street. He was sipping coffee and looking out his window. Yet, as I sat there eating my Acai (a South American fruit prized for it's anti-oxidant properties) with granola and bananas, I basked in the sun, content and at peace.