Category: Ruminations

Bill over at Soundbites links to a fantastic page at Sushi Yasuda's website on how to eat sushi properly.  I didn't really learn how to eat sushi properly until I started dating a man who had lived in Japan.  It breaks my heart to see people drown their rice in murky wasabi shoyu, even when it's cheap sushi.  And doesn't it make so much more sense to eat sushi with your clean, hot-toweled fingers than to try and struggle with chopsticks?

I love Sushi of Gari for omakase.  It's less traditional than the midtown places, but the fish and rice quality are amazing.  Toro sushi is served quickly dipped in garlicky shabu shabu sauce.  King salmon tiles come topped with a thin slice of hot broiled tomato.  And the first uni I ever had was there, tempura, like a crisply housed burst of sweet jellied ink.  The tiny white ama ebi is to die for.  The kitchen also turns out wonderful dishes like mozuku slimy seaweed and little fried silver fish with a squirt of lemon. 

I'm dying to try Sushi Yasuda and $350 omakase at Masa (which may not happen in this life).  It's funny, actually, I was on a blind date a few weeks ago with a very nice guy, but we both knew the date was over when he said, "If given the choice between the three best pieces of toro in the world or a huge plate full of sushi, I'd rather get the huge plate."  Could he have said anything more antithetical to my worldview?  I'd rather hold out all year for one meal of incredible sushi than to eat cheaper grade sushi once a week.

I learned some important lessons this Christmas that I thought I would share with you, adorable readers.

• Christmas goose (served for Christmas dinner at the St. Regis with red scallions, quince, and tart rutabaga sauerkraut) -- it's fatty, it's dark, and I wouldn't be able to tell the difference between it and duck.  Me likey.

• Mark Bello steered me towards a fine selection of cheeses which I brought as a welcome gift for Anel, Chris, Lucas and Ethan.  The kids liked the Nord Hollander aged gouda ("the orange one!"), which had the pleasant crunch of amino acid crystals and a nutty, caramel-y flavor; Chris loved the Cremeux de Bourgogne -- a super rich, buttery soft brie-like triple creme made with pasteurized cow's milk.  I went for the tangy log slice of Monte Enebro, a super creamy paste goat cheese covered with ash and blue-cheese mold.  And Wellington cracked pepper crackers are a little too peppery for my taste.

• The St. Regis makes the most delicious coffee, especially when you order it up to the room in the super-insulated sterling carafe with fine china cups and saucers, a mini pitcher of cream and a vase-sheathed white rose on a silver tray carried by a butler in coattails.  FA-NANCY!

• The one night Anel and Chris left Lucas and Ethan under my supervision, I let them get all hopped up on the lollipops and Nerds they had scored at Dylan's Candy Bar til they were bouncing off the walls like cracked out cherubim.  (For the record, Anel & Chris bought them all that sugar and then left the kids with me while they went out for dinner and a Broadway show.)  Later that night, when I was waging a battle to get them ready for bed, I got them both to start brushing their teeth in the cavernous St. Regis bathroom.  As Ethan tried to turn the faucet taps on, he fell off the makeshift stool, banging his butt, then his little head on the cold marble.  I nearly had a heart attack.  I was worried I was going to have to make the Interruptus Emergencia call.  Thank God he stopped crying after a few minutes.  He didn't get a very good tooth brushing in, but I'll take a little baby tooth decay over a concussion any day. Of course as soon as I got them in bed, their Uncle Mike came over to say good night.  And what do you think the first thing out of Lucas's mouth was?  "Uncle Mike!  Ethan fell on his head!  He has a boo-boo!"  Ratted out by a four year old.  I spent the rest of the night trying to get a good look at Ethan's pupils to make sure they weren't dilating funnily.  I love Anel's children, but I'm not ready to have kids yet.

• Serendipity 3 was probably a charming, kitschy place at some point in its existence, but now it is a bit in too in love with itself.  The whole front of the place is like a souvenir shop with Serendipity cookbooks being signed by the owner, Serendipity lip balm, Serendipity t-shirts, merch merch merch galore for sale to the tourists who wait on line in the cold to get in.  And the Frrrozen Hot Chocolate?  It's a big icy chocolate milkshake top heavy with schlag-hard whipped cream and a couple of chocolate shavings.  Nothing you couldn't make at home with a blender.

• The Radio City Christmas Show is TOTALLY OUT, man.  You must see it.  The kids were crazy for it.  Midgets, leggy beauties in sparkly spandex, live camels, a mini ice-rink with pairs figure skaters, dancing Santas, that amazing toy soldiers sequence, a 3-D movie with free 3-D glasses...I won't lie, when the big light bulb encrusted ROCKETTES sign came rising out of the stage in front of a backdrop of the NYC skyline, I got a little verklempt.

• New vocab word: chirl n. child + girl, e.g. Chirrrrrrrrrrrrl, I know you're not gonna pretend you don't want dessert.  Even your eyes are salivating.

• Christmas is so much better with kids around.  Lucas woke up in the middle of Christmas Eve night only to discover that Santa had eaten all of his cookies, drank all his milk, and set up his new Thomas the Tank Engine set.  That kind of excitement, wonder, and totally unbridled joy is really amazing and precious, especially to a jaded old fart like me.

Thank you to my homeslice Anel, Chris, Lucas & Ethan for sharing their glamorous New York Christmas at the St. Regis with me.  I loved experiencing my city through knee-high eyes with you.  No bodily harm to your tots next time, I swear.  I miss you terribly already.

See my Christmas flickr set here.

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!

I'm off to the St. Regis Hotel to stay with my girlfriend Anel, her husband Chris, and their two scrumptious munchkins Lucas and Ethan.  I won't be back in Brooklyn til Monday probably.  Hope the strike is over by then.  I may or may not have a new YAWYE up, depending on my ability to access a computer.  (I know, I know, I'm only going to midtown, it's not like I'm going to the Cambodian backwoods, but you know how it is...)

So eat well, my friends, I'll be back with pix and picks next week. 

Working from home on TWU's first strike day would be far more enjoyable if I had thought to have some food in the house and I wasn't too agoraphobic to go out and buy some groceries.

I gotta get up at ass in the morning tomorrow to try and catch the Bay Ridge ferry.  SUCKS.

But at least I'll get some food.

FIVE POUNDS OF BUTTER, TWO DAYS IN THE MAKING: Presenting the centerpiece of this year's Winter Wonderland party chez Adam & Lindsay, my roommate's igloo cake -- six layers of chiffon light chocolate cake slathered in peppermint buttercream, blue peppermint buttercream piped icing, all on a bed of snow white coconut. 

Rollerskating at the age of 28 = terrifying

Rollerskating at the age of 28 + vodka = I'M FLYING!  WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Two thumbs way up and two ass cheeks smacked down for rollerskating at the Roxy on Wednesday nights.  America's Next Top Model Naima was also enjoying skate night, if you care. 

Note to self: make sure you pee before you enter the rink because that step in the bathroom is very difficult to maneuver while A.) on skates and B.) drunk.

Thanks Mae and Pau for having sex that one time. 

It's time for my ten year progress report.  What have I accomplished since relieving my parents of responsibility for me and becoming and adult in the eyes of the law?  What's the difference between being 18 and being 28?

1995: I lived in a house with two stoves, two overpacked refrigerators, and 14 other hormonal co-ed sophomores in a historical house in Berkeley, CA.
2005: I live in the add-on apartment to an old converted butcher shop with la Doug, my once and future roommate in Sunset Park, Brooklyn.

1995: I swigged cheap sparkling wine with bubbles as big as eyeballs straight from the bottle before ralphing it, and dinner, all over a cute college boy (true).
2005:  I can't quite afford to swim in Krug, but I don't have to slum it with Korbel anymore.  I am liking the NV Vouvray.  And when I have to ralph, I've learned to aim AWAY from the cute boys.

1995: Chicago Cutlery 8" Chef's knife
2005: Glestain 7" Santoku knife, Global 4" paring knife

1995: Typical at-home meal: 3 minute angel hair pasta with Classico Tomato Basil sauce straight from the refrigerator.
2005: Typical at-home meal: Ma-po tofu with kimchi and rice and/or Haagen-Dazs straight from the carton.

1995: A splurge was Zachary's Pizza on College, Chicago-style deep dish stuffed with mozz, chicken, and olives with a tall plastic tumbler of icy Coke.
2005: A splurge is three courses at al di la in Park Slope, with a nice bracing espresso to end the meal. 

1995: I would skip class to go to Bottom of the Hill in San Francisco with my buddy Julian.  We'd get there at 5:00 p.m. when the band we wanted to see (always a Brit-pop band) was setting up for sound check and wait for SIX HOURS in the courtyard out back til the band played because we knew they'd never let our underage asses through the doors otherwise.
2005: I've sung in Chiba Marine stadium in Japan.  I've sung for unenthusiastic Germans at the Leipzig Opera House.  I'm going to Sarajevo in a few weeks to sing in a festival.  A few people actually have my autograph.  I've gotten to say that not only am I with the band, I am in the band.  And I still think it's pretty fucking cool.

1995: One DOS-based Eudora e-mail account at uclink.berkeley.edu, one land line.  What's the internet?
2005: A gmail account, a yahoo account,  work e-mail, two verizon accounts (one current, one defunct), a defunct hotmail account.  As Doug has said, I've got more email addresses than a craigslist ho.  Also, one typepad blog, a flickr account, a cell phone, a shared land line, and mainlining the dubdubdub for probably 11 hours a day, M-F.  God, that's a little depressing.

1995: Number of times I called my Mae per week: 1
2005: Number of times I call my Mae per week: 1

1995: Not getting laid.
2005: Not getting laid.  But I do have a 401K.  Does that turn you on?

1995: I hoped in ten years I'd be a famous stage actress, maybe living in England.  (1996 is the year London breaks me.  At 18, I was still a hardcore Anglophile.)
2005: I hope in ten years I'll be sated and free with good stories to tell and good adventures to come.  And I hope I don't get fat.

"The worst kind of hunger is the hunger that wasn't expecting to be hungry."  -- from Freddy and Fredericka by Mark Helprin

I am having one motherfucking depressing week.  Those presents I bought myself better come in the mail soon.

Some recent searches which led questing googlers to my humble website:

• undo freezer burn chicken
• "tasti d-lite" + "indigestion"
• moo shy pork recipe
• are green moldy looking areas normal inside a white rind pumpkin

[After a Vietnamese pho dinner at Nam Son by the Grand St. station, DOUG and I ride the packed D train home at about 8:00 p.m. on Monday night. We each have one earbud headphone in and are listening to the Shins loudly on DOUG's iPod.  We are also reading this week's Tables for Two review of Maremma in the New Yorker.]

DOUG:  I could not eat rocky mountain oysters.  As a man, I just couldn't do it.

ME: Really?  Someone once told me those beef balls in pho were testicles, so I really think I could make the leap, mentally.

[Pause]

Wait, am I talking really loud right now?