We are pushing through the eternal slog of winter and I have finally come to the realization that I’m going to have to buy the snow boots, and the new gloves, and the ear muffs, because I live here now.
New York is so beautiful at Christmas—a time when you don’t mind winter so much—but from January on, the cold just impedes you from going anywhere truly interesting. Standing on a freezing platform waiting for the next train? Dream about Central Park in the spring time. Freezing your ass off during a long walk to your next destination? Imagine the July 4th celebration you plan to have on the roof deck. I hauled out to Brooklyn three times last week, and on each trek, I just built an imaginary itinerary for Bear Mountain, or Trophy Point, or Storm King.
Spring can’t come soon enough, but while we wait we will eat, and read, and plan.
Women, even women of substance and stature, have been roundly overlooked by history. Finally, finally, a few of these women get the recognition they so richly deserve. Thanks to my friend Olivia for this great find.
I remember waiting to present to an executive one time and wondering when someone was going to notice I was really just a poor kid from the south. That feeling never really goes away.
Despite being a corporate behemoth, SXSW is still producing some pretty good music.
Sometimes those winter blues get so deep in my bones that I have to find a way to maintain a glimmer of hope that spring is around the corner. For me, that’s buying out-of-season fruit: strawberries, and blueberries, and ohmygosh raspberries—all of which are from Mexico. Here’s why that might be a problem.
A nurse treated his own heart attack. What did you do today?
Okay, confession: I tried lox for the first time last month. The office hosted a going away party with glorious New York bagels, mounds of cream cheese, and piles and piles of lox. It was magical. So magical, that I refuse to have another lox experience until it can be at the very best in New York. This glorious display of Jewish foods and stories from Tablet magazine reminds me I am in a city built by Jews, and now is the time to eat.
Blame it on the fairytales you hear as a kid, but I always wanted a turret. Our New York apartment could fit inside most of these turrets (although none of them have our windows).
Some thoughts on assimilation food.
When I get a seat on the train, I am a reading powerhouse, so this week I finished My Absolute Darling, which is an emotional wormhole I enjoyed very much. Next up: Pachinko.
David was generous enough to watch all of the movies with me this week. We both enjoyed The Florida Project and Call Me By Your Name (which is also a most excellent book). I had mixed feelings about Phantom Thread, but can’t deny it is a beautiful, visually rich film. A Wrinkle in Time was also a joy to behold (especially in a theater full of pre-teens), although you’ll have to look past all the plot holes.
The third and final season of Love came out on Netflix this week, and although I enjoyed the finale, I feel like I’m losing a quirky friend. Romantic sitcoms, when done correctly, can be a lot of fun, and I felt Love tackled the tough stuff better than Happy Endings, The Mindy Project, and New Girl, ever got close to.
It had been a few months since I’d made a pie, so last week I pulled together the ingredients for my crowd-pleasing Chocolate Cheesecake. This week though, I’m thinking ahead to which of these 47 pies I’ll be making next.
Breakfast recipes, you say…
I love the idea of Nowruz (Persian New Year). Not only does it feel more wholesome and focused than our January 1 tradition, it encourages people to celebrate a new year by eating carbs.
All hail kolaches!
The Washington Post has a new food vertical called Voraciously, and reminds me a bit of Bon Appetit‘s new vertical, Basically. Both have given me a fair number of easy weeknight recipes that I can easily make into a dinner for one, like this one for polenta with cherry tomatoes.
My best friend will undergo a bilateral mastectomy tomorrow and that is weighing heavy on my mind, especially because I can’t be there.
Even for someone as determined as my friend, preparing for this kind of life-changing surgery takes a wholly different kind of courage. I’m not religious, and I don’t fuck around with trite pink ribbons, but if you find a moment in your day to send good thoughts to my friend, it would be appreciated.