Sweet Blog O'Mine

Author: Laren

  • Mean Girls*

    Not sure why I’m obsessed with Bridget Harrison’s columns lately, but her column this week is sort of a counterpoint to her prior two articles. This week, she attempts to get the male New Yorker’s perspective, and concludes that they think that “girls are mean.”

    Mean?! Mean, my ass. The guys she interviews come forth with brilliant insight about New York women: “Women here can be so mean,” said one friend. “Nothing is ever good enough, they expect you to pay for everything.” Yeah. That’s me, alright. “Girls who are easygoing and even occasionally pick up a tab are like a breath of fresh air.” Are there really women out there who never pay? You all know how I feel about that. The article portrays New York women as gold-digging, wedding-hungry, nitpicky bitches. And if that describes me, which I hardly think it does, then I’m definitely in the wrong city. Most women I know don’t fit that description, either, which is a testament to the interesting, smart, attractive, amazing women with whom I surround myself. We are the true women of New York City. Come and find us if you want a change of pace.

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    [* You know, like the movie. I really want to see this, by the way. It’s supposed to be like an updated Heathers.]

  • Weekend Highlights

    All in all, a fairly mellow weekend, but there were definitely some high points. Met up with a few friends on Friday night at Fuel, the hip lounge, which used to be Phebe’s, the dive with cheap pitchers. I remembered back to my first day of law school orientation when I was the hero for bringing a group of law students to a place so close to school with such cheap beer. After Fuel, we went to Great Jones Cafe, which would be my neighborhood bar were it only a few blocks closer to my apartment. Try the vodka lemonades if you haven’t already. Saturday I had brunch with a longtime friend uptown, which gave us a much-needed opportunity to catch up on life, the universe, and everything. Then — despite the fact that it was gorgeous out, I had already planned to go to the Met for a Tufts Alumni event — a treasure hunt in the museum. Not only was it fun, but my team won, in record time. Got a pedicure (the purple polish leapt out at me — I couldn’t help it), then settled in for a mellow evening. I rented a flick and made my very first batch of enchiladas — so easy and a perfect dish for lunchtime leftovers. After my enchilada, I was craving something sweet, so headed to Otto for some gelato before my movie. While I was there, the scary drunk guy next to me declared me to be “the girl for him.” Thankfully, he was visiting from Florida. As they were leaving, his companion, who seemed much less drunk, offered me half a bottle of wine that they hadn’t finished. Perhaps he figured it was adequate compensation for dealing with his drunk friend. Either way, I called up a neighbor and fellow wine society member, and we happily finished a great bottle of wine. She then joined me for the movie I had rented, and she and her boyfriend (who works at Otto) polished off the remaining enchiladas (no leftovers for me this time — guess I’ll make anonother batch!). Started off Sunday with yoga at Laughing Lotus, followed by brunch at City Bakery, and continued to enjoy the sunshine with a bike ride in Central Park, all with my friend Sarah, who was excellent company. Finished off the evening with drinks outside at B-Bar with my Sunday night crew.

    So, despite the fact that I’m considering leaving to get a clean slate and a fresh start, life here in NYC is not too shabby either. . .

  • Should I Stay or Should I Go?*

    After reading two of Bridget Harrison’s articles about men in New York — one on the epidemic of casual-ness in NYC relationships; the other on NYC men being extraordinarily committment-phobic — I am even more convinced that New York City breeds an unhealthy dating environment. This realization, coupled with my jealousy of friends moving away to start new jobs or graduate school, has led me to do some serious pondering about moving to another city.

    Really.

    Yes, I know, I have toyed with the notion of moving to Brooklyn to change my love life, but I’m also realizing that NYC as a whole is a tough place to live. The pace is fast and furious, and sometimes it’s hard to keep up. I love it tremendously, and it’s extremely hard for me to imagine living anywhere else, but perhaps that is enough reason for me to move away, at least temporarily. If I am incredibly homesick, and miss it dearly, then I can always move back. Maybe I should move somewhere else to prove to myself that I can, in fact, live outside of NYC. Having gotten to know myself pretty well in the past five years or so, I am pretty confident that I could move to a new city where I only know a few people and put the pieces together that I need/want/like to have to form a well-rounded life and a solid social network.

    So where should I go? You’ve all gotten to know me a bit over the past nine months or so — I’m extremely curious to get your opinons. I have my own, which I will share with you next week, but for now, remember that I’m looking for a well-educated, somewhat liberal population, where I don’t need a car, with good food, opportunities for cycling, and a thriving music, arts, and culture scene. Remember, I need other fun, interesting, smart, youngish folks to hang out with, and enough space to have a dinner party for them. And a Chinatown is a plus. Let me know what you think!

    * [A tribute to the Clash song of the same name. And by the way, if you do not own this album, buy it immediately.]

  • Food, food, food . . .

    All kinds of exciting food news today. First, the James Beard Award winners. My two faves on the list are Sam Hayward, from Fore Street in Portland, Maine, and Allison Vines-Rushing, from Jack’s Luxury Oyster Bar, here in NYC. I have had the pleasure of dining at both of these restaurants, and they are up there as some of the best meals I have had. My parents were even lucky enough to win a dinner cooked by Sam Hayward in a silent auction fundraiser. They were supposed to send me a copy of the menu (ahem). My meal at Jack’s was outstanding, and would have been an ideal romantic evening, had I actually been there with a date.

    Next, a brief review of The Spotted Pig, and a first glimpse at 5 Ninth. We arrived at The Spotted Pig at about 7:15, and were informed that we would have a 45 minute wait for a table for two. Since there was no room at the bar, I suggested that we walk to nearby 5 Ninth, which had recently opened. We could check out the menu there as well, and then make a decision. We entered 5 Ninth tentatively, as it appeared from the outside that it might still be under construction. Once we entered, however, we were greeted with a calming, mellow atmosphere, with high, beamed ceilings (similar to Chickenbone Cafe, where the chef used to work). We took a glance at the menu, which looked fantastic, but a little above our price range for the night, so we only had a glass of wine. I have plans to go there next Tuesday for dinner (after payday) with some wine society folks, and now I’m really looking forward to it. The service was a little spotty, especially just for a glass of wine, but I’m going to chalk it up to being so new. Hopefully they’ll tighten up a bit by next week. Back to the Pig, where we were told that our wait would be another half-hour. We debated outside for a while, but luckily the half-hour turned into ten minutes, and we were seated at a comfy table in the back. Although the atmosphere is somewhat pub-ish, the food seems much more complex than anything you’d find at a pub. We started with the much-reviewed gnudi, a gnocci-like dumpling made of cheese, served with brown butter and sage. It was creamy and delicious, and although we agreed that the serving was pretty small, I didn’t think I’d be able to each much more, as it was very rich. My dining companion disagreed, but he’s a guy with a pretty large appetite, or so he says. For our entrees, I opted for the burger, served with a highly seasoned mound of shoestring fries. It was good, but I’d still be more likely to walk the few blocks to the Corner Bistro to get my burger fix. Ethan got the steak with potatoes, artichokes, and pancetta. Once again, I thought it was pretty good (he was kind enough to give me a taste), but nothing extraordinary. All in all, though, it was a pleasant dining experience. I’d like to hit the place again on an off time, and maybe sit at the bar and order several of the appetizers, which seemed more interesting to me than the main courses.

  • The Spotted Pig, 314 West 11th St. at Greenwich Street
  • 5 Ninth, 5 9th Avenue

  • You Are What You Wear

    Yet another reason to avoid “rules” on dating. This has got to be up there on the list of the most useless drivel cloaked in the guise of “advice” that I have ever seen. If guys are truly putting this much thought into what I’m wearing on a date, then I might as well just show up naked and get right to the heart of the matter. [via Gothamist]

  • You Want Fries With That?

    It’s time again for a blatant plug, in this case, for a film. I had the privilege of seeing Super Size Me yesterday. This documentary chronicles one month in the life of the writer and filmmaker, during which he eats only at McDonald’s. Hilarity and disastrous health effects ensue. It is incredibly well-done — funny, insightful, educational, radical, illustrative, and thoughtful — and it left me with a feeling of utter gratitude. Gratitude, you ask? Yes, gratitude. I am so thankful that my family has raised me to love, eat, and enjoy healthy food. I don’t really drink soda because I never had it in my house growing up. My stepmother has a masters degree in nutrition, so our meals were always incredibly healthy and well-balanced, full of vegetables, and always served with a big salad. Watching the film made me realize that our family was not your “typical” American family. We could afford to eat well, and nutrition was a priority for us. Similarly, every time I beat myself up for not going to the gym, I should realize that I am getting more exercise than the average American simply by living in Manhattan, where I walk all the time. The film has created a small dent in the McDonald’s corporate machine, although they deny that any changes were related to the film. According to the film, McD’s is no longer offering their supersize options, and has introduced a line of “active” happy meals for adults. I’ll have to take his word for it — my trips to McD’s are generally limited to road trips and acts of desperation, like PMS-induced french fry cravings (which are most often taken care of elsewhere). So run right out and see the film — you’ll be eating veggies for days afterwards.


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  • Urban Oasis

    And just when I think I’m special, the New York Times does an article on “the blog generation” (am I part of “the blog generation”?!?) and gardening. I have been wanting a garden for ages, and have only managed to cultivate a few window boxes due to my lack of any outdoor space, and in my current apartment, my lack of sun. My next abode must have a spot where I can at least graduate to a larger container garden. For me, it’s not a “radical political act,” but a tiny spot of nature that I can cultivate and call my own. And cook with, of course. The aforementioned window boxes were full of fresh herbs, which I used all summer.

  • Through the Eyes of a Child

    The New York Times recounts one of John Kerry’s recent Q & A sessions. Although the individuals asking questions weren’t necessarily a key target group for votes, as they were 5 and 6 year olds in a New Mexico elementary school, their questions were still right on point. It’s fascinating to discover the “political” concerns of kids that age — one “child asked if Mr. Kerry could ‘make sure dogs don’t get run over by cars,’ and Mr. Kerry promised to try.”

    Very often when I get wrapped up in my own problems, I find that spending time with children gives me some perspective. They’re not worried about finding the right career or a solid romantic relationship. They are more interested in less complex matters, like why the sky is blue, or how come they can’t have strawberry ice cream for dinner.

    Be sure to check out the rest of the article. David Halbfinger does an excellent job reporting the visit as if it were a serious press conference:

    The children were quite taken with Mr. Kerry’s height. One girl, Mariana Gonzales, loudly asked if he could touch the roof; Mr. Kerry laughed off the question, but another child joined in: “But you’re tall!”

    A third member of this pack of junior jackals refused to drop the subject, crying, “Oh my God! You’re tall!”

    Cornered, Mr. Kerry conceded the point. “I am tall,” he said

  • On the Bayou

    Okay, it’s time for the full report.

    Day 1
    We arrived on Wednesday and picked up our first po-boys on the way home from the airport from a local joint out in Lakeview, where we were staying. Ah . . . welcome to New Orleans. After lunch, we followed up with a stroll around the French Quarter. “Food” stop number one was a hurricane, which we purchased on Bourbon Street. Now, for those of you who are not aware, New Orleans is the home to one of my favorite phenomena, the “to-go” cup at bars. Yes, my friends, you can walk into a bar and order a drink to go. We got our hurricanes and continued our stroll around the Quarter. At one point we stumbled upon a gospel choir — between that and the booze in the hurricanes, our spirits were soaring. We rounded off our stroll with a stop at Cafe du Monde for coffee and beignets, which we enjoyed by the riverside. Dinner that night was at Lola’s, where we had some good paella and warm dinner rolls with fantastic garlic butter — mostly garlic. Later that night, we got rocking at the House of Blues with George Clinton and P-Funk. The 60+ year old grandfather out-rocked us that night; we had to turn in at about 2:30 AM.

    Day 2
    Our first day at Jazz Fest. Our first stop was food — Danielle and Seth headed for the crawfish bread, and I for my soft-shell crab po-boy. Just as delightful as I had remembered — salty, crispy, and briny. Other delicacies of the day included the Nachitoches meat pie (a spicy ground beef concoction wrapped in dough and then deep-fried), a BBQ oyster po-boy, fried plaintains with tangy Jamaican hot sauce, a taste of Danielle’s bread pudding, and, of course, the rosemint tea. We met up with my friend Arielle’s brother David — my prior trips to New Orleans were all with Arielle, and David stepped in on hosting duties during her absence, making sure we had a good spot from which to enjoy the music, and that we always had a cold beer. We were able to catch two acts that afternoon: Allen Toussaint and the Steve Miller Band. Although there were sprinkles throughout the day, it never really rained that hard, and we even saw a rainbow. After heading home, we decided to take a nap before we went out for the evening. When we woke up, it was already 11:45 p.m. So much for going out. We ended up sleeping until about 10 the next morning. Guess we were wiped out.

    Day 3
    During our 14 hour “nap,” there were constant bursts of thunder and lightning, and torrential rains. Conditions were so bad that Jazz Fest got rained out for the first time in ages — perhaps over a decade. We decided to make the best of it, so we ultimately headed down to Bourbon Street to start drinking. We started at Pat O’Brien’s — I had a hurricane and Seth started with a bloody mary. He would later graduate to a mint julep, while I continued to nurse my hurricane (give me a little credit — it was easily twice the size of his bloody mary). On a side note, while we wandered around the Quarter our first day, we had set out some “goals” for our trip — little things we were going to try to accomplish while we were there. They included shaking hands with a famous person, singing into a microphone, riding on the back of a motorcycle, getting a business card from a stranger, and eating a food we had never eaten before. Our first day at the Fest we were each able to eat something we had not eaten before, and at Pat O’Brien’s, we got word that there was a famous person at the bar inside — Yanni. After much debate about whether (a) Yanni actually counted as a famous person and (b) the person sitting at the bar was, in fact, Yanni, we decided to pass on that particular opportunity, even if one of our goals was left unaccomplished. Later in the day, we ran into my friend Erika and her posse at the House of Blues. We were walking by to check out what was playing later that night. We all retreated to a bar offering 3 for 1 drinks to decide on our musical plans for the evening. We made the mistake of ordering white russians as our drink of choice — they were each the size of my head (I think they combined the three drinks into one huge cup). Now I know why white russians are usually served in a very small glass. Ugh — way too much milk. Determined not to sleep through another evening despite having spent our entire day getting boozed up, we went home, quickly showered, and headed out to Mid-City Lanes Rock ‘n Bowl to see the Rebirth Brass Band and Kermit Ruffins, both New Orleans institutions. It was a fantastic show, but incredibly crowded, even for little miss New York City. At sometime during the second set, we called it a night — we needed to be well-rested for our next day at Jazz Fest.

    Day 4
    To make up for our rained-out day, we got up early so we could put in a full day at the Fest. We certainly got started with some good karma — someone gave me a free ticket as I was walking up to buy one. In typical New York fashion, I asked Seth if we should check to make sure it was valid. He looked at me as if I were insane. Maybe it’s time for me to leave the city for a while . . . Anyway, back to Jazz Fest. We started off (after a round of beignets, of course) at the Blues tent, where we saw God’s Followers of South Africa, who are reminiscent of Ladysmith Black Mombazo. We then went to one of the main stages, where we wanted to set up camp for later shows. While we were there, we saw Marc Broussard, who was unknown to either of us, but was definitely the hidden gem of the day. He couldn’t have been more than 20, but his voice had a depth and maturity way beyond his years. We predict big things for this guy in the near future. Leaving our chairs to mark our turf, we went over to the Congo tent, where, despite the geographical inconsistency, they were focusing on music from South Africa. We saw Busi Mhlongo and Vusi Mahlasela, who were joined by the legendary Hugh Masekela. While we were at the Congo tent, we guided Arielle’s friend Bebe (who I’ve seen on all of my previous New Orleans trips) to our stuff, and met up with her after we had both returned from our ventures to the smaller tents. Thank god for cell phones. We picked up some food on the way back — a chicken taco for me, and a steak pita for Seth. And, of course, more rosemint tea. Back at the main stage, we caught the end of the Funky Meters, and ran off to grab a catfish po-boy before Santana got started. As we were winding our way back through the crowds, we heard Santana off in the distance — they had started early! We made it back to our chairs, and were treated to some of the best guitar playing in the world. Incredible. Towards the end of the set, we could see the black storm clouds moving closer and closer. We only missed a few songs, but made it back home before the rain came crashing down again. We planned to take a nap (not a 14-hour one, but a short one), but were sidetracked by the National Spelling Bee, which was being broadcast on ESPN2. Strangely enough, we had been talking about Spellbound the day before. The winning word was pococurante. After the Bee, we geared up for our night with Jurassic 5 and Galactic. Although the show was good, it made me think that I might finally be turning into an old woman. It was unbearably loud — so much so that I wished I had brought earplugs. After several hours of having our eardrums blasted into oblivion, we headed to the Clover Grill for some late night burgers. Gotta love a place that cooks their burgers under hubcaps. Satiated, we returned home.

    Day 5
    After two days fighting crowds at Jazz Fest with a day boozing in the French Quarter in between, we opted to take our Sunday at a slightly more subdued pace. We started off with brunch at Lulu’s in the Garden. Not wanting to go into shock from lack of fried food and shellfish, I ordered a dish called the “Hangtown Fry,” scrambled eggs with bacon, fried oysters, and fried onion rings. Delicious. Not light, but fantastic. The best quality of well-done fried food is that it isn’t at all greasy, which surprises me every time. We were able to walk off some of the brunch with a do-it-ourselves Garden District walking tour. We purchased a great guide book, we were off. After our tour, we returned back to the Quarter for one last drink in to-go cup. After taking in a few more sights, sounds, and smells, we opted to finish off our weekend with a quiet, lovely dinner at Cafe Degas, outside of the Quarter. For whatever reason, we were both craving beef, so we each had a steak. A simple, yet tasty finish to our culinary adventures.

    Day 6
    We awoke at the crack of dawn and headed home. People were still out partying as our cab drove off to the airport. Thanks to Seth for being an ideal travel partner, to Danielle, Alan and Ela for letting us stay with them, despite our keeping odd hours and sleeping half the time, and to David and Bebe for chipping in on hosting duties at the Fest. You can see the pictures here.

  • Recovery

    Well, gang, I made it back in one piece, but I will need at least a day or so to recover before giving you the run-down of the trip to New Orleans. For the moment, let’s just say that we sufficiently rocked Jazz Fest and ate our fair share of fried food and shellfish. Stay tuned.