Who the hell wears this crap?!?
Category: Fun
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Southern Gentlemen and Pork Fat — My Trip to Atlanta
Considering that I spent the better part of four beautiful, mild, sunny days inside a Hilton, I actually had a good trip to Atlanta.
I was there for the Equal Justice Conference, and moderated a panel presentation on disaster legal assistance. I hadn’t met any of my co-panelists before we got there — we coordinated the whole thing by phone and email — so I had arranged to meet them in the lobby an hour before our panel. The two women were at our assigned meeting point, and all I knew was that I was looking for a guy named Mark. I started asking around the lobby — I approached each man sitting alone and asked if he was Mark. One gentleman, in his late forties, when I asked if he was Mark, literally looked me up and down, lingering a tad too long on my cleavage, and said, in a deep southern drawl, “no, but I wish I was.” I spun on my heel and walked away, thinking of all the clever things I should/could have said. Ick. I wanted to take a shower. Blech. Southern gentlemen, my ass, although I’m sure he thought he was giving me some sort of compliment.
If that was the low point, the high points were the people, a few good meals, and a forty-five minute stretch of lounging in the sun by the pool. First and foremost, I’d like to thank the Atlanta-based Chowhounds for responding to my post — I had two great meals thanks to their suggestions. First was Watershed, a calm, soothing, airy spot in Decatur that features new Southern cooking and is co-owned by Emily Saliers, one of the Indigo Girls (the name is a tribute to their song). We had fried catfish and some of the best onion rings I have ever had — light and crispy on the outside and sweet and chewy on the inside. I got the duck as an entree, served simply with figs, sauteed bok choy, and roasted parsnips (which I have currently declared to be my favorite vegetable). One of my co-workers got the special that evening, which was a Greek-style roasted fish. It was delicious. They also served warm cookies and milk for dessert.
The next night was Harold’s Barbecue. As we walked up to the place, there was a cop hanging out in front. I snapped a picture of him there, but was too self conscious to take a picture of him later, despite the fact that he was standing right next to a porcelain pig. It was so perfect — you’ll just have to imagine it in your mind. It was definitely a down-home, old-school barbecue joint. Our hands-down favorite of the dishes we ordered was the pork ribs — juicy, tender, and succulent, with a tangy, vinegar-based sauce. Each plate was served with Brunswick stew, fantastic (non-mayo-heavy) coleslaw, and came with chips and a platter of cornbread. As I was inspecting the cornbread, I noticed chunks of something in it — at first I thought it was apples, as they were sort of square and had the translucent quality of a cooked apple, but when I picked a chunk out and tasted it on its own, I realized that it was . . . pork fat. Nice. A special thanks to Tiela and Teresa for joining me in my adventure.
Finally, I got to spend time with the extended Pro Bono Net family — folks we work with all over the country — and meet some great new people in the public interest legal community, mostly from California. It was a pleasure hanging out with Becky, the “legions of Stephens,” Amy, Michelle, Tamarra, Marni, Megan, McGregor, and everyone else. We even made the most of being trapped in the Hilton by visiting all the hotel bars, including getting a round of drinks at Trader Vic’s, the cheezy Polynesian-style joint. How can you resist drinks served in a conch shell?!
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Ah. . . Schvitz
To continue, and possibly to recover from, my week of getting in touch with the culture of my people, I took a trip to the Russian and Turkish Baths in the East Village. I had been looking forward to my schvitz* all week. My friend Melissa took me to the baths for the first time a number of months ago. I had no idea what to expect. First off all, it’s kind of gritty. In my opinion, this is not a bad thing, but if you’re one of those germ-o-phobe types, this is not the place for you. It has been around since 1892 — I think it has undergone some renovations, but I can definitely imagine my predecessors walking up from the Lower East Side for their weekly schvitz in pretty much the same atmosphere. The current crowd is a bizarre mix of old-school Russians and random hipster types, with a few of the rest of us thrown in for good measure. You wear a bathing suit, and I learned from my last trip that the less bathing suit you have, the better. Last time I wore a suit with a tank top — this time I went for the full bikini. There are several different rooms, all offering slightly different kinds of heat, and a room in between with an ice-cold pool. In between your visits to the heat, you can plunge yourself into the icy water, or just sit on the side and cool off a little. On my first visit, I tried the plunge, but it was a bit much for me. My favorite room is the Russian Sauna — it’s filled with heated rocks and it gets so hot that you literally have to dump buckets of cold water over yourself every few minutes to make it bearable.
Most of all, a trip to the baths is just a great way to unwind at the end of a week, taking an hour or so just for yourself or to catch up with a friend. Sometimes we get so harried that we forget to do this as often as we should, especially in a city like New York, where the pace can sometimes border on frantic. And you walk out feeling deeply relaxed, refreshed, and, despite the grit, clean. Thanks to Melissa for taking me there.
So go — take a schvitz already! Tell them I sent you.
* At the suggestion of one of my readers, I am going to start including definitions for some of the Yiddish terms that I use, in order to educate the goyim (Thanks for the feedback, Ryan!).
- schvitz — sweat
- goyim — non-Jews
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My Seder Was More Fun Than Your Seder
Last night was my second annual Passover seder at Sammy’s Roumanian Steakhouse on the Lower East Side. I went last year as well, with a slightly smaller group (I even met Jill Sobule there last year — see the picture). When I told my dad I was going there, he said that he recalled the food was very heavy — “your great-grandparents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary there, and your great-grandfather died a week later.” Well, he’s right. They have schmaltz (rendered chicken fat) in syrup containers on every table. They make the chopped chicken liver in a bowl at the table, complete with cooked onions, radishes, and a liberal dose of the schmaltz. I have been dreaming about it since last year — so good, yet so disgustingly bad for you. Mmm. The steak literally droops over the side of the plate. Good thing there are plenty of bottles of vodka frozen in ice to cut through the artery-clogging food. And beyond the food, there is singing and dancing — our table singlehandedly started the hora, and I did a cameo song with the band. They’re not too big on the religious part of the seder, but they managed to cover some of the basics — blessings over the wine and matzo, the four questions, and of course, dayenu. No Cadbury creme eggs, though.
You can find the pictures here. -
My Weekend, as Illustrated by Two Plates
My sister, who couldn’t be at our seder this year, suggested that we have a Cadbury creme egg on our seder plate. Given the fact that our seder was on the wrong night and our matzo wasn’t kosher for passover, I figured the Easter candy wouldn’t make us any worse Jews than we already were. -
Gefilte Dog, or What I Like About Jew, Take Two
This weekend, I am off to Portland, Maine, for Passover. Sadly, I will be missing my monthly wine
clubsociety meeting — we meet the first Sunday of every month. When I told my neighbor, who organizes the wineclubsociety, that I would be home for Passover, he responded, correctly, “but Passover’s on Monday.” “Yes,” I replied, “but we’re having our seder on Sunday because it’s easier for everyone.” He rolled his eyes in disgust. “You guys are changing the holiday for convenience?” “Um, yes.” “How very religious of you.”Now, I know that some might categorize me as a bad Jew. I eat pork and shellfish, often together. One of my favorite culinary delights is the pancetta-wrapped shrimp at ‘inoteca. I only go to temple on high holidays. I have a tattoo. I don’t like lox. But, strangely enough, I generally fast on Yom Kippur. I keep kosher for Passover (or at least I make a valiant attempt). And, I might add, these behaviors definitely make me the Jewiest Jew in my family. In my family, attendance at temple is not mandatory by any means, even on high holidays. My Dad always does a bizarre editing job on The Concise Family Seder, our Hagaddah of choice, so that it is even more concise. He tends to edit out pieces of the story and keep in the random commentary. I also think I’m the only one in the family who remembers the Passover story year after year. Yes, it’s the same story. I have even suggested that we rent The Prince of Egypt, just to keep it fresh in everyone’s minds. Oy vey. But — we are definitely a Jewish family, with Jewish values. Every holiday is an excuse to gather friends, family, and strays for a good meal. We give back to the community in many ways. All three kids were bar or bat mitzvah’d (well, the twins were b’nai mitzvah’d together), and I’m pretty sure we all like gefilte fish.
In other news this weekend, I am making my very last excusable visit to college (with the exception of my brother’s graduation in May). My brother is playing in a steel drum concert at Bates, followed by a Yo La Tengo show. So, I’ll be hangin’ with the college kids. And speaking of Jewish culture, there’s a Klezmer band up at Bates called Gefilte Dog — I always loved that name.
I’m also looking forward to my second annual Passover seder at Sammy’s Roumanian steakhouse next Tuesday (an official seder night, for those keeping track). Stay tuned, and Happy Pesach!
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Badass Chick Blogger
courtesy of Gaping Void
That’s me, baby. The badass chick blogger. Oh yeah. -
Schadenfreude in TV Land
Now, I’m not a big TV watcher these days. Sure, every now and again I’ll flip on the tube for a little while, but I’m usually doing just that — flipping. Maybe I’ll stumble upon a good movie, watch something on the Food Network, or even succumb to the guilty pleasures of MTV reality-show trash. But recently, I have stumbled upon a great show — Significant Others, on Bravo. I almost wrote about it yesterday, but then thought to myself, Laren, why the hell are you plugging a TV show? On the subway this morning, I was reading my New Yorker that arrived yesterday, and they reviewed the show. They seem to love it as much as I do. That’s it — I’m plugging the show.
The show centers around three (now four) couples in various stages of marriage who have entered couples therapy. It is split between their time in the therapist’s office and clips of their daily lives — the things that are actually driving them to therapy. Why do I like this show so much? Aside from the brilliant, improv comedy and amazing talent, I’m pretty sure it’s schadenfreude. Maybe it’s the reminder that couplehood can be just as painful as singledom. I definitely love the theme song (a speed-rock version of the Partridge Family’s “I Think I Love You”). Then again, maybe it’s just because it makes me laugh out loud — for those who have heard me laugh, you realize how loud this can actually be. Who knows? Just go watch it tonight at 9:30. It’s hysterical.
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Truly Tasteless (and Taken)
As some of you know, my friend Doug has a blog called Planet Gordon — he blogs about being engaged, but from the groom’s perspective. Doug IM’d me yesterday, asking if I had read his blog. Turns out that he was concerned about a little intellectual property issue. He had designed and started selling t-shirts that say “taken,” with the notion that since women have to wear engagement rings, men should similarly display their unavailability. Yesterday, he noticed that theKnot.com, a popular wedding site, had started selling “taken” t-shirts as well, advertising them as “new.” Doug logically concluded that he might have been ripped off. Later that day, he IM’d me again with an update. Turns out theKnot had been selling thongs emblazoned with the word “taken” before Doug started his blog. You can watch the drama unfold on his blog. Although he no longer had a legal claim, Doug and I IM’d a while on the logic behind the “taken” thong.
[17:19] Me: thongs. nice. real classy
[17:19] Doug: yup
[17:19] Doug: that vagina is taken!
[17:19] Doug: hands off!
[17:19] Me: now who would be reading this thong, exactly?
[17:20] Doug: right
[17:20] Doug: imagine if someone was cheating
[17:20] Doug: she gets down to her skivvies
[17:20] Doug: and then remembers
[17:20] Doug: oh yeah! i’m taken!
[17:20] Doug: i totally forgot!
[17:20] Doug: thank god i had that underwear on!
[17:20] Me: right
[17:20] Doug: or who knows what would have happened
[17:21] Me: or better yet, she is about to take them off and some guy (or gal) says, “wait — it says you’re taken!”
[17:21] Me: I’ll stop.
[17:21] Doug: sorry, lady
[17:21] Doug: that’s where i draw the line
[17:21] Doug: the wedding ring didn’t stop me, but the panties did
[17:23] Me: right
[17:23] Me: my co workers got a kick out of that one
[17:23] Doug: thanks.
[17:23] Doug: i’m here all week
[17:23] Me: be sure to tip your waitressand then later —
[17:37] Doug: question
[17:37] Me: one sec, wait, let me check my crotch, no — not takenHours and hours of entertainment. And on a semi-related note, I’m accompanying Doug and some others tonight to the Penthouse Executive Club. They’re wooing the most famous groom in cyberland, and I’m going along for the ride. Not for the boobs, but for the food — Adam Perry Lang, of Daisy May’s BBQ (and chili cart) fame, is the chef at Robert’s Steakhouse, the in-club restaurant, so I’m going to pay him a visit. A friend of mine (who is a little jealous that he can’t make it) declared it “boobies and steak” night. I’ll be bringing my own boobies, and focusing on the steak, thank you very much.