30 Rock is not just a sardonic TV show but it's also the nickname for the actual headquarters of one of the largest media conglomerates in the country. NBC Universal. It's where I went this morning but where I arrived too late to see a few of the executives whom I loved so dearly when I was an assistant at my former place of employment. I stood sweaty and panting outside the office of the head of the company as he walked past me to get to another meeting. I looked oily and crazy. I glanced around sheepishly at the thin and beautiful assistants in their office savvy outfits and their acclimated body temperatures. I consoled the disappointment of my failed mission with a tuna sandwich and fresh squeezed grapefruit juice from Pret A Manger, a chain of shops I haven't seen since I was in London over a year ago. I sat amidst the lunchtime crowd of dashers and smiled on the inside. I had nowhere to be but back at my apartment to perhaps buy some household items with my roommate the cop. I smelled the amalgam of scents that compose the symphony of the wedge hour that drives the day into two parts, the before and after. I watched it spin around me though I was not part of its universe let alone the center.
Coming out of the train station at 110th street, I encountered two small Chinese women. They were probably 70 and less than 5 feet tall. The older one wore a light purple knitted cap and the sunglasses given to patients of ocular dismay. The kind that block out all manner of light to save the fragile corneas and retinas of people who have seen too much. The younger one had a worn red coat and a smiling face. We climbed the stairs together and I noticed they had each a bag and a wheeled duffle/ backpack. They had trouble dragging the larger bags up the stairs so I asked them in Cantonese if they wanted some help. They giggled and accepted but without shame. Their accents betrayed their origins in the countryside of Canton where lives are meager. I took one dufflebag and marched ahead as they tended to the other. I looked back and saw that it was still causing them a bit of inconvenience so I handed over my Louis Vuitton purse and took a second dufflebag in my free hand and above ground we went. They smiled at their luck to have help. I laughed at the absurdity of me in my high heeled boots, towering nearly 6 feet tall over these two women who had just come from the markets of Chinatown with ingredients for the Lunar New Year feast coming in a few days. Their dufflebags were laden with raw vegetables and meats. As we walked, we discovered we lived on the same street just a few buildings apart. They invited me to have tea with them and sit for a while but I declined as I had shopping of my own to do. I wished them a happy new year and good health. They giggled further.
Two people have been cold to me in the past week but for the most part, I've connected with strangers just as I would have were I in LA. I told a man on the train that his sandwich smelled delicious. I told a gay waiter at a soul food restaurant that his ass was fantastic, probably the most fantastic I'd ever seen. I've smiled at passengers on the subway. After purchases at Bed Bath and Beyond followed by won ton soup at Penang and fried banana won tons at Lime Leaf, the cop and I returned home to unpack, unwrap and assemble. I recounted the story of the little old ladies. I was advised that I should stay out of the affairs of others and that no good deed goes unpunished. I felt sad for the cop. Everyone knows that little old ladies should be the first recipients of a random act of kindness. This city has hardened my roommate and I refuse to succmb to the same stony evolution.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
panelist
After a chocolate chip cookie on the train, Karen and I emerged on Wall Street to attend an event at Deutsche Bank. "Investing in Hollywood." My former boss spoke on a panel of executives involved in the film business and its investment opportunities. We entered the auditorium in our jeans and casual clothing and tromped between rows to two empty seats in the center section which afforded the clearest view of heads of studios and film finance gurus. I surprised myself with how much information I had accumulated through office osmosis. When terms were dropped and trends were discussed, I understood. Who knew I could feel so smart.
Karen and I left the suits to their cocktails and chatter for a bit of shopping at Century 21. So many pretty things. So little necessity. As we grew hungry, I emailed my Jedi council of former New York foodies to ask for a recommendation in the Tribeca neighborhood. Bubby's was the winner where Karen and I sat down around 8pm and ravenously tore at jalapeno cornbread. She ordered chicken pot pie with coleslaw and hush puppies. For me, three meat meatloaf with mac and cheese and sauteed spinach. The chicken pot pie was a bit dry and the hush puppies unremarkable. My meatloaf had personality and bacon. The sides were lovely, mac and cheese creamy and hot with little bit of gruyere, the spinach lush and green. I tried fresh cranberry juice for the first time and loved it. It was crisp yet a strong red. For dessert I ordered Callebaut hot chocolate which was a bit too sweet but fantastic nonetheless. They went low fat on me with the use of whole milk instead of cream but I always must remind myself that we're in New York and not Paris. Tant pis.
From Bubby's Karen and I took the train to the Mandarin Oriental hotel located at the Time Warner Center at Columbus Circle. We met my former boss in the Lobby Lounge on the 24th floor with a view of 59th Street and a corner of the park. The walls were black marble and the appointments were all very Asian. We sat in soft chairs next to a high window and sipped MacCallan 12 year scotch on the rocks. When I say we I mean the former boss and me. He finished my scotch for me as I am but a child when it comes to hard liquor. I admit that the scotch was incredibly smooth though. A manly drink for manly people who want to sleep like babies.
We chatted about what I'd learned recently about the finance industry. We talked of things that adults speak of when they sip expensive drinks in dim rooms...Nebraska, cooking, life. It was the first time I knew this man as not my boss but as my friend in a way. As a man over whom I could lord my superior sense of humor and inappropriate behavior. I stole a green apple from a bowl in the hallway on the floor of his hotel room. I stole his Times Dining section. I tried to steal his complimentary hotel slippers but he was wearing them. I suppose he misses my presence at the office. More than he'd miss a set of shampoos and conditioners anyway.
Karen and I left the suits to their cocktails and chatter for a bit of shopping at Century 21. So many pretty things. So little necessity. As we grew hungry, I emailed my Jedi council of former New York foodies to ask for a recommendation in the Tribeca neighborhood. Bubby's was the winner where Karen and I sat down around 8pm and ravenously tore at jalapeno cornbread. She ordered chicken pot pie with coleslaw and hush puppies. For me, three meat meatloaf with mac and cheese and sauteed spinach. The chicken pot pie was a bit dry and the hush puppies unremarkable. My meatloaf had personality and bacon. The sides were lovely, mac and cheese creamy and hot with little bit of gruyere, the spinach lush and green. I tried fresh cranberry juice for the first time and loved it. It was crisp yet a strong red. For dessert I ordered Callebaut hot chocolate which was a bit too sweet but fantastic nonetheless. They went low fat on me with the use of whole milk instead of cream but I always must remind myself that we're in New York and not Paris. Tant pis.
From Bubby's Karen and I took the train to the Mandarin Oriental hotel located at the Time Warner Center at Columbus Circle. We met my former boss in the Lobby Lounge on the 24th floor with a view of 59th Street and a corner of the park. The walls were black marble and the appointments were all very Asian. We sat in soft chairs next to a high window and sipped MacCallan 12 year scotch on the rocks. When I say we I mean the former boss and me. He finished my scotch for me as I am but a child when it comes to hard liquor. I admit that the scotch was incredibly smooth though. A manly drink for manly people who want to sleep like babies.
We chatted about what I'd learned recently about the finance industry. We talked of things that adults speak of when they sip expensive drinks in dim rooms...Nebraska, cooking, life. It was the first time I knew this man as not my boss but as my friend in a way. As a man over whom I could lord my superior sense of humor and inappropriate behavior. I stole a green apple from a bowl in the hallway on the floor of his hotel room. I stole his Times Dining section. I tried to steal his complimentary hotel slippers but he was wearing them. I suppose he misses my presence at the office. More than he'd miss a set of shampoos and conditioners anyway.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
eating and sleeping
I took a New York City bus for the first time today.
I had ridden with Vera in a taxi out to LaGuardia for her return flight to Toronto. We had risen too late to dine in the city so at the airport we had lunch at au bon pain. I ate a tuna sandwich on a French roll and an orange which cost $0.79. I looked across the table at my friend and felt a very nonchalant comfort. Though we have been friends for more time than we haven't been friends, we get to a place where everything goes but anything can still sting. She drops the prickly facts on me every now and again as I do on her. Saying goodbye was also a time to say "This is what I meant by what I said..."
On the M60 bus back to Manhattan, I stopped into a mattress shop on 125th St. to lay on bed after bed. I haven't decided on a winner yet since everything costs between $400-$600. Not having an income at the moment, the way my money leaves my hands has changed. I was never a frugal person but growing up and having to consider finances is inevitable. It's the in and out of cashflow. For now, I monitor the in and out of air through the leak in the Aerobed.
I decided to walk 12 blocks through Harlem back to my apartment. It had started to sprinkle but I was in a down coat that withstood the rain. For 10 minutes, I was the only non-black person I saw. It was a curious feeling that I haven't experienced since I started doing poetry in 1999 when I would be the odd one out at readings. Most of the people I saw were older. It was Tuesday afternoon so the children were at school and the mothers and fathers were at work. I stopped into a bakery for orange juice and got home just as Nate was waking up. A real Italian at the restaurant where he works recommended a pizza place on the LES that he wanted to try so I tagged along to Luzzo's. We took another bus and strolled the LES along 1st Ave. We passed Bird Bath Bakery and each bought a cookie. The store was of a strange ambiance. It's a "green" bakery but the vibe was somber and stolid. Tall pillar candles stood next to stacked cookies in the window. A very odd display.
Luzzo's was incredible. We started with calamari which was mezzo mezzo. The squid was not fresh and too chewy for my taste but the pizza...oh, the pizza. I had thought Lombardi's set the standard for my pizza eating future but Luzzo's crust and soft burrata from Napoli made the rainy weather clear up. The dough was light and soft like a cloud with a crisp bottom. The sauce and the cheese, the basil and the scent swirled together in a perfect pizza dream. We also had an order of gnocchi which I thought was lovely though Nate found it a bit gummy. For dessert, we walked a few blocks to Sugar Sweet Sunshine and got a half dozen of vanilla, chocolate, pistachio, lemon, pumpkin and red velvet cupcakes. Then a quick stop at Starbucks for coffee (for Nate) and a green tea latte (for me) and back home to tear into the box of pastel goodies with Karen who had come home from her shift.
This is possible here. The many stops for food. New Yorkers are like hummingbirds in constant search of nectar to sustain their perpetual motion. In Los Angeles, making a stop for food is an annoyance and a bother. But here, walking home usually means you'll pass a delectable storefront at which you can pause for a bite.
I had ridden with Vera in a taxi out to LaGuardia for her return flight to Toronto. We had risen too late to dine in the city so at the airport we had lunch at au bon pain. I ate a tuna sandwich on a French roll and an orange which cost $0.79. I looked across the table at my friend and felt a very nonchalant comfort. Though we have been friends for more time than we haven't been friends, we get to a place where everything goes but anything can still sting. She drops the prickly facts on me every now and again as I do on her. Saying goodbye was also a time to say "This is what I meant by what I said..."
On the M60 bus back to Manhattan, I stopped into a mattress shop on 125th St. to lay on bed after bed. I haven't decided on a winner yet since everything costs between $400-$600. Not having an income at the moment, the way my money leaves my hands has changed. I was never a frugal person but growing up and having to consider finances is inevitable. It's the in and out of cashflow. For now, I monitor the in and out of air through the leak in the Aerobed.
I decided to walk 12 blocks through Harlem back to my apartment. It had started to sprinkle but I was in a down coat that withstood the rain. For 10 minutes, I was the only non-black person I saw. It was a curious feeling that I haven't experienced since I started doing poetry in 1999 when I would be the odd one out at readings. Most of the people I saw were older. It was Tuesday afternoon so the children were at school and the mothers and fathers were at work. I stopped into a bakery for orange juice and got home just as Nate was waking up. A real Italian at the restaurant where he works recommended a pizza place on the LES that he wanted to try so I tagged along to Luzzo's. We took another bus and strolled the LES along 1st Ave. We passed Bird Bath Bakery and each bought a cookie. The store was of a strange ambiance. It's a "green" bakery but the vibe was somber and stolid. Tall pillar candles stood next to stacked cookies in the window. A very odd display.
Luzzo's was incredible. We started with calamari which was mezzo mezzo. The squid was not fresh and too chewy for my taste but the pizza...oh, the pizza. I had thought Lombardi's set the standard for my pizza eating future but Luzzo's crust and soft burrata from Napoli made the rainy weather clear up. The dough was light and soft like a cloud with a crisp bottom. The sauce and the cheese, the basil and the scent swirled together in a perfect pizza dream. We also had an order of gnocchi which I thought was lovely though Nate found it a bit gummy. For dessert, we walked a few blocks to Sugar Sweet Sunshine and got a half dozen of vanilla, chocolate, pistachio, lemon, pumpkin and red velvet cupcakes. Then a quick stop at Starbucks for coffee (for Nate) and a green tea latte (for me) and back home to tear into the box of pastel goodies with Karen who had come home from her shift.
This is possible here. The many stops for food. New Yorkers are like hummingbirds in constant search of nectar to sustain their perpetual motion. In Los Angeles, making a stop for food is an annoyance and a bother. But here, walking home usually means you'll pass a delectable storefront at which you can pause for a bite.
PST
Pacific
I've kept my Blackberry on West Coast time to mind those whom I love. I glance at it, see the hour and wonder about my friends. Some are waking, some are resting, some work, some play. All are in my thoughts.
Standard
Monday morning, my best friend since the age of 9 and I went to the jewelry district to see a man named Leigh. He sells antique engagement rings and Vera was interested in resetting a diamond of her grandmother's. It's a funny coincidence that she and I both wear diamonds passed down through the women in our family. De Beers would be disappointed.
In the netting of streets located around 47th and Madison, jewellers abound with velvet trays. Bracelets shine, necklaces sway, rings sit with their stones sparkling up towards our curious eyes. In Leigh's office, he produced 6 or 7 trays full of settings. Some had diamonds in them, some were empty, their prongs like the beaks of small birds, open and ready for a faceted feeding. Vera chose her setting and we set out with one of the assistants to see a slew of men with dirty fingers and rusted tools. Each specialized in a particular step of the process. Ivan sized the ring, sawing a section out and welding it to the specifications of Vera's finger. Hye reset the stone and secured the diamond of Vera's past into the platinum of Vera's present. Gabe polished the finished product and onto Vera's hand it went. They all wore wedding bands and the unimpressed expressions of jaded men who have seen many pretty things.
Time
Lunch. At Certe with a commodities trader. At the door was a tray of brownie cubes. The one I snuck was delicious. For my meal I had vegetarian lasagna with a side of grilled vegetables - zucchini, asparagus and red bell pepper. The lasagna was creamy with spinach pasta sheets stuffed with asparagus, mushrooms, eggplant, broccoli, tomatoes and cheese. For dessert, a small cup of tres leches cake. And another brownie cube on the way out the door. For braving the elements.
The commodities trader couldn't seem to understand what the appeal of New York was for me. I had to explain the food, the culture, the stimulation, the rituals. He lives in an enormous condo in Jersey with his wife. Neither of them seem to like these things and we reached an impasse after I tried to defend myself for about 5 minutes. We stopped in on his office and I poked around the spreadsheets on his desk. It didn't seem to matter if it were film ultimates or gold trades, it was boring.
As we left him to his work, I examined a sculpture in the lobby of the building and read its accompanying plaque. It was created by a German artists whose work has appeared at the Guggenheim and MOCA in Los Angeles. I stared at the recycled metal pieces. I admired it. The commodities trader looked at Vera and proclaimed that in the 3 years that he has worked at the company, he had never once stopped to look at the sculpture. Suddenly the difficulty of my lunchtime defense of New York became clear.
From there, Vera and I walked about 30 blocks to the Met which unfortunately was closed. Mondays. I made note. We cut through Central Park and encountered a woman with her baby and their dog. We asked directions and as she spoke, the baby, in his baby holder, moved his arms and legs like a bouncing starfish she wore as a badge. He was a serious baby. I guessed that his father was a very serious man and that his mother was the spicier of the two. She smiled, agreed and we said goodbye. Vera seemed to think I was bothering her. She said that people may just be polite sometimes and that I shouldn't be so chatty. I like to give myself credit for the ability to read people. I think perhaps I misread Vera.
Dinner. We took the train to the Village to meet with a real estate man. Another friend of Vera's. Another man with a wife and a disbelief in my move. We ate at Lombardi's and ordered Caesar salad and a sausage and mushroom pie for the three of us. Crunchy soft pizza dough, spicy sausage and a hit of sweet onion. I couldn't have it any other way again.
After dinner, Vera and I headed to the Bowery Ballroom to see Chromeo. The concert was the key reason my dear friend had come to visit and we rocked out to 80s electrofunk as my brand new boots got scuffed under the heels of hipsters doing likewise. I watched Vera laugh with glee as song after song hit her ears. I smiled as she enjoyed herself. I cried on the inside for the ruined leather on my feet.
Following the concert, we stopped in on one of the ibankers from the previous night. The rent for his midtown studio is the same as our 3 bedroom apartment in Harlem. Morgan Stanley must be a kind man. Vera and he caught up further as I stood in his walk-in closet and pulled an accounting book from the shelf. I cracked it open at his desk and began reading about this mysterious study which entices so many people as the foundation of where money is tallied. I borrowed the book as the ibanker cocked his head and told me to call him if I had any questions. Questions, yes. I think I will have many. The main one though is why do these people have such a hard time believing that I could just up and move to this glorious island?
I've kept my Blackberry on West Coast time to mind those whom I love. I glance at it, see the hour and wonder about my friends. Some are waking, some are resting, some work, some play. All are in my thoughts.
Standard
Monday morning, my best friend since the age of 9 and I went to the jewelry district to see a man named Leigh. He sells antique engagement rings and Vera was interested in resetting a diamond of her grandmother's. It's a funny coincidence that she and I both wear diamonds passed down through the women in our family. De Beers would be disappointed.
In the netting of streets located around 47th and Madison, jewellers abound with velvet trays. Bracelets shine, necklaces sway, rings sit with their stones sparkling up towards our curious eyes. In Leigh's office, he produced 6 or 7 trays full of settings. Some had diamonds in them, some were empty, their prongs like the beaks of small birds, open and ready for a faceted feeding. Vera chose her setting and we set out with one of the assistants to see a slew of men with dirty fingers and rusted tools. Each specialized in a particular step of the process. Ivan sized the ring, sawing a section out and welding it to the specifications of Vera's finger. Hye reset the stone and secured the diamond of Vera's past into the platinum of Vera's present. Gabe polished the finished product and onto Vera's hand it went. They all wore wedding bands and the unimpressed expressions of jaded men who have seen many pretty things.
Time
Lunch. At Certe with a commodities trader. At the door was a tray of brownie cubes. The one I snuck was delicious. For my meal I had vegetarian lasagna with a side of grilled vegetables - zucchini, asparagus and red bell pepper. The lasagna was creamy with spinach pasta sheets stuffed with asparagus, mushrooms, eggplant, broccoli, tomatoes and cheese. For dessert, a small cup of tres leches cake. And another brownie cube on the way out the door. For braving the elements.
The commodities trader couldn't seem to understand what the appeal of New York was for me. I had to explain the food, the culture, the stimulation, the rituals. He lives in an enormous condo in Jersey with his wife. Neither of them seem to like these things and we reached an impasse after I tried to defend myself for about 5 minutes. We stopped in on his office and I poked around the spreadsheets on his desk. It didn't seem to matter if it were film ultimates or gold trades, it was boring.
As we left him to his work, I examined a sculpture in the lobby of the building and read its accompanying plaque. It was created by a German artists whose work has appeared at the Guggenheim and MOCA in Los Angeles. I stared at the recycled metal pieces. I admired it. The commodities trader looked at Vera and proclaimed that in the 3 years that he has worked at the company, he had never once stopped to look at the sculpture. Suddenly the difficulty of my lunchtime defense of New York became clear.
From there, Vera and I walked about 30 blocks to the Met which unfortunately was closed. Mondays. I made note. We cut through Central Park and encountered a woman with her baby and their dog. We asked directions and as she spoke, the baby, in his baby holder, moved his arms and legs like a bouncing starfish she wore as a badge. He was a serious baby. I guessed that his father was a very serious man and that his mother was the spicier of the two. She smiled, agreed and we said goodbye. Vera seemed to think I was bothering her. She said that people may just be polite sometimes and that I shouldn't be so chatty. I like to give myself credit for the ability to read people. I think perhaps I misread Vera.
Dinner. We took the train to the Village to meet with a real estate man. Another friend of Vera's. Another man with a wife and a disbelief in my move. We ate at Lombardi's and ordered Caesar salad and a sausage and mushroom pie for the three of us. Crunchy soft pizza dough, spicy sausage and a hit of sweet onion. I couldn't have it any other way again.
After dinner, Vera and I headed to the Bowery Ballroom to see Chromeo. The concert was the key reason my dear friend had come to visit and we rocked out to 80s electrofunk as my brand new boots got scuffed under the heels of hipsters doing likewise. I watched Vera laugh with glee as song after song hit her ears. I smiled as she enjoyed herself. I cried on the inside for the ruined leather on my feet.
Following the concert, we stopped in on one of the ibankers from the previous night. The rent for his midtown studio is the same as our 3 bedroom apartment in Harlem. Morgan Stanley must be a kind man. Vera and he caught up further as I stood in his walk-in closet and pulled an accounting book from the shelf. I cracked it open at his desk and began reading about this mysterious study which entices so many people as the foundation of where money is tallied. I borrowed the book as the ibanker cocked his head and told me to call him if I had any questions. Questions, yes. I think I will have many. The main one though is why do these people have such a hard time believing that I could just up and move to this glorious island?
Sunday, January 27, 2008
oh, it's what you do to me
I'm here. I'm in my new apartment on a new street in a new neighborhood with a bodega on the corner. It's winter. Chill is in the air. We don't have curtains for the windows yet so the renters in the building across the street can peer into our lives here, our small three bedroom apartment with two baths. One bathroom looks like a closet with a window in it. It's tiled in white and beautiful.
Today begins my adventure in New York with all the promise and potential of a first kiss. I'd call today a wink.
I ate Cream of Wheat in the car on the way to the airport this morning. My mother made it with a soup of chicken, pork both salted and plain and a healthy addition of napa cabbage. My father drove fast. My mother drew a happy face on the foggy window with her knuckle. I stared at the San Bernardino mountains for a while. The dog had been clingy as I raced back and forth from my suitcase to my room. He knew I was leaving.
On the plane, more staring at mountains, more strange uncertainty until the plane taxied around a corner on the runway and suddenly gained speed. The rumble of quickness and the thunder of air brought a smile to my face. It was happening. I did it.
On the flight from Denver to New York City, I ate a small bag of small pretzels and sat alone in a row of three seats. I became sleepy and folded my rabbit fur coat into a makeshift pillow and lay my head on the newly decadent aisle seat and "slept the sleep of assassins and kings/ remorseless." (1)
The first thing I ate here was a handful of strawberry Starburst candies. Apparently Karen likes cherry, Nate likes orange and I'm no prognosticator but I'm seeing a lot of lemon Starburst in what I can only describe as something that looks like the garbage can soon. Maybe Ed will eat the yellow ones.
Call it an amuse bouche. Follow it with dinner at Daniel and that was the first meal in New York City. Canapes and amuses at one of the best restaurants in the city, sauteed foie gras with cherry clafoutis to start and a paupiette of black sea bass. Think of a paupiette as a frilled, fried potato jacket wrapped around a smooth white fish with wide, soft flakes of protein. Like a delicious ocean armadillo. Desserts came in sets of three courtesy of my roommate Karen and her cohorts in the pastry department. Blood orange sorbet, chocolate cremeux, strawberry vacheron, peanut crusted banana, coffee infused ice cream sable sandwich... all mini versions suitable for a tasting menu.
I miss Los Angeles but, this is what I've been waiting for. This is my time to be. Time to ruminate. I met a bunch of investment bankers today. I learned about a financial product called a "derivative." We ate dinner at Barcibo Enoteca (2), an Italian tapas restaurant on the NE corner of Broadway and 69th. I had veal meatball bruschetta and a three cheese panini with mushrooms. Both were savory and soft with crisp bread to balance the texture. For dessert, tiramisu in the raw which was assembled with ladyfingers, a cup of espresso and a bowl of whipped marscapone, cream and sugar with a dusting of cocoa powder. As they inquired of my origins they immediately asked me what I was going to do for work. I told them I wasn't. Are you trying to find a job, they asked. I'm actually not, I replied. They smiled the theoretical admiration of people who would never do what I've done. I suppose since I'm not making $200K/ year, it's easy for me to not care about money because I have so little. It's because they have more that they do care. They have an appreciation for their many hard earned dollars. But to love my life as much as I do, I could tell immediately that that's something they don't have.
(1) Sleepyhead Assassins, a poetry book by Mindy Netifee.
(2) They don't have a website. Come visit me and I will take you there.
Today begins my adventure in New York with all the promise and potential of a first kiss. I'd call today a wink.
I ate Cream of Wheat in the car on the way to the airport this morning. My mother made it with a soup of chicken, pork both salted and plain and a healthy addition of napa cabbage. My father drove fast. My mother drew a happy face on the foggy window with her knuckle. I stared at the San Bernardino mountains for a while. The dog had been clingy as I raced back and forth from my suitcase to my room. He knew I was leaving.
On the plane, more staring at mountains, more strange uncertainty until the plane taxied around a corner on the runway and suddenly gained speed. The rumble of quickness and the thunder of air brought a smile to my face. It was happening. I did it.
On the flight from Denver to New York City, I ate a small bag of small pretzels and sat alone in a row of three seats. I became sleepy and folded my rabbit fur coat into a makeshift pillow and lay my head on the newly decadent aisle seat and "slept the sleep of assassins and kings/ remorseless." (1)
The first thing I ate here was a handful of strawberry Starburst candies. Apparently Karen likes cherry, Nate likes orange and I'm no prognosticator but I'm seeing a lot of lemon Starburst in what I can only describe as something that looks like the garbage can soon. Maybe Ed will eat the yellow ones.
Call it an amuse bouche. Follow it with dinner at Daniel and that was the first meal in New York City. Canapes and amuses at one of the best restaurants in the city, sauteed foie gras with cherry clafoutis to start and a paupiette of black sea bass. Think of a paupiette as a frilled, fried potato jacket wrapped around a smooth white fish with wide, soft flakes of protein. Like a delicious ocean armadillo. Desserts came in sets of three courtesy of my roommate Karen and her cohorts in the pastry department. Blood orange sorbet, chocolate cremeux, strawberry vacheron, peanut crusted banana, coffee infused ice cream sable sandwich... all mini versions suitable for a tasting menu.
I miss Los Angeles but, this is what I've been waiting for. This is my time to be. Time to ruminate. I met a bunch of investment bankers today. I learned about a financial product called a "derivative." We ate dinner at Barcibo Enoteca (2), an Italian tapas restaurant on the NE corner of Broadway and 69th. I had veal meatball bruschetta and a three cheese panini with mushrooms. Both were savory and soft with crisp bread to balance the texture. For dessert, tiramisu in the raw which was assembled with ladyfingers, a cup of espresso and a bowl of whipped marscapone, cream and sugar with a dusting of cocoa powder. As they inquired of my origins they immediately asked me what I was going to do for work. I told them I wasn't. Are you trying to find a job, they asked. I'm actually not, I replied. They smiled the theoretical admiration of people who would never do what I've done. I suppose since I'm not making $200K/ year, it's easy for me to not care about money because I have so little. It's because they have more that they do care. They have an appreciation for their many hard earned dollars. But to love my life as much as I do, I could tell immediately that that's something they don't have.
(1) Sleepyhead Assassins, a poetry book by Mindy Netifee.
(2) They don't have a website. Come visit me and I will take you there.
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