There is a song currently emanating from the radios of 14 year-olds everywhere by Jordin Sparks and Chris Brown. It's called "No Air" and it's about being in love to the point where your paramour's affections become as necessary as air. It's growing on me as I listen to it here in Aspen. Or maybe it's because I'm delirious from the altitude and the fact that I literally have NO AIR because at this height, the oxygen content of the air is 53% of what it is at sea level. I'm huffing and puffing all day.
The weather is beautiful and I write to you from the balcony of my room at the Aspen Meadows Resort. Thanks to my job and the good people at Food and Wine magazine who sponsor the event which I'm attending, I'm able to gaze at snow covered mountains riddled with dark green pines and yet wear my pajamas outside in the sun as tourists play guitar on the grass below.
We arrived on Thursday afternoon into the valley of this mountain range and had dinner at Cache Cache with Dan Phillips of The Grateful Palate. The restaurant was bustling with locals and visitors alike. I started with a lovely beet salad with goat cheese, mixed greens and a light lemon-truffle vinaigrette. I veered off the beaten path and ordered house smoked salmon and a seared foie gras appetizer for my duo-app entree. The salmon was soft and fishy with tart creme fraiche and accompaniments like capers, onion and chive. The foie was delicious as foie always is (except at eat. on sunset... what a mistake!) For dessert, a trio of ice creams - vanilla, chocolate and a fresh mint and chocolate chip which sorely disappointed me because the chocolate chips were not meant for ice cream and tasted like bits of brown crayon.
Yesterday, lunch was enjoyed at Boogie's Diner where a truly American tasting was ordered. Chili cheese fries, a cheeseburger and a meatloaf sandwich were split between my boss and me. Both of us becoming lethargic and stoney by late afternoon. I splurged on a strawberry malt which was pink and doughy but in a good way.
Back in LA, I left my car in the care of a friend who noticed my tire to be a little flat so he added a few PSI to it. I could certainly use a bit of that here.
More later!
Friday, June 13, 2008
Monday, June 9, 2008
"112th and Central Park West, please."
It's the last time I'll utter those words for a while.
I'm leaving on a jet plane in a few hours and once again, I'm saying goodbye to the city. But this trip has made it clear to me that one day, I must be back here. Hopefully I'll have found a job and be living in an apartment I like and maybe, if I'm lucky, be in love as well.
My first destination yesterday afternoon after a lazy morning under the hot sun of my apartment window was the Korin store on Warren Street. Surrounded by so many professional chefs, I've learned that a good knife is the start to good cooking so I bought my first "real" knife, a 210mm Togiharu gyutou. It's a carbon steel knife which means it will rust if I don't use it but it also means that it keeps its edge just a little bit longer. Good thing because I tend to lose my edge when I'm back in the confines of Hollywood wonderland Los Angeles. I've been taught how to sharpen the blade and as soon as I get a stone, the smell of my own blood mixed with iron will fill the air of my new apartment. That's how you know you're doing it right.
From Korin I wandered to the Lower East Side to stop into one of my favorite boutiques called Honey in the Rough. Ashley, the curly-haired proprietor of the store is on vacation so I didn't get to thank her in person for the postcard she sent me in LA thanking me for my purchases. The streets emanated the heat of the reflected sun, concrete hoarding the warmth of the day only to release it through the night. I made my way north to the East Village where I met Felipe and friends at Luzzo's for pizza and conversation. It just sort of happened. The Caesar salad Felipe and I shared was delicious with a slick, fishy dressing and hard, crunchy croutons. Two pizzas were ordered, a Tartufata and an Arugola, and both were incredible. Just as I remembered.
I shopped at Filene's Basement in Union Square and had a late night snack with my roommate Karen at Pongsri Thai on 23rd and 7th. She had pad thai with tofu and I pad see-ew with tofu and we chatted about our lives. Returning to the apartment, Karen lasted nary 15 minutes before passing out and I took phone calls from friends who needed to be caught up.
This morning, I left for A Tempo, a boutique on the Upper West Side which had a necklace I needed for a friend. From there I wandered along Amsterdam and Broadway and picked up the necessary items for tonight's event.. mainly I needed baby powder because I was so sweaty all day and a nail clipper. I met Felipe at Niko's on 76th and Broadway for a quick Greek plate of antipasti. I haven't had good Greek food in a month and I was really hurting for some tarama and hummus.
It was then time to pretty-up for the James Beard Awards, the reason I was back. Felipe helped me with my dress and out the door into the 90 degrees we went. We hailed a cab and stopped at a Starbucks before I walked up the red carpet to go know what I needed to know. Outside Starbucks, Felipe and I encountered Bruce Willis, Demi Moore and two of their children. I didn't recognize them as I was focused on my tall iced green tea latte but heard Demi's voice and turned to see Felipe's face in that controlled expressive state of surprise.
He left me at the awards while I waited for my new boss to arrive and watched chef after chef walk the red carpet and stop for paparazzi and interviewers galore. Food is big now, friends. Bigger than most people would have expected. Big to the point where there's actually a red carpet now at Lincoln Center which is traversed by the cooks we've exhalted and the people they've fed or wed or hired to help them.
The ceremony was filled with tributes and acknowledgments. It was kind and respectful and full of admiration. There were famous chefs, products of the Food Network star-making machine (Bobby Flay.) There were badass chefs who ran about the stage as if they'd owned it their whole lives (Masaharu Morimoto and Michel Richard.) There were chefs who spoke calmly to a crowd rapt by their words (Thomas Keller and Grant Achatz.) It was a black tie affair with all the hype of a big splashy awards show except the catering at this event was probably better than anything the Oscars has ever seen.
My chef did not win the award for which he was nominated but he was unfazed. It's still about the cooking afterall and the family he has built in the restaurants he has opened. At the reception after the show, it was all about eating and drinking and hugging old friends. For me, I just tried to be useful by remembering names and polite by not speaking with my mouth full and graceful by not stepping on the train of the red BCBG Max Azria gown I wore while holding clutch purse and programs in one hand, food and drink in the other. In my patent leather blush pink heels. The ones Chef Dong Choi calls "ridiculous."
I left the party around 11pm and walked alone to the line of taxis waiting to ferry revelers to their hotels and homes. I gave the driver my destination and as we drove north along Amsterdam Avenue, I kid you not, the lights turned green one after another as we approached every street. Sixty blocks and we only stopped once.
I leave in 7 hours and I should be asleep now but the lingering warmth of the day has permeated into night and my room is too stuffy for comfort. And part of me, a small bit, doesn't want this to end, this love affair. Until I find my person in life, I will always pine for the city where I loved to be. I will come back to it and for it.
I'm leaving on a jet plane in a few hours and once again, I'm saying goodbye to the city. But this trip has made it clear to me that one day, I must be back here. Hopefully I'll have found a job and be living in an apartment I like and maybe, if I'm lucky, be in love as well.
My first destination yesterday afternoon after a lazy morning under the hot sun of my apartment window was the Korin store on Warren Street. Surrounded by so many professional chefs, I've learned that a good knife is the start to good cooking so I bought my first "real" knife, a 210mm Togiharu gyutou. It's a carbon steel knife which means it will rust if I don't use it but it also means that it keeps its edge just a little bit longer. Good thing because I tend to lose my edge when I'm back in the confines of Hollywood wonderland Los Angeles. I've been taught how to sharpen the blade and as soon as I get a stone, the smell of my own blood mixed with iron will fill the air of my new apartment. That's how you know you're doing it right.
From Korin I wandered to the Lower East Side to stop into one of my favorite boutiques called Honey in the Rough. Ashley, the curly-haired proprietor of the store is on vacation so I didn't get to thank her in person for the postcard she sent me in LA thanking me for my purchases. The streets emanated the heat of the reflected sun, concrete hoarding the warmth of the day only to release it through the night. I made my way north to the East Village where I met Felipe and friends at Luzzo's for pizza and conversation. It just sort of happened. The Caesar salad Felipe and I shared was delicious with a slick, fishy dressing and hard, crunchy croutons. Two pizzas were ordered, a Tartufata and an Arugola, and both were incredible. Just as I remembered.
I shopped at Filene's Basement in Union Square and had a late night snack with my roommate Karen at Pongsri Thai on 23rd and 7th. She had pad thai with tofu and I pad see-ew with tofu and we chatted about our lives. Returning to the apartment, Karen lasted nary 15 minutes before passing out and I took phone calls from friends who needed to be caught up.
This morning, I left for A Tempo, a boutique on the Upper West Side which had a necklace I needed for a friend. From there I wandered along Amsterdam and Broadway and picked up the necessary items for tonight's event.. mainly I needed baby powder because I was so sweaty all day and a nail clipper. I met Felipe at Niko's on 76th and Broadway for a quick Greek plate of antipasti. I haven't had good Greek food in a month and I was really hurting for some tarama and hummus.
It was then time to pretty-up for the James Beard Awards, the reason I was back. Felipe helped me with my dress and out the door into the 90 degrees we went. We hailed a cab and stopped at a Starbucks before I walked up the red carpet to go know what I needed to know. Outside Starbucks, Felipe and I encountered Bruce Willis, Demi Moore and two of their children. I didn't recognize them as I was focused on my tall iced green tea latte but heard Demi's voice and turned to see Felipe's face in that controlled expressive state of surprise.
He left me at the awards while I waited for my new boss to arrive and watched chef after chef walk the red carpet and stop for paparazzi and interviewers galore. Food is big now, friends. Bigger than most people would have expected. Big to the point where there's actually a red carpet now at Lincoln Center which is traversed by the cooks we've exhalted and the people they've fed or wed or hired to help them.
The ceremony was filled with tributes and acknowledgments. It was kind and respectful and full of admiration. There were famous chefs, products of the Food Network star-making machine (Bobby Flay.) There were badass chefs who ran about the stage as if they'd owned it their whole lives (Masaharu Morimoto and Michel Richard.) There were chefs who spoke calmly to a crowd rapt by their words (Thomas Keller and Grant Achatz.) It was a black tie affair with all the hype of a big splashy awards show except the catering at this event was probably better than anything the Oscars has ever seen.
My chef did not win the award for which he was nominated but he was unfazed. It's still about the cooking afterall and the family he has built in the restaurants he has opened. At the reception after the show, it was all about eating and drinking and hugging old friends. For me, I just tried to be useful by remembering names and polite by not speaking with my mouth full and graceful by not stepping on the train of the red BCBG Max Azria gown I wore while holding clutch purse and programs in one hand, food and drink in the other. In my patent leather blush pink heels. The ones Chef Dong Choi calls "ridiculous."
I left the party around 11pm and walked alone to the line of taxis waiting to ferry revelers to their hotels and homes. I gave the driver my destination and as we drove north along Amsterdam Avenue, I kid you not, the lights turned green one after another as we approached every street. Sixty blocks and we only stopped once.
I leave in 7 hours and I should be asleep now but the lingering warmth of the day has permeated into night and my room is too stuffy for comfort. And part of me, a small bit, doesn't want this to end, this love affair. Until I find my person in life, I will always pine for the city where I loved to be. I will come back to it and for it.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
a month and a day
I'm back in the space where I used to lay. I'm sitting in my bed in my apartment in Manhattan. In the apartment I still rent. For a month and three days, I'm bi-coastal.
The smells are familiar. The soap from my roommates' bathroom. The trees across the street. The stillness of humid summer air in the stairwell. I've missed this city.
When I first got back to LA, I immediately felt the absence of skyscrapers and beveled windows. But my time here was so short relative to my life there that moments arose when I had to remind myself that I once lived in this city. That I used to be a New Yorker. I was so happy to see my friends who had celebrated my departure with hope and encouragement. It felt right to be back but now that I'm here again, I'm all goopy inside. And it's not the H and H bagel with cream cheese and smoked salmon I just devoured. Nor is it the jet lag. It's the ache of knowing that I will have to leave brokenhearted.
The smells are familiar. The soap from my roommates' bathroom. The trees across the street. The stillness of humid summer air in the stairwell. I've missed this city.
When I first got back to LA, I immediately felt the absence of skyscrapers and beveled windows. But my time here was so short relative to my life there that moments arose when I had to remind myself that I once lived in this city. That I used to be a New Yorker. I was so happy to see my friends who had celebrated my departure with hope and encouragement. It felt right to be back but now that I'm here again, I'm all goopy inside. And it's not the H and H bagel with cream cheese and smoked salmon I just devoured. Nor is it the jet lag. It's the ache of knowing that I will have to leave brokenhearted.
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