a visit to the Gandi Garden in snow – I am guessing it doesn’t bother him as much as it would me
careful transversing
Did I miss my calling as an old-fashioned beat reporter? Or, more likely as a cub-reporter?
Today I draw on this iconic image. I am forever smitten and inspired by this photo of a young Jacqueline Bouvier as seen in her days as a cub reporter. Now, to use a variation on that infamous quote of Lloyd Bentsen, I’m no Jacqueline Bouvier. But, I get the instinct.
circa 1951 – intent on capturing
What’s your definition of fun on this last snow-covered Saturday of January? For some it’s skating leisurely around Rockefeller Center, tentatively pushing one foot in front of the other in search of that perfect rhythm and form, for some it’s shushing down slopes on boards or skis, wrapped in layers of clothing, helmets, boots and gloves, for others it’s trailing their alma mater’s basketball team on tv or in person, for some it’s gazing upon the last days of the Picasso sculpture exhibit at MOMA. For me it’s just playing in my own little roving reporter mode around my favorite haunts in Manhattan. Am I just bored with January? Well yes, definitely, yet yesterday I found I could actually have fun continuing on my little serial expedition-isms, combing the neighborhoods of Manhattan and serendipitously coming upon little pieces of beauty.
slim but not uninspiring pickins
I was long overdue for an early Saturday morning trek into the City yesterday. I have been suffering from Farmer’s Market-withdrawals lately and needed to seek out one of my favorite venues. As photos from Santa Monica torment and tease, I decided to hit the home of the hearty and devoted, the Big Apple. It was such a sunny Saturday morning that I was in a really good mood as I drove in. I have lately secured a secret parking spot where I can park in two hour intervals for $7. This has become my favorite go-to spot, where I can meander from place to place and not feel like I’m being, well, screwed by other venues for upwards of $50. The Farmer’s Market was bustling for a late January day and I thought I could feel a sharing of the souls of people and their dogs who just had to get out and take in what the vendors had to offer. I mostly saw apples, pears, winter vegetables and the comforting collections of maple syrup, honey and jams. There was the selection of breads and pastries to tempt. Perhaps the most cheery of offerings was the full tray of primroses on the ground under a rolling multi-layered tray. Had I been able to carry it around, I would have quickly taken it.
The Farmer’s Market is a place of undercover conflict for me in January. On one hand, I am heartened to see all the hearty and robust souls whose resolve doesn’t weaken as mine does at this time of year. It is reassuring to me that they are there and yet, I find my heart wandering off to the west coast where, in the likes of Santa Monica I know they are harvesting from the temperate zones, there, where my true psyche resides. I can feel that subtle yearning bordering on bonafide indigestion. Being that I have visited the Santa Barbara and Montecito markets in mid March to find all manner of life and lovely, I know what goes on there. My heart skids……..
Well, anyway- moving on, often when I am in New York City, I come upon a row of trailers taking up coveted parking and blocking the normal course of commerce along the streets and avenues. Groups of people from who knows where are camping upon the streets with an alternate mission – to pretend they are habiting New York and capturing all manner of snippets on their cameras. Yesterday, as I traversed lower Fifth Avenue, I got to take in the shooting of a commercial which I found, wound up taking several hours time and with a contingent of infrastructure, people and props that would make your head spin. There were huge lights on mile high poles, rolling cameras, police starting and stopping foot and car traffic, and the staff calling for the closings and openings – all in an effort to capture a white Cadillac SUV bizzing up and down Fifth Avenue and curling around corners. Hmmm, I thought. This must cost the big bucks. Several questions coursed through my mind, not the least of which was why they’d chosen a white vehicle which, to me was the antithesis of the New York vibe. Mostly I was actually surprised to see the size of the crowd that had coalesced to watch the comings and goings of the driver, cameras and crews. I wondered if this was indeed annoying to the police who’d been assigned to the beat or whether it was more interesting to them than what they’d otherwise be doing on an early Saturday morning.
lovely at Eataly
This was all taken in while I was on a mission, yet again to Eataly, to secure a new supply of choice Mangoes and to, as I formally began the other day, to sample the supposed “Best Hot Chocolates in New York”. Sadly, I have found that the organic mango supply from Equador has fallen off – to only be replaced by hard, dark green examples – and most telling of which, had zero fragrance. Yes, nowadays you’ll catch me sniffing mangoes in stores. I was instantly disappointed as I wandered, took in the makings of the daily fresh mozzarella, and finally wound up in the line at the door-adjacent coffee counter as I eyed the pastries in search of Pain au Chocolat (um, no) and promptly began to question the lady behind the counter about the difference between the hot chocolate and the Cafe Mocha which had cold chocolate. After an unintelligible response, she told me the chocolate was a special order from Lavazza and after I ventured to ask yet another question, was told that no, they did not sell it in the store. Careful not to annoy any bonafide New Yorkers who were waiting behind me in the line, some who were looking quite desperately in need of big caffeine, I quickly recovered my senses and ordered a hot chocolate (medium) with whipped cream. This came to me at a relatively nominal price, at least compared to City Bakery’s $7. avec marshmallow, as I paid less than $4. I was pretty well contented.
this was indeed delicious once it fell down to a palatable temperature
Out the door I went and traversed back down Broadway to see if I could score any mangoes at Dean and Deluca. It was a nice enough day to wander down to Prince Street in a leisurely manner.
inhaling happy colors
do you notice that Bergamots are $10 a pound at Eataly and $5 a pound at Dean and Deluca? Honestly, I have found that Eataly prices are not out of line – having scored several batches of organic mangoes for $2.50 each, which I don’t think is bad at all.
The cup in my hand felt pretty warm, so I waited what I thought was an intelligent amount of time before I calculated that if I took a sip through the whipped cream, it would be cool enough to swallow. What happened next was alarming. The hot chocolate was so hot it scorched the inside of my mouth and before I could think that the smartest thing to do was actually spit it out – right there on the the street, or at least into a trash container, I swallowed. Yikes, it burned the back of my mouth and the top of my esophagus like I could not remember anything ever doing. I, indeed should have gone back and issued a warning to the vendor that they shouldn’t do this to anyone else lest they wind up in a McDonald’s-coffee-type law suit. Holy Cow. Well, I can tell you I wandered for several blocks afterward with the lid off the cup before I ventured back into that one. Literally about 20 minutes later I felt safe in “drinking” my hot chocolate.
I spent several hours combing about, visiting several bakeries and eyeing their offerings. I didn’t succumb yesterday – but these looked particularly good:
the almond croissants at Bread’s
But, if I had to name my absolute favorite find of the day, it would have to be this amazing vintage poster which is up for auction today at Rennert’s on West 17th:
This is a full-size poster in impeccable condition that I would have scoffed up in a minute had it been in my price-range. I left the gallery with a heavy heart.
Walking through SOHO I snapped this iconic memory:
not many were pausing to take this in, but for me this calls in many memories
reminiscent of France
All in all, I came up with a sufficient if not satisfying bucket of entertainment. Not bad for the last Saturday in January. Light, bright, overflowing. Here’s hoping that February will pass by as quickly and sustainably so, and March, too for that matter.