Kate Moss saves Chico’s…sort of

Today, I took a shapeless, elastic-waisted skirt in a forgettable floral print and turned it to something that no longer belongs in my “For Salvation Army” pile.  For years, this (formerly) unfortunate Chico’s skirt hung forlorn and neglected in the back of my closet, and more recently, in a brown paper bag marked for donation.  My mom had found it at a secondhand store and bought it for me because “but I thought you liked long floral skirts!”  She was right – I did like them – back when I was in 8th grade and I’d wear them with Doc Martens. Plus it was Chico’s… not really my cuppa tea.

The first time I had heard of Chico’s was when I moved to the U.S. for college, and would spend hours in front of the TV catching up on years of missed American programming.  This included cheesy daytime soaps and trashy talk shows, peppered with commercials for stay-at-home mom-friendly brands.  I don’t know if anyone remembers the old Chico’s commercials, but they were always so corny: woman in mid-30’s standing on a rock on the beach, talking about how it’s a “Chico’s kind of day.”  Eeek.. I cringe at the memory.

The other day, I was sorting one last time through my donations and I dug up this skirt.  As I held it up to the light squinting, for a brief second I caught a glimpse of Kate Moss boho-meets-rocker-chic potential.  I was intrigued, so I put myself to the task of testing the vision.   It was really just a matter of subtracting some sweet by adding some edge: white boyfriend tank, favorite Helmut Lang black button shirt with the sleeves rolled up,vintage leather/leopard print belt, antique-gold chain and shoes for the occasion– dusty gold skimmers for day or sexy gladiator sandals for night.

I have to say, the test was a personal success in that not only have I decided to keep the skirt – I’m actually really looking forward to wearing it.

Um, sorry Salvation Army.

6.17.09

New blue

Blue and I have a complex history.  For a brief time in my childhood it was my favorite color.  For most of my life it’s been my least favorite.  And little-by-little, over the course of about 2 years, I’ve slowly begun to regain respect for this hue in a highly unexpected way.

The story goes like this:  blue was my favorite color from about ages 8-11, mostly because it felt “cooler” than pink, which was starting to feel babyish at the time.  Then I began taking art classes and became very familiar with the color wheel and playing around with shades – and I grew a particular distaste for aqua/cerulean/baby blue shades, all of which felt  artificial, flat, and plastic.   I began discovering way cooler non-pink colors like slate gray and olive green and taupe.  And then, blue started to feel…well, rather pedestrian.  So I dismissed it for a long time.

The rekindling began very subtly, with navy, because it wasn’t overtly blue and was a sophisticated alternative to black, or even better when paired with.  Prussian came back into the picture too, with a lovely hand-me-down scarf from my mother, with a Burberry-esque plaid print.  Royal blue was a distinct blue-purchase last December, in the form of a silk, 80’s style secretary dress on sale at Banana Republic at a price that could not be ignored.  And then came Kate Winslet in her cobalt blue Oscar dress this past Spring, and it was at that moment that I was ready to admit that I liked blue again.

A month ago, while scouring Shopstyle.com for harem pants (another current obsession), I came across a watery, storm-blue silk pleated pant by Maje, that had to be mine.  In 2 days I was holding it – fluid, drapey raw silk, high-waisted and cinched with an elegant sash.  I keep the pants clipped on my very best pant-hanger, on the one hook on the inside of my closet door so that I can see them, alone and beautiful, every time I open my closet.

I wear them with a simple, thin, white tank tucked in, and merchandise it with just one accessory – sexy Russian Red lipstick from MAC.  Absolute perfection.

Mint chocolate chip ice cream

It’s terribly difficult for me to say no to ice cream, especially when it’s mint chocolate chip in the summer.  There’s something so perfect about that combination of cool and creamy when the weather is warm and you’re out for a post-dinner stroll.  I went with the kiddy-sized cup and the guy packed it to the edges, leaving me feeling particularly indulged and somewhat childish in my delight with that.  But the best part was that it came with a long, parfait-style spoon.  I am bizarrely obsessed with long stemmed utensils.  They feel elegant…and they also keep a safe distance from stickiness (I always eat my oatmeal with a long stemmed spoon).  And I absolutely loved the pink color of the spoon against the mint green of the ice cream– it reminded me of my bedroom when I was little.  I made it home just as the rain drops started, and even managed to save my last bite for a picture.

Sweet scarcity

Nevermind the fact that I’ve been in the business of advertising for 6 years– tell a girl that something has “limited” availability and any sense of reason simply vanishes.  Such was the case a few Saturdays ago when an innocent and wide-eyed tourist (me) was instantly convinced that fruit-filled mochi was the only thing worth having at a food market literally teeming with culinary options.

The KCC Farmer’s Market was on our agenda from the second I booked my plane ticket to Honolulu, Hawaii.  C had already been and told me all about it– we couldn’t stop chattering about all the things we had to eat together– the pesto-mac pizza, the ginger-fizz cooler, the lumpias, fried green tomatoes, corn– the options were overwhelming.  I couldn’t get over C’s claims that KCC put Union Square Greenmarket to shame– a bold statment for a girl who rarely disaparages anything associated with NYC.  I was beyond intrigued.

When we finally arrived and saw the masses of people moving from tent to tent, I started panicking– where would we start? What should we eat? Is everything gone? It was only 9:30 AM, and I’m not used to having such a strong sense of urgency on a Saturday morning.  In any case, we decided to simply follow our vision…and sense of smell…the former kicked in first when C spotted the  mochi table and remembered reading about the famous Fresh Strawberry Mochi– the one that’s oh-so-hard to get, made in limited quanties for the Saturday morning KCC crowd, the one that we just HAD to try because if we missed out I’d have to wait until my next visit to have it which may not be for another year and oh my god I hope we’re not too late.  There were 2 containers left, 2 mochis in each, and we each got one.

Good god, Fresh Strawberry Mochi…how can I describe this joyful little pouch…this little bundle of heaven…let me count the ways:

Surrounding mochi: chewy, velvety, pillowy, so pleasantly pliant

Azuki bean layer: chocolate-hued bite of perfectly pasted sweet bean bliss

Fresh strawberry center: ruby-colored fruit gem, sweet, juicy, the f-in jackpot

The verdict: I felt powerful for having gotten it before it ran out, and pity for those who hadn’t.  It was the perfect thing to eat at 9:30AM in a tropical paradise.

Oh, and P.S.  Cherry tomatoes from KCC make a great beach snack:

Coffee Break

With lousy news comes excellent coffee, because what better way is there to deal? When I find myself in the deepest pits of work-related pessimism, I like to escape to Joe’s at Grand Central and immerse myself in a rich, dark, robust Americano Misto that is topped with a light frothy foam that is branded with an adorably-optimistic heart, all created by the hands of my friendly, artistic neighborhood barista. Amazing how coffee and hearts help put things in perspective.

The french cookie that lives on 23rd street

West 23rd Street and the surrounding area is quite unique: part strip mall with its cityfied Home Depot, Olive Garden & Best Buy, part community housing for the creative-types in the Chelsea Hotel or the visually-impaired at Associated Blind Housing, utter chaos with all types of cars racing down the massive two-way street, sirens shrieking, cars honking, people smoking and laughing outside Gotham Comedy Club. And, nestled somewhere between Duane Reade and Garden of Eden is a little bakery with bright purple awning, called Madeleine Patisserie.

Once upon a time, this charming little French cafe was a sad, dingy little clothing store that sold cheap clothes on wire hangers. Today, Madeleine Patisserie sells beautiful, scrumptious French pastries, and has lines to the door with people waiting to order these teeny-tiny cookies called macarons. No, not the spiky little coconut styrofoam balls– macarons are completely different. These are delicate cookies with a wonderfully thin, crispy outer shell encasing two soft, chewy cookies that sandwich a silky smooth filling. They come in flavors like Caramel Fleur de Sel , Apricot and Champagne, Chocolate Rum Coconut, Pistachio, Lavendar, Rose…in all colors of the rainbow.

My favorite is Cassis: a chic, smokey-purple cookie exterior that crumbles away to reveal a delectable berry filling, hints of creamy vanilla offsetting the fruity tang. It’s a fascinating marriage of textures– crisp yet soft, airy yet moist, with a deep flavor that fills your whole mouth.

It’s just…lovely. I’ll leave it at that.

Madeleine Patisserie

132 West 23rd Street (between 6th & 7th Avenues)

New York, NY 10011

Latkefest 15

So, here’s what I know: balance is the key to everything.  I know, not a novel concept, but it is a notion worth reconsidering when you’re pondering why, exactly, latkes are so good.  They start with the humblest of ingredients: potatoes, onions, and flour—fried in lard.  But then, atop the crispy golden lacy tangle of potatoes comes a perfectly tart dollop of sour cream and a warmly-spiced smattering of applesauce that cuts through all that oil as if that blue Crisco barrel was just a figment of your imagination.  See that balance right there? That is precisely what makes one think that one can eat 11 latkes without consequence.  That, and burning calories with an intense, muscle-flexing hour of dreidel.  Jeff, looking forward to Latkefest 16…

Finally Friday Pasta

Wow… it’s been a long time. So long that I’ve had to re-learn how to post. Didn’t take too long to refresh my memory, though I’m still getting used to the new picture uploading process. Anywho – it’s good to be back. And it took a special day to get me to return.

FRIDAY. Say it with me, people: Fher-ri-ee-day. The kind of Friday that unfolds and reveals itself oh-so-slowly…taking its sweet time to arrive after one of those weeks that refuse to end. This one started out quiet and cold with the promise of snow, and by lunch the streets were covered in white. By 4 o’clock I was biting my nails, desperate to leave so that I could just go home, crack open a bottle of wine, cook something warm and wind down from one of the craziest work weeks I’ve had in a long time.

Halfway into the Shuttle ride from Grand Central to Times Square, I decided on pasta. Herby and garlicky, with spicy sausage…maybe some Pecorino grated on top? And then I suddenly remembered a post I saw on Serious Eats yesterday, for one of my favorite dishes – Pasta all’Amatriciana. Immediately I decided I would add tomato to my pasta. And sausage could take the place of the guanciale (read: bacon-supremo-caloric-suicide). It was settled.

30 minutes later, after a quick stop at Whole Foods and my favorite wine shop Landmark Wine, I was sipping on a glass of red, nibbling on Pecorino, slicing into garlic and boiling fresh spinach fettucine. Another 20 minutes later, I sank into my couch with a bowl of hot deliciousness balanced on my knees and thanked the universe for blessing the world with the 5th day.

Finally Friday Pasta – adapted from Serious Eats and Babbo.com

Ingredients (2 servings)

1/4 pound spicy Italian sausage cut into small pieces
2 cloves garlic, sliced thinly
1/2 large red onion, halved lengthwise and sliced 1/4-inch thick
1 teaspoon hot red pepper flakes
Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
12 oz. tomato sauce
6 oz. fresh spinach fettucine
1/2 cup flat-leaf parsley
Pecorino Romano cheese, for grating

Cooking Directions:

1. Boil a pot of water for the pasta.

2. In the meantime, heat a large skillet over medium heat and add the sausage, red onion, garlic, and chili flakes.

3. Cook until the onions turn semi-soft and the sausage is slightly browned. Add the tomato sauce. Simmer for 5 minutes.

4. Cook the (fresh) pasta for 5 minutes/al dente and drain. Add the pasta to the tomato sauce, adding pasta water if necessary. Toss. Add parsley. Toss again. Grate over Pecorino cheese.

5. Be happy.

The muffin that didn’t deliver

So, I’ve been pretty positive in my blog thus far (save for one passionate expression of disgust). In fact, for those of you who remember Alec Baldwin’s guest appearance on Friends, at one point I feared I was starting to sound like Parker. The truth is that not everything is wine and roses, and it was never my plan to only talk about the good-tasting.

This evening, as I was scrolling through some of the working photos/posts I have in queue, I came across this muffin photo – unviewed, ignored, and evoking feelings of mild irritation from the lackluster impact it left on me when I ate it for breakfast almost 2 months ago. I haven’t had any desire to write about it because there wasn’t anything great to say – and then it dawned on me that I had adopted some strange, unintentional pattern of optimism in my posts. I made the decision right there to feature more objective evaluations moving forward – and I’d begin with Le Pain Quotidien’s Blueberry Muffin.

I was interested in this muffin from the start – I pass by Le Pain Quotidien pretty often and every time I would see those craggly, blueberry-studded mountain caps I was captivated. And to be fair, the rustic, sugar-crusted tops did have a pretty cool texture – but everything else fell flat. There was no life to the taste at all – the blueberries were just there, trapped in a dry batter, deceptively promising in their giant size…but they were deflated, un-punchy…kind of like poor, sagging, day-after-your-birthday balloons.

The crumb had a strange damp-stale texture. Though there was no crumbling – when I broke off chunks they held together fine – it was not moist in a way that yielded any sort of satisfaction. With the whole grains, I knew it was meant to be and taste of a “healthy” sort of muffin – which is fine, I am all for “healthy” – but it so lacked the fresh, sprightly taste that one expects from wholesome, healthy ingredients that I just found myself feeling annoyed at the thought of all the delicious muffins in this city that I could be eating instead. When it comes to baked goods, the opportunity cost can be high.

Though I was disappointed that they didn’t deliver, in my own sick way I was slightly relieved because the last thing I need is another baked good to get hooked on.

Le Pain Quotidien

124 7th Avenue (between 17th & 18th)

New York, NY 10011

A gift of chocolate

Last week, I was given a box of chocolate – literally. Four semi-sweet chocolate walls that formed a box filled with rich, fluffy milk chocolate mousse and sweet raspberries peeking out underneath a chocolate lid with a decorative chocolate and edible gold leaf handle.

I was simply delighted when it was set in front of me. It was more than just being excited about dessert – it was the fact that I was presented with a chocolate box – complete and packaged, mine to own and consume from start to finish. I had received a gift, and it was pretty, and it was edible and delicious, and it was mine (god that sounds materialistic and gluttonous, but it’s the truth).

This dessert, in taste and form, encapsulates the thought behind my blog: total preoccupation with the consumption– physical/visceral/intellectual/emotional– of “things.” Validating a theory that as creditable human beings, we desire not only the things needed for decent life, but something extra, something superfluous or sentimental or luxurious. Something to add “oomph” to our existence beyond the biological, to remind us that we are part of a social construct where there is a consumption and exchange of material goods and sentimental gestures.

So back to last week – at the annual Catalyst Award gala at the Waldorf=Astoria, 1600 people were given a box of chocolate at the end of their meal, and it was a beautiful presentation. It was also undeniably superfluous and totally luxurious…it was delectable, and I loved it!

Janet- thanks for the photo (and the company)!