Karma

This morning, Christina and I spotted the perfect parking spot in front of the Container Store. We were at a red light and just as the light was about to change, a taxi pulled up beside of me and took the spot. I actually yelled at him out loud, as in "That's my spot, you fucker!" — forgetting Christina was in the car with me. This unfortunately led us to 45 mintues of driving around looking for a spot, with streets being closed off in the interim, so that Manhattan can have even more condos being built. I did not even have any candy in the car, and the radio does not work, so I was completely on the verge of losing all sanity. And since the spot hunt took so long, Christina and I could not get our nails done before the shower.

Now, this makes us sound like we are sort of prima donnas, which is not the case. For me to get my nails done it involves them trimming my nails and just hacking off all of the dead skin and gross cuticle stuff. No polish, not even clear. I guess I must abuse my hands because I actually have to go once a week to have this done.

So my hands felt like a giant, nasty hangnail, all day long. I could barely stand it. (I ate lots of chips to compensate.) After the baby shower, I had to get my nails cut immediately. So I drove around the block, and found a spot a block away on the corner of 8th Avenue at 21st Street. Ok, so it was two blocks away. But when I got out of the car to stick quarters in the meter, I realized that the meter was BROKEN! I actually screamed with delight, and the homeless person near me might have thought I was deranged.

I think this might be how someone is trying to convince me not to leave New York.

For new job snacking...

...or perhaps to combat road rage, while driving to the orientation in New Jersey — Dana was so awesome as to make sure all of my needs were covered. Lip balm, haribo bears, organic peppermints. Wow!

A new stage of life

Although I am still in the phase of life where all of my friends are getting married (on average, Kenny and I have been attending at least six weddings a year), we have now segued into that phase where it seems like everyone we know is pregnant. Seriously, seven friends are pregnant! ( want to say, "How did this happen?!" I mean, I know how it happened, but I mean, how did we get to this point in our lives so quickly?) Perhaps it was the lure of having a golden pig child, with its provision of good fortune and good luck:

Chinese Zodiac says that the Year of the Golden Fire Pig comes only once every 600 years and rumor has it, 2007 is this special year. It is Golden because the combination of elemental Fire, the sign Pig, and Yin/Yang components bring this year once every six centuries!

It is said that children born under this sign will live in comfort as wealth and luck are always near.

So, with that being said, we went to Eva's baby shower in New Jersey today. We only got lost once, which is a minor miracle for car travel in New Jersey. I only gave two seperate drivers the finger on the way, and only had like two melt downs. (One involved me calling Kenny to tell him that have to move, away from the traffic in the awful city known as New York.) However, the shower highlight was seeing Eva in all of her pregnant glory.

Eva looks so great here so I had to show this picture, despite the fact that my dress makes me look like a grape about to squashed for a shiraz.

I am a painter

This morning, I woke up at 8:30am. And although I was feeling a bit under the weather, I decided to rest up and just prime the homasote wall in our office. So without even combing a set of really big snarls out of my hair or even brushing my teeth, I tackled the wall. Halfway through the job, I suddenly became ravenous and ransacked the fridge for some dark chocolate. Three squares [of chocolate] was all I needed, in order to paint the second piece of homasote.

I am really happy with how it turned out. Tomorrow, I am going to actually paint it, so that it matches the wall color, which is White.

Views from my roof [deck]

One of those twirly air vent things.

The sun setting over Red Hook.

My garden

I had initially planned on growing my organic english shelling peas #9 on our patio, but the window boxes looked a little cheap and tacky out there. All I needed was a garden gnome and one of those wizard balls, and I would be totally straight out of Hartford, Connecticut. So, I moved the peas up to a secluded spot on our roof, next to a series of air-conditioner units. And they seemed much more in their element up there, like plastic window boxes go well with the asbestos roof tiling or something. According to the seed packets, in exactly 58 days, I should have actual peas. I cannot wait!

I'm not sure what I was thinking

This morning, I saw my packets of peas and tomatoes in the kitchen drawer and realized that I needed to actually plant them before another year goes by and I miss my opportunity. So I set out on my bike to go to the garden store, amongst other errands. I bought five window boxes and two huge bags of dirt and then was wondering how I was going to transport it all home on my bike. The dirt was shoved into my backpack, but the window boxes proved to be a bit problematic. I thought that they would be smaller and lighter, but up close that did not seem to be the case. The garden store guy tied them together for me, and then I got out to my bike and tried to figure out how to get them home, without it looking like I had no idea what I was doing. They would not fit on the luggage rack. And I tried to carry them in one hand and ride my bike, but that proved to be impossible. So, I tied them to my backpack and rode off down Fulton Street with five window boxes tied to my back.

Not that I am home, I am wishing that the window boxes were teak.

It's 11:11, make a wish

prologue Today, I thought for sure, I would have a happy green day. I wore a green skirt, and a green tee shirt (that still smells like the Dominican Republic, which is another happy thing that I will go into detail about another day) with a green cashmere sweater on top, green clogs and my green puffy down jacket. (Mind you, none of those greens were the same shade.) I was like a walking blade of grass. Or a strip of sod, is probably more like it.

For my second lunch, I had the sweet green pea soup from Columbine (which is a close tie for first place, neck and neck with the tomato soup at 'wichcraft). I even made a spring vegetable risotto for dinner with green beans, peas and asparagus. And while there were a few moments of delight at my entire green day, I think overall, it gave me stomach ache. For real. I could not really enjoy my favorite color because my stomach was like four sizes larger than normal.

But after dinner was over, and after two hours of watching some show on catching Alsakan king crabs in the Bering Sea, and after I had cleaned all of the burners on the stove, I decided to make some blueberry pancakes for my breakfast tomorrow. I do not know what it is about me and making food, but there is something so calming about cooking. It is like an edible mediation. Or the act of preparing food is the meditation, and eating it, well, that is the offering part, I guess. It is like if everyone found their bluebberry pancake making at 11pm thing, this world would be such a nicer place. I would not say I had a transcendental moment this evening, but I felt peaceful. And then I noticed it was 11:11pm.

This has been my moment — ever since Adam Darby taught me about 11:11 my freshman year in college. But only when I happen to catch it on a digital clock. Every time I see 11:11, I always make the same prayer to whomever happens to be listening to prayers at that time. I always wish that all of my friends and loved ones are happy and blessed with healthy, long lives. And I then I wish for a lifetime of happiness, too.

A Tomato Sort of Day

Sometimes, I am a tomato fan. But most times, I add them to my salads and then spend the greater part of my meal dutifully eating around them. So that when I am done, I am left with a bowl full of forlorn grape tomatoes. Mostly, I like the idea of tomatoes. And I do eat them...when they are extremely fresh, and smell of that unexplicable tomato smell that makes your hands sort of stink in a tomato-y kind of way. But since that smell only occurs with tomatoes grown in your background or ones purchased from the farmer's market, I rarely eat a raw tomato when it's not tomato time. But these cherry tomatoes grabbed my attention at Fairway. They looked cheerful and happy and like that might actually taste nice. So today, I added them to my tuna pasta salad. And I did not manouever around them while eating. I actually ate all of the tomatoes in my bowl. Surprisingly, they tasted as nice as they looked. Which was a bonus.

I was riding my bike home from watching the afternoon matinee (that was not a matinee price, sadly) of The Namesake, at BAM and I saw this great ivy-covered house on the corner of Fulton and Cumberland Streets. It looks like it ought to be in England, right? Well, its not. Because right around the corner from this mini piece of dreamy looking ivy league is the requisite series of Brooklyn housing projects. I think that is what makes Brooklyn Brooklyn. It's like, we've got ivy league AND urban. I don't think that Oxford can compare.

Edward Scissorhands

Tonight, Helen and I went to go see Edward Scissorhands at BAM. Marco was playing the keyboard in the orchestra, and so we went to hear him play, first and foremost. Before the house lights went down we spotted Marco in the pit, and waved madly until he waved back. We are so embarrassing.

For some reason, I had thought it was going to be a musical. And I pretty much hate musicals. Plots being sung really bother me. But this was such a splendid surprise because there was NO singing at all! It was music and dancing, only. And also fabulous lighting and set design. And really cool swirly skirted costumes that made me wish I was a dancer, so I could wear an outfit like that. The dancers themselves were quite fabulous — in a very fluid and sensual-smooth sort of modern dance way. I am so happy that I was able to have the chance to see the performance. I had just read all about Matthew Bourne in a recent issue of The New Yorker (read it here), so it was nice to see the performance after reading all about his style of production and choreography.

A little something light

The first layer of lemon curd.

Lemon Curd. Rhubarb Cream. Lemon Curd.

Lemon Curd. Rhubarb Cream. Lemon Curd. Rhubard Cream.
Covered in whipped cream.

A little too much filling, perhaps

When I asked Christina what kind of cake she wanted for her birthday, she was sort of non-committal. "Something light," she said. Light can mean all sorts of things. I took it to mean, light as in fresh, not as in lite, low-calorie. So when I saw some rhubarb at Fairway, I was sure I could make something light and yummy and rhubarb-like. Except that when I mentioned this to Christina, she was worried that some people might not like rhubarb, since her mom hates it. First of all, I did not know that people could hate rhubarb. Cauliflower, yes, I could see. But rhubarb? Seriously, rhubarb is like the wonder vegetable. Everyone I know loves rhubarab. But I decided to try to make something that even rhubarb-haters would love.

Inspired by a batch of mini lemon curd tartlets that I saw in the window of Citeralla on Friday night, I decided to make mini lemon curd tartlets, alternating with mini rhubarb curd tartlets. I had never heard of rhubarb curd, but I figured it would be sort of similar in texture to the filling of a Dolly Madison Fruit Pie. Mmm, remember those?

So, I made the lemon curd on Friday night, while on a marathon phone call with Sheri. I doubled the recipe and then realized that I did not have enough sugar. So, right then was when the recipe veared off course. I used brown sugar in the lemon curd, and never looked back. The next morning, I decided that making all sorts of mini pies sounded like way too much work. I then thought about making an angel food cake with lemon and rhubard curd fillings. However, my rhubarb curd never thickened enough to match the consistency of the lemon counterpart, so I decided to make some whipped cream, and mix the rhubarb mixture into some whipped cream. This I alternated between layers of angel food cake, and then I had so much whipped cream left over, I frosted the entire cake with whipped cream. You know, light and airy.

At that point, I was feeling quite of proud of myself. You know, like, "Wow, I'm a cake baker." For once, my lack of recipe following did not lead me down the path of the other recipe detour disasters, such as the edemame hummus or the scary rum balls. Every so often, I kept checking in the fridge to make sure the cake did not go anywhere.

This is obviously turning out to be the year of birthday cakes, if you could not tell. So, happy, happy birthday Christina! I hope you have a light and lemon-y year.

Person of the Day: Dr. Chen

Today I went for my annual OB-GYN appointment. Usually, I would imagine, this would not be the highlight of someone's day. However, those are women who are not patients of Dr. Chen.

When I went into the examining room, the first thing she asked me was if I was pregnant. When I said no, she asked me when I was going to have children. (She loves kids so much, I don't think she could imagine a women not having a child.) This led us into a fifteen to twenty conversation where she really listened to my thoughts and gave me some really good, and practical, advice. None of it was medical talk. Meaning, not once did she mention that my eggs are all but dead on the vine and if I don't hurry, I'm going to be too sorry too late. She was so kind and this one reason why I absolutely adore her. No matter how busy she is, that she might have been up all night delivering a child, she always makes you feel like she has all day to spend with you.

She did tell me that I ought to have kids, because they would be cute. I think she thought they would be cute, because she was really digging my mink puff ball barrette. What she said was, "You ought to have kids. They'll be really cute. Now, ugly babies. That is a reason to not want to have kids. And some women, they have really ugly babies. But you, don't worry, you will have cute ones."

See what I mean? I mean, its obvious that she is the best doctor in the whole world.

Agua

I ate dinner this evening at Bacchus, in celebration of World Water Day. Bacchus was one of the many restaurants in New York City that was participating in the Tap Project. I have to admit, I was suckered in by the logo (there is something nice about the glass of water radiating those global lines; its like its bobbing on some waves), but then I wanted to participate. For every dollar donated, a kid somewhere gets 40 days of clean drinking water.

An old friend

a KitKat for Marcos — the new Cocoa Mocha flavor

The office looks empty, but there were a lot of people in there today. I am not sure where they all went.

Mark's tippy vases in a row.

Today, I spent the day working at TODA on a freelance project. And even though I worked almost the entire day, it was delightful! I forgot what that felt like. To leave work and feel like, "wow, that was a great day!" I am convinced it is because of many things. A. because the atmosphere at TODA is so great. At one moment, I heard A Tribe Called Quest playing on the stereo. Early 90s hip hop? I had forgotten what it was like to work in an environment that played actual music, instead of the sound of dogs eating chew toys. And B. The bathroom. Hello Toto toilet with the self closing toilet seat. The bathroom where I don't have to freak out about the seat, and where there is actually hot water to wash my hands. I had missed the marble tiles that Mark had the contractors install upside down because the marble looked nicer on the rough side. And C. the people. Seeing Mark and Marcos, and all of my other fellow TODA mates, made me really miss working there. The people of TODA (which are way better than the bathroom, and the stereo) are why I truly miss working there. Going to work at TODA today felt like going home.

On being underground

This morning I went to Rockefeller Center for my bi-annual dental cleaning. My dentist is located in a building that only seems to have dentist offices in it. An entire office building, with like 35 floors, of only dentists. But besides that, the best thing about going to my dentist (well there are two best things, but I am only mentioning one here...) is that you can walk all the way from the B/D/F/V trains underground, right into the office building, through the underground shopping mall at Rockefeller Center.

For people who live in Tokyo, yes, this is really nothing special, I know. Because in Tokyo, entire city blocks are joined by the subway's underground system of walkways and shops, and all sorts of other nice things. In New York, sadly, this is so rarely the case. In fact, other than the malls underneath the World Trade Center buildings (and this one obviously no longer exists), Penn Station, Port Authority and Grand Central Station, I cannot really think of any other regular station stops, where this happens so nicely.

One the way to my dental appointment, I had the opportunity to get my clogs shined at Eddie's Shoe Repair; have a sandwich at Pret á Manager or soup at Hale & Hearty; have an ice cream at Ben & Jerry's; go ice skating; buy flower pots at Dahlia; or browse through books at the bookstore. Of course, I did none of those things. But I could have. And that is cool.

And by the way, I have no cavities.

We got a Pax.

Before clothing.

Our Pax wardrobe from Ikea arrived today, and it took an entire afternoon to assemble, all 600lbs of MDF. And I must say, I am really pleasantly surprised with how it all turned out. In the actual Ikea store, it did not look so great; perhaps MDF does not look its best under halogen lighting. However, short of having a carpenter custom build the wardrobes, the Pax was the most economical solution for Kenny's closet. And it is pretty rare when something from Ikea actually looks better than you imagined.

I've become my mom

I have packed my own snacks and meals for airplane travel, for at least ten years now. Now necessarily as a cost saving measure, but instead, because I am so picky about eating airport and airplane food. And especially now, since American Airlines never feeds you, unless you are basically flying for like 25 hours in the air without stopping. So for our return trip to New York, we packed two oranges, some Crunchitos®, a package of cheddar slices, some Turkish apricots and some Ryvita®. And for dessert, dark chocolate with orange. Only once the food was spread out on the table in the airport's food court, did I notice that we packed ALL orange foods. I am not sure how this happened.

(We were supposed to have a jar of organic Hazlenut-Almond Butter, but the cold as ice security woman at the Vancouver Airport tossed it into the rubbish bin, along with my entirely full bottle of Volvic water. This put me into such a serious funk, that it made me want to freaking hunt down Bin Laden himself since I am holding him and his stupid Al Queda cronies responsible for these ridiculous airport security rules. No nut butters on the plane?!)

Anyway, it remined me of how when I was younger, my mom and dad always packed us lunches when we traveled. Salami sandwiches and sometimes, chipped ham sandwiches, packed in the trusty green Oscar cooler. I sort of hated that we always brought our lunch, wishing for McDonald's happy meals that I could never finish. And there was something nice and cozy about having our own little picnic of quasi-nutritious food, right there in the McDonald's food court. And I realized that I am going to embarrass my kids the same way my aprents did, by packing travel lunches — and then 25 years later, my kids will see the light, and embarrass their own kids in the same way. And that thought made me happy.

Mall day, part two

Today, Kenny and I ventured out to Richmond, which is about 15 minutes or so from downtown Vancouver. Specifically, we went to Aberdeen Mall, which is basically like a micro version of Hong Kong if it were to be reincarnated as a shopping mall. The bathrooms were fabulously clean, keeping in line with all of the bathrooms throughout Vancouver. (Which led me to wonder, are Americans just inherently more untidy in public bathrooms? Or is public hygiene something that is actually taught to kids in elementary school in Canada?)

The cotton swabs display at Daiso.

Your choices of umbrellas are white, or white.

hello, big watermelon.

Eating ramen for a second day in a row.

And the food court was pretty exceptional, with choices of Cantonese, Shanghaiese, Japanese (hello, takoyaki and okonomiyaki!), Vietnamese, Korean and Thai foods. And bubble tea. As much as I wanted the "cantonese" chicken in sweet corn sauce over rice, I opted for the "japanese" miso ramen, instead.

How to spend a rainy day in Vancouver

1. Eat dim sum for the second day in a row, this time at Sun Siu Wah. Especially the fried taro cakes, which are cooked to order.

Har gow and char siu rolls.

These are scary looking geoducks, which look, well, phallic and scary.

Check out the giant Alaskan King Crabs. I have never seen them as a whole, live animals before — as I have only ever seen their legs on the Red Lobster commercials. These crabs are freaking gigantic, and they were trying to crawl out of the tank. This one looks a little sad — notice his frowny face.

2. Go shopping at Eugene Choo and Umeboshi after dim sum. You won't be dissappointed.

3. Head to the Metrotowne Mall.

There was a grocery store in the mall!?

Hey!!! It's an Orange Julius!

Stop by the HMV and pick up two CDs for $25 Canadian. Specifically, Destiny's Child and a two CD set of old school hip-hop classics. (Sheri + Dane, I will make a copy for each of you.)

4. Listen to both Soldier and Check On It multiple times, sort of singing along, despite having no idea what you are actually saying. (I just read the actual lyrics to Check On It now, and for some, I must have accidently bought the clean album. I would paste the lyrics here so you can sing along, too, but I do not want to offend Pop Pop's sensibility.)

5. Spend about half an hour trying to find the Dutch City Bike store, Jorg & Olif. Give up on trying to find it. Although, I have decided that I am going to give the Scandinavian bike thing a second try. (As my friends can attest to, the Kronen was a ridiculous idea, since it was a one size fits all thing...and I do not even think that they are available in the USA anymore. Probably because they were about 60lbs, had only foot brakes, no speeds, and came in only one size — which was big enough for a 6'5" Swede.) But these Danish City Bikes come in an extra small, which has my name all over it.

6. Eat more junk food. Specifically, Belgian waffles with ham and cheese miraculously inside. Kenny wondered how they got the ham in there, and although I surmised, I really have no idea.

7. Buy two beautiful cookbooks at Barbara Jo's Books for Cooks. While there, eat the miniature cheese scone that they just baked and served to you. How can you resist?

---it's STILL raining! gee whiz.-----

8. Come back to the hotel and watch The Devil Wears Prada on pay per view, while eating a disgusting amount of Smarties.

Canadian Pocky

This afternoon as we were out walking around downtown Vancouver, we went inside a small Japanese convenience store. I think it honestly had the most types of Pocky (here is the official Pocky website) under one roof that I have ever seen in my life. There was Pine Cream, Mixed Fruits, Momo and Canadian Pretz. Almond Crunch, and Man Flavor, and Whole Wheat dipped in Chocolate. Strawberry Cream, Tomato, and Banana flavors. I was so excited, there were so many flavors to choose to from. After deliberating over whether to buy the jumbo box of Canadian Pretz (with Real Maple Syrup!), or maybe even the Momo (peach) Pocky, I decided that I really did not actually NEED any Pocky, and left the store empty handed.

Pick your pleasure

When we woke up this morning, it had snowed more than 17cm overnight — and it was still snowing! The mountains were barely discernible through the grayness of fog and snow, and yet die hard skier and snowboarders were eagerly trekking towards the lifts, excited by the prospects of fresh powder.

Then there were people like Kenny and I. We packed the car and excitedly headed towards Vancouver, eagerly anticpating dim sum at Pink Pearl Restaurant.

Canada is Nice.

This is me at, the top of Whistler Village Gondola, about to unknowingly go down a black diamond, thus ruining both the rest of my day of skiing and my confidence.

This signs explains how I was skiing down Whistler Mountain after going down the black diamond.

To console myself after leaving the mountain after only 1 hour and 49 minutes of skiing, I bought something like 10 pounds of Haribo candy at the rocking candy store in Whistler Village. I was perhaps the only person in there, over the age of 8. But I did not only buy candy for myself, despite what the woman working the register thought. I mailed Sheri a small package of candy all in rolls, and bought a nice packet of Haribo treats for my friend and neighbor, Doug. It's all about sharing.

After dinner, Kenny and I wandered around the grocery store, which is one of my favorite past times while on vacation. I saw these cookies and thought they sounded so delicious. How can you go wrong when the cookied themselves are named, "Nice"?