Consider This: Poetics

Continuous Cities 4
By Italo Calvino

You reproach me because each of my stories takes you right into
the heart of a city without telling you of the space that stretches
between one city and the other, whether it is covered by seas, or
fields of rye, larch forests, swamps. I will answer you with a story.
In the streets of Cecilia, an illustrious city, I met once a goatherd,
driving a tinkling flock along the walls.
“Man blessed by heaven,” he asked me, stopping, “can you tell
me the name of the city in which we are?”
“May the gods accompany you!” I cried. “How can you fail to
recognize the illustrious city of Cecilia?”
“Bear with me,” that man answered. “I am a wandering herds-
man. Sometimes my goats and I have to pass through cities; but we
are unable to distinguish them. Ask me the names of the grazing
lands, I know them all: the Meadow between the Cliffs, the Green
Slope, the Shadowed Grass. Cities have no name for me: they are
places without leaves, separating one pasture from another, and
where the goats are frightened at street corners and scatter. The dog
and I run to keep the flock together.”
“I am the opposite of you,” I said. “I recognize only cities and
cannot distinguish what is outside them. In uninhabited places each
stone and each clump of grass mingles, in my eyes, with every other
stone and clump.”
Many years have gone by since then; I have known many more
cities and I have crossed continents. One day I was walking among
rows of identical houses; I was lost. I asked a passerby: “May the
immortals protect you, can you tell me where we are?
“In Cecilia, worse luck!” he answered. “We have been wandering
through its streets, my goats and I, for an age, and we cannot find
our way out…”
I recognized him, despite his long white beard; it was the same
herdsman of long before. He was followed by a few, mangy goats,
which did not even stink, they were so reduced to skin-and-bones.
They cropped wastepaper in the rubbish bins.
“That cannot be!” I shouted. “I, too, entered a city, I cannot re-
member when, and since then I have gone on, deeper and deeper
into its streets. But how have I managed to arrive where you say,
when I was in another city, far far away from Cecilia, and I have
not yet left it?”
“The places have mingled,” the goatherd said. “Cecilia is every-
where. Here, once upon a time, there must have been the Meadow
of the Low Sage. My goats recognize the grass on the traffic island.”

April Experiment

As Sandra is going on a sugar fast, I am going on a restaurant fast for the month of April. This is made infinitely easier by the fact that I am not traveling this month. I look forward to cooking up some enticing meals and being creative about time spent outside of the house with friends. Let the experiment begin.

When “In Bruges” Do as the Hitmen Do

I am still blown away by the unexpectedly deep and charming film “In Bruges.” I highly suggest you run, not walk and see this film. Oh yes, it has the f-bomb at least 50 times, drugs, frisky activity, blood and non-PC comments, but wow. I’m still reeling from how I didn’t expect it to be anything more than a silly spoof of two conmen. Instead what unravels is this whole tale of redemption. Without spoiling it, I loved seeing art informing life and life unrolling into art. I laughed but have been pondering this film all day long, after seeing it last night.

FYI- We ate at nearby restaurant Mykonos. They make great moussaka and dolmades, and also serve pita bread reminiscent of the real McCoy in Greece not the cardboard American excuse for pita. The hummus however was dreadful and spanakopita under-cooked.

Bubbly like a glass of good champagne

Tonight, I met up with a grad school friend’s mom for dinner at Straits. Over garlic noodles, pickled ginger salad and chili-laced long beans, we talked culture, literature and life direction. Honestly, I knew going into it that this would be a significant conversation. She teaches American Lit. at a school in Texas and her thesis in grad school was on Don Quixote. What is there not to love about this woman? Not to mention she gave birth to the amazing Stephanie.

But as the lighting at the restaurant kept dimming and candle snuffed out completely, we talked with each other for hours about the cross-hairs of life. My virtual map was not only affirmed, but got her excited. She said as we were taking the elevator downstairs that she had been praying about the possibility that God might have brought her out here to meet me. It was that kind of evening where we both left full- stomachs with good food and minds with good fodder. Then, on the way to the car, we talked about Li-Young Lee and his role in my thesis, evidence that more conversations (so many more) could resume on literature which we barely discussed. I love literature and geeking out with friends who extrapolate the nuances of romanticism in Don Quixote or plain speech and friendly manner of Billy Collins. Fabulous. We hugged like old friends by the end of the evening. I left grateful for the wisdom of Him who brought her out to me through an International Studies conference. How great is that!

Question detained

Have you heard about the “detainment camps” we are building in America? Check this out, it’s a brief blurb from Dow Jones Market Watch from January 24, 2006. My roommate who works at ABC News brought up this idea last night and I didn’t believe her, so I began digging a little bit. I’m so non-political and this totally sailed right past me when it initially came out.

The one question I have now is what does an “immigrant emergency” mean?

Drum roll, please

I finished writing the first draft of my thesis!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You’re right, I’m not excited at all… In fact the little 15 pager ended up at a cool 22. Hallelujah. Seriously, I traveled to four cities in two and a half weeks and wrote a thesis in the midst of all of it. Can I get a Hallelujah? Now my friends might actually see my smiling face instead of the driven spook walking out of the local pizzeria

without tipping /
without eye twitching /
without 15 minute break despotism /
without popping cacao nibs at late hours of the night “for the rush” /
without doing push-ups a few feet away from the laptop /
without enlisting youtube’s homage to St. Elmo’s Fire: “Man in Motion” played 15 times

And the topic: “An Expansion of American Poetics Through the Multi-Cultural Lens”. Somehow it weaves in the terrorism harbored inside each of us in the form of terror of the unknown. I’m just suggesting poetry could solve all that. Just.

Puerta de la Panza

Venture back with me if you will to a kitchen in the Southwest and you will see a wee child with one perfectly coiffed ringlet bouncing in a pony tail behind a serious face filled with glee. On this particular occasion, she’s in the kitchen, next to her mother stirring a just set pot of Mexican rice. Its savory aroma fills the air with chicken broth, a dab of onion and bells. They watch as the oil slightly pops sucking the tortilla into it like a lover kissing the mouth of the beloved.

A few years later, the kitchen becomes a place of experimentation. Dishes like apple braised vegetables meet up with tuna surprise. The surprise does not take, the veggies do. She finds a penchant for concocting sweet things and takes home the grand prize for chocolate macaroons from the church’s cook-off.

In high school, she begins delving into an interesting array of jobs including: florist’s assistant, bakery associate, bookstore fiend, features editor, assistant arts & entertainment editor, senior reporter, coffeehouse peon, librarian, PR assistant, intern at the New York Times, waitress, maven of marketing. Somehow the jobs that always draw her for long stints at a time encircle food and hospitality. Even now, she bites back the urge to clear plates when it looks as though guests might be done and not going in for another round. She understands and keenly appreciates the finesse of herb and vegetable, texture and color’s symbiosis in flavor that draws a small sigh of approval unwittingly from the stomach or the satisfied heart.

The stomach is the doorway to culture. Through it, she better understands the language and priorities of the host culture. In all, a complexity fusing with simplicity of “does it taste good?… Have some more.” In a recent four city tour of food shows extraordinaire, she talks infusions of tea with cream for pastries with a top New York pastry chef, both nodding at the smokiness of Lapsang Souchong scenting apricots. She talks beef with DB and learns he has read her blog and restaurant review of his chilli. With all inhibition thrown to the wind, she hams it up with MS and GG.

The sensuality of food cannot be denied. It is intoxicating in its ability to sequester in a moment, one bite commanding absolute focus and a reverence for the nuance and play of flavor.

As an adult, the fun continues unabated. New ingredients (fennel head ferns, microgreens) marry with the familiar (haricot verts, tuna steaks). The kitchen stays warm to tradition and experimentation. Discovery and innovation become the tin gold star stickers for playfulness married with persistence. The 9-to-5 loops in the creative, the culinary, the coming back for another cup. Even in the mad season of dramatic fires, there are people to be fed. Go feed them.

New York: A Tale of Two Dinners

2007 heralded in the brightest in vegan and vegetarian cuisine. And then 2008 rolled around. All of a sudden welcome back poultry, meat, succulent porcine by-products.

It was the worst of times. The David Burke at Bloomingdales menu offered too many enticing choices. What is a girl to do on a cold New York evening? Perhaps the chilli taster might chase the chill outside. Imagine a black baby dutch oven with two chilis vying for first place. Chicken and mushroom chilli on the left hand side with traditional beef and kidney bean chilli on the right, separated by a trench of sour cream and cheddar cheese. Let’s talk about the texture of the ground beef. I seriously almost stopped chewing because I thought it might be veal. The chuck was ground so fine that it passed over my tongue easily. Instead of the spicy chilli Texas tastebuds have become acquainted with, his tasted more like a fine Italian ragu- just with kidney beans. The chicken mushroom was incredible too, but I was hooked on the beef chilli. The secret I learned is the grassfed beef of local New York ranch Cherry Creek Farms. Admittedly, this is on my list of favorite repeat visits when in town. Glad to have shared it with Kim.

It was the best of times. A week after a restaurant opening can be dicey. Will it be hard to get a reservation? Will all the quirks of the kitchen be resolved into seamless service front-of-house? Local friend and foodie W. suggested dining at Broadway East. Amazingly earlier on Monday, a vegan food writer soulmate of mine stopped by the restaurant show and said Broadway East is on her short list. I knew I was in good hands at this point. W. and I decided to order multiple dishes to split. The meal started with amazing olives with rosemary. The market salad featured winter lettuces from Satur Farms with slices of kabocha squash and pepitas. Additionally, we tried the pate de champignon with crostini. The richness of the mushrooms combined with the other ingredients gave the pate a very authentic albeit vegan sensibility. Entrees included sliced portobello mushrooms with tomato preserves and polenta for W and a spiced chickpea squash b-steeya. Instead of the flaky phyllo dough typical of b-steeya, this one featured a thin crispy wafer resembling a black and white- half powdered sugar, half cinnamon. The heartiness of the savory stuffing paired well with the sweet and spiced notes of the wafer. W. and I thoroughly savored her mushroom dish, relishing the crunchy crust coating the portobello slices and resembled panko. Though full, we couldn’t pass up trying the chai-spice bread pudding with housemade sour cream ice cream or a mini scoop of the Riesling sorbet. Delish. Oh this uber-chic and scrumptious restaurant will stay at the top of my list for quite some time… even their businesscard included golden beet seeds.

Both yin-yang of these restaurants were a perfect way to cap off a great and furious tour of New York. Other notables included talking to Thomas Keller at the restaurant show and a ravishing experience at Bobby Flay’s “Mesa Grill”- the pulled duck crepes were incredibly seasoned and spiced with an unexpected and delectable texture!

New York Revelries- a March Installment

Yesterday seemed doomed to go down in history for our heroine as the longest day (conceded by the morning gobbling up one precious hour in favor of Sunday coming sooner that it ought).

It could have been waking up at five a.m. but really that’s almost a monthly ritual. Perhaps it had something to do with a two and a half hour layover in Denver because of inclement weather at Laguardia. But no, we found her sitting patiently reading notes from her mentor, revising poems and finishing up the poems from the Europe section of the anthology of world poetry. Having boarded the plane and set out a spell on the tarmac, it could have been the announcement that they would have to wait another hour and a half in the middle of the tarmac. Her seat began to feel fettered. The Middle East poems of war and exile did little to soothe and abate the growing restlessness. She stood up and paced, calling New York; she would be very late. And then came a guy called Bill*. Now Bill had had a few drinks before boarding Flt. 589. And he felt compelled to share with the flight attendants the nicotine craving running up and down his spine like a manic overtone of voice and thrum of fingers drumming. He refused to give up his independently claimed emergency exit seat, thus terrifying Patricia* a seat over. Our heroine stood next to the emergency exit door, on the phone with New York, hip extended out, blocking any possible attempt at escape from Mr. Erratic. He really terrified the purser, when he almost threw a punch at his face before playing nice and walking back to his seat at the end of the plane. Purser and flight attendants mulled. The captain came on the air, announcing they would need to go back to the gate to refuel. And thus the police officer was given access to escort Bill* and friend off the plane, drunk and denied access from a previous flight.

Once in the air, all stabilized- or did it? Our heroine saw the edge of the wing nearly nip the corner of a Home Depot roof, as the winds tugged at what could have been a child’s toy. Landing at last in New York, news broke out that a power outage had darkened the terminal into which they flew. And so she walked in darkness, as TSA agents held flashlights, stood like silent sentinels. In the taxi line, the agent motioned her to a taxi that refused her access thinking she had jumped the line. Her inner New Yorker had been summoned and the yelling commenced until a cabbie relented. Once safely ensconced inside his cab she could laugh with him about the day’s events and discuss how language reveals links in culture, his Pakistani accent corresponding with her rolled R in “gracias.”

And the night had settled in for a quiet Saturday, even in Times Square where lights, horns and the sound of breathing screamed into the crisp night winds. Almost there, as our heroine checked in, she was told she only had a reservation for two nights. And out again came the politer but aggressively edged inner New Yorker demanding a solution (with a smile of course). The front desk manager problem solved as our heroine expected she might. It is the hospitality industry afterall. And the evening ended in a corner suite surrounded by pillows and bed that at last accepted her whole, heard her story and took away all the rough edges with their rounded forms.

Toronto Revelries: an Installment

Our heroine flew with congestion-filled head and chest to the oh-so cold city of Toronto last Friday. She touched down to find herself in the middle of a blizzard and doomed to wait in an hour long taxi line. But have no fear, a nice man from Abu Dhabi offered to share his cab with her, cutting the wait time in half. Along the way, their taxi meandered through the treacherous streets, but inside she, the sheikh of Abu Dhabi ” I dabble in oil” and the Turkish driver sat ensconced in warmth over conversations of tea and delectables.

Over the course of the next few days, she walked the largest underground shopping mall, worked a food show and found Canadians to be fixated on pizza. At the show that is. Holly, a server at the hotel became quick friends with our heroine as they exchanged tips on how to channel energy into working a double or working sick. But the food. Oh the food was rather pitiful, although a cold paired with no sense of smell or tastebuds had nothing to do with it. After a disappointing meal eating Roti and drinking Mauby, D. strove to turn things around. And how he did!

Walking in the rain does not sound like something our heroine would naturally do, but the rainbow at the end dangled in front of her in the form of an Indian restaurant Dhaba. Their housemade chai had a bite at the back of the throat and as they discussed all things personal, political and professional, they broke edges of papadum to nibble on. Course 1 arrived. “Duo of Burgh” demonstrated two ways of preparing chicken breast: five spice marinade and basil-almond marinade with hung yogurt. Both whet the palate and warmed the appetite. Next, they dined on roasted garlic naan with a side of saffron rice (with chunks of roasted ancho chiles and browned, crisped onions) alongside Makai Okra and P.K.’s Rogini Chop Rack. The Makai okra blended baby corn and okra with fennel seeds, ground haldi and a hint of mango masala. Yum. P.K.’s chop rack featured lamb popsicles from New Zealand prepared the Kashmere way in a nutty broth and infused with fenugreek. The servers were attentive and personable. The room’s ambiance leant itself to an intimate union with taste and aroma being the predominant intoxications of the moment. As a great touch, two mini Mango Lassi drinks accompanied the bill. Definitely going down in the book as a restaurant to revisit and acquaint oneself with the menu more fully.

The next evening continued the love affair with Toronto cuisine. Instead of the rain of the previous evening, snowflakes gingerly traipsed from the vacuous night sky. And began picking up in speed. Our heroine, refined by the suns of the Equator, had never encountered walking through a blizzard and proceeded giggling from the persistent flecks touching any surface in their path.

Upon stepping into Archeo, the dining room appeared empty, no doubt due to the impending blizzard. D. led the way to neighboring restaurant The Boiler House, where they proceeded into a friendly and modern dining hall accented by slabs of wood, stainless steel and low amber light. Choosing from their far too interesting menu selections, they settled on Mushroom soup and a mystery appetizer to be selected by the server du jour. Michael ended up bringing out the soup with the chef’s housemade spinach gnocchi in a parsnip goat cheese sauce finished off with watercress and a caesar salad with double smoked crisp bacon, herbed croutons and a garlic dressing. The gnocchi’s consistency was light and fluffy like little pillows of potato while the creaminess of the salad rounded out the saltiness of the bacon and croutons. The soup’s rich consistency and just-pureed-enough texture pleased. A few mouthfuls of entrees ensued with pan-roasted Arctic Char, confit leek and Peruvian potato hash, Meyer lemon beurre blanc. The salty crisp skin of the buttery fish mingled perfectly with the sweet notes of roasted corn and purple potato. D. ordered the pan-seared Pekin duck breast atop a spaghetti squash galette, finished with fig gastrique. No room for dessert, they sailed from dinner table to car leaping along the way through now ankle deep snow.

Snow caked the roads in white. With only two hours of sleep under her belt, our heroine boards the plane waiting in a stupor for the bags to be loaded on, waiting to be de-iced, waiting for the next time Toronto comes onto her horizon again in the future. Sleepy once again as she leaves a city that still holds so many more secrets to be unlocked.