Grocery & Grog

Brad and Angie are fans. So is Tom Jones. Even Abraham Lincoln may have swung by for a bite – the place would have been new when he did. Pete’s Tavern on the corner of East 18th and Irving Place opened as a grog and grocery over 150 years ago, and is now arguably the oldest continuously operating bar in NYC. While McSorleys makes the same claim, only Pete’s could include the proviso while also pretending to be a flower shop. New York must have been quite the garden center during prohibition.

The polished timber bar at Pete’s is original, and the booths make for classic American diner ambience. Not to mention inspiration. The establishment makes claim of it’s first celebrity with O. Henry having written his story “Gift of the Magi” in the booth by the door – with a little help from the house ale. His literary success was overtaken by his cirrhotic indulgences but the former rather than the latter has become a claim to fame for the tavern.

Strangely and despite all the trappings, Pete’s seems more of a local spot than a tourist destination. Mature staff wear black shirts instead of black t-shirts and while there are many, many places to have a burger downtown, it was fun to imagine the company I could have encountered. Not just Abe, but Mr Booth, who lived around the corner. If their paths had crossed earlier and they had shared the chips, history may have been different…

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Hot cross hoola

The hunt for hot cross buns in NYC is always a challenge. There are the usual suspects at Amy’s, Silver Moon and the market at Grand Central, and last year I discovered the classic century old Glaser’s Bake Shop on the upper east side. But this year the prospect of finding a spicy fruit-heavy yeasty bun befitting the gormandizing glory of past memories is rapidly dwindling. This is not necessarily the fault of local eateries, although a newly arrived Australian observed the summer-long supply of buns Down Under made the lack here more obvious. The real deterrent to discovering new sources of seasonal spice is vanity. Having found only fine French pastries at Maison Kayser on 74th Street this week, but spying another bakery over the road, I was distracted en route by the reflection of a post winter reality. The blossoms are out and the summer wardrobe needs addressing. Chocolate is another story, but buns may need to be forsaken in the hope that it will not be too late to hoola my way to hotness!

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Sharpen up

Finding the perfect pencil for any purpose will make procrastinators of us all. And what a curious dilemma, made possible by CWPencils on the lower east side, a ‘world-class purveyor of the finest graphite’. They have hundreds of pencils from all over the world, made from different kinds of wood and in various shapes and colours. There are Swiss pencils made from beech wood from the Jura forest, flower scented pencils from an old factory in Portugal, and Musgrave pencils from Tennessee, made from recycled newspaper. There are pencils chosen for their font, and pencils chosen for their history. The Blackwing is a vintage American pencil immediately recognizable by its distinctive tip. The original pencil had a cult following, maybe because the wax added to the graphite made writing effortless, which purportedly gave John Steinback his creative edge. Then there is the HB scale. Hardness and darkness of the lead is a result of the proportion of graphite to clay, but the discrepancies of scale around the world ( a bit like being a size 10 in Australia V’s being a size 10 in America ) mean that you have to try each one for comfort and fit. So one pencil will mark permanently, while another will glide across the page like a watercolor. It’s endless. You can spend a quarter on the popular rounded Bugle No2 or $75  on a vintage pencil. One you can sharpen to adjustable length with a leather pouched sharpener, the other you would think twice about even using. But there is much inspiration either way, and even though I have a drawer full of regular pencils channelling Elvis and inspiring expeditions, there’s always room for one more…!

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Classico New York Story

There aren’t many cinemas in the world where invitations for upcoming films are sent via email, where you can ride your bicycle directly into the screening room, pick up your free popcorn and pepsi en route, watch a first class film without any ads, and then join the audience afterwards for a complimentary Peroni.  Sounds like paradiso? ….welcome to Cinema Italiano! Ironically it was Geoffrey Rush that led me to this special venue when I sought out an opportunity to see his film The Best Offer. Forget Fandango, if you want a really good story, you have to hit the streets.

Seven years ago Giuseppe di Francisci decided it was time for change. After teaching at Universita degli Studi di Roma ‘La Sapienza’, ( unpaid because of the perceived status of future earnings ), then a further two years working as a journalist ( unpaid for the same reason ), and with frustration at the corruption in everyday life in Italy, Giuseppe came to New York. He marveled at the friendliness of people. Pausing to look at a map, people would stop to help him – in Rome he said, if people stopped it would be to rob you. In fact he said, you can be a full time thief in Italy because the system does not punish you. Visiting Italy and loving the culture is one thing, but living and working there is another.

On Giuseppe’s first night in NYC he turned up at a restaurant where his friend worked, suitcase in tow, and by the end of the night he had ten new friends. Everyone in NYC comes from somewhere else, and he felt a camaraderie immediately. Not speaking any english and wanting to learn, he found a job as a busser in a restaurant. Simultaneously he placed an ad on Craigslist offering lessons in Italian. Giuseppe had no experience teaching a language but he loved cinema, so he would give out DVDs of Italian movies to students and use this as a basis for conversation. But there were more and more students and the DVDs were costly. By then Giuseppe was bi-lingual and working as a server in a restaurant that serendipitously had a function room. That room became the first Cinema Italiano. Students would watch a film, have a conversation in Italian and then order a pizza from the restaurant. Everyone won. As the handful of students became hundreds of cinema lovers, the location changed, and changed again. There were even blow up arm chairs for a limited season. Now the Cinema is a registered not-for-profit, Peroni is a sponsor and the hall behind Saint Patrick’s in Noho is the current venue. With the coming of summer a rooftop might be the next…

When I spoke to Giuseppe at Emporio, the Italian restaurant where he is the General Manager, ( and where the food looks fantastic – stay tuned! ) I was curious about how, in the midst of life in NYC and the responsibility of managing busy restaurants, he still wanted to run the cinema. Before the showing of ‘Piazza Fontana’ on Sunday night, he talked about bringing Italy to New York and enjoying the best of both worlds. But in answer to my question, he said with simpatico simplicity… ‘It makes me happy’…

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Glittering feet and gladioli’s

Well, not quite glady’s, but Dame Edna would approve nonetheless. At the entrance to Central Park on 60th and 5th Avenue, two stalks of perfect white orchids rise majestically thirty four feet in the air. It is as though their recent ‘planting’ heralded the beginning of Spring, and suddenly all eyes – even the glittery guy on Park Avenue – are looking up. In one week snow has turned to summery sunshine, breaking all records for March and fostering a flourish of flowers. Snow drops and crocuses blossomed overnight and the anticipation of Spring makes us all about to burst…

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Over the Rainbow

The flat tyre I discovered on my bike this morning when I arrived in Williamsburg was perhaps easier to fix than the spare tyre I was courting through my intended destination. The Bagel Store is recently in the news for making neon coloured bagels, and even though the graffiti on the bridge ride over suggested strange additives may impact brain function, who can resist psychedelic play-dough that with a twist and a steam becomes edible…?  It turns out I can, with a little divine intervention. The bagels are not baked until the hipster-friendly hour of 9am, and then the likely wait time in the queue is about 45 minutes. That’s regardless of whether you are ordering a cragel ( croissant and bagel ), the rainbow bagel with cotton candy, or the trending favorite, the rainbow bagel with funfetti. But the discovery of the flat tyre, and the calculation of my position in the queue against my landmarked date on the distant Manhattan skyline, meant that rainbow bagels would have to illuminate another day.

As I pushed my deflated bicycle back over the Williamsburg Bridge, begrudging the joy of freewheeling down the long slope to Manhattan, I wondered if my unspent calories could be credited towards a return visit. The cronut is being challenged for the throne of coolest must-eat in the city and the rainbow cragel may just tip the scales. St Patrick’s Day is around the corner, along with the opportunity to return to take my own photos and suggest an appropriately colourful combo… a green cragel with Bailey’s Irish cream cheese….

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Walking the dawg

There were tears with the announcing of the winner of the Westminster Dog Show last night. There can only be one winner – in this case a German Shorthaired Pointer – so the other 2,700 contestants had to be happy with a couple of days in NYC, sampling the bathroom products at the hotel and having an updo that would make most people’s hair curl. The locals were non-plussed, taking it all in their stride, no doubt because this is how  life is meant to be.

Jim Buck, the man credited as the first person to professionalize dog walking in NYC died not so long ago, when the simple service he introduced had morphed into a gazillion dollar industry. Times have changed. Speaking to dog walkers in Central Park in crispy cold conditions this week, it seems that the digital age has rewritten the rules. These days when dogs are collected from home a text is sent to the absent owner, who can then watch the progress of the walk via a GPS tag on Fido’s collar. A photo is snapped mid route, and a poo report soon follows. Fortunately the snap and the report are not necessarily simultaneous.  Then another text announces the safe return to home and the job is done.

At this time of the year, or at any time in NYC, dog devotion is the tip of the iceberg. Reports about the ill effect to best friends of salt strewn on snowy sidewalks is rampant. So boots are essential and jackets a must. And of course they all pose. Who needs Westminster when Bill Cunningham could be just around the corner…

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Feels like…..

It was so cold in New York this week that an ice carving exhibition in Central Park had to be cancelled.

It was so cold that the Bryant Park Fountain could have substituted the sculpted effect of the ice carving.

It was so cold there was ice on the inside of the windows of the Morgan Library.

It was so cold that the temperature on Valentine’s Day, at minus 21*C, was perfect for chocolate and double wrapped roses…


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Fat Tuesday

Not all Tuesdays are equal, but whether you celebrate Shrove Tuesday, Mardi Gras, pancake day or simply Fat Tuesday, the effect is the same – you need six weeks of abstinence to redress the balance. Strangely, fat Tuesday is a new genre for me, being synonymous with the Polish pre-Lenten indulgence of eating paczki, a large jelly style donut. Traditionally these donuts are only available for a few days before Ash Wednesday, so paczki lovers have been in hot pursuit this week of the Old Traditional Polish Cuisine food truck, as it tweeted its various mobile locations around the city. When these sold out, the only other option on the rock was G.I Deli in the East Village, but this stationary supply was spent by the time I peered in the window last night. Fortunately there are plenty of options in NYC to meet the wider obligations of a fat Tuesday.

The annual hot chocolate festival at The City Bakery is one such alternative. Every day this month a different flavor provides another reason to indulge. I was too late for banana peel hot chocolate – fortunately – but would cheerfully schedule another visit to 18th street for the salted caramel, or the Ode to Polar Bear, a white chocolate hot chocolate. Then there’s chocolate cheesecake, chocolate fudge brownies and luscious giant marshmallows to melt into a hot chocolate mass. This is serious temptation, for even without a knitted hat I felt simpatico with the beaming staff, their smiles hinting at a sweet transcendental taste sensation. At this rate, fat Tuesday could easily turn into fat February…

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The Explorers Club

Explorer or adventurer? Traveller, historian or curious…  The Explorer’s Club welcomes you all – although you have to achieve something seriously scientific to become a member. Like land on the moon, or discover the North Pole, or be like Robin Bell, who has just led a major expedition to explore the last unknown mountain range on Earth, the Gamburtsev Mountains in Antarctica — completely covered with ice — where her Team discovered that water hidden beneath the ice sheet runs uphill. Discoveries like these can be read about in the paper or watched on television, but when you get a chance to actually meet the woman who led the team, or run into Buzz Aldron or stand around the same globe as did the captains of the Kon-Tiki expedition, then what an opportunity is that?!

Visiting the club is like visiting an archeological dig of the history of NY – or the discoveries of the world. The clubhouse on east 70th street was originally the home of Stephen Clark who was the grandson of the co-founder of the Singer Sewing machine company. He spent his inheritance well. The house features all polished timber with winding staircases, a 16th century Italian marble fireplace and a columned terrace. These columns are from a French Middle-Ages monastery and match those at the Cloisters at the top end of Manhattan – there were too many for the terrace so Clark gave the rest away. When the Club purchased the mansion in the 60’s treasures of the world came with them. The curator has painstakingly organized all the archives of the club, so that even the application forms of members are kept. Roosevelt’s lists on his under ‘previous employment’ as Governor of the State of New York, and President of the United States. There are copies of National Geographic from 1897. One of the paintings on the staircase, a scene from the camp of an Arctic exploration in 1881, and which was stranded on the ice for two years, is painted on the back of explorer Greely’s apron. The painter ran out of canvas. Then there is the trophy room with a mammoth’s tusk, and the very rare chronicles recording the discoveries made by Bonaparte from his scientific and military expedition to Egypt in 1798. Wandering through the club, you hear the members talking from the past – Dr Livingston I presumeOne small step for mankindThrow me the whip!

The Club does not look backwards. The current president is a woman, Faanya Rose, known for her conservation work. Research grants are given annually and with much success. Twenty two new species were discovered last year, including one mammal. Who says there is nothing new to discover? There are a couple of Fitzgeralds in the member’s archives, and maybe it is time there was a new one…

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