Skate-tacular

The lions wore a bow tie just in case. While the lighting of the Christmas tree celebration in Bryant Park last week was not a formal affair, there was a lot of competition to shine. The crowd was glowing with garlands of battery fueled snowflakes, cool jazz musicians from the Lincoln Center gave the grooviest rendition I ever heard of ‘Let it snow’, and the skaters were Olympic medalists, legends, fashion designers, divas, or straight out of Dancers with the Stars.

First on the ice was Nancy Kerrigan, known as much for her skating ability as for the drama it inspired. Twenty years ago the ex-husband of Tonya Harding, Nancy’s main rival for gold, tried to break her legs before the big event. Nancy survived and went on to win silver, the ex-husband went to jail, and Tonya became persona non grata. The conversation about the incident remains controversial – a bit like the following skater, Johnny Weir. He was spectacular, making waves of shaved ice as he spun into a blur. It was hard to get a good shot – even his shadow found it hard to focus. No wonder he co-performs with Lady Gaga, wearing his own outfits, and singing his own songs. The mist of gentle rain added romance as the program skated along, to begin with anyway, but as the U.S. most successful synchronized skating team finished their routine, umbrellas rose to complete the movement.

My oversized snowflake blinked red and white all the way home. I was determined to give it to the first child who asked but no-one seemed to notice another neon necklace. This is New York after all! Maybe I’ll go back to the lions and see if they want to trade…

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Choux Box

Give me choux over shoes any day. A new French spot on Lexington Ave has the best of both worlds, choux pastry savory and choux pastry sweet. What an excellent light but decadent treat. At a time when blue white and red is lighting up icons all over the world, this bakery is a colorful culinary choice. If you can make a choice. Just remember, you can always use another pair of choux…

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Thanksgiving

My suitcase was just not ready to come back. At JFK, my olive green two wheeling 29.9 kilo treasure chest was a no show. Maybe it was the responsibility of carrying 4 tubs of my mother’s precious tomato relish back from Australia, not to mention freshly dried Kensington Pride treats from the Territory, Murray River salt, Tim Tams, Haighs caramels, and as many Cherry Ripes as would fit in the cracks. Maybe it was the looming transition from a mango ripening 36*C to a chilling 9*C that caused the loitering around the customs halls of LA. But whatever it was, after a 31 hour transit and a standoff for a further 24 hours, NYC won out in the end and Christmas was declared.

The store windows were way ahead of me. Star Wars has taken off at Bloomie’s, and Charlie Brown celebrates 50 years at Macy’s. Good grief. Sparkles compete at Saks and Bergdorf’s but the latter takes the crown with the help of a few thousand Swarovski crystals. So far no sign of Santa. The tree has yet to be lit at Rockefeller Center so the focus may change. But I may be looking in the wrong places – and too soon – especially at this time of Thanksgiving.

Last night I went for the very first time to the blowing up of the balloons in anticipation of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade today. The spectacular weather encouraged a few thousand other people to do the same and security was extremely high. It was all but impossible to move around and see anything. My curiosity about how they keep Superman and Spongebob on the ground after inflation was met from the roadside of the barricades, so I was happy to escape further investigation. The real treat was the ride home. Central Park was majestic. By contrast to the balloon crowds, there was silence and almost no-one to share the moment apart from a few joggers and people out with their dogs. The air was fresh on my face and a full moon bejeweled the sky. What else do you need – maybe it is Christmas after all…

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NYC AU


There is no time to sleep! You might miss Jack Sparrow on his way to Comic Con, masked rockers playing in the subway, or the Mary Poppins lookalike at the markets encouraging you not to feed her felted birds…

In the crisp & colorful days of Autumn there is much to be celebrated – Halloween, the dog costume party in Tompkins Square Park, leaf peeping, and Warlimpirrnga Jjapaltjarri’s astounding exhibition at Salon 94. Meanwhile Open house is opening doors all over the city, and my talented friends at the Frick – composers, actors & all round polished performers – will be staging a preposterous new musical called The Nose at the National Opera Center.

What a rich city this is, overflowing with energy & opportunity. But then there is also Port Lincoln and the long & winding road of family, friends and familiarity. A special journey that forever beckons. For now it is someone’s turn to be the queen of the bike line. Time to go home. At least for a few weeks – and conveniently during the mango season… I’ll share any fun discoveries along the way – and please do the same wherever you are. Happy days and safe travels!

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Coffee couture

Coffee is the new black. Maybe not a short black or a long black, but drafted, filtered or expressed, it is the hipster’s first choice. Ten years ago Starbucks was Queen of the roast in NYC, but the Coffee Festival at the Armory on the weekend showcased just how much the culture has changed. And Australia has been an essential part of this. Thank you Australia!

Apart from a classic coffee stained TAA postcard, Toby’s Estate and Bluestone Lane don’t brand themselves with the flag.  Although ‘international’ is definitely trending. The current buzz in coffee is the wine-like terminology, with single-origin beans coming from one field in one country. Guatemalan coffee has low notes of nuttiness, Ethiopian has high notes of berries, a South African financed blend called Magnum has whiskey from Speyside in Scotland and cream from the Netherlands. Even Starbucks now has a premium outlet in Macys featuring exclusively sourced beans.

But the biggest thing in coffee is the look. Being a barista from Brooklyn is almost mandatory, which of course makes tattoos essential. Luckily I was a visitor rather than a vendor, and people were happy to pose. When my tastebuds were finally overwhelmed it was time to try something that didn’t require any at all – vodka! With fresh lemon juice, cucumber puree and mint it was a perfect one shot hit….

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The Pope and the Priest

The visit by the Pope to NYC this week took on biblical proportions. Skyscrapers were enrobed in his image and hundreds of thousands of people made pilgrimages to see him. The Pope for President! No-one seemed to mind the street closures and standstill traffic –  it was not so much a hindrance as an opportunity to show we were better than to beep. From the pub to the pulpit Pope Francis was a welcome guest and how refreshing it was to have respect rather than trumpery across the political and religious spectrum.

The well rehearsed security procedures of the NYPD meant the 40 hour residence of the Pope was transformed from being accessible to camera crews on one day to being completely locked down the next. My thought of a chance encounter – as serendipitously happened with other New Yorkers, or even the chance to snap a picture of the Popemobile with my own Fitzymobile, was not to be. However there were other miracles in the making. Around the corner at The Frick a group of pilgrims from Dieppe were on a dual mission. A large family group, they had come from France to meet the Pope and were at The Frick seeking a photo opportunity. The leader, an engaging and energetic priest, held prints of Turner’s famous painting of  ‘The Harbor of Dieppe’ – one of the museum’s many treasures – as he told the story about his church. The twelfth century dome, featured in the skyline of the painting, had been cut! Lapsing from languid french to the dramatic english verb, the priest explained how the rotting timbers in the dome meant the ancient structure had been dismantled, and would need many millions of euros to be restored. He wanted a photograph of himself with the original painting to present to the mayor of Dieppe and show how iconic the dome was and how essential was it’s rebuilding – regardless of cost. The strict policy of no photographs at The Frick stood in his way as did the vigilance of the security guards. But not for long. As it happened the chief curator had just been in Dieppe researching a future exhibition of Turner, she was in her office, and she could make this happen.

So it didn’t matter that I didn’t actually see the Pope. Whether it was the generosity of spirit that his visit inspired or the rich determination of the Priest, the dome of Saint Jacques may be on it’s way back up. I’m sure the romantic in Turner would approve…

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Home sweet home

After moving out of one place and into another, and then out again and back again into the same place, I have developed a true appreciation of knowing where my toothbrush is, and a perpetual aversion to cardboard boxes. While Sean & I crashed for the 8 day interim with a generous friend and a feline, our plants and processions were housed in a curb side truck. A mobile home of sorts that in the unpacking featured pizza & a multipurpose ice-filled tub enabling deliciously cold ciders and then deliciously cold feet.

The good news is that there has been much physical and emotional cleansing of property and the past, and by the time we need to move again, everything will fit into a small dingy and we can just sail away…

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Bialys and bubbles

At the oldest bialy bakery in the United States the work is done by 9 o’clock in the morning. So to enjoy that irresistible smell of onions roasting inside a pocket of freshly baked bread, you have be downtown early. Eat them while they’re hot or take them home to toast – anything in between, as I discovered, is meh! Kosser’s has been making bialys, and more recently bagels, since 1936, and the rustic wooden trays and dusting of flour makes it seem as though nothing has changed much since then. A few blocks away the temptation of delicious chewy focaccia from Breads Bakery or moist olive bread from Maison Kayser make for seriously good alternatives, but the romance of the past is making a comeback all over town.

Soda fountains and egg creams are trending at Hamilton’s in the West Village where Richie Cunningham and the Fonz would be completely at home. Fizzes and phosphates feature on a menu with canary puffs and cattawaba flips, and while these were never part of my happy days, the chrome thud of the ice-cream lids sparks memories of Bruggies in Tumby Bay on a hot summer’s day. Discovering that egg creams do not actually involve eggs and that they are numero uno with the local walking tours, I deferred to the popular choice. But chocolate with bubbly water and no ice-cream is a foreign flavor for me, tasting more like the last straw when all the ice had melted. Next time I’ll go for a raspberry rickey, and time my visit later in the day when age dictates the addition of a little gin…

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Da Vinci

For the very first time ever last week when entrance to the biggest tennis tournament in the United States was free for everyone, the US Open turned out to be more like the US Closed. Instead of people streaming in to see mixed doubles and exhibition matches, thunderclouds and rain commandeered Queens and all but one women’s double was canceled. There were no queues and no crowds and even the merchandisers made disclaimers with ‘Not my Fault’ t-shirts.

Maybe it was an omen. The semi-final that was meant to be played that night was deferred to the next day, when under clear blue skies, dreams were unexpectedly razed and realised. If the game had been played as scheduled and I had seen it, maybe tickets for the women’s final would not have dropped from around the $1,400 mark to $600. Who knows? It’s hard for the home team- just ask Brazil. But mama mia, what a triumph for Roberta and the Italians. And with thunderstorms forecast again for Sunday, I wonder who will dare to reschedule the men’s final…

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From Pavlova to Pastrami

While the texture may be vaguely similar – crunchy on the outside and succulent in the middle – the people behind the pastrami at the new general store on Avenue A bought mainly a sense of adventure from their previous pavlova business in Sydney. This new spot – Harry & Ida’s – transports you to a stylish old-worldliness, where Jewish grandparents would have been stoking the smoker in the back shed and the smell of polished wood and dried fish competed generously with bunches of herbs and freshly caught eel. It is not exactly the kind of place you would expect to find in the middle of New York City. But when the latest commercial activity in Times Square sees body painted topless women posing for (paid) photographs along with Superman and Spongebob, finding a snake bite kit in the East Village doesn’t seem that strange…

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