It took decades to get the song out of my head the first time and now here we go again! Sesame Street’s Muppets are in town to celebrate their 45th birthday and they haven’t aged a bit. The Cookie Monster still has an appetite, the original rubber duckie doesn’t even have a watermark, and Oscar the Grouch was smiling for the occasion. The New York Public Library constantly evolves with all aspects of education, and helping kids grow smarter, stronger and kinder is an ongoing challenge. But this exhibition joyfully walks through Jim Henson’s original sketches as well as the logistics that were left to the engineers. It’s a real treat. Feathers, foam and fur. Strangely, The Muppet Show was actually financed and produced in the UK because the American networks thought the puppets would only appeal to children. If they could only have fast forwarded to 2015 and seen how many adult children were still wanting to get to Sesame Street, they would have had no hesitation…
Everything’s A OK!
Ecstatic Music Festival
The name of the festival was motivation enough for me to venture out on a cold January night for a little recreation. Ecstatic music and the Shakedown Dance Collective seemed an excellent pairing and the promise of lively percussion under the exotic palm trees of Brookman Place was too good to miss. Before the musicians even appeared, their collections of curious instruments lay neatly in wait. Who could have suspected the ‘coordinated sounds through primal means’ would ensue….? Chiseled gourds, triangles, drums, xylophones, blocks of wood, cymbals, clackers, with an equal assortment of tools to play them – wooden mallets, metal pins and sticks, created a cacophony of sounds. A string bow extracted a strangulated cry from a symbol, a wet finger squeaked a rubbery response from the skin of a bongo drum. It was all those esoteric musical experiences from arts festivals rolled into one – the osmosis of an egg meets prawns chattering into marine microphones. But what fun they had! The musicians took cues from each other with perfect precision. They tapped and nodded and exchanged grinning looks as though they had just hit that perfect groove. They probably had. The dancers encircled them with sweeping arms and prideful practice. And throughout the whole performance I kept thinking about Abba and how my father had defended them against my more alternative musical choices at the time, saying ‘At least they have rhythm!’
Life is funny.
On reflection…
Ground Zero has been a boarded construction site surrounded by police barricades and wandering tour groups for most of my residency in NYC. It was not a place I readily recommended for visitors and my own lack of attendance there meant I was only aware of developments with the skyward tower. So in negotiating a cut-through journey from east to west in downtown Manhattan earlier this week, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the long wrapped wound of the twin towers had been transformed into a great wonder. Like the Grand Canyon, you almost don’t see the pool until it opens up before you, and then with darkness all around it is a spectacular sight. Apart from the square glow of lights and the rippling sound of water in the wind, the setting was dark, black on shimmery black, and with almost no-one around it was a breathtaking experience. What an excellent development. The wind chill factor encouraged me onward but when the weather warms and the days are longer I will return for a less accidental reflection…
Coffee with Carson
The vernacular of the Big Apple has expanded over the past few days to encompass an Australian import and an MTA export. Flat white has been a coffee code between expats for years and now Starbucks has taken the word mainstream, complete with pictures and procedure. But man spreading is yet to even have a wikipedia entry. The verbiage is part of a campaign just launched by the MTA that focuses on politeness on the subway, and includes courtesies about eating, stepping aside for others and taking off backpacks. The breakaway favorite issue is men taking up excess space by sitting with their legs far apart – man spreading – and this has become a conversation worthy of downstairs at Downton Abbey. Although I can’t imagine Carson actually saying ‘Dude, stop the spread’, he would be a formidable patron of politeness….
Veselykh svyat!
Today was a perfect day to be celebrating the Orthodox Christmas Eve. With temperatures dipping to minus 7 degrees celsius, and swirling snow dusting the cityscape white, all that was needed was a warm spot, some hearty food and a good story. Each of these were readily provided by Tom, the guardian of an iconic eating house in the heart of the East Village. Veselka is a legacy of all things Ukrainian. I was met with people exchanging holiday greetings in their own language, Christmas borscht being served with the traditional ear shaped mushroom dumplings, and a 12 course dinner awaiting the festively famished. Everything is as real as it looks, and even though the original Ukrainian community may be more of a New York community now, the slavic soul is a generous survivor.
Sixty years ago a small candy store on the corner of 9th and 2nd Avenue sold essentials such as milk, lighter fluid and coffee. Like an early 7/11, the store was open 24 hours a day and offered simple food, diner style, thanks to a group of Ukrainian women who came in the evenings to cook for Tom’s father-in-law and his friends. There was no english and there were no recipes. It was a place to share conversation and food – borscht, cabbage rolls, potato pancakes and pierogis. The Vietnam war was on, there were students on the street along with partying hippies looking for good inexpensive food.
When management of the store passed to Tom in 1967, one of his first tasks was to create menus in english. About the same time the plastic lettered Pepsi menu board on the wall was replaced, the restaurant space doubled in size, overseen by the benevolent Ukrainian holders-of-title. But the food did not change. In the kitchen old staff taught new staff how a dish should be prepared. While Tom said there are as many recipes for borscht as there are grandmothers who make it, there was consistency of style. But secrets were another thing. When Tom was approached five years ago to write a Veselka cook book he just laughed. There were still no recipes!
Borscht has been on the menu for 61 years. Made with beef and pork in a three day labour of love, it’s probably listed with the City as a national treasure and will be there forever. Let’s hope so – it’s rich, soulful and satisfying. Same with the pierogis. Four women work 40 hours a week just to keep up with the demand – that is, about 3,000 a day. A day! And such delicate dumplings. Potato is the most popular flavour, maybe because of the perfect combo with caramelized onions – although the apple sauce and sour cream condiments made me save the farmer’s cheese pillow until last.
Location scouts knock on the door regularly looking to capture the authenticity of the store on film. Tom holds that his regulars – many of whom come at least once a day every day – are the backbone of his business. They are also his friends. So it takes a personal connection from a movie house to turn the restaurant into a set. Spielberg has no sway here. Last year a director approached Tom wanting to use the location for a shoot, just as he had years ago as a student of the nearby film school. Tom’s support at that time helped to start his career. So he was in, again. I guess it also helped that the star of the film, Julie Anne Moore, was a regular of the restaurant, and the director’s wife…
It turned out the book publisher would not take no for an answer. After much cajoling, dishes were made by the kitchen, then analyzed and reconstructed by a third party. It was a good compromise. The secrets were safe and the recipes were shared in a book that in the end was not so much about the food as the flavor of the people who shared it. For Tom, Veselka is about ancestry and history. It is about his regulars. It is about a special not-so-small corner of New York City that has become his life’s work…









The Cat’s Meow
It may be a little catty to say that New York’s cafe society is going to the dogs. But before you enter the Meow Parlor on the lower east side, you have to remove your shoes, sanitize your hands and sign a waiver. You also have to bring your own coffee, and if you fancy an accompanying sweet, it must be purchased from the Meow’s bakery around the corner. This cat cafe only provides cats. And even then, you can pat them but you cannot pull their tails. So for those of us who could never be considered ‘cat people’, and would only venture into the vicinity when the cattery was actually closed, we have to wonder if the parlor is a feline fetish, or another ‘only in New York’ experience. The answer is yes and no.
There are cat cafes all over the world – Japan, Europe, Dubai – even Melbourne has one. So New York has come to the party late. But with this and another cafe called Little Lions about to launch, there’s a new circus in town.
In an era where comfort animals are the new must-have prescription, the Meow Parlor is catering to a need. More like a demand. The cafe only opened before Christmas and is already booked out weeks in advance. Free wifi means patrons can work there all day once they have their spot, and at $4 per 30 minutes it’s cheap therapy. Travelers who miss their moggies can pop in for a pat. Likewise tenants in no-pet apartments. But for those needing caffeine rather than feline, there are two great alternatives around the corner – one for optimists, a surf shop serving expresso, and the other for locals who would rather get mugged than meowed…
Happy New Year!
The epicenter of iconic New Year celebrations rippled out from Times Square last night to the joy of us all. Welcome 2015! Standing on our roof froze the moment in time – literally – and we go forward with much anticipation for the best year yet. Thank you to everyone for being part of the past year, for listening and reading and sharing stories. Thank you also for your letters and comments which always inspire me to do more. Let’s see what we can do with 2015!
Christmas inspiring NYC
Bing must have been dreaming of last Christmas, because despite his voice resounding all over the city, there is not a snowflake in sight this year. However, the mist from the holiday heat wave ( it will reach 12*C tomorrow ) is creating fantastic foggy effects around Gotham’s highest, accentuating the festive sparkle in ways only NYC could. Shoppers may have overcrowded Macys this week causing their escalators to be shut off, but the real spectacle was further uptown. In Bryant Park coordinating colors bounced from the Christmas tree to the tower above Times Square, crooning momentarily into the clouds before lighting up Rockefeller Center and that famous Norwegian spruce. Skaters had more space on the rink than visitors shuffling for a selfie, while Saks just over the road on Fifth Avenue turned everyone’s attention around. The whole front of the store became a visual spectacular, with shadowy renditions of the Rockettes in ‘An Enchanted Experience’. A few blocks north, the light show at Tiffanys was more gem oriented, and beautiful to watch. But the best of all, again, were the windows of Bergdorf Goodman. This year the pivotal theme was inspiration. Over 100 craftsman contributed their skill to create windows celebrating various art forms like music, literature, theatre, architecture and film. Each window is art in itself, and the inspiration it comes from is again given out. This is Christmas after all, and this is New York City, where the giving and receiving of inspiration never sleeps…
Brilliance in the Bowery
Hospitality of operatic proportions is bursting at the seams in the heart of the Bowery. Packed houses every night resound with competing arias, quixotic consumption and dramatic audience participation. This is a show not to be missed. Where faux French staging is often overdone with garlic predictability and Proustian gloom, this season DBGB offers a fresh interpretation of the classics. Bravo. The pig may be the focus of the performance, but protagonists front and back of house make the magic happen.
The role of tavern master sits generously with Mike, who personally presents each slow roasted suckling pig with as much excitement as the last, clanging a huge bell to announce the impending feast. On Thursday night there were three bell ringings, and each time the anticipation of the parties was well met. Apart from the various accompaniments ( and the impressive baked alaska that completes the piggy package ) the hog itself consumes the entire day and skill of more than one chef. Such is the fine detail of their work, that when the pig’s head is returned on the request of the culinary curious to carve the facial features for tasting, the chef cuts the tastebuds off the tongue as these can turn bitter in the baking process. Who would know that?! This was only the first indication of the perfection of the food setting it’s own standard.
With all respect to the pig, sausages are the real stars of the house, and we were richly rewarded by the excellent recommendations of our waiter Josh. France and old colonial connections made a perfect tryst between spicy Tunisienne and earthy Beaujolaise links – although speaking of rich, the duck that followed was in a class of it’s own. Whatever Ian did with the resting and the roasting, he is a master chef. I would have believed this even if he hadn’t delivered his team’s favorite dish for us to taste – one we would have been too afraid to order – until now. If you had never tasted a perfect chocolate truffle, then you could very well think you had discovered it by tasting the Boudin Basque, a peppery blood sausage served on creamy mashed potato with a poached egg. It was sublime. Outstanding. Not the least bit scary, and even if it were, why should vampires have all the fun…?
DBGB is as much a melting pot now as it is an inviting New York dining experience. But therein lies the rub. In the past 5 years since it’s opening, I have been to this bistro four or five times and it was never like this. The atmosphere is warmer now, the food is better. For me DBGB has reinvented itself in the ever changing landscape that is NYC. The waiting staff have a lean olympic look and there is a warmth that extends from Le Grand Fromage to the punters. On Thursday a huge party of architects filled most of the front room, and included us in their Christmas photo. The piggy party of blokes behind us offered to share their feast and wanted to talk about Mosman and Sydney’s north shore. And in the midst of the merry-making there was Ian talking about the ongoing refinement of french cuisine and what happens when you mix it up with the gregariousness of the American culture. Burgers a la bourguignon, DBGB style. Somehow it works – although imagine if you threw some exotic Australian ingredients into the mix? That is a playbill yet to be written and worth watching out for…




























































