Hole in the Wall

Hole in the Wall by American definition generally refers to a small obscure place, and of course in Australia it is the name associated with a cash dispenser. A new coffee shop in East midtown takes on both these meanings to great effect – although I don’t think it will be obscure for very long. Forget the local village cafe, this Perth born barista and business man has his sights set on skyscrapers. Where he currently sends the alluring aromas of coffee up 20 floors at 420 Fifth Avenue, in a few months he will crack another hole in the wall in a 30 floor building further uptown. Pristinely neutral marble foyers are about to take on a whole new aroma. And if the number of takeaway cups at the ready behind the coffee machine are any indication, this guy is successfully taking on a very niche market.

Apart from the excellent flat white, there are no visible signs of an Australian connection. The coffee comes from Denver, the donuts from Dough in Brooklyn and the soup from Hale and Hearty. There are no lamingtons, no vegemite, and no mashed avocado on toast. Perhaps the accent is enough, and Australian cafes in NYC have become synonymous with coffee in the way that the Scandinavians have with chocolate or the French with pastry. Not to mention the Irish, who’s pubs around the world have a reputation come hell or high water…

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Mango fever

The gold rush in Australia is far from over. In fact if you are in Darwin at this time of the year, it is only just beginning. Recently, after 37 hours in transit from NYC, what I thought was the sandy irritation of jet lag in my eyes was actually the beginning of gold fever. Mango fever. Golden, luscious, six-is-never-enough mango fever. Once it takes hold you cannot leave the house without a picker. You cannot start the day without a smoothie, or some mango muesli, and you certainly cannot say no to mango cheesecake ( NY style of course ). Cooking mango leather or cutting moons and mezzalunas from perfectly ripe fruit is equally satisfying – although mostly in silence, as each new piece offers the hushed anticipation of finding glowing yellow under dark green skin. My sister Therese has the gift, she is a mango whisperer who talks Humpty Doo and KPs ( Kensington Prides ) with an urgent passion. The season is short and time is of the essence. Once the collusive cartels of bats and mango geese move in, the game is all over.

The process of extracting the gold is not without risk. Some trees shimmy with the warning  of thousands of insects as you approach, and the biggest mangoes are invariable in the heavens where the green ants dream. When awakened they stream relentlessly towards you down the 20 foot length of your extended picker, tactical and determined to hold position. But with a nugget of at least a kilo to be scored, the reward defies you to call ‘chicken’ before maneuvering the mango to safety.

Fortunately in the Top End there are outstanding recreational remedies for the fever, where picking, peeling and drying can rule your life 24 hours a day. Two thousand feet in the air in a vintage WW1 aircraft – and in the hands of the aerobatic Biggles of the biosphere, you can momentarily lose your fixation. Focusing on the horizon may even be challenging. What an experience! There I was feeling perfectly relaxed, feet around the gun portals enjoying the view, when we suddenly barreled with G forces that tripled my body weight – in complete opposition of course to a prime mango that loses 100 grams a day once past the peak. Who’s an addict? In the gold fields, the scales tell the story.

Speaking of which, Ed, the Territory’s mango mentor, has much advice on the joys of mango addiction. At any one time in the height of the season he has about 900 kilos of the best KP’s rotating through his driveway. He knows his product. But even though he, supposedly ( there were no witnesses ), trumped my 1.2 kilo record for the biggest mango of the season, there is always next year…. and the year after that….

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Mid term elections

The good news is that the Empire State Building was not swinging in any direction. Oh, and I finally understood that ‘gubernatorial’ was not a colloquialism…

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Halloweeeeeen

Halloween is much more fun than Ebola. In fact Halloween was one big party this year by comparison to the many other scary scenarios in the city, where a cough on the subway can send straphangers into panic. Pop up costume stores were in full commercial swing, offering everything from ‘one size fits most’ beer bottle outfits to pirate hooks to creepy green appendages to Zorro costumes for your dog. It seemed perfectly normal to find Marie Antoinette suggesting fresh pastries at Maison Kayser and to see a doctor serving lunch at the local B rated cafe. Vampires strolled the streets with dark makeup and wild hair. Actually no, that was just the usual punters late for work.

The real celebration was in the street closures that occur in pockets of the city as regular gigs every year. Competition is fierce from house to house and street to street, not just in decorations but also in the bounty of candy collected. In the upper nineties on the east side arachnids were trending, keeping a lid on the undead and adding splashes of color to the still-green leaves. But there would be no Halloween without witches, and while most were perpetually airborne, there was one that didn’t see the wood for the trees…

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Sant Ambroeus

Sant Ambroeus on the Upper East Side has a reputation for being ‘kinda snoody’ and perhaps that is the key ingredient to it’s success. Well placed on Madison Avenue  and 78th, the Milanese cafe has faux chandeliers above the coffee bar, the waiters wear bowties, and even children park their cars out front. Since 1936 this elegant pasticceria has been a standard of superior offerings in Italy, and more recently in NYC, where ‘we continue to serve our culturally inspired delectables in a casual yet elegant environment’.

Always eager to introduce Australians and like-minded gourmands to a newly discovered treatery, I asked one of the accented waiters why visitors would enjoy the cafe, but he passed me on to a longer serving waiter, who passed me on to a manager, who paused for so long, a by-standing customer jumped in. Apparently one should not need to ask. The man was waiting for his made-to-order brioche ham & mayo sandwiches to be individually wrapped in waxed paper bags, and his enthusiasm and waistline attested to his long standing patronage. Famous people come here, he said, happy to have spotted Steve Martin, Leonardo Di Caprio and Lucy Liu. ‘And the food is delicious!’ This was reinforced later by a woman at the bus stop who nevertheless encouraged me not to give the place kudos – she said there are plenty of other less expensive places where you can sit for hours with a coffee and not have to order cake. Ordering cake is a problem? But then she also blamed the new mayor for the bus being late. Which is never an issue if you have a hazelnut mousse sponge cream cake in a perfect little box ( taped to the base so it doesn’t damage ) to reward the journey home…

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Power Tower

The predawn light silhouetting a solar power plant in the Nevada desert looked spectacular this week, not just because I was actually in New York, but because the whole concept was like a looking glass into another world. The Public Art Fund has done it again! After building an elevated living room around the statue of Christopher in Columbus Circle two years ago, one wondered what new worlds the Fund would discover. This year, their imaginative installation on show at the Lincoln Plaza takes you on a journey with an Irish artist called John Gerrard, who has created a simulated world around a solar thermal power tower. The isolated tower is fed by 10,000 mirrors that adjust their position in real time and reflect light upon the tower to generate electricity.  The power tower really exists. What John has created is the world around the Tower – the light, the moon, the stars and the sun. Starting on the ground surrounded by solar panels, the viewer is virtually swept in a spiralling motion up and around the tower into the sky, and just as you hover completely overhead, the downward spiral begins. Over the course of the day the thousands of mirrors following the sun create fantastic lighting effects. My plan was to wait and witness a Nevada sunrise, but simulated reality combined with differing time zones between here and there left me in the dark. Fortunately there was another alternative. Amy’s Bakery was just around the corner, and their raisin and fennel sunflowers were shining regardless…

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Market Share

The Farmer’s Markets in Union Square are the best place to be in NYC on a Saturday morning. At any time of the year the Square is full of bustle and seasonal colors and tastes, but there is something special about this time of the year when pumpkins take on a magical quality. While there is no pretence that most of these golden gourds are better to look at than consume ( same story x 10 with the stalked brussels sprouts! ), the process of choosing a perfect pumpkin is a study in style. Children opt for size and impact in the haunting of Halloween. Squash and butternut become pies, bagels and even pumpkin salted caramels. Gourds are gorgeous just for their geometrics. But no wonder the local hoarders prefer nuts. As I paused at the back end of a truck piled with potential pumpkin purchases, a squirrel dug around the park in anticipation of burying his Thanksgiving feast. He saw me, hesitated, and then bounded away – pumpkins may be too big to bury, but nuts are definitely too small to share…

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West Side Story

Four million people in the past year have walked the High Line into the history books. Since 1999 when 2 men founded Friends of the High Line to preserve the weathered old elevated railway line, the project has not only created a beautiful living airborne space, but has transformed the lower west side of Manhattan. Starting below 14th street in the Meatpacking District, the High Line has been built gradually in segments, with the last of these opening in late September this year. This final section snakes away from its northernly direction to the west, and then loops around between the River and the Hudson Rail yards to end at 34th Street. If there is a snapshot of the extraordinary impact of the High Line on the city, it is here, where the Line appears to float above a massive construction site called the Hudson Yards, the largest private real estate development in the history of the United States.

For the millions of visitors, the cleverness of the High Line is not just the joy of a walk in the park. There are nooks and crannies along the route that open up underlying streetscapes through massive glass windows, and wooden spectator seats extend up from real railway tracks where you can pause and see the city from a previously inaccessible perspective. Works of art feature throughout the landscape, changing with the seasons. One year the water fountains recited Shakespeare as you pressed the button to drink. Now performances and events, stargazing and social soup experiments provide fun and engagement in this unique space.

The High Line maintains a true historical connection by featuring plants that grew themselves on the track during the years that the railway line was in disuse. This is especially evident on the newest section of the High Line, where a preserved section of track features the same colorful grasses that are planted in the more manicured areas. Old and new together, with grasses from the past, and a historic railway line in the middle of a new west side evolution. The very last train to ride the tracks carried three railcars full of frozen turkeys. What a visual! Their day was already done, but at this time of the year as we prepare for Thanksgiving, it is a reminder to be grateful for the foresight of a couple of guys who wanted to keep part of New York’s past and polish it for the future…

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Eataly

If all roads lead to Rome, then no wonder Eataly is busier than ever. In the past four years this mecca of all things delicious has pumped, poured, expressed and served a relentless crowd of visitors and locals. The restaurants are always full, people with overflowing shopping baskets linger over cheese and crusty bread, freshly inked pasta rivals the butcher’s osso bucco for freshness, and the rotisserie, despite sizzling fillets of beef and pork, still sees 250 whole chickens fly out the door every day. It is impossible to get a coffee from the perpetually queued cafe at the front ( service is a little lento ) but fortunately there is an exclusive expresso bar that serves a serious brew next to the torta temptations. In our case it was limone mousse cake.

Last week when I introduced my Australian cousins to this continental extravaganza, the patriarch of Little Collins was there doing the same. It was a tough choice at La Piazza, but in the end we went with the Grand Piatto Misto di Salumi & Formaggio served with paper parcels of bread. The prosciutto and ripe cheese were delicious but the pairing of almond honey with fresh ricotta was sublime.

The evening of shared memories and the creating of new ones was fun. I do like to show off the best of New York. But one of the best of Italy also gave us her blessing. Since that night I have bought a healthy supply of fresh pasta without any guilt. Despite my many indulgences, if it worked for Sophia Loren, it may still work for me….

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Book Fare

The International Book Fair at MOMA PSI in Long Island City last weekend was an educational experience, but not for the obvious reasons. Wanting to maintain a literary respectability in the company of my chief librarian sister Louise, and my friend Judy, owner of the appropriately named Wayward Books in Melbourne, I went to the fair in search of a good read and with the ulterior purpose of photographing an art book crafted by Adelaide artist and friend Beth Evans. The book was already sold however, and so there was to be no proof of her NYC premiere. However the opportunity to share the changing face of book culture in 2104 was abundant.

MOMA PSI was once a school, with classrooms, stairways and spaces that for this event revealed one surprise after another. Publishers and book sellers from all over the world presented their wares – books of all shapes and sizes, t-shirts, posters, political statements and tote bags ( if you read something, say somethingwhat you seek is near… ). There was no uniformity in product or in person – it was gloriously refreshing, like a whole new wave of book lovers. A feast of enthusiasm. The sellers were the trendiest of the trendy redefining ‘bookish’ as an artform and so challenging bearded Brooklynites over status for supreme coolness.

I didn’t get a picture of Beth’s book and I was spoilt for choice over a good read. But I did get an invitation to a guerilla event, and I am joyous that pages rather than pixels can be touched and turned into modernity. Books are back!

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