Morta Di Fame

I Can Retire: I've Made it on Fox

noreply@blogger.com (Morta Di Fame) — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 02:18:00 +0000

Did you all know I am a ladies arm wrestling champion? I made this video documenting my victory.

Recently, my favorite bar in Greenpoint, The Diamond Bar hosted a Ladies vs. Wimpy Guys (under 145lb) and it made it onto Fox TV (my favorite station) at 2am.
Watch the newest video here.

YOU LOVE YOU

noreply@blogger.com (Morta Di Fame) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 00:19:00 +0000

Getting ready for Valentine's Day I have a lot in the works. I am planning a big Love Bird's Market at the Lutheran Church of the Messiah on 2/11/12 for Greenpointers. Lots of fun gifts, food and music.

I am going to sell these postcards, because before you can love anyone, you need to know how to love yourself.

Oh the cream pie!

noreply@blogger.com (Morta Di Fame) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 03:13:00 +0000

Growing up we always got a Chocolate Cream Pie from Days Bakery, an old fashioned German bakery in Honesdale, Pennsylvania. There was a major gap in my cream pie eating until M.Wells came along and the lovely pastry chef reignited my passion. Coconut Cream Pie, Banana Cream Pie, Maple Cream Pie. If it has a creamy pudding topped with heavy whipped cream frosting on a pastry crust it's as good as gone.
While up at Lake Hopatcong, we were trying to figure out dessert for New Year's Eve. Eureka! Coconut Cream Pie! I picked the easiest recipe I could find. It isn't the quickest because this pie isn't baked so it has to solidify in the fridge for about 4 hours before you can smother it in more cream. All we had to do all day was look at birds, so no rush.
I like recipes that call for you to add everything and mix. My banana bread recipe is the same. And it was the first time I ever have made a homemade pudding! Super duper easy and the boxed kind we had in the pantry was from 1988. I only eat expired food from the 90s. I have class!
I think we could have let it solidify a bit longer than we did on the stovetop because it didn't do much more solidifying in the fridge. It was more like a spoon pie, but it didn't matter, it was delicious. I may try some corn starch next time.
The recipe calls for frozen whipped topping, but make the real thing! (Just some heavy cream, sugar and a little vanilla.) Next time, I'll add some coconut flavor to the pudding as well, because other than the toasted coconut flakes, it wasn't very coconut flavored, but it's so creamy and perfect and addictive it didn't matter that much.
I also might try to make my own pie crust. I know! The frozen ones are pretty good though and so easy. Just make sure you bake it and let it cool before you add the pudding. We forgot until it was time to pour in the pudding, but it didn't really matter.
Stay tuned: next cream pie will be Banana Cream Pie! I am loving the cream pies.

Coconut Cream Pie, adapted from Carol H. recipe at All Recipes.com

Filling:
3 cups half-and-half
2 eggs
3/4 cup white sugar
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup flaked coconut, toasted
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 teaspoon coconut extract

1 (9 inch) pie shell, baked
Topping:
1 containter heavy cream
1/4 C. sugar or less (I prefer no sugar in my whipped cream.)
1 teaspoon vanilla

Start by pre-baking then cooling your pie shell.

In a medium saucepan, combine half-and-half, eggs, sugar, flour and salt. Bring to a boil over low heat, stirring constantly until pudding-like in texture. Remove from heat, and stir in 3/4 cup of the coconut and the vanilla extract.

Pour into pre-baked pie shell and chill 2 to 4 hours, or until firm.

To make your topping beat heavy cream, sugar and vanilla until desired consistency. Top pie with whipped cream, then sprinkle the rest 1/4C of toasted coconut on top.

To toast coconut, spread it in an ungreased pan and bake in a 350 degree F (175 degrees C) oven for 5 to 7 minutes, or until golden brown, stirring occasionally.

noreply@blogger.com (Morta Di Fame) — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 15:58:00 +0000

And I thought Rainbow Cookies were hard! This is a Mondrian Cake made by Caitlin Freeman of Blue Bottle Coffee for Moma SF.

Caitlin Freeman of Blue Bottle Coffee from Post & Grant on Vimeo.

Expired

noreply@blogger.com (Morta Di Fame) — Fri, 30 Dec 2011 23:47:00 +0000

Warning: Eating expired food may cause death.

Photos: Jon Pywell & Jen Galatioto

Rainbow Cookies

noreply@blogger.com (Morta Di Fame) — Thu, 29 Dec 2011 14:42:00 +0000

From Greenpointers, Recipe: Rainbow Cookies

I've had this recipe for Rainbow Cookies on my fridge since last year and decided to make it. Working my first job as a counter girl at an Italian bakery in Queens and accepting collect calls from the grumpy bakery owner's son, who was in jail for idiotic low-level racketeering, gave me have a distaste for Italian pastries, with the exception of a few things: Pignoli Cookies, Rainbow Cookies & Cannolis (but only the cannolis that the nuns from the San Carlo monastery on Erice, a medieval mountain town in Sicily make. God is in them.) The rest of the Italian pastries can burn in hell.

Rainbow Cookies are pretty pricey per pound and if you're going to buy them around Brooklyn I would recommend Fortunata Brother's on Manhattan & Devoe.

Making the rainbow cookies seemed pretty pricey, too. It didn't help that I had to buy 3 half sheet pans at $15 a pop from The Brooklyn Kitchen, plus 4 tubes of Almond Paste at $8 a pop! I definitely came home grumpy.

"I should have just bought them at the bakery," I said as I laid the ingredients on the counter. But the process and the end result were worth it, plus we got between 150-200 cookies out of it.

I cut the recipe out of New York Magazine from the chef of Torrisi Italian Specialties, a great Italian restaurants down on Mulberry, the walls lined with Manhattan Special: my favorite drink, espresso soda.

If you plan on making rainbow cookies, make sure you have an entire day off plus a partner with good hand-eye coordination. I am lacking in that area and Jon, who is mechanically inclined proved, to have amazing cake layering and chocolate spreading skills. Had I tried to take this endeavor solo, I assure you these cookies would not be so pretty.

When it comes down to it, "it's a lot of work, Jane," as Nonna, my Sicilian Grandma would say. There are many steps: beating the egg whites for stiff glossy peaks, splitting one batter into three for coloring, baking three cakes separately until just underdone so they stay moist, cooling the cakes then layering them using orange marmalade as glue, letting them set then spreading warm chocolate on the top and bottom. Start as early in the morning as you can.

While getting closer and closer to chocolatey soft almond cookie goodness, I was giddy. I remember saying, "this sure as hell beats last minute christmas shopping." In fact, making these cookies is what the holidays are all about: slowing down, spending time with someone you love, making something you love, then giving to people you love." These cookies put a truer smile on faces than anything you can unwrap and rip a price tag off of.

Torrisi Rainbow Cookies Recipe from New York Magazine

12 large eggs, separated

2 2/3 cups sugar

24 oz. almond paste

8 sticks butter, softened

5 2/3 cups all-purpose flour

2 tsp. salt

2 tsp. red food coloring

2 tsp. green food coloring

16 oz. orange preserves, heated and strained

8 oz. bittersweet chocolate, chopped

Preheat oven to 350. Beat egg whites in electric mixer until they just hold stiff peaks. Add ½ cup sugar, beating until whites hold stiff, slightly glossy peaks, then refrigerate. Beat together almond paste and remaining sugar in mixer. Add butter gradually and beat until mixture is fluffy, about 3 minutes. Add yolks and beat until well combined. Reduce speed to low and add flour and salt and mix until just combined. Fold in egg whites. Divide batter equally among 3 bowls; wearing gloves,(1) whisk red food coloring into one and green into another, leaving the third batch plain. Spread each batter separately and evenly, about ¼-inch thick, onto 3 half-sheet pans, each greased and lined with parchment paper. Bake until just barely set, about 7 minutes. (2) When layers are cool, spread half the preserves onto the green layer. Invert plain layer over it and discard paper. Spread on remaining preserves, and invert red layer over it; discard paper. Wrap with plastic and top with a weighted baking pan. Refrigerate for several hours. Remove plastic and bring to room temperature. Melt chocolate in a double boiler, and (3) spread thinly on top layer. Chill in freezer briefly until firm. Cover with wax paper, place another baking sheet on top, then invert cake onto sheet pan and remove paper. Quickly spread with remaining chocolate and return to freezer until firm. Trim edges, slice, and serve.

On Miguel

noreply@blogger.com (Morta Di Fame) — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 00:19:00 +0000

From Space for a Small Owl, Jon's blog: On Miguel.

Marofoto.tumblr.com

THE DISORGANIZED LEADING THE DISORGANIZED: TIP #1 - JOCK STRAP AS CHEESE STRAINER

noreply@blogger.com (Morta Di Fame) — Fri, 09 Dec 2011 17:18:00 +0000

One of my biggest hurdles in life is that during embryonic development the organization gene turned up missing. I apply the same theory of sports aptitude to organizational aptitude: you can be born with it like a natural athlete or can practice the shit out of it, which is what I am attempting. There is a much that high school sports can teach us, aside from how to use a jock strap as a cheese strainer.
It feels like the shit hits the fan everyday and everything is scattered everywhere. Where do I start? I run around my apartment in hopeless despair and only make the situation worse.
I start by picking up all the underthings my cat traipsed around the apartment in his jaws but I don't finish because I see that I left that bottle of unmentionable prescription meds out so I run to hide it away in a cabinet (even I can't look at it) but I don't get to close the door before I notice I left my vibrator on the nightstand in the bedroom. I open that drawer and scream at the chaos of batteries and used tissues inside then notice it could use a cleaning so I run it into the bathroom and look under the sink for the gallon of bleach but I see that the cat left me a smelly gift in the litter box. I scoop that up but forget to flush because I notice an even more special gift in the corner where I dropped my toothbrush. On and on. What began as an attempt to straighten up, leaves my home looking like a perverted horror house. Think back to a more innocent time.
I played basketball in high school and when I stood at the foul line, all eyes on me, I took a deep breath and focused just on that one shot. I forgot about all that happened in the game before and everything that was ahead. I dribbled once, bent my knees and took my shot, and didn't forget to follow through with my arms. It kept me right there, not rushing ahead and I made more shots that way.
Applying this to organizing my life helps. Task at hand: burn old photos from vacations with ex-boyfriend. Follow-through: finish them off until the are charred bits that disintegrate into thin air. You don't need scraps of paper soaked in lighter fluid near the candles of the shrine to your new boyfriend, do you? Done. Move on.
You can only do one thing at a time. So when you feel scatterbrained and like there is so much to do, breathe and think to yourself I can only do one thing at a time. Do this one task, finish it, then move on. Getting anxious about everything you have to afterwards is only going to make what you're doing less fun and you won't do the best job. Organize in the moment. One miserable task at a time!

It's All Your Fault You Evil Guinea

noreply@blogger.com (Morta Di Fame) — Wed, 07 Dec 2011 01:00:00 +0000

Food anxiety is an affliction resulting from the unrealistic perception you may not have enough food to feed everyone. Making a pound of pasta for two people is a manifestation of this. It also happens when you are worried you might make your guests ill, like when you serve raw oysters or undercooked meat. The sound of vomiting or groans of diarrhea only make this feeling worse.

Severe stomach pain and the words, "I think I'm having a heart attack," rush Jon and I the hospital where sonogram results revealed an evil bunny had taken residence in his gall bladder.
I began to feel extreme food guilt. Was it the Grilled Cheese with Bacon and Avocado? The Bolognese Sauce?
"Nonna's last lasagna might be my last lasagna!" Jon said.
Gall bladder stones develop over time and I had only been force feeding him high fat foods for little over a month. Isn't that how it works when you fall in love? You feed the person and yourself until you are both overweight and unattractive to each other and then you join a gym?

A few people noted that avocados, notoriously high in fat can trigger gall bladder attacks and we'd had avocado for breakfast as part of a meal for the record that I did not prepare.
None the less, leaning over his gurney I had that big eyed "I'm sorry I did this to you," look on my face.
"It's all your fault you evil guinea," Jon said and we both broke into hysterical laughter that made his pain and my guilt worse.
This, along with, "You're still handsome even though you're in a wheelchair," and, "I don't even know where my organs are," and, "Your teeth can fall out, your organs can't" are among the demented comments we made while nervously waiting his fate.
Well that fat party is over. It's quinoa and bean sprouts from now on (well or him at least.) And he wasn't even allowed to keep the evil bunny. Food can hurt.

THE EVER-ELUSIVE ORGANIZED LIFE, ENTROPY & DRY ERASE MARKERS

noreply@blogger.com (Morta Di Fame) — Sun, 04 Dec 2011 02:34:00 +0000

Becoming close to organized is a lofty goal; not a complete disaster area is more what I'm going for. It's hard. The propensity to be neat is learned and genetic. If you're OCD, God bless you. If you were taught how to properly scrub a floor and bleach fumes smell like roses to you, then you're probably 100% Sicilian.

I am not and didn't get the clean gene. My Mom says she rather had spent time with us than clean so she had a cleaning lady, Linda who is like family. I can respect that but it doesn't help me now!

I followed suit and have a lovely cleaning person when I can afford it, and it sure helps with the nitty gritty, but organizing my life would mean she would have to climb inside my brain and do some major tweaking. And I'm just not ready for that.

It's basic physics. The Law of Entropy states that the universe naturally moves from a state of order to disorder. This can be demonstrated when I hang up all my clothes. The time it takes to organize my closet compared to the time it takes me to throw everything on the floor again when I get dressed makes cleaning seem like a waste of time. My clothes want to be in a heap on the floor; the universe tells me so.

That said, the brain feels calmer and works more effectively when things are organized. And when you have a million things to do plus a trillion loose ends to tie, lists help. It's just scary when you write: "find old list" on your new list.

By now I would be in a mental institution if it wasn't for google tasks.

Despite this handy tool, I have the tendency to write things on random pieces of paper then throw the papers on my desk. The desk I took so long to organize is once again a disaster. Then when a guest comes over, I just take everything on the desk and throw it into a bin. Looks clean, but it's an illusion. I do this when my laptop looks like a patchwork quilt of icons. I make a "Desktop" folder and dump everything in there. It's bliss, but just a cover up.

The new solution: dry erase markers on my mirror. That way I can makes lists (like in google tasks): Greenpointers, Ugly Art Room, Morta Di Fame, Polo & Life. They are all in one place and right in front of me, easy to read and fun to cross off. When I think of something I don't have to open the laptop. It looks cool, too. Don't pay attention to the evil dragon in the corner.

Is that an electronic cigarette in your pocket?

noreply@blogger.com (Morta Di Fame) — Sun, 27 Nov 2011 21:22:00 +0000

Brain tells hand to reach into coat pocket. Hand retrieves what feels like pen. Hands lifts pen-like object to lips. Brain tells mouth to suck. Inhale. Brain is happy. Exhale. Brain is happy. Repeat.
I am addicted and love every minute of it! There are obvious reasons why electronic cigarettes rule: matchless, blue neon light, no stinky clothes. Plus, you can smoke in ridiculous places, like nursing homes, playgrounds and AA meetings.
I know my rules of electronic cigarette etiquette, though. While relaxing on a comfortable rocking chair at my lady doctor's office, I reached into my pocket for a fix. Just as I was about to inhale the sweet smokeless vapor, I noticed a huge pregnant woman with painfully swollen ankles standing nearby. There was no place for her to sit, so in consideration of her condition, I put down my electronic cigarette and continued rocking.
I was never a smoker, unless you count the time in junior high school when on a field trip to release tadpoles into a pond I begged my young substitute teacher for a smoke. I was twelve; she caved. Either I was a really persuasive pre-teen or she was completely disturbed. It was Newports in the schoolyard until high school when we had to go across the street to smoke and that was a drag.
If you're wondering, electronic cigarettes are not like real cigarettes. Real cigarettes are obviously more unhealthy and self-destructive and therefore much more satisfying. They are like Diet Coke, once you get accustomed to that putrid artificial cancer causing sweetener you don't want real sugar. Or like using a vibrator; not like the real thing, but they always deliver.

GIVE THE GIFT OF FOOD COMA TO HUNGRY PEOPLE

noreply@blogger.com (Morta Di Fame) — Fri, 25 Nov 2011 15:16:00 +0000

Instead of skull raping your credit card (even more), make a donation to my church's soup kitchen, where I spend one hour per week not cursing and thinking perverted thoughts (well that's a lie!). I just donated $100 to the Greenpoint Church Soup Kitchen because hungry people need to experience food comas, too. Please donate and share. Read a letter from the Pastor Ann at Greenpointers.

Why is there a dead bird carcass and all these crazy people here?

noreply@blogger.com (Morta Di Fame) — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 23:48:00 +0000

I am bringing Jon (new awesome BF) to Thanksgiving in Queens. Boy, is he in for it! Nonna is making her last lasagna - again! And we are going to wear these matching authentic guido track suits just for the occasion.

He knows the rules:

1. When Nonna asks, "you Italian?" he is encouraged to lie to her ninety year old face. And when she asks, "You gotta goo jobba?" he won't need to lie because he is a tree genius (Watch this amazing video.) Going into too much detail might confuse her, so in order to ice the crazy cake I will tell her he is a tree doctor. The word doctor is like a massage for an old Sicilian womens' brains. I grew up with, "Jane, why you no become-uh the doct-uh?" She still asks and I'm thirty and have been working as a professional photographer for a long time. I guess there is still hope.

2. Pace yourself but eat everything. He has been power eating over the last few days so he can finish the "last lasagna" followed by an entire thanksgiving meal, followed by cannolis, which are as unnecessary as lasagna on Thanksgiving. (Aren't we celebrating the pilgrims destroying native american culture and why sharing is very bad?) Unbutton your jeans or better yet wear a spandex waist band. Purge in the bathroom. Whatever it takes, but eat it all! Eating shirtless or in a wife beater is acceptable.

3. Don't try to count the cats. There are many nooks and crannies Marcy has hidden them in. If she does disclose the number, she likes you, but is most likely lying or has lost count. Keep the number confidential. And when Nonna bats them off the table with her leopard print cane, understand that while we are not animal abusers, Nonna is, and if you try to stop her, she may mistake your for a cat.

4. You will be interrupted and confused. Rocco mumbles in Italian and in English with his mouth full of food, but never chicken; he hates chicken. We don't know what he is saying, but if you do understand anything it's usually pretty demented and amazing. He will not listen to anything you are saying, but if it looks like he is listening he is actually waiting for you to stop talking so he can talk. And if you talk for too long he will interrupt you. If you talk about cameras, he will love you. And you will most likely be privy information regarding Charlie, the Catahoula dog's, extensive social life and stellar bowel movements. Nod and smile.

5. Among the five of us, there will be most likely ten conversations going at once. You will feel like you need headphones, the noise reduction type, so bring them. When the feeling of "Why is there a dead bird carcass and all these crazy people here?" sets in, make a run for it. We will all understand. You have a choice. We don't.

NEW PARK PIZZA BY PIZZA COMMANDER

noreply@blogger.com (Morta Di Fame) — Mon, 21 Nov 2011 14:00:00 +0000

I was honored to recently take a tour of every Greenpoint slice place with the one and only Pizza Commander. Results coming soon. In the meantime, check out his review of New Park Pizza, the famous pizza joint in one of the guido-ist neighborhoods in Queens, Howard Beach. I love me some New Park on the way to a beach day out in Rockaway!

New Park Pizza Review on Me, Myself & Pie by Pizza Commander

INTERVIEWING NOT LIKE A MONSTER

noreply@blogger.com (Morta Di Fame) — Thu, 17 Nov 2011 16:54:00 +0000

I am taking a class tonight at Flux Factory in LIC to learn how to interview like a journalist since I am now working on Greenpointers. We were assigned homework which is to read interviews. I have been thinking about monogamy lately and this is an interesting take on it from one of the interviews:

"Why monogamy? Listen, you have to negotiate those things in a relationship. I wouldn’t choose monogamy. But it’s what she wants and, frankly, I get things in exchange for sacrificing certain things. So that’s why most people choose monogamy: because it’s worth it. She's a phenomenal person because she puts up with everything that I could possibly throw at her and she’s un-phased by any of the costume work [and] the bouncy rides. She was with me throughout all of that taxidermy stuff, you know? She would come over to my house and I would have rotting dog and submersion rubbing alcohol in the closet and she would say, "This is weird, but okay. I’m getting used to the smell." So she has paid her dues when it comes to me. " - Nate Hill

Here is the full interview posted by my teacher Pauline Peechin

RED VENDETTA CUPCAKES

noreply@blogger.com (Morta Di Fame) — Thu, 27 Oct 2011 02:30:00 +0000

Written in 2009:

I am really trying hard to be positive. Most days it's easy but stress is vile and pessimism is poison and when people try to bring me down it's difficult to stay on the optimistic track.

The first step for me is to not take things personally. Everyone is in their own emotional bubble and the negative vibes that seen directed at me are really just manifestations of craziness going on inside them.

No one is perfect. Most people are good. I do believe that.

But sometimes I will be having a great day, rays of sunshine all over the place, birds chirping it up and some happiness vampire will blatantly smack me in the face with a jerk stick. Now its personal. My bones tell me to smack back, fast and hard. Usually I can manage to remain calm. Cooking definitely helps. And chocolate. And wine. And pot.

Then there are those times when a full blown vendetta is in order. This goes beyond someone just being an ass, when someone goes out of their way with your worst interest in mind and does something so blatantly dick that it's easy to never be their friend again. It's cut throat, but a good way of keeping nasties out of your path.

Now vendettas are definitely on the negative side of the spectrum but sometimes it just feels right. I think it comes standard when you have even a hint of Sicilian DNA; its called the "crazy chromosome" and I definitely got some of that from the Rocco. When it creeps in, what's a girl to do? Channel away those bad vibes. And the best way to do that: baking!!!

A few people have really hurt my feelings lately. I will not disclose who they are but I will say one thing: GROW UP AND MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS! STOP BEING COWARDS AND HAVE THE DECENCY TO COMMUNICATE! I HAVE BENT OVER BACKWARDS FOR YOU! GET OVER YOURSELF! HIGH HORSES DIE! I BET YOUR DOG STILL LOVES ME!

Now that I got that out of the way, I am going to be baking some Red Vendetta Cupcakes. They will be bloody and viscously sweet and a way to funnel out the icky feelings that go along with carrying out a vendetta. Oh sweet vendetta, why must I suppress you?
Because by feeling vindictive I am actually hurting myself. They will never experience the grossness I have inside. I would rather love them and forgive them, even if they don't know it, than be hurtful back. So I am going to get abusive on my hand mixer and beat on my oven and bake the pain away and say one more thing to them: I LOVE YOU! I REALLY DO AND THATS WHY IT HURTS SO BAD THE WAY YOU HAVE TREATED ME! Talk about wearing emotions on your sleeve! I'm such a sap!

I never posted this back then. Probably because I never made those cupcakes. But today, over two years later, I ran into one of these friends. We were so happy to see each other at first sight, and he apologized. It was purely awesome. I never forgot how much it hurt to have them hate me, and its good to have them back in my life, even if it's just a short run in on the street.

Jew Dog

noreply@blogger.com (Morta Di Fame) — Mon, 17 Oct 2011 04:04:00 +0000

I figured out my Halloween costume. While perusing photos from last year's McGolrick Park Dog Halloween Costume Contest from the McGorlick Park Flickr pool, I found this gem. This is why I love Greenpoint. The caption was just that, two simple concepts. Dog + Jew = Jew Dog. Amazing discoveries are found around every corner in this town. And since October 31st marks my 1-Year Anniversary of living in Greenpoint, this is the perfect costume!

Jew Dog

Oh Wafa! You bring tears to my eyes...

noreply@blogger.com (Morta Di Fame) — Mon, 10 Oct 2011 16:00:00 +0000

A few years back when Wafa opened her itty bitty shop in Forest Hills, Queens, I was there. She was 4 days into it and I curiously walked into some of the most delicious, satisfying and nutritious food of my life, and met Wafa, one of the warmest loveliest people I've ever met. I wrote a huge story about her new place, obviously raving about all of her delicious home cooked dishes.

It was a matter of time before it became a legendary Mediterranean food temple.

Serious Eats, Village Voice, Chow Hound, New York Mag have all raved about Wafa's.

Marcy recently told me Wafa moved, closer, and into a bigger space.

With grapes leaves on my brain I went to a local spot in my new hood, hoping to find a place only a thirty second walk away that would be as good as Wafa's. The interiors were cozy and the owners were friendly. My first sip of rosewater was delightful. I wanted it to be so good.

Wafa is a tough act to follow. Disappointed and saddened that I couldn't write a positive review about the place on my new blog (so I opted to not write a review) I took a trip to Queens and enjoyed dinner at Wafa's new place that had the same perfect flavors as before. I was so proud. I did like how the old location had a glass case to preview all the goodies but she expanded her menu and has fried cauliflower on it! And of course, the baklava was out of this world, eat the whole container amazing!

I told her how the other place was of no comparison to hers.

"Its not Mama Wafa's!" she said and gave me a huge hug in her new huge kitchen.

I had a hard time not ordering everything on the menu and I took a big goody bag back to Brooklyn.

What a nice place to enjoy when I go back home.

I'm moving...

noreply@blogger.com (Morta Di Fame) — Sat, 08 Oct 2011 20:59:00 +0000

Hello dear friends of Morta Di Fame! I have some exciting news. You know I moved to Greenpoint, Brooklyn, from my old boro of Queens. And the blog waned. I realize why. I didn't have the same material I had when I lived there. By material I mean my crazy Sicilian family, but in particular the stars of the show Nonna and Rocco! My Mom Marcy, the only normal one, is keeping me abreast on the craziness going on there.
A new woman moved into the downstairs apartment below Nonna. The poor woman is very scared and regretful because not only does she have Nonna, the self-titled Commander of the House throwing her weight around but she has Nonna's second in command, Josephine (her caretaker) trying to steer the ship.
Normally the two are at odds about ridiculous Italian court TV shows but this time they are teaming up, and its getting ugly. When the new woman tried to pay her first months rent with a money order, they scoffed. "We don't accept those here," they told her. As if they are running a convenience store.
"I don't like her," Nonna says.
"But why?" Marcy asks.
"She has ripped jeans."
Ripped Jeans? This coming from the old woman who knitted sleeves onto a my dad's 70s maroon puffer vest and who use to make me scrunchies. Style is apparently very important to Nonna.
I promise to keep you posted on these stories but my focus has shifted to a new and bigger endeavor that I am inviting you to be a part of.
While walking around my gorgeous new McGorlick Park in Greenpoint, I wished I had a blog where I talk about all the amazing goings on and rad people in my neighborhood.

Serendipitously, I received an email from Justine, the founder and owner of the beloved Greenpointers blog. She was putting it up for sale because she was moving to Harlem. Its not like I don't have a million other projects going on but I bid and I got it!
What impressed me about Justine, aside from her kick-ass Brooklyn accent, is that she wasn't interested in the highest bidder but someone who would continue to develop the blog, which is my new job! That's top of my photography position at Polo and my art organization Ugly Art Room.
The welcome from my new neighbors and readers has been amazing and I hope you can be a part of it. Please check in: www.thegreenpointers.com
A post you may really enjoy is the Greenpointers Espresso Tour in which three other judges plus myself toured Greenpoint and tasted over 19 espressos to find THE BEST ESPRESSO in Greenpoint.
Even if you are not from Greenpoint, there is a lot on there you will enjoy, including recipes, reviews, art and music, funny stories, great photos, and not just from me but from a slew of other talented writers and photographers from a variety of backgrounds.
Morta Di Fame will now be reserved for my crazy writing plus a sounding board for the new blog, which has been so far a really interesting experience, like the debate among original Greenpointers on who is a "real" Greenpointer. Am I still in Queens? So stay tuned...

Thanks Mom. For terrorizing me

noreply@blogger.com (Morta Di Fame) — Tue, 04 Oct 2011 03:36:00 +0000

"I hate the smell of funeral homes," I told my Mom.
"You mean the flower smell?" She was driving.
"No the quiet. How you have to be quiet."
"Well you don't really have to be."

She turned.

"How old was he?"
"81."

"That's pretty good."
"That's 12 more years for me," my Mom said.
I went hoarse. Thanks Mom.
For terrorizing me before I go into a funeral home!

I knew his name was Ignazio, I thought.I didn't know. Eddie's real name was Ignazio.
We told his family, "he looks good." Surprised.
As if anyone looked good dead.

He was the best looking corpse I had ever seen.

"Not put through so much," my Mom said.

I tried to rub the sad looks off their faces.
I rubbed their arms and shoulders. Then walked away.

I told Eddie's wife Rose the stupidest story to make her laugh. Rubbing.
"Rose, Eddie was wearing the cutest sailboat pajamas the last time I saw him."
That's how bad the story was.

The Life of (the former) St. Rocco

noreply@blogger.com (Morta Di Fame) — Tue, 27 Sep 2011 04:39:00 +0000

It was Rocco's birthday dinner recently and over a deliciously cooked meal my Mom looked at Nonna and said," I am sorry to have to tell you this, but your son is converting to Protestantism." Rocco who walks in the candlelit procession of the Blessed Madonna in Sicily every summer and an atheist who refers to my mother's Methodist church as "lesbian church," was nodding in agreement.

Apparently, St. Rocco's day has been officially taken off the Catholic Saint Day calendar, Marcy explained, and the day has been given to a Hungarian Saint. The disgrace!
"That fucking Hungarian Saint can go die! Take away my saint day? I will never be a Catholic again!"
I thought saints were already dead and martyred, but what do I know. Cursing a Saint to death is pretty demented and once again makes me question what kind of genetics I have floating around inside me.
St. Rocco's story goes like this: while plagued with the plague, St. Rocco hid out in a cave and was close to death until a dog came to his rescue. How happy. During times of severe epidemics the people of Southern Italy prayed to St. Rocco for health. Especially those crazy Sicilian hypochondriacs.
Ever since I was a kid Rocco always said, "I'm a very sick-ah man!" Maybe it was his saint alter ego talking. And when he loses an inch off his belly, he says, "Jen, I'm withering away! I'm dying!"
The kicker: St. Rocco is French! Why is that so satisfying to me? Not every awesome person is Sicilian, Rocco. For the record, my dad think thats George Washington is a Sicilian descendant. Sicily Fries anyone?

More on St. Rocco.

Buy tickets to Ball Out!

noreply@blogger.com (Morta Di Fame) — Tue, 17 May 2011 01:35:00 +0000

Buy tickets to Balls Out! Fundraiser on Brown Paper Tickets.
Tickets will also be available at the door.

this is why i've been MIA...

noreply@blogger.com (Morta Di Fame) — Thu, 05 May 2011 11:07:00 +0000

...because all i can think about are BALLS!!!

Email uglyartroom (at) gmail.com to compete...
RSVP on Facebook.

Wow, I suck! But Nonna in a shark mask surely does not!

noreply@blogger.com (Morta Di Fame) — Wed, 06 Apr 2011 16:36:00 +0000

Hi. I suck. And I have a really bad haircut. I have been thinking about retiring this blog because of how sucky I have been. But I can't because when I create visual masterpieces like Nonna Wearing a Shark Mask, 2011, I need a place to show it to the world. This photo is part of a series of photos I have been playing around with using this amazing shark mask I bought in Philly.

I have been making pretty simple and not-so-blog-worthy food now that I have moved to Greenpoint. Cheese. Bread. Greens. Meat. And I have been eating out way too much. My apartment's proximity to Five Leaves leaves me with about five bucks in my wallet at the end of the month. But the homemade ricotta there is so amazing. And the wild boar ragu! And, and, and...

When I miss my Sicilian American heritage I take a walk along Graham Ave in Williamsburg. There are always little old Nonna's going to get their hair did. And I can buy the best fresh homemade ricotta from Graham Meats and Deli. I always head over to Cafe Capri for the best cappuccino in town and some friendly conversation from Joe, who is kind of hot for an old man. You know how I feel about old men. And for a truly demented experience, Jerry Ragusa, the headstone shop owner, sells "the best bread above ground." His cousin from Bayridge drops it off each morning. Guidonics translation: "Iz guzzin from Bayridge drobs it awf erry mawnin."

While trying to recreate the fantastic Five Leaves Ricotta, which is topped with honey, figs and some fresh thyme, you need chestnut honey, but aside from the $10 jar from Whole Foods, its nowhere to be found in Greenpoint and Williamsburg.

I am going to visit Nonna today in the old neighborhood and I know just where to get it. Don't be jealous. I am sure Nonna will give me some ridiculous content for this blog.

So I won't be retiring it just yet. And I think we agree, unless I am making meatballs or riceballs, anything that ends in balls, you read this for the family stories involving Sicilian psychosis. Its resurfacing so stay tuned. Nonna sounded on fire when I called her this morning.

noreply@blogger.com (Morta Di Fame) — Thu, 17 Feb 2011 05:34:00 +0000

I told Paulie that I would pray to the Madonna that he gets the liquor license.

And sure enough, while I was in Sicily, Paulie Gee's got its liquor license. Cha ching! Some of my friends had not even gone just because they couldn't drink there. Thank you Bedra Madre... that my friends are alcoholics.

Photo: Castellamare Del Golfo, August 2010, Procession of the Madonna on the Water