The Upper East Side Informer

Libertador: Best Fries on the UES

2009-11-04T16:01:00.007-05:00

I have not tasted every single French fry on the Upper East Side, but I have tasted enough fries in this neighborhood (okay, and across this fine city) (and okay, across this fine country) to know that I have now discovered the very best. In fact, what the heck, I’ve never been afraid of a little hyperbole – I hereby proclaim that I have found the best French fries in The Entire Universe. They’re right here on Second Avenue and 89th Street at Libertador Parrilla - Argentina.

The first time I went to Libertador, these fries snuck up on me: the entrée was good, but the side dish was out of sight. I went back a second time to confirm that they were exactly as excellent as I remembered. They were. After this, the daydreams began. It got to the point where I couldn’t concentrate on anything besides these fries. I inevitably went back, this time by myself so that I could focus. I ordered a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. Then I ate an entire bowl of fries. For dinner.

They call them French Fries Provenzal and they are fancied up with ample amounts of fresh garlic and parsley. They are crisp yet chewy and moist but not too greasy. This preparation is really more of a French thing: Manager Gedas Masilionis tells me that Argentinian food is heavily influenced by French and Italian cooking.

Don’t even think about insulting these fries with ketchup. You won’t get any at Libertador. If you absolutely have to dip them in something, try the delicious chimichurri sauce.

Then maybe get some steak on the side. Though I don't eat red meat, myself, I am aware that Argentinian cuisine is known for its beef. The cuts here are free-range and grass fed. You can even watch your steak get prepared to your specifications at the parrillero, basically an open-kitchen barbecue or meat bar, in the corner of the restaurant.

Besides the fries, I can recommend the 10 oz. King Salmon Fillet, which has been marinated for 24 hours, grilled and lightly smoked. It is served with an extremely fresh watercress, corn, and tomato salad. The Chicken Milanesa is pressed, breaded and served with mashed potatoes or…Fries Provenzal. Did I mention the fries?

The chef here is the young, up-and-coming Natalia Machado. She grew up in Buenos Aires and also heads-up the kitchens at Azul in the lower east side and Industria Argentina in Tribeca. Earlier this fall, she appeared on The Food Network’s Chopped, a chef contest show, and won.

Libertador, only open since last March, has been designed to resemble the parillas on the streets of Buenos Aires. The space is open and airy with both modern and traditional touches. The front façade is comprised entirely of windows looking out onto Second Avenue. This view of the city’s hustle and bustle combined with cozy lighting makes this a hip place to meet up with friends or a romantic spot for a date. In fact, I have a knack for spotting first dates and I’ve now noticed more than a few of them here.

Fabrics imported from Argentina adorn the bar stools and the banquet. Distressed mirrors line the walls and the ceiling is covered with old Argentinian newspapers detailing political events from the 1950’s to 1970’s. A colorful patchwork mural at the back of the restaurant features the shadow of a soldier on his horse. He is mid-stride and triumphant – presumably a libertadore celebrating independence. Or maybe he just had a serving of those Fries Provenzal. Of course, victory is always sweet, but I now believe it can also be savory…

Halloween Howl for Doggies at Carl Shurz, Sunday

2009-10-22T13:24:00.009-04:00

Halloween is lurking right around the corner, so it’s time to round up costumes for everyone in the family: that means you, your kids, and… even your bull dog. I don’t have a dog, myself, but I am delighted to discover that there is going to be a canine costume party here on the Upper East Side. It’s called the Annual Halloween Howl and it’s taking place Sunday afternoon (October 25) at Carl Shurz Park, 1-3 pm. If that doesn’t make you wag your tail then I don’t what will.

Turns out the Howl has been going on for about 12 years and is a fundraiser for the dog runs, which are maintained by volunteers and funded by private donations. If you want to register your companion in the contest, gussie him up, and arrive at the basketball court by the dog runs between 12 and 1 (enter the park at 84th Street and East End Avenue). It’s just a $5 donation fee to participate. Prizes will be awarded in the following categories: Small Dog, Large Dog, Group (dogs and their humans or more than one dog), and Best New York City Themed Costume.

Then, it’s your doggie’s chance to shine, to strut his stuff for the esteemed judging panel. The judges, culled mostly from the world of fashion, will be looking for originality, demeanor, attitude, and behavior. First, Second and Third places in each category will win ribbons and also gift certificates from Three Tiny Terriers, a dog boutique on First between 91st and 92nd.

There will also be a raffle, chances costing $1 each and $5 for a book of 6. There is an extensive list of prizes including gift certificates to lots of UES businesses like Maz Mezcal, Glaser’s Bake Shop and Yorkville Creperie. You could also win doggie-centric treats like a hand-knit sweater by Canine Couture, a 45 minute telephone consultation for animal communication with Cynthia Fellows, and 1 year’s supply of Frontline from University Animal Hospital, among many other great offerings. Besides, the merchandise table will be selling Carl Shurz thermal mugs, tote bags, flashing lights for dog collars, and leashes in addition to T-Shirts, sweatshirts, and hats.

I had the chance to catch up with one of the organizers, Nina Mortellito. She’s a volunteer and board member of the Carl Shurz Park Conservancy and specifically works with the dog runs. She got involved with this group about four years ago when she started taking her West Highland Terrier, Lily, to the park. She noticed that the runs needed some attention and decided to help out. “One of the things people don’t realize is that there is only one paid employee for the whole park. People think there’s a whole staff, but there isn’t.” She said that this and their annual Schmooze Benefit, which took place earlier this month, really keep the dog runs going and that’s good for the whole park. She told me, “we’re excited that the dog runs will now be renovated and we’re hoping that they’ll break ground as soon as next month.”

Mortellito’s Lily won’t be participating in the contest this year, but she’s previously dressed up as an oreo cookie. Mortellito says that the Halloween Howl is a great opportunity for UES dog owners and lots of kids to all get together in good spirits. While some owners purchase fun canine costumes online, others put a lot of creativity into making their own. Some of the most memorable entries, in her mind, were the Three Little Pigs (one dog, two owners) and one couple who built a dog-sized replica of the 86th Street crosstown bus, complete with the corrugated middle. “I don’t know how they trained their dog to stay in there, but they did!” I personally think this collection of snapshots would melt the heart of any Halloweeen scrooge.

Last year, there were about 100 small dogs and 50 large and group entries and Mortellito says they’re usually very well behaved. “There’s the Pug contingent, the Yorkie contingent, lots of Golden Retrievers, and always a few American Bulldogs.” She has noticed that there are more and more adopted mixed breeds coming out for the event. “It seems like a lot more people are reaching out.” In fact, the ASPCA regularly uses the dog runs to help acclimate the adoptables. They will have a table at the event.

So if your dog is ready to show off his ghoulish best, or just wants to enjoy the festivities, then stop by Carl Shurz on Sunday. See you there, woof woof!

Yup, Finger Therapy at New York-Presbyterian

2009-10-16T11:10:00.009-04:00

Please don’t make fun of the fact that I am currently in finger therapy at New York-Presbytarian Hospital. Never mind, go ahead: everyone else seems quite entertained by this, so you might as well be, too. And I do see the humor in this situation. I do. That is, when I’m not writhing in pain.

Here’s what happened: a few months back, I cut my left index finger with an extremely sharp pair of scissors. I did this while visiting my mom down in Delaware. We rushed over to the local Emergency Room for stitches. No big deal, except that the cut was right on my finger joint. This meant I had to wear a splint for two weeks because bending the finger would keep re-opening the wound. A special bandage kept my finger straight for a few more weeks.

As a result, my finger froze in a straight position. The joint tightened up and so did the skin. Point is, bending it is now surprisingly excruciating. So yes, silly little injury. Big pain in the…finger.

The other thing is that the scar looks…well, odd. It’s still red and shaped kind of like a tiny piece of pizza with rounded edges. The skin flap didn’t heal down onto the rest of my finger. Instead, it curled up, kind of like a hook. It looks almost like a tiny 6th appendage. My brother likened it to the snout of a little rodent, perhaps a mole. In a genuine attempt to make me feel better, one friend said it looked like a wart.

It has been suggested by a few medical practitioners that I should have requested a plastic surgeon while still in the ER. In fact, the concept did cross my mind, but it felt somewhat vain to do so. Now, I’m on deck for some reconstructive work, however the plastic surgeon won’t touch it until I regain full mobility.

Hence, finger therapy. This takes place in the Occupational Therapy department on the 18th floor of New York-Presbyterian Hospital - Weill Cornell Medical Center on York Avenue at 68th. Here, they work on all the upper extremities: arms, wrists, shoulders and hands.

I am a lifelong athlete, so am no stranger to therapy. In fact, all my limbs have gone through some kind of therapy at one point or another. I know all about electro stimulation, deep tissue massage, icing, heat, oversized rubber bands for resistance exercises. I know about re-building strength and flexibility and I’ve engaged in a lot of weird rehabilitative exercises.

This process has been the strangest to date. Let’s start with the Jane Fonda-esque exercises. I invite you to imagine my finger wearing a headband and a spandex leotard while I count “and one…and two…and three…”. The corresponding resistance exercises don’t involve a tiny barbell, but you can imagine one of those if you want. There are sponges of varying sponginess to squeeze. There’s a tiny finger-sized sling to wear that holds it in a bent position.

The quirkiest activity is wrapping my hand around dowels of varying circumference and stamping holes with them into a lump of blue putty. The resulting pattern looks like some kind of alien flora or deep sea creature.

My therapist is Upper East Side resident Lora Stubin-Amelio. She’s been an Occupational Therapist since 1988 and certified to focus on hands for 17 years. She became interested in the field during high school when she dislocated her own finger playing softball and had to receive hand therapy.

I like Lora, even though she repeatedly hurts me. First of all, it’s obvious that she knows what she’s doing and second of all, she’s nice about it. Before she bends my finger all the way (and my sweat glands transform into individual shower spouts), she says, “I know you’re going to hate me for this…” But I don’t. She’s purposefully chatty – in order to distract me from the pain. She tells me that she enjoys seeing the change in patients and helping them go back to daily activities. Just interacting with people, in general, is one of her favorite parts of the job.

She says that, in her department, they see a lot of distal radius (wrist) fractures and also, due to the hospital’s burn center, they work with a lot of burn victims. She told me that skin injuries often result in the tightening of the joint capsule. In my small way, I can confirm this. This process has been a learning experience and an interesting little window into another career path, another nook of New York.

Granted, my situation can be classified as more of an annoyance than a tragedy and I’m sure I’ll return to full finger health, soon or soonish, anyway. I do believe that everything happens for a reason. Even just walking down that section of York Avenue with all the hospitals on a weekly basis provides a dose of perspective. Seeing people who are dealing with far more serious issues reminds me to be generally thankful for my health.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some exercises to do and putty to poke…

Nirvana at Naulo Nails

2009-10-13T12:02:00.004-04:00

Before living in New York, I thought that getting your nails done by someone else was an extremely luxurious, chi-chi thing to do. Now, after being here for while, so-called mani-pedis seem like one of those NYC “things” – like getting your laundry washed and folded by someone else or getting Thai delivered right to your apartment door – that are just part of the Manhattan (or shall I say Mani-hattan?) experience. I don’t indulge all that often, but when I do I come away feeling quite relaxed and rejuvenated.

Like many women on the Upper East Side, I tried out a few spots around the neighborhood before identifying one location to call “my nail place.” For me, this is Naulo Nails on First Avenue between 76th and 77th, chosen for its convenience, competence and cleanliness.

Over the years, I’ve rushed there before dates, treated myself to some pampering on gloomy afternoons, and booked appointments there for the whole gang the day before my wedding. Of course, it’s nice to get the nails re-shaped and a fresh coat of polish, but these are only the most obvious parts of the process.

Truthfully, what brings me back even more are probably the mini-massages: 1) the foot/toe/shin/calf rub-down that comes with the pedicures ($19) and 2) the 10 minute neck/shoulder/back/arm massage I spring for ($11), almost every time. These take place on the weird back rub chairs with the donut-shaped face rests, the chairs that look more like instruments of torture than pleasure.

All the massages I’ve received at Naulo have been excellent, but when manager Sam Gurung comes out from behind the desk to work his magic, you’re in for a serious work-over. In fact, for one unfortunate epoch, involving a shoulder injury and a herniated disc in my neck, I popped in to see him a few times per week, not even bothering with nails.

Gurung tells me that they’ve been open six years. In addition to manicures, pedicures, and quickie massages, they offer threading and waxing services. Like most nail spots, they cater to regulars with appointments and, with seven or so technicians on staff, they can accommodate lots of walk-ins. He tells me that their busiest days are Fridays and Saturdays, with women beautifying for the weekend.

On Columbus Day, I stopped in for what I call a winter pedicure, i.e. skipping the polish. Of course I like my feet to sport some color all year but this time of year I leave that job to my socks. My pedicurist this time, Veronaca Caneta, who is from Mexico and has been working at Naulo for one and a half years, trimmed my little piggies and filed them down while I got lost in the pages of good old People Magazine.

Then she scrubbed at my skin with exfoliating gel. By the time she started to dig into the arches of my feet with the peppermint lotion, I was beginning to reach an extra-relaxed state, in extreme contrast with the hustle and bustle outside and the mad-dash that would be the rest of my week. I closed my eyes and breathed deep.

Over in the chair, she kneaded a bagel-sized knot on my right shoulder until it became more like a bialy. And I felt extremely thankful: glad I had the day off, and glad that there are places like Naulo where you can buy some nirvana 10 minutes at a time.

Maui: A Long way from Manhattan

2009-09-29T13:50:00.009-04:00

Not so long ago we flew by way of JFK to a place far far away that goes by the name of Maui. Although it is also an island, starts with the same consonant as Manhattan, and is also part of these United States… it is just a bit different.

For example, the pigeons there are pink and sometimes balance on one leg. One fluffy white bird looked right at us and politely spoke the word, “Aloha,” the heyhowyoudoin’ in their native language.

Instead of potholes, there are volcanic craters. Instead of puddles, there are crystal-clear pools fed by meandering waterfalls. The neckties are made of flowers and the bridges are made of rainbows.

Instead of yellow taxies zooming this way and that, we cruised slowly in a car with no top so we could marvel at the scenery in every direction.

While there, people wear a multitude of colors. Floral patterns become the new black, flip flops the new stiletto.

Some women there know how to shake and swivel their hips in an alluring fashion. They do so in unison, wearing banana leaf skirts and nothing but coconut shells on top.

The guitars are tiny and the waves are huge. With the help of boards, some locals are able to walk on water.

The sun shines with such intensity that you must re-apply liquid shade to your skin every seven minutes to avoid physical damage, a.k.a skinjury.

The benches are in the shape of lounge chairs, the sidewalks are made of sand, and the lampposts are tiki torches.

Instead of pastry, we ate cubes and cubes of pineapple, otherwise known as gold.

Like us, many of the other visitors to this magical place had just wed within the last week or so: fingernails were still painted tasteful beige, they admired (and fidgeted with) their new rings, and their faces revealed unmistakable relief.

Many that we spoke to were fascinated by the fact that we live in New York. A twentysomething waitress shared that before she lived there, she assumed she’d also travel to Maui for her own honeymoon. Now, she figures that, when the time comes, she’ll probably use it as an opportunity to visit New York.

When we returned, we were moving at a different pace. We inched along like snails down the most congested part of Lexington at the busiest time of day, ricocheting off other pedestrians and laughing the whole way.

Gradually, we resumed our former patterns and returned to our usual Upper East Side haunts. But after that glimpse of paradise, everything seemed just a bit more vivid. It’s good to go away, and it’s good to come back again.

Views Abound at Bentley Hotel

2009-09-24T13:42:00.016-04:00

Well, our wedding is behind us. It was an amazing night, an incredible weekend, and several wonderful months of scheming and dreaming. It was such a fun event to plan and ridiculously fun to see it all play out. I don’t think my husband (hee hee, still getting used to that) or I would have done anything differently.

We were particularly pleased with the accommodations we found for our out-of-town guests. We reserved room blocks at the Radi sson Lexington at Lexington and 48th, right in the heart of all the Manhattan action, and also at the Bentley Hotel, a little more off the beaten path, at York Avenue and 62nd. We chose this latter hotel due to its proximity to the 59th Street Bridge and therefore its convenience to our wedding venue in Long Island City, Queens.

As New Yorkers, it’s difficult to recommend hotels to visitors because we obviously never stay in them. To research, we did our own little hotel tour. I did have some family members stay at the Bentley a few years ago so we revisited it. I think it’s one of the Upper E ast Side’s best kept secrets. The lobby is contemporary and hip. The furniture and fixtures are all modern and this carries through to the guest rooms. I appreciate good interior design, but you hardly notice how cool the rooms are due to the awesome views. There aren’t a lot of tall buildings adjacent to the hotel so the view of the city, the East River and the 59th Street Bridge are unobstructed, at least on three sides.

Most of our guests (myself included) scored corner suites on fairly high floors, with wall-to-wall windows facing south and east. From the 12th floor, I was pretty much even with the bridge’s upper deck. This thrilled me because I have a strange affection for this structure (see one of my previous postings), but there was also the practical benefit of being able to keep tabs on the traffic on both decks before heading over to the wedding. While getting my hair and make-up done, I kept intermittent tabs on this through ever-thickening eyelashes (thanks Lucas!)

On Friday, the night before the wedding, we had an informal gathering at the Bentley’s Rooftop Restaurant on the 21st floor. Visitors and New Yorkers alike marveled at the twinkling lights of Manhattan and Queens – what an excellent backdrop for Wedding Eve! The city glowed all around us and I was elated.

In fact, I was so pleased with this setting that I opened all my window blinds before I went to bed, so I could continue to enjoy the scenery, with the room lights off. Big mistake. This prompted a night of reminiscing, a sort of sleepless euphoria. One wall of windows faced my beloved UES, and, perched up there like some kind of fairytale princess, I couldn’t help remembering all the years I’d rushed, strolled, shopped and dined all up and down the grid of First, Second, and Third Avenues, etc. I was sometimes content and often lonely; much of that time, I was looking for exactly the kind of love I’d finally found, and would be so happily committing to in a matter of hours. Well, I saw the sun rise – pink, then salmon, then orange, then gold – and eventually fell asleep for about 30 quick minutes. No matter, my adrenaline was pumping.

Here’s the other thing about the Bentley: it’s so far east and there aren’t a lot of sidewalk businesses in the immediate vicinity, so it feels nicely detached from the hustle bustle of the city. Regional General Manager Helena Blat told me that this, in fact, draws a lot of guests to this hotel. She’s been in the hotel business for over 20 years. In the last two years, she has noticed a marked change in how people travel and choose their accommodations. She says, “There is more of an emphasis on health and relaxation, now. People like to have fun in the city then come back to sleep at a place with less noise and less commotion. Because this is such an active, tiring city where you really use all of your senses, visitors appreciate a hotel that is comfortable and restful.” She has noticed that this seems to be true of both international and U.S. travelers.

The Bentley has 197 rooms on 19 floors (of course no 13th floor). It has been open since 1998 and, along with The Ameritania, the Marcel, the Moderne, and other hotels, it is owned by the Amsterdam Hospitality Group.

The basic concept behind The Bentley is to fit in to the neighborhood. Despite the great Rooftop Restaurant with a lounge-like vibe, Blat says that they don’t promote it as so-called “night-life, but more as a casual gathering place. We really don’t want to disturb the neighborhood.” Indeed, when we were having cocktails up there, it was, thankfully, not “a scene”, just a well-appointed, open space with an insane view.

The room prices here are reasonable, for the city, at $249-$399 per night, depending on the season. Blat told me that occasionally they even have locals move in temporarily while their apartments are under renovation.

I’ll say this: the Bentley staff was friendly, the rooms were stylish and clean, and our guests seemed to have a positive experience. This sleek little slice of Manhattan will always be a special part of an unforgettable weekend. After all, theirs is the only elevator I’ve ever ridden in a wedding gown and the threshold of that suite is the only one I’ve ever been carried across.

Turning Back the Clocks at EJ's Luncheonette

2009-08-25T18:37:00.007-04:00

Maybe you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but I think it’s safe to judge NYC brunch spots by the number of customers lined up outside. You could probably just drive around on a Saturday or Sunday around 11 AM and pick the best place this way. These people are tired and hungry…yet willing to wait for good grub. According to these standards, EJ’s Luncheonette is a clear favorite, here on the Upper East Side.

The Saturday we recently went, it was a familiar scene: there were a lots of people patiently waiting, many of them wearing team shirts from a race in Central Park. We put our name on the list and joined the ranks outside next to a whole fleet of delivery bikes. The wait wasn’t bad, and before we knew it, we were seated in a tiny two-person booth in the sunny room adjacent to the sidewalk, the ideal spot for people-watching, right at the corner at 3rd and 73rd.

EJ’s only opened 17 years ago, but, based on the throwback décor, you’d think they’d been around since the 50’s: checkered floor, stools at the counter, vintage signage and black and white photos of girls in poodle skirts. I like how the food runners at EJ’s wear the old-school paper hats and on my way past, I took note of the well-stocked pie case.

Lots of items on the menu caught my eye, like the Multigrain Flapjacks with honeycrunch wheat germ and flax seeds, and the patriotic Red, White, and Blue Cheese Blintzes with ricotta, strawberries, bananas and blueberries. I was also tempted by the Sweet Potato Flapjacks. However, I opted for my standby omelet with mushrooms and swiss with Canadian bacon on the side. My fiancé ordered the Huevos Racheros Wrap and enjoyed it. His Challah toast (pictured below) screamed to me from across the table, but I somehow managed to resist.

Everything was tasty, the servings were substantial, and our waiter, Shahen from Bangladesh, didn’t miss a beat. Our coffee was refilled (and refilled, and refilled…) without our having to request it.

There’s actually another location across the park on Amsterdam and 82nd that has also been around since the early 1990’s. Co-owner Robert Eby is proud of how much of a “neighborhood, small-town feeling” EJ’s has. He says they have regulars who come by as often as seven times a week and sometimes twice a day. They have an e-mail list of 1000 customers who receive the dinner specials around noon on a daily basis.

The concept behind EJ’s has always been to offer large portions at affordable prices. Their blue plate dinners include a Meatloaf Platter ($14.50) with gravy, mashed potatoes and a vegetable, a Roasted Lemon Herb Half Chicken ($14.95), also with mashed potatoes and vegetable.

This summer, they decided to roll back the clock and offer a Recession Buster, meaning that they have been offering all their Blue Plate dinners for just $9.95 on Monday and Tuesday nights, which is their pricing from 1992, when they opened. Granted, not exactly 1950’s pricing, but a great value for the city. I don’t know about you, but this makes me want to pull my hair back in a pony, bust out some saddle shoes, and sidle up to that counter. And, yes, in case you were wondering, they do offer milkshakes, malteds and egg creams…

59th Street Bridge: An Ode

2009-08-20T14:40:00.002-04:00

I’ve driven across you and sat, suspended, in your traffic.

I’ve cursed all the early morning horn-honking you inspired directly under my bedroom window and rued the congestion you created on the Upper East Side.

But…of course I’ve always appreciated your absence of tolls.

For some reason, you have long been one of my favorite landmarks, a symbol of city living.

I’ve gazed at you from below and sped past on the FDR.

I spotted you from a plane, floated under you in a boat on the East River, and glided alongside you in the tram.

I opened the curtains of a nearby hotel room to see your steady stream of headlights, winking.

I’ve shopped in your beautiful market, taken a tennis lesson under your wing. Had a drink (or a few) in your elegant (though now private) cavern.

I’ve cheered marathoners across your flank, and tapped my toe to Simon and Garfunkle’s groovy tribute.

I watched you get a makeover then get slowly revealed from under that tarp.

You turned 100 this June and I applaud you for carrying thousands of commuters to and from Queens and beyond, everyday, for all those years.

Soon, I will travel across you on the way to my wedding. I can’t think of a better bridge to connect me from Here to There.

East Side Story: Scavengers on the Loose!

2009-08-08T12:27:00.010-04:00

If you were out on the town last Saturday night, you may have witnessed something resembling a “rumble” scene from West Side Story. The difference is that the combatants were wearing dresses and heels, they were not exactly gang members, and the weapons were digital cameras. The occasion was my bachelorette party, hosted by my friends and organized down to the tiniest details by a longtime and very dear friend from out-of-town. To my surprise and extreme delight, it was an Upper East Side scavenger hunt. They know me so well…

The ten of us started at Molly Pitchers at 2nd and 85th where we scored the empty back room. This was a perfect (and relatively private) place for me to don the elegant headpiece I had received earlier in the afternoon from another friend at the cookie-themed wedding shower downtown. It had lots of bling and came with a lovely veil (pictured, above). This is where we also received and modeled our official t-shirts for the event: in my favorite color (green) and with my favorite decoration (polka dots).

Next, we were handed instruction scrolls and learned the rules, including the fact that we would receive bonus points if we could snap pictures of another team in action. We broke into three teams and raced all over the UES.

The face-off happened on 85th between 1st and York on our way to New York Pipe Dreams, a surf, skate and snowboard shop included in the hunt to commemorate the year I snowboarded my way through Colorado. I spotted another team walking toward us then they quickly disappeared behind potted plants and cars. While trying to scatter (and one of my teammates attempting to conceal herself behind an extremely skinny tree, ha!), a camera emerged from behind a delivery van and, flash! – we were caught.

Then, while sprinting and laughing, we caught sight of the third team and took some blurry action shots. They held their hands in front of their faces as if we were the paparazzi. We were the last group to arrive at the snowboard shop, so the super laid-back guys expected us, “Scavenger hunt?” they asked with amusement then stepped aside so we could do a photo shoot with jackets and a board. (By the way, I noticed they’re having some excellent summer sales right now.)

From there, we went to my beloved Marimekko boutique in honor of my predilection for (obsession with?) polka dots. My dear friend tried to explain this sickness as a result of being from Delaware, where the state bug is the handsomely patterned…ladybug.

As instructed, we next snagged a coffee cuff from a java joint, then went down to the Pig n Whistle Irish Pub on 3rd between 55th and 56th in honor of the summer I spent in Ireland.

Next was Gourmet Garage – that wonderful “epicurean depot” where I have often bought cheese to satisfy the Wisconsonite in me – this is the state where I spent my earliest years.

Finally, we took a cab back uptown to meet with the rest of the group at the tiny Cipolla Rossa on 1st between 91st and 92nd. (They have another location on 1st between 60th and 61st.) Here, another battle ensued: each of us contended that we'd won. One team even awarded themselves a certificate of victory drawn up on a napkin. The other team had also done some impressive work, especially in wrangling a picture of a teammate in the driver’s seat of an NYC cab for bonus points. I felt my team deserved a little bit of extra credit for crossing the finish line in our t-shirts. (Denied). But really, aren’t we all winners? We shared our respective tales and laughed at each other’s snapshots, especially the hilarious ones from our 85th street showdown.

Our group took up most of Cipolla Rossa’s 20 or so seats. Though having so many of my lifelong girlfriends at one table distracted me a bit from the food, I noticed that a lot of it did in fact include red onions. I enjoyed the mushroom risotto starter (one of that night’s specials) the Caprese, and the asparagus wrapped in proscuitto. Everyone seemed to enjoy their meals. Fortunately, one of our scavenger hunt directives was to stop by a liquor store to pick up some wine because the place is BYOB (way to think ahead.)

In all, it was a fabulous day from beginning to end – thanks to my girls for an unforgettable party!

"Slightly Altered" at Sophia's

2009-07-28T17:39:00.008-04:00

So I bought a dress that didn’t fit me. It gaped at the chest in a way that was unseemly and yet I fell in love with its green stripes and how it was both modern and also somewhat retro. Besides, it was more than 50% off at Lord and Taylor in the ‘burbs. I repeat: 50 % off!

Maybe some have the strength to walk away from the dressing room in this kind of situation, but I kept twirling around dreamily. So what if the top was loose to the point of indecency? I knew I had a secret sizing weapon (and no, this didn’t involve implants or stuffing of any kind…) I knew I could count on Sophia of Sophia’s Expert European Alterations here on the Upper East Side on 75th between First and York.

Sophia has come to my rescue for pants, skirts and even two bathing suits. Her work is excellent. I learned to sew in 8th grade Home Economics class, so I can mend a hole here and there, but who has room in their apartment for a sewing machine? And I’d be afraid I’d ruin a garment as delightful as this.

Sophia Dramitinos was born in Athens, Greece and has been altering garments here on the Upper East Side for over 25 years: 12 years at this location and 13 years at Lex and 82nd. Her mother, who was a seamstress as well, first taught her to sew then Sophia apprenticed with a busy designer and dressmaker before moving to the United States.

Now, she commutes from Astoria six days per week. Her hours are Monday – Friday 11-6 and Saturday 11-4.

Since she does no advertising, her customers come to her entirely from word of mouth, and not just from the Yorkville area, but also from Madison, Park and Fifth Avenue. She says, “Customers like that they can bring their clothes directly to me and I’m the one actually doing the work.” She told me that she gets a lot of botched jobs from dry cleaners. “If they send it out after the fitting, you don’t know what you’re going to get.”

In fact, she’s had regular customers who have been coming back to her for alterations for 25 years. She says she’s worked on everything from Halloween costumes to wedding gowns to blue jeans. She gets a lot of bridesmaid dresses and also works on furs.

I asked if she happened to notice if more people were coming in to make their old clothes new again, due to the recession. She answered with a shrug and a smile. “Well, I was going to close this year and work out of my house, but more people started coming in so…I changed my mind.”

I, for one, am hoping she keeps her doors open and her needles flying for years to come. I highly recommend you keep her in mind for any future handiwork you may need, whether it’s an old garment in need of updating or a new one with the tags still attached. I picked up my dress yesterday and it now fits like a glove. I also dropped off another dress (also green, also on sale, and also positively dreamy) which needs just a little tweaking…

The Big/Huge/Gigantic UES Barnes & Noble

2009-07-21T17:19:00.012-04:00

While waiting for the train last week, I saw an advertisement across the subway platform for the new Barnes & Noble on 86th and Lexington. It said something like: “A New Upper East Side Landmark.” I had noticed that the one further east on 86th closed and heard it was being replaced. I am a bit of a bookworm and therefore a bookstore devotee, but “landmark”? Hmm, we’ll see about that.

I prefer smaller, independent bookshops…you know, those little places that are getting squashed by monstrous megachains? On this note, among many other hold-outs in this fine neighborhood, I highly recommend Crawford Doyle Booksellers on Madison between 81st and 82nd and of course Shakespeare and Company on Lexington between 68th and 69th.

Hard to believe that Barnes & Noble, which now has more than 700 locations, had humble beginnings in 1837 in an Illinois print shop owned by Charles Barnes. In 1917, his son, William, went on to partner up with a G. Clifford Noble and open a bookstore here in New York City on West 15th Street. I searched out these historical tidbits perhaps to somehow personalize the place and justify the fact that I’ve given into this gigantic corporation's convenience and ability to stock lots of titles.

I was curious about this new one, so I finally visited this weekend. I was on the market for a new pocket thesaurus. This is a critical Informer tool, and my current one was barely holding itself together despite numerous spine surgeries - Book nurse, please hand me more tape…

The new B&N location opened in June and is right next to the also brand-new H&M. The front entrance (or, at the suggestions of my new thesaurus, shall I say vestibule? Threshold?) is sleek and leads to a foyer paneled with a three-sided mural depicting true Upper East Side landmarks – The Cooper-Hewitt, the Whitney, Yorkville, the 92nd Street Y. Front and center is a huge screen announcing upcoming events.

I rode the escalator down to the main level, which opens up like a vast cavern. The expansive space is impressive from a New York real estate perspective. At 55,000 square feet, it doesn’t feel cramped or jumbled (which is how, only in comparison, I’d now characterized that previous location). I’d say these proportions are practically suburban. It feels kind of like a mall. I could argue both sides of this equation: though this amount of space seems a tad excessive and sterile on one hand, it’s also nice to not be bumping into other customers and bruising your thighs on the corners of book tables (or maybe that last bit is just my own klutzy/clumsy problem…) Since this location is mostly underground, there isn’t any natural light in the place; I suppose the huge, round polka dot-like light fixtures above are a small consolation.

Anyway, a wall labeled The Current Scene features attractive coffee table books of all kinds. And a nearby kiosk shows off children’s books with especially adorable covers. Ahh…books. These kinds of thoughtful displays remind me of when I set up the shelves in my girlhood bedroom to resemble a bookstore. I’ve always revered books, of course for their content, and also as objects.

Here’s the thing, and perhaps this is nit-picky of me, but when you look/gaze across the expanse, the main signage you see is not "Fiction" or "Literature", or "Self-Help." Instead, the words, “Movies, Music, and Audio Books” glow especially bright. Harrrumph! If you’re concerned that “the book is dead” (or dying) then you best shield thine eyes.

Oh well. Due to a dearth/scarcity/shortage of more book-centric signage, it took me a while and yet another escalator ride to find the reference section. Once I did, it pleased me to see the plural of thesaurus written out: this isn’t something you see everyday. I am pretty easily entertained.

Continuing the oversized theme, the café area is spacious. I noted, however, that the tables are not particularly big and therefore not conducive to the long stays to which I am prone (with laptop, manuscripts, coffee, and “thesauri” all spread out…). The checkout line was notably quick and painless, thanks to those nifty numbered cashier stations and automated announcements/prompts reporting which one has just become available. This is a major improvement over the last B&N location – waiting in that extremely cramped, claustrophobic line under the escalator would induce panic attacks in even the most hardened New Yorkers.

Did we need a whole new Barnes & Noble on the Upper East Side? Not really. Is it nice in a showy, clean, but not-exactly-a-landmark kind of way? Affirmative. Will I be back at some point? Despite myself, probably...yes.

Stumblebums on UES

2009-07-13T15:33:00.004-04:00

I love the public displays of creativity here in New York: artful fashions, street performers of every ilk, and people just generally letting loose. You never know what you might see around the next street corner. This is especially true downtown. Though I have a special place in my heart for the Upper East Side, I do find that this is probably one of least “random” and more predictable quadrants in Manhattan.

So I was delighted this past Thursday night to stumble upon something wholly unexpected. I was on my way to meet up with a friend at Vespa on Second between 84th and 85th. This restaurant has solid Italian fare, but what really keeps me coming back is the quaint, bi-level garden out back and that adorable polka-dotted Vespa parked out front.

I was rounding the corner at 86th street when I saw a tuba bouncing along above the heads of other pedestrians. The tuba is remarkable to begin with. The way it winds around its owner makes it look like a thick brass snake with a big solitary ear for a head. Soon, the instrument stopped moving and started playing directly in front of the sidewalk diners at Mustang. The tuba was at first accompanied by drums and a trumpet. A few pedestrians, including myself, stopped to watch the trio, and some of the diners started bee-bopping in their seats.

A couple measures in, the long-haired, goatee-ed trumpeter swapped out his instrument for what looked like a megaphone and started singing in a style that was part Louis Armstrong, part Tom Waits, and (due to the megaphone) part construction site supervisor. Just as the customers were really starting to get their groove on, the funky trio was on the move again. They stopped briefly down the street for the benefit of the outdoor guests at Swig who were equally entertained by the impromptu entertainment.

Before they continued their parade, I caught up with them long enough to snap some quick pictures and find out that they call themselves the Stumblebum Brass Band, comprised of Jesse Wildcards on tuba (also called a sousaphone), Smidge Malone on trumpet and vocals, and Jonny Ballz on drums. They praised the Yorkville/ Upper East Side area as a great family neighborhood. Jesse Wildcards said that as of right now, they “travel all over the city but hope to one day travel all over the world” with their music. To hear them and see some of their upcoming gigs, visit their myspace page here. Or just keep your eyes and ears open as you round that next street corner…

Mysteries and Marvels at Vermicelli

2009-07-07T21:50:00.011-04:00

It was a weird night. My friend and I planned to meet on the Upper East Side to catch up: she’d been on a trip to very distant lands and I was anxious to hear about her adventures. She suggested Vermicelli, a Vietnamese restaurant on Second at 78th Street. I rushed in, feeling guilty that I was a few minutes late, but she wasn’t there yet.

I slid into the long banquet that runs the length of the restaurant and leaned against one of the elongated pillows that hang from a pole, cleverly emulating chair backs. Little did I know that this would be a night of many questions and this was the first one: why doesn’t every restaurant set up the seating like this? These pillows are adjustable, comfortable, and they look cool.

I ordered a Black Opal Shiraz then perused the menu for a few minutes. Maybe I’m not all that well-traveled – I’ve never been to Vietnam, or anywhere in Asia for that matter – so I was confused: isn’t vermicelli more of an Italian thing? Apparently not. I suppose it’s a matter of nomenclature: in one part of the world it’s pasta and in another part it’s noodles. All the vermicelli dishes sounded delicious, as did the curries and the fish dishes.

Soon, an intriguing bowl of snacks arrived. They were puffy as pillows. When I asked the affable manager, Alan, about these, he told me they were rice crackers with oyster flavor. Served alongside was a peanut sauce with pineapple. I wondered: how rude is it to start in on the complimentary comestibles before the rest of your party has arrived?

My friend was now 20 minutes late, which is uncharacteristic of her. She hadn’t responded to my “I’m here” text or my voicemail. I second-guessed myself: had I gotten the place wrong, or the night? At about 25 minutes, I wondered if she was okay and texted again. Granted, New York City can create all kinds of delays, surely I’d hear from her soon…

At 30 minutes, I sipped some more wine, then finally bit into one of those puffy crackers. It dissolved into my mouth in a pleasing, almost-wafer-like way… the sauce was sweet and savory. I leaned back and tried not to worry about my friend. Instead, I worried that my new sweater was was a bit too tight. And did I remember to snip off the price tag?

Before long, I’d eaten the entire bowl of crackers. Well, almost: one of them had attached itself like Velcro to my sweater sleeve… I detached it with as much decorum as possible and hoped no one had seen. Then I really threw all etiquette to the wind, pretty sure my friend would understand, and ordered the “Bahn Cuon” appetizer: steamed Rice Ravioli with chicken, bean sprouts, crispy shallots and…drumroll please…ear mushrooms. I almost asked about that latter ingredient then decided I’d rather not know the particulars.

I looked around me. With all this free time on my hands, I was really starting to question everything: were the walls more of a rust shade or a burnt sienna? Were those birdcage lanterns real birdcages? Ditto with the rice patty hats doubling as sconces. A steady stream of locals stopped in to pick up their take-out. I wondered what they did for their livings and if their kitchens were as tiny as mine. The bar had one of those uber-tall vases of blossoms. I love these: their height really lends a space a sense of grandeur.

My friend still hadn’t arrived when the ravioli did. They were delicious but incredibly slippery. Since the spoon seemed to be provided for serving and not eating, I was forced to wonder how long one should keep struggling with the chopstics before requesting a fork. In my case, not too long – I was hungry.

Alan told me that this place opened 10 years ago and is owned by Danny Chau. Both he and the chef are from Vietnam. Alan said that weekends very busy and during the week, a lot of customers come in for the lunchboxes. These are reasonably priced from 6.50 to 7.95 and include soup, salad, steamed rice and a vegetarian imperial roll. He told me that their most popular dishes are, naturally, the vermicelli dishes and also the Saigon Chicken, the Grilled Pork Chops and the Chilean Sea Bass.

At long last, my friend called (oh yikes, why did I have my phone ringer on so loud?) to say that she had been stuck in a work meeting where she couldn’t call out and that she was now on her way.

She eventually rushed in with her hair flying behind her, all apologies, and I, in turn, apologized for getting started without her.

I had by now done a thorough analysis of the menu so suggested that we order the “Cari Ga,” (pictured, left) curried chicken with sweet potato, carrot and coconut sauce and also try the "Bung Nuaong,” B.B.Q. marinated chicken in lemon grass, warm vermicelli, lettuce, mint, coriander and peanuts, to share.

The curry dish, served with rice, was extremely flavorful. It was a warm and comforting dish for what has thus far been a chilly summer here in New York. The vermicelli dish (below) was also great for opposite reasons: with its mint, lettuce and bean sprouts it was light and refreshing, kind of like a promise, like those blossoms on the bar, that the weather will still make a turn for the better.

After we settled into our meal a bit and exchanged a few facts about our respectively crazy days, I finally got to ask the main question I’d been waiting for all evening.

“So,” I said, “how was your trip?”

Gently Worn Garments and Gowns at Michael’s

2009-06-25T08:17:00.010-04:00

I wouldn’t exactly say that a recession is the ideal time to plan a wedding, but it isn’t the end of the world, either. Euphemistically speaking, right now is an opportunity for all of us, no matter where we are in our lives, to get a little more financially “creative.” I’m not alluding to Madoff-ian tactics…just good old-fashioned cost-cutting, keeping the pennies inside the piggy bank, and perhaps some unconventional consumerism.

This latter category is where I’d file my recent trip to Michael’s The Consignment Shop for Women, here on the Upper East Side. I’d heard that, among other items, this is where you can buy used high-end wedding gowns. Since I was on the market for a downturn-deal, I decided to go check it out.

Michael’s is located on Madison Avenue at 79th. Like so many good New York secrets, the store sits above street-level on the second and third floors. The name brands printed on the stairs – Prada, Dior, Marc Jacobs – promise that the walk upstairs will be worth it. I’m not generally very brand-centric but I have to admit that the prospect of not paying full price for these big names put a little spring in my step. It was a Saturday afternoon and the place was abuzz with shoppers.

Before heading up to the bridal salon, I poked around at the stylish everyday-wear: I saw Chanel skirts, Jimmy Choo shoes, and some other labels I’d probably recognize if I’d watched more Sex in the City. Point is, this is a "designer" consignment shop – the items were pretty fabulous to begin with, and now they’re even better (as far as I’m concerned) because they’re more affordable.

This place is a family affair, originally opened by Michael Kosof in 1954 and now run by his daughter, Laura Fluhr, along with her daughter. They only choose to re-sell items that are in mint condition and then they split the proceeds with the seller 50/50. The prices are set in conjunction with the re-sellers; it’s a collaborative process. Fluhr says that, indeed, they have seen an upsurge in both customers and in people bringing in clothes for re-sale in the last year. “We’re part of a bigger story,” Fluhr says. “This is a business model that works, especially right now.”

Fluhr says that their customers are stylish, and chic and, though she wouldn’t name names, also sometimes famous. In fact, while loitering, I did notice a highly-attractive woman both dropping off and purchasing some items. Despite all my gawking, I couldn’t place her face, but she certainly had supermodel proportions.

I sighed with a bit of envy then asked to see the bridal gowns, which are on the 3rd floor. Though I had the “salon” to myself that day, it’s sometimes so hopping that brides are limited to 30 minutes in the dressing room and a total of five gowns. Quite understandably, a sign on the wall requests that you wear no lipstick.

I was exited to see that there were several dresses in my size. It was reaching closing time, so I chose 3. When Genesis, my kindly sales assistant took them out of their plastic bags, I was pleased to see that they were as pristine as promised.

Fluhr accepts only high-end designers. She does not re-sell gowns made of rayon or polyester. Beyond this, she says that they have to reject a lot of dresses because they have been damaged during the cleaning process. Many women don’t even realize that the dry cleaners have mistreated their dress, leaving iron marks or various discolorations.

First, I tried on a Reem Acra gown with ruching on the bodice for $1200, then a Marisa dress for $895. Last, I tried on a beautiful Vera Wang ballet-style gown with mounds of poofy tulle for $1200. Not only did this dress stand up on its own when no one was wearing it (see picture), I felt as wide in it as I did tall. I imagined the guests at our reception parting like the red sea as I jeté’d my way across the dance floor in point shoes.

Before going into Michael’s, I wasn’t sure I’d really be able to buy a used dress, but all three of these were pretty dreamy – I did feel like a princess in them, not a second-hand Cinderella. Is it possible, though, to not wonder about the karma of the dress? I suppose you can’t think about whether or not the original owner is still happily married…and Fluhr isn’t going to tell you, anyway. She does say that, “women who buy here are the smartest brides in New York, because they’ve already made that mental adjustment. There are so many other things to spend your money on, right now.”

I agree. I’ve purchased many second-hand items and even picked a few (like the desk I’m currently typing at) off the street. Rather than obsessing over the history of these used objects, I’m more concerned about their cleanliness. All of the dresses at Michael’s have been thoroughly cleaned I suppose you could take them in for a second round of cleaning if you wanted. Keep in mind that they’ve only been worn for one day anyway. Okay, and also for a few fittings…

On that note, I recommend that if you go to Michael’s to try on wedding gowns, you start with ones that are a size bigger than your usual size (ego-bruising as it might be). Most of these have already been altered, and this usually means taken in. Tried as Genesis did, she couldn’t get the zippers up on any of those dresses I chose! I didn’t have time to try on more before closing. I had every intention of going back, but fell in love with another (new, yet budget-friendly) gown in the meantime. Still, I think this is a great way to cut costs, especially if you’ve always dreamed of walking down the aisle in Givenchy or Vera Wang. Come to think of it, perhaps I’ll stop by again anyway: there’s a rehearsal dinner and a honeymoon coming up and I’d like to dress for those in style…

Summer’s Back at LeSportsac

2009-06-19T08:22:00.008-04:00

So I was walking down Madison Avenue here on the Upper East Side the other day when I noticed that the window of the LeSportsac boutique was looking a lot like a fruit and vegetable stand. As far as I knew, this store sells bags, so I was naturally curious why there’d be a cart containing citrus and greens on display.

Based on what has been an uncommonly dreary spring, it’s hard to believe that summer will officially commence on Sunday. The good news is that LeSportSac is ready. One of their new patterns, out this June, is called Farmer’s Market (hence the healthy display) and it sings the praises of summer even if the sun refuses to shine. There are carrots, blueberries, and radishes a-plenty on these colorful bags.

The first LeSportsac duffel was made out of parachute nylon and carpet binding tape here in New York City in 1974, making this their 35th anniversary. In their words: “35 Years Young…what was hip to zip then…is hip to zip now!”

Today, LeSportsacs are still known for their soft durability. They come in all different shapes and sizes, from toiletry bags to backpacks to coin purses and laptop sleeves. You can even get an extra long bag for your yoga mat in the Flower Power print, also new this month (pictured). Of course, these bags are sold all over the place, but there are only two LeSportsac boutiques in the city, here on Madison between 80th and 81st and one down in SoHo on Greene Street.

I think I got my first LeSportsac purse when I was about 12. I remember that it was navy blue: I thought it was quite sporty and spiffy and I liked the logo. It was purchased excitedly at the “fancy mall” near us in Madison, Wisconsin. Since then, I have carried around a few LeSportsac cosmetic bags. This brand slipped off my radar for a few years but I have been noticing it around a lot more and it seems like it is making a welcome resurgence. The store’s space is modern and crisp and I like the new designs.

Shopgirls Cyrena and Sara told me that this shop has been at this location for about seven years. They sell a lot of weekenders and, in the fall, they sell lots of tote bags to local schoolgirls. Remarkably, LeSportsac comes out with several new prints every month. Other summery selections right now include: Garden club, a black and white print with little watering cans and Adirondack chairs and Magic Garden with butterflies and a tiny bird holding a bouquet in his beak. I couldn’t decide if I liked May’s Paper Dots selections (pictured) better or another one depicting ice cream cones.

But what really caught my eye, and my imagination (and also perhaps, soon, my credit card number…?) was a print by LeSportsac’s current “artist in residence”, Fifi Lapin. This is a talented fashionista bunny who sketches herself in designer clothes from the latest runways. She has been named “the world’s most stylish bunny” by Elle Magazine and I have to agree. I especially like the print “Sweethearts” depicting Fifi and her equally-stylish beau, Sonny Hare, on the go. Hmm, don’t you think a tote or a duffle in this pattern would be just perfect for my upcoming weekend hop-along to Seattle where I’ll be crashing my bunny’s business trip…?

Culinary Pirouettes at Cafe D'Alsace

2009-06-13T08:46:00.011-04:00

What is the most important part of a dining experience? Is it the flavors? The presentation? The setting? The service? The company? Well, I consulted my inner dine-o-meter but this proved to be far too difficult a question and it crashed. I suppose all these elements help to create that delicate dining balance.

I’m happy to report that each of these categories were more than satisfied when I recently visited Café D’Alsace here on the Upper East Side. Some friends of mine from Nyack had been telling me about this restaurant for months. They are longtime New Yorkers who make yearly trips to Paris to visit family. They know their food so I had every reason to believe their pick would be excellent; it was just a matter of finding time in our respective busy schedules when we could all meet.

So we all rushed to Café D’Alsace last Thursday after work. It’s located on the corner of 88th Street and 2nd Avenue and was opened by Simon Oren of Nice Matin on the Upper West and Marseille in Midtown.

We settled into the cozy front table and grinned. It was 9 pm and the place was full to overflowing. I love the cacophony of silverware and the lilt of merry conversation in New York City restaurants. Though I haven’t been to France (yet!), I imagine that their brasseries, bistros and cafes have a similar hustle and bustle. This space is sparkly and warm. I noticed that the bar behind me was ringed with colorful old seltzer bottles.

My friends explained that Alsace is a region on the eastern-most part of the country, abutting and influenced by Germany. They also informed me that it’s pronounced “alzas” and not “alsatchay” like I was erroneously saying, oops. Indeed, the chef, Philippe Roussel, is dedicated to replicating the dishes of his father’s homeland and giving them a New York twist.

For example, the menu offers some intriguing Specialties D’Alsace with obvious German influences including something called Choucroute Garnie (“dressed sauerkraut”). This has assorted sausages and smoked pork breast over sauerkraut with Reisling, juniper and potatoes. The Baeckeofe is a traditional Alsation casserole of lamb, oxtail, bacon, and potatoes braised in pinot gris with onions and thyme.

Things were going well. They got better when our server, Jamal, swooped in to describe the specials. This wasn’t your everyday here’s-what’s-cookin’-tonight monologue. This was more like a ballet performance: energetic, heartfelt, nuanced. He didn’t look to be wearing tights, but the way he moved his hands while describing the trout special and other selections was so graceful yet masculine, I swear he could give Baryshnikov a run for his money. Let’s just say he made it all sound delicious.

Even though it wasn’t exactly in keeping with the French/Alsatian theme, two of us ordered mojitos. When one of us apologetically mentioned to Jamal that there could be more citrus and more mint, the drink was quickly and pleasantly replaced with a better one. When one of our party ordered a glass of wine, a small taste was proffered, first. And Café D’Alsace has an extensive beer selection – one selection at our table was purportedly from the oldest brewery in the world.

Our hors d’oeuvres arrived and they were all manifique. Of course, I felt it was The Informer’s duty to sample each of them. My fiancé and I shared the Escargots, which came in a vibrant green butter and garlic sauce. Across the table, there were Soft Shell Crabs (one of specials) covered in chopped tomatoes and herbs, and Gnocchi Parisienne with wild mushroom gratinee and gruyere cheese. Most attractive was the Goat Cheese Tatin (pictured) with herbed goat cheese and carmelized onions.

Our entrees were also divine. That trout special Jamal tempted us with was definitely special (pictured). I ordered the Shrimp and Lobster Ravioli with a noilly-prat (vermouth) and leek sauce. Dare I say that the sauce – which was light despite the cream – practically danced on my tongue? A healthy serving of asparagus rendered this dish extremely fresh. Though I did not sample the red meat, my dinner companions reported that the Steak Frites with bone marrow and red wine sauce and Dry Aged NY Strip with bernaise were cooked to perfection. I did sneak a frite and can therefore confirm that they were as good as they looked.

One of our friends ordered a selection of fromage for dessert, which struck me as quite sophisticated. He is a bonafide connoisseur -- it's true, he used to select the cheese for a four-star restaurant in Tribeca. He enjoyed two out of three cheeses very much and the presentation, nestled amid fruit and walnuts on a rustic cutting board, was a nice touch. Whenever I see Crème Brulée on a menu I do not have the strength to resist – this was the case here, and I was not disappointed.

The whole experience at Café D’Alsace was great. The atmosphere was fun, and the service was precise yet easygoing. The night couldn’t have been choreographed better. As far as all that delicious food goes, I think this picture pretty much says it all.

We exchanged farewells with Jamal and vowed to revisit for an encore soon.

Before School at Jackson Hole

2009-05-28T09:38:00.009-04:00

Thanks to those energetic little birds outside my window, I woke up at the crack of dawn last Friday. The sun was finally coming out after way too many days in hiding, so they were understandably excited. The feeling was contagious: I bolted out of bed and grabbed my new t-shirt. It has some dots, some frill and it seemed like the perfect day for its debut. But where?

My fiancé and I threw a proverbial dart at the Upper East Side map and decided to head to Madison Avenue in the 90’s for some breakfast. We considered the ever-enticing Yura on 92nd then opted instead for more of a sit-down egg and potato situation. We found that (and more) at the bustling Jackson Hole on 91st street. This place, established in 1972, has eight locations around Manhattan, Queens, and New Jersey. Of course, they are mostly known for their 7-ounce burgers, but the breakfast shift seemed pretty popular as well.

We ordered some coffee and drank in the morning ambiance. At 7:30 AM, this is a real neighborhood scene with people exchanging pleasantries (and some complaints about all that grey weather) from one table to another, others waving in recognition, and regular customers getting served without having to order. We saw one man with a serious case of bed-head taking his vitamins, as if he were in his own kitchen. Another man was devouring The New York Times with a buttered roll on the side.

On the walls at this Jackson Hole, there are a lot of classic tin signs – “bottomless cup of coffee, 5 cents” – and some western-themed art. A cowboy in a painting above my head played the harmonica.

Most striking, however, were all the parents stopping in with their kids on the way to school. We were surrounded by school uniforms. A pair of sisters from Sacred Heart ate scrambled eggs behind us with their mom, and, up front, a group of teenagers from Spence were meeting up for coffee and camaraderie before class. A group of boys in blues and khakis, from another local school we couldn’t identify, stopped to chat with them on their way out. One little girl had her pink guitar with her and her dad had his tie hooked protectively over his shoulder. Another father-daughter combination provided the best quote of the morning. She must have been about five years old, and perched on her knees, she said, loudly yet sweetly, “Did you return my money yet?” We didn’t hear Dad’s response but noticed that he did pick up the tab.

The menu is extensive and offers all the items you’d hope for from a New York breakfast: bialys with a smear of cream cheese, bagels with lox, eggs cooked to order, and shortstacks. On the griddle, we could hear and smell sausage, eggs and potatoes cooking. Hamburger buns were piled high waiting to be filled with those oversized patties later in the day. They have 32 different kinds of burgers here including the “Eastsider”, which features bacon and ham, cheese, mushrooms, tomatoes and fried onions. The “Gombee Burger” has both American and mozzarella cheese. There are also veggie burgers and a whole array of chicken sandwiches with similar toppings.

But we were breaking the fast, so I opted for a broccoli and cheddar omelet. This was only mediocre. Surprisingly, based on all those decadent burger descriptions I’d been reading on the menu, it skewed a little too healthy – a few too many trees and not enough eggs and cheese. My fiancé reported that the waffle was superior and I had to agree. It was the perfect combination of soft and crisp with a good vanilla flavor. All that butter and syrup pooling nicely in the waffle grid made up for my extra-green omelet. We also liked the sausage, which had a good, spicy kick.

Before we knew it, our bill was on the table and the place had cleared out. It was 8:15, so I suppose the school kids were folded into their homeroom seats and their parents were strap-hanging on the train. Outside the windows, cabs whizzed around, buses lumbered along, but Jackson Hole was relatively quiet. In preparation for the next wave, waiters wiped tables, and cowboy above my head re-tuned his harmonica.

Off to the Races at Tony's DiNapoli

2009-05-18T09:56:00.009-04:00

My fiancé and I are looking for a restaurant where we can have our rehearsal dinner. We are coming to what is perhaps a rather obvious realization that finding a place to seat a big group (maybe like 30 people) during primetime on a Friday night in Manhattan isn’t…so…easy. Not that we’ve put so much effort into this project yet, but our initial research revealed that, due to space limitations, 1.there aren’t a lot of rooms for private parties in this town, 2.most restaurants don’t want you to invade their whole space, and, if so, 3.they will charge an arm and a leg do so. After discussing this, we decided that it’s important to keep all limbs intact.

So I remembered Tony’s Di Napoli on 2nd at 83rd. They opened in 1959 and now have a second location in Times Square. I’ve walked by the Upper East Side location at least a billion times, and in fact my fiancé and I strolled past it on our first date. A few years before that, I shared dinner with two friends, outside at one of the many sidewalk tables. This was memorable, of course due to the excellent company, but also because it was tasty and the portions were gigantic. I knew, from the signage, that they can accommodate big groups but I’d never been inside. So we decided to give the place a look.

Inside, it’s bustling and bi-leveled. We were seated at a table to the right of the restaurant, a few steps down into what felt like a sunken living room. Checkered cloths dress the tables and a chalkboard on one end of the space lists their many traditional Southern Neopolitan dishes. We gazed around, attempting to digest this fun, lively atmosphere.

Turns out the owner is a racing fan, so racecar art is in abundance. Photos of famous drivers cover the walls, a small replica of a red Formula One car dangles from the ceiling, and, in a mural-sized painting at the back of the space, a racecar skillfully speeds alongside the Mediterranean.

It was a Thursday night and the place was packed with large and small groups alike. A table of 12 behind my right shoulder was celebrating a graduation and another family of eight was gathered around a circular table at my left. I was glad to see this, because often in New York, it feels like an imposition to have a large group, like you should apologize if you’re asking for a table of six. Even if a restaurant can accommodate you, you should expect to be sitting on each other’s laps and lower your expectations of the service.

But at Tony’s, there seemed to be quite a few servers speeding efficient laps around the tables. One made a pit stop at ours to deliver a basket of bread with hot pepper oil. I made a silent vow, after taking this picture, that I would have only one piece (after all, The Informer must be thorough), but this bread was so fresh with perfectly crisp crust and a smattering of slightly toasted sesame seeds that I…well, had trouble putting on the so-called brakes.

Our server, Irini, soon pulled up for pleasant introductions. We asked her which salad the women next to us were enjoying. Tony’s Salad: a simple combination of arugula, plum tomatoes, red onions and basil with balsamic vinaigrette. We copied these fellow patrons and did not regret it.

Tony’s selection of pasta, veal, chicken and seafood dishes is truly vast. They mostly specialize in those mounded family-style platters that serve two or three people. This is a good situation for our larger purpose, but that night we were pleased to discover that they have recently implemented a menu of individual portions.

I chose the Rigatoni with Vodka Sauce and Mushrooms and my fiancé opted for the old-standby: Spaghetti and Meatballs. After we ordered this, however, we did experience some regret. This is because the women next to us were served a chicken dish still sizzling in the pan it was cooked in. This looked and smelled amazing. Part of the fragrance was “stemming” from an oversized branch of rosemary resting across the top.

I briefly interrupted their meal to find out that this was the Chicken Saltimbocca, that night’s special, with prosciutto, spinach, melted cheese, and what seemed to be an extremely savory sauce. They confirmed that it was indeed delicious. I asked my fiancé if it would be rude to reach over and try it for myself. He recommended against it. Likewise, I did not help myself any of their sangria, even though they had a whole pitcher of it. In fact, lots of people around the room were drinking sangria. No matter, I was quite content with my glass of Cactus Creek Red Zinfandel.

Our food arrived and it was excellent; I’m pretty sure the women next to us were glancing over with jealousy in between their animated chitchat. The vodka sauce had the perfect balance of tomatoes and cream. I appreciated the sprig of basil sprouting out of the top like a little tree. My fiancé’s bowl of spaghetti was picture-perfect. When I asked him to describe the meatballs in one word, he answered without missing a beat, “zesty.” I don’t eat red meat these days, but in the process of sampling his pasta, we inadvertently reenacted the iconic scene from The Lady and the Tramp, the one where they end up tasting the same string of spaghetti resulting in a kiss…that’s amore! Okay, I’m kidding, but I have a feeling that this scene was filmed out back.

Again, in the name of being thorough, we ordered the brownie sundae. A mint leaf stood like a flag on top of a whip cream mountain. Their consistent use of fresh herbs as ingredients and garnishes impressed me. An extremely rich and gooey brownie way underneath made the arduous excavation project well worth it.

I took note of the fact that the service was speedy, yet not at all rushed. Afterwards, we talked to Elizabeth, the event coordinator, about big parties. They have three different packages at three reasonable price points per person. Bar packages are extra and of course there’s tax and gratuity to add in, but this would still come out to be about 50 percent less than anywhere else we’ve checked out so far. She showed us their private room, which was also bustling and, remarkably, can accommodate 80 people. Our party of 30ish would only take up part of it, so there would likely be other parties going on in there at the same time. I like that this huge, open space has some windows to the street, so you don’t feel like you’re holed up in the back.

We don’t know yet if Tony’s will be the location of our rehearsal dinner, but it’s on the short list and we had a good night there. The food is extremely fresh and I feel confident in the service: though it’s a big engine, it seems to run quite smoothly. Whether you’ve got two, or ten (or 80) in your party, it’s a fun place to try. Just make sure you’re hungry and you fasten your seatbelt. Vroom vroom...

Gimme some Gourmet Garage

2009-05-05T12:43:00.010-04:00

On Saturday night, we invited some friends over for a little wine and cheese gathering. Please imagine me saying (well, typing) the words “wine and cheese” in a snooty tone with a slightly British accent. In fact, I know very little about those two items, beyond knowing that I like them very much.

We stopped by one of my favorite Upper East Side gourmet grocers, Agata and Valentina to pick up some fromage and crackers. On the sidewalk outside, I was surprised to see that community volunteers and members of a local supermarket union were handing out flyers titled, “Ignoring Workers and Customers.” This called for customers to speak out to management about improving work conditions here. This was disconcerting: I love this place and its old-world, European charm. It’s packed to the gills with delectables. I didn’t like to learn that they might be mistreating their employees yet I really wanted to serve that cheese they have with the truffles…

Enter Fiancéman, my superhero. When he came in a few minutes after me, I already had the cheese in my basket and also some of those excellent, extra long, Margaret’s Artisan Flatbreads speckled with rosemary. “We shouldn’t buy here if this is true,” he said, holding the flyer out to me.

I looked at him. “But…” That’s really all I could say. After all, he was right. It did seem sad that the store was absolutely buzzing with customers despite the mini protest outside. So I put my items back and we took our business elsewhere, to Gourmet Garage, at 96th and Madison. I’ve been to the location on 64th a few times but this was my first visit to this one. In the early 80’s this company started as a wholesale food distributor. In the 90’s they opened their doors directly to the customers, and now there are five locations in Manhattan.

This store is also stacked high with similar gourmand goodness. I appreciate their “shop like a chef” tagline: if they handed out tall white chef hats at the door, I’d certainly wear one. (And while we’re at it, can I get a white jacket with my name on the pocket?) Anyway, this is the kind of place that makes you want to throw a dart at a cookbook and try an exotic new recipe, or maybe just brainstorm some groundbreaking culinations (that’s my new word for culinary creations) on the spot. If we ever get around to filming that comical Food Network pilot we’ve been joking about, I now think this will be our sponsor, our supplier, our headquarters for all things delicious.

The produce section is perfectly organized and gleaming, like a huge, healthy salad just waiting to be chopped. Just beyond, there are rows of unique olive oils, salsas and pasta sauces. Like most supermarkets in the city, the space is kind of tight, and it feels a bit like a maze, but one that you’re happy to get lost inside.

Of course this weekend, we were all about cheese. In the “Garage Fromage” section, there were piles and aisles of it, most of it unfamiliar to me, an excellent indication of its legitimacy.

And crackers! Mountains of different varieties, including those crowd-pleasing rosemary ones referenced above. Certain guests have come to expect (practically demand) these when visiting my abode. If you think of the cracker as the car that drives the cheese then these are definitely stretch limos. I highly recommend.

After a few minutes of cross-eyed indecision, we chose the old standby, French Brie (70% cream), a good Gouda from Holland (cloaked stylishly in red wax) and a French Port Salute which we’d never tried before.

On the way out, we picked up an intriguing kalamata olive dip. We almost got some mangos then remembered that they are far too complicated to cut and neither of us have yet earned our PhD in this subject. Instead, we bought some blackberries from a produce vendor on the street. All of this paired well with the California red zinfandel and the sauvignon blanc we’d purchased downtown earlier in the day.

One of the best parts was setting these out with our new dry-erase porcelain cheese markers, stylish compliments of the soon-to-be in-laws. Can you say fancy? And please pronounce that fawwncy with a few w’s. Cheers!

Get Creative at Kate's Paperie

2009-04-28T19:21:00.010-04:00

My fiancé and I are determined to “DIY” as much of our upcoming wedding as possible. It’s not like we’re going to try and cater it or spin the silk for my dress, or anything, but we’re tackling some fairly ambitious projects, nonetheless. One of these projects is making our own invitations. While we are confident that we can create some nice ones, we have of course never done so before and therefore have no idea where to start.

So we recently headed over to the Upper East Side location of Kate’s Paperie on 3rd Avenue and 74th Street to do some research. I love this store. Whenever I go, I get inspired to make a career change into a field I’m not sure even exists: professional gift wrapping. I mean, if a gift wrapper is only as good as her tools, then anybody with Kate on her side would certainly be fabulous.

For example, the room of ribbons on the right, just inside the door, contains row upon row of unique spools that really force you to re-examine your former definition of “ribbon". Ribbons with polka dots, ribbons seemingly laced with pure gold, ribbons that look like feather boas, ribbons made of tiny pompoms. Basically, this nook will help you tie the mother of all bows.

The papers, sold by the sheet in the back of the store, come in every color of the rainbow, with all kinds of interesting patterns and textures. Again, you might not have originally considered some of these sheets paper at all. There are metallic papers, lacey papers, and rough-hewn, handmade papers from all over the world. Some feel almost like plastic and others like fabric. Kate’s offers over 4000 varieties and they range from approximately $2.75 to $12.50 per piece. Some of these papers are so nice, I think it might break my heart to fold them around a box or sully them with a piece of tape, never mind ripping them. I once bought a beautiful Asian-printed piece of paper here and hung it on my wall, quite convincingly I think, as a piece of art.

You can also purchase folders that make filing more fun. (Yes, I just used the words ‘filing’ and ‘fun’ in the same sentence.) I have some with flowers on them but you can also get them with butterflies or birdcages.

Kate’s is clearly a scrapbooker’s paradise, offering all kinds of different stickers, ink stamps, and various tools of that trade. I once bought some champagne stickers here to put on an envelope for a friend who’d just gotten engaged. The sky is truly limit: there are sports stickers, dragonfly stickers, and even stickers that look like tattoos and Greek columns.

They have gadgets that are completely foreign to me. For example, there is something called a paper crimper that folds paper accordion style. They have a station where you can test out some nifty “paper shaper” craft punches (pictured, above). By simply clamping these things around a piece of paper, you can chomp out the shape of a leaf or a cupcake. I doubt even the most dexterous could do that with a pair of scissors.

But I digress…this trip, my fiancé and I had a specific mission. First, we flipped through one of the many books of wedding invitations they have in order to get some ideas. We took note of the more colorful, non-traditional ones. Then we strolled through the stationery section where they sell papers and envelopes in all shapes, styles and sizes. We were intrigued by something called “envelofolds” where the invitation and envelope are one piece. I like how they open up kind of like a present. There is something similar called “pocketfolds” that open in a similar fashion and also feature little pockets, perfect for holding RSVP cards.

We purchased a few pieces of paper and a few envelopes to play with and now we’re letting the ideas percolate. I noticed that Kate’s Paperie is having a Bridal Brunch on Sunday July 13 (10 AM) to offer some insider info on wedding invitations, so if we’re still in need of inspiration then, we might check that out. In the meantime, they are hosting a few Mother’s day events that are of interest:

Saturday May 2, 1-3 pm: Book signing with Nancy Bachrach, who wrote a mother-daughter memoir called “The Center of the Universe”.

Saturday, May 9, 1-3 pm: Last Minute Mother’s Day Calligraphy Event. Calligraphers will be on hand to artfully inscribe your card to your mom.

Wednesday, May 6 from 2-5 and Saturday, May 9, 2-4 pm: Springtime Craft Demonstrations. They’ll show you how to wrap a gift for your mom so that it looks like an adorable little purse. With wrapping that cute, it hardly matters what’s inside, right? Come to think of it, if I want to be a professional wrapper, this seems like an ideal resume builder…

Shaken and Stirred at the Carlyle

2009-04-17T11:54:00.007-04:00

It was Easter Eve. Okay, actually it was two nights before Easter but I already had bunnies on the brain. Before heading out of town for the weekend to paint eggs and gorge on far too many jellybeans, I went out for a drink with a friend to celebrate her birthday. When I asked her where she’d like to go, she said, without missing a beat, “Somewhere that mixes a good drink.” Though I’m no teetotaler, I’m not exactly a rolodex of fancy cocktails, either. I dug deep and suggested that we visit a hotel bar. In fact, she and I used to occasionally splurge flapper-style at the Algonquin.

This time, we picked Upper East Side landmark, Bemelmans Bar, at the Carlyle hotel. This is located on Madison Avenue at 76th. I knew I’d been there once on a date, but was I confusing it with the King Cole Bar at the St. Regis, where I’d also once been on a date? (Oh how events from that era are blurring together…). When I arrived, I remembered, ah yes, that this was the place with the quaint murals painted by the same guy who did the Madeline books. It’s a funny juxtaposition: the bar feels a bit like a speakeasy and is permeated with scent of good scotch, yet you’re surrounded by all these endearing, childlike illustrations of animals.

I tucked myself into a corner booth to wait for my friend. In the meantime, I was hardly alone. The dapper waiter, wearing a pristine white jacket and black bow tie was immediately at my service. And a quick glance around me revealed that I was in the company of many pleasant creatures, mostly bunnies. How apropos. One looked to be sipping an espresso at a café whilst gazing pensively through his spectacles. Another was taking cover from the rain under an umbrella. To my right, a whole group of them danced around in a merry circle. Apparently, artist Ludwig Bemelman was commissioned to paint this famous Central Park scene in 1947. In exchange, he received 18 months stay at the hotel.

Soon, my Cosmopolitan arrived. It came with a tiny extra pitcher, which, to my delight, the waiter called The Dividend. Maybe this is a common term, but I’d never heard it before: it seemed so formal and so fittingly financial. I took martini in hand and sipped, careful to not spill it. I have found those glasses to be particularly…challenging for those of us located on the far end of the klutzy scale. This drink was excellent.

I was happy that some complimentary snacks were also delivered to the table. I had rushed from work and hadn’t been able to pick up any dinner. A peek at the menu indicated that though I was ready and willing to burn some cash, the entrees and even appetizers were more than a little bit out of my current price range. Fortunately, this trifecta of treats, including salted nuts, spicy crackers and potato chips was fitting the so-called bill.

Less fortunately, on one of my hand’s trips to my mouth, I managed to knock over my precious Dividend, spilling bonus Cosmo all over the menu, my notes, and pants. I caught the waiter’s attention: “I spilled my Dividend!” I exclaimed so pitifully that he chuckled. As his equally dapper colleague wiped up my mess, I felt like a child at a Madeline tea party. (In fact, they offer this very thing for children every Saturday.)

I was cheered to see that a band was beginning to set up. The menu indicated that on Friday nights the Loston Harris Trio plays from 9:30 to 1 AM. There are few things I like more than live jazz. When my friend arrived, she was equally pleased by this scenario. She was also pleased with her Old Cuban Mojito, which is made with rum, bitters, champagne and muddled mint. While listening to these jazz standards, as rendered by the piano, the trumpet and the bass, we soaked up this unique atmosphere. The place was by now packed with what looked like a mix of New Yorkers and tourists, many of whom were wearing neckties, some of whom may have been staying at the Carlyle. Recession? Didn’t really seem like it had hit this dimly-lit nook.

To top things off, a special guest suddenly sidled up to Harris on the piano: cabaret cornerstone, James Naughton. The now somewhat tipsy crowd went bonkers for his rendition of “The Very Thought of You” and a few other classics.

Resplendent, my friend and I ordered a second set of drinks. We (carefully) toasted her birthday and The Good Life. “Where else can you do something like this?” Only New York, we nodded, perhaps with a bit too much self-congratulation.

Because, well, the bill eventually came. Turns out we missed the part about the music cover charge: $25 per person. Actually, I had seen that on the menu, earlier, but thought, naively, that it didn’t apply if you took your seat before 9:30 pm. Ouch. After our eyeballs popped out of their sockets, we tried to play it cool, as if we’re accustomed to spending $170 for two drinks each (and no dinner! Please bust out the violins…)

Anyway, despite our night’s “economic downturn” we had fun. We managed to laugh through tears as we visited the ATM across the street in an attempt to replenish. I recommend that every New Yorker hop on over to Bemelmans at least once. Just make sure that loan comes through, first.

Spring has Sprung at Marimekko

2009-04-07T08:34:00.015-04:00

I met up with Mother Nature the other day for coffee to discuss the weather. She and I have always been pretty close, but I have to admit that I don’t always trust her. For example, sometimes she’ll suggest that I bundle up: then, as temperatures rise, my big down feather coat and a wool scarf gradually begin to serve as a portable sweat lodge. Conversely, she’ll hint at sandals and sundress then blindside me with a blizzard. She can be quite a trickster.

“So, Spring,” I said, sipping my coffee. “Is it really going to arrive and stick around?”
“Patience, my friend, patience,” she replied, smirking enigmatically, then downed her espresso in one impatient gulp.
What am I supposed to do with that? The birds are starting to chirp, the days are getting longer yet it’s still chilly – I’m wearing earmuffs and flip flops at the same time.

I logically know Spring eventually arrives every year, but this time around, the suspense is killing me. So I headed over to one of my favorite Upper East Side shops, Kiitos Marimekko, where I knew I’d get a good dose. It’s located on 3rd Avenue between 72nd and 73rd Streets.

This Finnish brand, which as been around since 1951, started off selling textiles with iconic, bold patterns, and now offers clothing, accessories, and items for interior design. Everything they sell is bright and much of it is smattered with oversized flowers.

In fact, passing through these doors is like entering some kind of fantastical botanical garden, maybe one you’d see in cartoons. This is what is considered a Marimekko lifestyle concept store and is the only one like it in New York City. Indeed, spring has sprung here: an orange and fuscia shift dress glows like the sun itself. The small sofa at the entrance is blooming with flowery and geometric throw pillows. I’m pretty sure that any item you pick up here will raise your psychological temperature at least a few degrees.

Okay, full disclosure: over the years, I’ve been slowly building a small Marimmekko empire of my own, including a polka dotted shoulder bag, a pair of Converse-like sneakers, a coin purse, a potholder, etc. I have brought friends into the fold. Every time I go, I try to limit myself to one purchase, which requires extreme self control.

This time, I took a few deep breaths before darting around from display to display in an excited, zigzagged blur. I had scoped out some items on their website first, and spotted an intriguing black and white mousepad depicting a city scene. I also identified a few things to include on our wedding registry/wish list including tea towels in one of their popular patterns called Kevatjuhla, which depicts cows who appear to be galloping (perhaps toward their nearest Marimekko shop?)

Pleasant shopgirls Emily and Lydia told me that customers are a mix. Many of them have known about the fabric and the clothes for a long time. They also have lots of interior designers coming in and people buying gifts for friends.

Owner Josie Cotzas was a manager at a Marimekko store on 56th Street in 1989 when that store closed due to overhead expense. “As the store’s existence came to a close, I felt that I simply couldn’t let it die. This product is like no other and it has a loyal customer base.” This led her to start a mail order business with a colleague and eventually find retail space. They have been in this current location on 3rd for six years. She enjoys working with the variety of products – both clothing and items for the home.

Indeed, you really could outfit your entire life with items from this tiny shop. A wall of towels will dry in style for $9-$65. The paper napkins (above) will brighten up any “tablescape” for $6-$12.

I can attest that the canvas bags (left) both work hard and play hard for $54-$75. The hot pink “Unnikko Kinto” toiletry case travels well for $52 and the kid-sized rain boots make a splash. They are currently on sale for $35.

Alas, I purchased that nifty pad for my mouse and he’s gliding it across it right now. It’s actually one of the least spring-like things in Marimekko. I suppose I’ll just have to stop in again soon. I think I’ll bring Mother Nature with me…just in case she needs a little inspiration.

Mmmm Rohrs' Teas and Coffees

2009-03-24T09:14:00.008-04:00

Did you know that the New York Stock Exchange was born in the back of a coffee house? This was because coffee used to be one of the most heavily traded commodities in the world. Apparently, The Bank of New York and the first established insurance agency also started within the walls of java joints. I mean, I know from my own experience that coffee has a way of fueling productivity, but I didn’t know any of these tasty facts until I talked to Donald Wright, owner of M. Rohrs’ House of Fine Teas and Coffees.

This quaint shop, located on 86th street between 1st and 2nd Avenues, is an Upper East Side throwback. The space certainly reflects the owner’s enthusiasm for history. It’s packed with old photographs, old signage, and even some old subway doors. It’s the kind of mishmash you might find in your grandmother’s basement, or in an antique store, and it’s all arranged tastefully. I have spent many hours here honing my craft and soaking up this eclectic atmosphere. A skylight sheds sun on a big green plant in the middle of the store, while fish bustle around energetically in a bubbling aquarium nearby. (Are they also drinking the stuff?)

Wright has owned M. Rohrs since 1995, but the shop has been in operation in the Yorkville area for over 100 years, when a woman named Mary Rohrs sold coffee and teas by the cup and by the pound. Wright, who is also in the insurance business, stumbled upon Rohrs when he was researching the best coffee he could find in the area. He was interested in opening an interactive, cultural place where he could “bring worlds, ideas, and people together”. It so happened that the former owner of M. Rohrs was looking to retire. It was a perfect fit. In fact, until about four years ago, Wright himself ran his insurance business in the shop. Clients would have coffee up front and meet with him in back.

Wright is proud that this isn’t a formica-counter “hi, get your money and get out” kind of place. He regularly receives lots of appreciation from the community and is happy to have fostered an old-fashioned tradition. “There are a lot of things in here. Something might touch one person and others might gloss right over it.” One of the things I appreciate is the classic soundtrack, often featuring Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, and Nina Simone.

While listening to the tunes and collecting my thoughts, I’ve analyzed pretty much every nook and cranny of this comfortable space. What I didn’t notice until recently was the impressive mission statement, framed by the front door. It states: Our mission is to create an interactive, intergenerational coffee and tea house/café leading to an environment where people of all walks of life, of all ages can come together under the same roof. To enjoy a relaxed atmosphere; to begin to communicate with each other on all levels; as well as expanding individuals’ hearts and minds. Once this process begins, most will begin to see the parallels that make us not separate and alone but together and the same internally in the world. Each individual mutually helping make us one and the same, highlighting the unseen links that connect us all as one community. It sounds like coffee Shangri-La, and it is.

At M. Rohrs, they put together all kinds of gift baskets. They offer over 80 varieties of coffee and over 90 varieties of tea, many of which are contained in old-time tins behind the counter. What also makes Rohrs heavenly are all the cookies and treats displayed on every square millimeter of counter space, like an old candy shop. I have dipped my hand into glass jars of rugelach, brownie “poppers”, and madeleines. At the encouragement of a friend I brought here last summer, I discovered something called Mexican Wedding Cookies and my waistline hasn’t been the same since. Besides, I’ve never turned my back on a good almond croissant and I wouldn’t dare do so here.

They also serve lots of freshly-made sandwiches and salads. The java is excellent, but in the summer, I opt for ridiculously refreshing iced Moroccan Mint tea, green tea sweetened with honey and the perfect touch of mint.

The customers here run the gamut: mommies meet up with other mommies, friends catch up, and some contentedly sip coffee in solitude. Then there’s the industrious set: hunched over textbooks, playing the keys of laptops or meeting up with colleagues to talk business. I often find that I can get more accomplished here than in my apartment. It’s like an office, yet cozy. I’m not sure I’ll start up a new stock exchange or anything (though maybe we could use one!) but I may pack up a pesky project I’ve been avoiding and head on over…taxes. See you there – I’ll be the one buried under a disorganized pile of receipts, some of them from Rohrs itself…

Gobo To Go

2009-03-12T09:23:00.010-04:00

I am not a vegetarian. But I’m not exactly a rip-roaring, fang-baring, pig-on-a-spit, Brazilian-barbeque carnivore either. Let’s just say I occasionally eat meat, with some reservation, and I have no problem whatsoever with meatless meals. I enjoy vegetarian restaurants because I like vegetables and accoutrements such as couscous and that quirky little super-grain known as quinoa.

So when my fiancé recently suggested we pick up some food from Gobo, his favorite vegetarian place on the Upper East Side, I was game. He’s not a vegetarian, but his sister is; she visits Gobo whenever she’s in town from Ohio. (In fact she likes it so much that he refrains from mentioning it when he goes there because he doesn’t want make her jealous.)

Anyway, it was a weeknight. We’d both been working too hard, running around like chickens with our heads cut off (woops, sorry vegetarians, bad analogy), and we didn’t feel like cooking. We didn’t feel like being “out” either. It was one of those winter nights when you just want to put on your PJs and your coziest socks in order to unceremoniously chow down. Take-out is a beautiful thing. In cases like these, I believe that the couch makes the perfect seat, your knees are an ideal table and a blanket is as lovely a tablecloth as any.

So we looked up Gobo’s menu online, dialed their number, and pulled up out front, at 3rd and 81st about 10 minutes later. I sat in our getaway car while he ducked into the purple pick-up entrance right on 81st. We could have had the food delivered, but it’s slightly easier to justify not cooking these days if at least you sidestep the gratuity. (I tend to over-tip, which is one part generosity and two parts poor math.)

The problem with acquiring dinner in this fashion is that you have to demonstrate some patience, (maybe not as much as cooking, but…). Though it was packed up tight, the food on my lap smelled delicious. I was ravenous. Would it be so bad to tear into that bag with my bare hands and go at that food as if I was some kind of rabid hyena? Yes.

Somehow, I managed to control myself, get out of the car, down the street then climb the stairs pretending that I was not salivating the volume equivalent to an ocean. My fiancé, far more civilized than I, took the time to arrange the eco-friendly boxes of food in an artistic formation. He even got out utensils and plates, all of which seemed extraneous to me at this point.

Finally, dinner. To start, we ordered Scallion Pancakes with Homemade Mango Salsa. These were perfectly crisp and packed with onions. We also got an order of the Pan Seared Spinach Dumplings, which were plump purses of goodness. There are lots of things that intrigue on this menu. Most, but not all of the selections at Gobo seem to skew Asian. The menu is broken up into quick bites, small plates, sandwiches, noodles, large plates, and salads and soups. They have another location down in the West Village.

I like what it says on the Gobo website: that the “spirited vegetarian dining awakens the five senses for each guest. Rooted in Zen compassion, Gobo is founded on the belief that delicious food and beverages using non-meat ingredients will nourish both your body and your mind.” It sounds like the dinner version of Yoga class. I inhaled deeply and dug into my entrée.

I ordered the (not-so-Asian) Butternut Squash Risotto with Toasted Almonds. Made with brown rice (of course) and large chunks of squash, this was exactly as delicious as I anticipated. It was buttery and bursting with almonds. My fiancé ordered the Sizzling Soy Cutlet Platter with Black Pepper Sauce. When he offered me some, I scrunched up my nose. “No thanks.” I don’t love meat but I don’t go for faux meat, either. I have tasted a few bites of that wheat-based seitan product before and found it strange. I can dabble in some strait-up tofu, but it seems that some of those meatless creations are for the real purists. Of course, he eventually convinced me to give it a try, and it was actually quite tasty. In fact, that black pepper sauce on the “cutlet” and accompanying vegetables was succulent and prompted me to reach across the couch for seconds.

Leftovers the next night were just as satisfying, and stretching this take-out over two dinners diminished the spending guilt considerably. Though I haven’t dined in at Gobo yet, the atmosphere looks to be very serene and appropriately Zen. And I always find that healthy vibe to be contagious. When I go, I intend to try one of their organic smoothies, a fresh squeezed juice, or…okay, you twisted my arm, perhaps a glass of organic wine. See you there. I’ll be the one tucking myself in cozily under the tablecloth…

UES Garbage Pickin'

2009-03-02T11:32:00.012-05:00

It happened on a Friday night, a few weeks ago. I had a lot on my mind and approximately 15,000 things to do. I was getting home late from work and hadn’t yet packed a thing for a flight out of Laguardia early the next morning. I was making a mental checklist of all I needed to remember, when suddenly I stopped in my tracks. In front of me was the most beautiful piece of garbage I’d ever seen.

Basically, it was the desk of my dreams – someone had put it out on the street for the next day’s collection. Right here on the Upper East Side, this piece of abandoned furniture beckoned to me, it glowed with possibility. I’m pretty sure I heard angels sing.

It was long and lean, white-ish, and had eight drawers just begging to be filled with my sundry office supplies. My current desk was adequate yet drawer-less. I calculated that, strangely enough, I hadn’t had a desk with drawers since we sold off my girlhood furniture at age 14. I ran my hand across the top surface, which measured approximately a mile. Oh, the masterpieces I could write on this thing.

I am not new to garbage pickin’. Some of my most valued treasures have been acquired in this manner: a love seat from the 50’s, a Jetson-esque orange chair, and a funky, discarded kitchen cabinet that has long served as my (not-so-functional) desk storage. If you've never claimed anything off the street as your own and you're reading this with a bit of disgust, I assure that everything (other than say mattresses and couches) can be cleaned thoroughly. Besides, I guarantee that that this form of recession-era "shopping" will give you a satisfying rush. You know what they say about one man’s trash…

I find that, like so many things in life, the best garbage pickin’ happens when you least expect it. Maybe there are some true aficionados out there who troll around on Friday nights from city block to city block in order to score the perfect pickin’s but I think it’s a matter of just going about your life, keeping your eyes open, then being decisive. It’s like apartment hunting: if you don’t act quickly, someone else will definitely snap up the one you’re pretty sure you want.

This time, however, I hesitated. I could tell this was narrow enough for my space but was it too long? Was it too low to the ground to be ergonomic? Was it too yellowed? Had a dog relieved himself on it yet? In fact, upon closer inspection, I discovered that this glorious piece was not a desk at all but actually a vanity. The compartment in the middle flipped up to reveal an undersurface that used to house a mirror and a bunch of secret compartments, one of which, sure enough, contained an old tube of lipstick. There was also a great pair of 1970’s sunglasses in one of the drawers.

The main question was: how was I going to get this up to my 5th floor walk-up? I’m no carpenter, but it seemed like it would detach into three pieces. I immediately dialed my fiancé and told him that I’d stumbled upon a dreamy piece of garbage. “Really?” he replied, amused and possibly a little afraid. I proceeded to describe its attributes with an excitement that, he would later recount, rendered me pretty much unintelligible.

I knew I needed some brawn. The problem was that my brawn was in a gnarly line at a Fed Ex. He told me he’d be over as soon as possible. In the meantime, I decided to stand sentry, to guard my new/old desk/vanity so that no one else could even think about claiming it.

I admit that as we waited, and waited…and waited for that Fed Ex line to dissipate, doubt set in. The desk gradually began to seem fairly beat-up and far too big. Mainly, getting it upstairs started to seem like way too much of a hassle amid everything we had to do that night. I do love free stuff, but also fundamentally believe that “less is more” and it would be easier to just walk away. Besides, despite all the soldier-like marching I was doing back in forth in front of it, I was getting cold. I decided it was all just a little much. Wistfully, I headed upstairs, rustled up some dinner, and dug out my suitcase.

When my fiancé finally arrived an hour later, he was also excited. “That desk is great,” he said, and suggested we go back down to investigate further. I was surprised that it was still there. We proceeded to examine it from every angle, and carried one of the drawers into my foyer to see what the color looked like in normal light. It was somewhat discolored, but it did seem like a lot of that would scrub away and what didn’t would add charm.

“Do you think it will be comfortable for you?” he asked. I pretended to sit and type at my laptop, perching on thin air, almost falling in the process. “Let’s go get your desk chair,” he said. Of course. I nodded my head and took off while he stood sentry. I bounded up the stairs with renewed energy, pleased to know such a genius and vowing to grab my camera for documentation purposes. Back on the sidewalk, I couldn’t stop laughing. I sidled up to the desk and once again pretended to type, this time with good posture, full of intention. That’s the first time I ever pretend-typed at a desk on the sidewalk.

“Perfect,” I said. We then dismantled it and determined that it wouldn’t be too hard to carry upstairs. First, we made sure to take in my desk chair, so that no one dared to claim that as her own. Then we took out the drawers. Granted, this 3-piece desk/vanity wasn’t too heavy, but traipsing it up five floors wasn’t exactly a stroll in the park, either; I find that even small objects, like pencils or even feathers, can seem heavy when you have to climb beyond that third floor.

It was by then 10:30 pm. Because we still had to pack and address those 14,999 other pre-trip tasks, we couldn’t do much else with the desk besides pile it up on top of itself and take turns modeling those crazy sunglasses.

In the last few weeks, I have engaged in four rounds of vigorous scrubbing. I used those Magic Eraser sponges that are so aptly named. If you haven’t tried these yet, I highly recommend. They are a product of that trusty, bald-headed Mr. Clean. I got mine in the cleaning section of Rainbow Hardware and Pharmacy, downstairs, on First between 75th and 76th. Thanks to these sponges, my desk/vanity brightened up considerably. I have been busy filling up every drawer and every nook and cranny with my beloved office supplies. And, of course, I am happily typing on it, at this very moment. It feels like the dawn of a new era. I suspect that many masterpieces will be composed in this exact spot in the months, years, and maybe even decades to come.

That following Friday, I put my other desk (which I've been writing at for the last 22 years) out for collection. Guess what? It vanished within the hour. Right now, perhaps someone else nearby is also typing a blog about the great new desk she found on the sidewalk...