After a birthday-driven, cocktail-infused couple of days, my plan for the weekend was clear: LAY LOW.
Bo-ring, right? In my defense, I had social plans six days out of the previous eight.My liver isn’t 23 years old anymore. Neither is the rest of me.
First there was a gluttonous, delicious birthday dinner at Javelina – yes, the site of that hilarious NYT review. If you get there, make sure to get at least one kind of queso. I was too hungry to take pics of ours so here’s one from Instagram.
After a week of miserable rain and humidity, Saturday dawned perfectly pleasant: sunny and dry.
But it wasn’t the prospect of a good hair day that had me smiling. Instead, it was the fact that the future owner of an unwanted – and very, very large – piece of furniture would soon be removed from my bedroom in the new apartment. Continue reading
I thought I hated rice pudding. Actually I did hate it.
My first taste of rice pudding was probably at the Charl-Mont, a now-shuttered department store restaurant I dined at hundreds of times in my childhood and where I had later worked as a [terrible waitress]. I remember a milky pudding with random grains of rice.
Disgusted, I couldn’t understand how my mother could like rice pudding. Blech. I avoided it for year.
When I moved back to NYC, I heard about Rice to Riches. In spite of my distaste for the gloppy dessert, I always planned to take my mother there.
Instead, we’d go to Pellegrino’s, planning to save room for dessert and make a stop at RtR.
Take note: there’s no escaping Pellegrino’s with any stomach space remaining.
Finally, I made a solo stop at Rice to Riches on my way to a midday meal at Pellegrino’s with Mom and some of her friends.
I don’t know what I expected but…wow! All of the flavor choices and toppings at Rice to Riches made my head spin. And that’s what got me to taste for myself and not just pick flavors I thought Mom would like.
Guess what? I loved the rice puddings. The texture was more like oatmeal, which I love, than the nasty soupy product I sampled years ago.
I bought rum raisin and butterscotch rice pudding for Mom with a side of cherries. And a small caramel flavored rice pudding for myself!
Further proof that a set-in-her-ways picky eater can learn to appreciate new tastes.
PS while Rice to Riches is generous with samples, I do not recommend going in with this mindset.
By the time I got back from a biz trip to DC, I was too tired to do much.
I found the energy to eat and drink though! Mom and her friends visited Saturday and we went to our old favorite, Pellegrino’s.
When the group departed, I met up with friends at Linen Hall (one rushed Manhattan) and Omar’s (two delectable Manhattans).
How was your weekend?
Whether you got out of town or stay put, I hope you had a wonderful weekend.
I was among those who didn’t leave home for the holiday weekend. At first, I regretted not finding a beach or pool to enjoy, but now I think a chill three-day weekend in Brooklyn was just what I needed.
I went into Manhattan just twice. Continue reading
My mother’s first breath after crossing the Williamsburg Bridge into Brooklyn today was a sigh. She wishes I lived in Manhattan, I know. She tells me every chance she gets.
As Mom drove north on Havemeyer toward my apartment, I saw Williamsburg through her eyes: graffiti, old unpretty buildings, men with weird facial hair weaving in and out of traffic on bikes, more graffiti. I get it. She doesn’t see what I see and I have stopped trying to persuade her of my neighborhood’s charms.
My birthday, as you already know, was last week. I may not dance on table tops to celebrate [anymore] but I still like to have a good time.
This year, I was showered with treats by family, friends and colleagues. It was…sweet!
I’ll be posting about one of the meals soon. Bottega in Yountville deserves its own entry (and then some).
My parents visit me in NYC from the Scranton area every so often. In theory, they enjoy visiting. In theory.
Sometimes they come to Brooklyn and then complain about the graffiti, the parking, the traffic and/or the “distance” from ‘New York.’
My retort that Brooklyn IS New York gets ignored.
More often than not, my parents ask me to meet them in Manhattan at their favorite restaurant–and then complain about the availability of parking, the cost of parking, the crowds and/or my hair/outfit/weight/lack of boyfriend or husband (that last bit is all Mom).
At Pellegrino’s in Little Italy, our small family’s every idiosyncrasy is known, accepted, embraced and even fawned over because, you see, we started going there in 1995 or 1996.
Even though I went through times where I didn’t want to go there, preferring new! and! exciting! sceney! places! and bitchfaced through meals, I still have my own antipasto that isn’t on the menu. They make it for me without me asking.
For those of you who enjoy #scrantontweets, I give you #scrantonscenes.
Did you know that Scranton is The Electric City? If you watch The Office, yeah, you probably did.
OneChicklette 