mum's visit, in food.

pig, three ways: after bacon-y polenta and pancetta bruschetta at al di la brunch {which i really can't get over}, we met a pig on a leash. i didn't even know that was legal, i said, ummm actually it's really common, said the pig mom all attitude like, oh ok well i just ate pig and i intend to eat more tomorrow and the next day and the next, imaginary me said.

rugelach: but obviously not better than mum's.

kind of like the best brunch i ever had: at miriam, and with schnitzel. that would have been enough, but challah french toast, shakshouka, and civilized political conversation added a little somethin somethin that defied my sometimes impression of brunch as being just a fun hangover activity. 

afternoon coffee + cake: olive oil cake and a caramel-y mini bundt from one girl. with a side of, please can you fill me in on my sister's wedding plans?

morningtime punkin bread, two ways: dog days closing pumpkin bread and thank-you-for-driving-me-to-rehearsal-through-all-that-new-jersey-traffic pumpkin bread. [fact: early morning baking with mum is the best beyond bestest best thing in the brooklyn.]

-yeh!

it runs in the family.

1978, southern illinois, by robert m. lightfoot iii. 

{l-r: buffalo, pops, mr. graef, mr. henoch}

pops is in town.

tomorrow night i will see him play my toddlerhood favorite, carmina burana. he flew into the city a few days before the rest of the orchestra so that he could see dog days and romp around the city with me a bit. we've been eating falafel and spending all of his per diem on dark chocolate and designer salt. he's also been yapping my ear off about the state of orchestras in america, to the point where i almost wanted to pull a van gogh last night. but before that could happen we became happily distracted with a few wonderful events:

on our way to see nick's unbelievable/breathtaking/shut-up-i'm-gushing show, we found ourselves on the street in the village that pops occupied when he first moved to new york, when he was just younger than me. he showed me the exact building, on west 4th and bank, and i had been there. three years ago. to the restaurant on the first floor. on a really extremely terrible date.

then, post-nick-show, as we sipped neat drinks and shared a fantastic brussels sprout small plate, a jingle on his phone signaled the receipt of a photo {above} of a face i've so often made, only it was on my dad. there he was, about my age, with his craycray friend buffalo, and mr. flute and mr. oboe.

can we first acknowledge that buffalo in this picture would get along swimmingly in williamsburg circa the present?

and now what am i supposed to say about my dad? would i be friends with him of yore? is he goofier now or was he goofier then? what would happen in the sci-fi version of my past if 17-year-old him rolled out of his west village apartment on that non-descript october night as i headed into the first floor restaurant? would i tell him to be careful with the swab during his first mahler two? would i advise him not to bite into that fuddrucker's hot dog that cost him so many years of dental surgery? maybe i would just compliment him on his glasses and tell him to get a new bow tie. 

-yeh!



lately

brooklyn is still a dream, in the way that i just can't understand why people still live in manhattan.

all of this orchestra strike business has sparked some brilliant conversation with my friends. i think i have the most brilliantist friends ever.

nothing store-bought makes the cut. not bread, not ricotta, not soup... 

{and this has yielded the best and doughiest focaccia and scallion/ginger/garlic challah.}

jolene is my alarm.

the oatmeal artist's peanut butter cookie baked oatmeal {or, since the recall, pumpkin cookie baked oatmeal} has been devoured by the doubled batch.

the stage is my office and it is only complete with a cupcake container on the trap stand that carries said baked oatmeal.

it takes a party with a shirtless man playing a violin concerto to get me to manhattan on a weekend.

-yeh!  

it's a noisy office.

sunday funday

lately, when i haven't been sleeping or washing my hair or at work, i've been rehearsing for dog days or in traffic on the way to or from rehearsing for dog days. even though i'm pretty much in love with that opera {seriously, you guys, see it}, the rehearsal hours are not conducive to checking off the brooklyn-based tasks on my fun-genda, which has tripled in size since i moved here. 

so when today's rehearsal became an unrehearsal, or, a day off, mr. nfh and i immediately took to the road on our bikes {and my new bike seat! which cost the equivalent of two black label burgers but whatever} and ate brunch*, and then brunch again**, and then lunch***, and then kind of lunch again****. we made pumpkin risotto omgomgomgomgomg pumpkin season omg risotto season, and stopped at mast brothers for a little chocolate tasting. 

it was the best! we even tried on hats.

-yeh!!!

*bergen bagels has become my favorite for sunday salmon.

**because you should always judge a pancake by its title: parish hall's johnny cakes

***similarly, because you should always judge a sandwich by its title: saltie's scuttlebutt

****an emergency how-are-we-gonna-bike-up-this-hill granola bar?