Cookbooks

“This place could be dangerous,” I thought as I pushed open the wooden door of Joanne Hendricks’ bookstore, located on part of the ground floor of her home at 488 Greenwich Street in Manhattan.

I’d written down the address on a slip of paper and stuck it in my wallet after reading about Hendricks’ shop in Edible Manhattan last year. For weeks, I intended to stop by but something always detoured me: work, family, the holidays. Finally, I set out for Cookbooks, determined to be undeterred this time. And when I opened the door, I knew I wouldn’t leave empty-handed.

I didn’t- I bought a first-edition (!) copy of Vertamae Smart Grosvenor’s Vibration Cooking; or Travel Notes of a Geechee Girl, which I’d been searching for a while. But even better was steeping in the space Joanne has created with obvious love and care over the years. The shelves are loaded and sagging with first or special editions of some collectible favorites– Brillat Savarin, The Joy of Cooking, Emily Post’s manners guides, Ferran Adria’s carefully documented life of the now-shuttered El Buli– and all sorts of ephemera– culinary themed postcards and pictures, tea cups, and even a tiny cookstove. In the midst of it all is Joanne herself, who is more than willing to talk about cookbooks and culinary travel with you but who is no gastro-snob. (We talked about my favorite food place, Mexico).

The best way to approach Cookbooks is to browse, with no particular title in mind. You’ll no doubt find something you didn’t even know you were looking for. There aren’t a whole lot of places like it–old, intimate, and real in every sense of the word– left in Manhattan, where, Joanne notes with regret, trendy floor to ceiling glass windowed buildings are replacing brick Federalist-era walk-ups like hers. Supporting it seems important– and, fortunately, fun too.

We don’t actively seek them out when we travel (well, not usually), but when we happen upon them–and we generally do on our trips– we tend to wander into cemeteries. They’re excellent for giving a quick read about the geography, politics, and social relationships of a place.

Earlier this week, we were on assignment in eastern Long Island, working on a feature article for Aer Lingus’ in-flight magazine, Cara, when we were directed to the Green River Cemetery in a part of East Hampton called The Springs. We’d just been given a tour of the Pollock-Krasner House and Study Center by director Helen Harrison, who had opened up the house in the off-season just for us. If we wanted to see where both Pollock and Krasner were buried, she said, we could drive a mile or so down the road to the cemetery.

And so we did, though neither of us is particularly fond of Pollock’s or Krasner’s work. The small cemetery is the most creative one I’ve ever seen, with tombstones clearly reflecting how artistic this community has been for decades. Check out this headstone of Stan Vanderbeek, an experimental filmmaker:

Stan Vanderbeek's grave

Pollock’s and Krasner’s graves are toward the back of the cemetery, abstract (appropriate) shaped stones with rough edges, Pollock’s considerably larger than Krasner’s (also appropriate). Pollock’s life ended horribly, in a drunk driving accident he caused, just a mile or so from the house where the two lived together and where Krasner continued to live and work until her own death in 1984.

So many stories that go to graves.

Polipo

I should also acknowledge that eating a meal with me can either be the most sublime experience you’ve ever had or one of the most challenging.

So first, the “window of pleasure” theory.

This theory posits that the more you know about something–food, let’s say–the more critical you become in assessing it. Further, the theory proposes that rather than enjoying the thing itself more, you have actually become so discerning and, well, demanding, about it that the most pleasure to be derived is to chase the same feeling you had when you first started learning about that thing. You’re always chasing the original high and the current high almost always fails to satisfy. The window of pleasure has shrunk.

To summarize, let’s evoke the wise words of Sade: “It’s never as good as the first time.”

*
Knowing what we do about the window of pleasure, Francisco and I do not eat out often. Plus, he’s a chef, so there’s no need to spend money we don’t have on someone else’s overpriced victuals.

But here we were, a few days before his birthday, and I had made no plans whatsoever. My mom would be visiting so she could watch our daughter and we could–could we?!–go on a date. I did some quick Googling. And despite my better judgment (there’s a reason I’ve never read a single Yelp review and why I never consult TripAdvisor when making hotel reservations), I was sufficiently convinced by reviews of Marea to make a reservation: “a cultural experience staged on a plate” (New York Times), and shockingly, amazingly awesome” and “sublime” (varied diners who fancy themselves writers). And there were Michelin stars… two of them.

There was no dinner reservation to be had, no matter the hour, so I made a lunch reservation and dusted off a pair of heels just for the occasion.

*
Apart from eating at home, my very best experience eating–one that really was a transformative moment for me, and I don’t exaggerate in the least–was at Chef Enrique Olvera’s Pujol in Mexico City (but he and it deserve their own review). Pujol has set the standard for me as far as fine restaurants go. You can’t just have exceptional food, though that’s essential. You have to pair it with a space that allows the food to be the main attraction without distractions , with service that is attentive and respectful without being smothering, and a personality behind it that isn’t about stars or accolades or ego, but about being in touch with one’s gifts and talents and being driven, above all, to share those with others.

*
So this meal was to be a festive occasion, a celebration of Francisco’s birth and his life, and our relationship, and, yes, the fact that this was one of two times in as many years when we’d been alone. But as we can deconstruct and critique a meal with the kind of efficiency and attention of a scientist dissecting a specimen, none of our talk was about love or life plans; it was about how everything about Marea was off, from the server with his affected “I don’t really know what the first dish on the tasting menu is. I don’t know how to explain it.”, to the water glasses that went without being refilled for 15 minutes, to the funghi risotto that was dead boring and the desserts that were trying so hard to be interesting that they lacked any cohesive identity whatsoever.

For anyone who might have dined with us, our scathing commentary would likely have become grating, and fast. But we found plenty of reasons to laugh… and we did enjoy one dish, the polipo (pictured above), an octopus tentacle that was tender and delicious with an intense smoky flavor. I enjoyed it all the more because I didn’t expect to enjoy it at all.

But would we go back? Never. There’s no need for us to pay $180 to have a few laughs; we’re pretty adept at having a good time without spending a dime.

–

One of the hangars at Floyd Bennett Field

One of the articles I’m researching took us to Floyd Bennett Field, part of the Gateway National Recreation Area, earlier this week.

I’d wanted to go out to Gateway for a long time, but it’s not the easiest place to reach for a New Yorker without a car (a city bus does stop there, but the trip would probably take two hours, minimum). The difficulty of getting there has probably helped protect it from being overrun by people; though there are people at Floyd Bennett Field, most of them are at a sports complex called, appropriately, if predictably, Aviator or at the park’s model airplane tarmac.

I don’t want to say much more about the field right now (after all, I want you to buy the magazine where the story will be published!), but I have to say that I experienced a rare moment of New York City quiet here, the kind of quiet that allowed me to reflect on the fascinating history of this place.

There have been dozens of anniversary events and exhibits, each one motivated by the impulses to remember that day and to honor the lives that were lost on September 11, 2001, as well as the people whose health was affected irrevocably that day and in the days and weeks that followed during the recovery, and who have died since.

In a way, the number and variety of these events have been overwhelming, insisting that we not bypass this year’s anniversary without a long, hard pause.

On Friday morning, the public art collaborative Illegal Art chalked the sidewalk of Fifth Avenue, running from 14th Street for a length of 1,368 feet, the height of the taller of the two Twin Towers. People passing by could take a piece of chalk and write a message on the sidewalk.

Francisco was dissatisfied with most of the photos of this art installation, complaining that none of the photos gave the full scope of the project.

But I told him that was like 9/11 itself– that none of the TV coverage, none of the magazine or newspaper articles, and none of our individual accounts of the day, including mine or his (he was at his apartment, a few blocks away, sleeping, when he heard the first plane crash) — give any sense of the scale or scope of loss and grief and confusion.

Sometimes, just a fragment makes enough sense and lets us move forward.

“Don’t waste your time; there’s nothing to see here.”

That was the tip from the sole person who had checked into Newtown Creek Nature Walk on Gowalla.

So of course, I had to check it out for myself; overlooked places and stories are always found where other folks hurry by.

He wasn’t the only one who held the opinion, though; as I walked onto the trail, I overheard two cyclists riding out of the park sneering about the irony of “nature walk.”

In a way, they were right. The nature walk is right along the Newtown Creek, which has long been known as one of New York City’s most polluted waterways. It’s surrounded by the detritus of industry and modern living; just across the creek, heavy machinery operators pick up scrap and dump it into massive containers that sit atop ships to be pushed out to the river by a tug.

Tug boat preparing to push barge of recyclables out of Newtown Creek

One of the city’s wastewater treatment plants–and the city’s largest one– is visible from the trail. And signs throughout the park warn visitors against fishing in, swimming in, and generally touching the water.

Despite all of this–and because of it, really–what makes the nature walk so interesting is that life still insists on thriving in and around it. Small, ground-level plaques point out witch hazel, bay berry, pitch pine, and a variety of other plants and shrubs, many with medicinal value.

The park is overgrown and in need of some taming– there’s one spot where bushes block the trail almost completely. Still, I found the Newtown Creek Nature Walk to be a remarkably quiet and solitary break from city noise and hustle. And speaking of the city, there’s a sweet view of it from the park, too.

View of Queens and Manhattan from Newtown Creek Nature Walk

Also, I liked the spirit of this place- its scrappy “I count too” vibe, the simply delivered historical references to New York’s past (stone benches, etched with Native American names for area rivers; the names of past eras–Miocene, Pleistocene, etc., engraved in steps that lead into the creek and which are covered and uncovered as water levels vary).

Steps descending to creek's edge

Newtown Creek Nature Walk will never be an in-place to visit; it’s hard to reach and for most people, there’s nothing to see.

Some people, though, know how to look a little harder.

If you want to visit Newtown Creek Nature Walk, directions, hours, and other information can be found on New York City’s government website.

Rain couldn't deter this fabulous decked-out woman.

Lots of rain and few people, but the 30th anniversary of the Dominican Day Parade went on as planned yesterday. The parade marks the beginning of celebrations to honor Dominicans’ presence in the United States, and to acknowledge the steady growth of this community, whose members are planting roots in the diaspora.

Although this immigrant group is relatively new, its members have made great strides in arts, sports, politics, and in the social life of New York. Recognized figures include Senator Adriano Espaillat; Councilman Ydanis Rodríguez; actress/model Celines Toribio, who starred in “Trópico de Sangre”; singer Juan Luis Guerra; fashion designer Oscar de la Renta; Yankees pitcher Rafael Soriano; infielder Eduardo Michelle Nuñez and many others.

There are also humble, hard-working people who aren’t well known, as is true among every community of immigrants who have left their homeland in search of success and economic stability. It is estimated that about 600,000 Dominicans live in NYC.

Like all communities, this one has had to confront many difficulties and challenges, including AIDS, drug addiction, unemployment, under-education, and a lack of affordable housing, especially here in New York, where the cost of living is among the highest in the country. As a group, though, they’ve responded to these challenges and obstacles and overcome them, often managing to also help their families back on the island while working hard to establish themselves here.

Despite the rain, the sounds of merengue and bachata filled the air, and the sense of shared pride in their heritage was evident at Sunday’s Dominican Day Parade.

**

Mucha lluvia, poca gente

Mucha lluvia y poca gente, pero la marcha que celebraría su 30 aniversario no se detuvo. Esta es el comienzo de las fiestas para celebrar su herencia, las contribuciones de esta comunidad en los Estados Unidos, y para recordar que es una comunidad que esta creciendo de manera significante poco a poco y echando raíces en los lugares en que ellos residen.

Aunque es un grupo de inmigrantes relativamente nuevo, ya cuentan con representantes y figuras conocidas en las artes, deporte, política y en la vida social en Nueva York (Senador Adriano Espaillat; Concejal Ydanis Rodríguez; actris/modelo Celines Toribio (de la pelicula “Trópico de Sangre”); cantautor Juan Luis Guerra; diseñador de moda Oscar de la Renta; lanzador de los Yankees Rafael Soriano; jugador de cuadro Eduardo Michelle Nuñez (quien “ocupa la posición de Jerek Deter como suplente”); y muchos otros mas.

Celines Toribio

Gente humilde y trabajadora que al igual que todos aquellos grupos de inmigrantes que han dejado su tierra en el pasado son guiados por el deseo del triunfo y la mejoría económica a todos los niveles.

Orgullo Dominicano

Dominican pride

En el día de hoy hubo mucha lluvia, mucho merengue, bachata, y muchas esperanzas de estar unidos y en esa unidad esta la fuerza, la fuerza de la inmigración dominicana.

Louis Valentino Jr. Park & Pier, Red Hook, Brooklyn

Photo: Marc Cappelletti

The Louis Valentino Jr. Park & Pier is at the end of a side street in the still-industrial section of Red Hook, Brooklyn. By day, the park is underwhelming, definitely not worth the schlep it would take for most people to get here. By evening, though, the park reveals its main draw: it’s a super place to see the sunset. Walk to the end of the pier and see the Statue of Liberty in the distance, the sun illuminating her torch before it slips into the Hudson River.

What to do before or after:
Eat at one of Red Hook’s many independently owned restaurants. It took you a while to get here; you might as well stick around a bit.

Alice Austen House, Staten Island

Photo: larrygavin59

Alice Austen was a Victorian-era photographer who lived in a 17th century house just to the west of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge (of course, the bridge didn’t exist in her day; construction on it was completed in 1964). From the grounds of the house–which are open to the public each day until dusk–you can see lower Manhattan, New Jersey, Brooklyn… and a spectacular sunset.

What to do before or after:
Visit the house itself or just wander the grounds and take photos of the house and its gardens. If you’re hungry, Italian, Sri Lankan, Mexican, and Cajun food are all within a mile or two. Like Red Hook, this spot is much easier to reach by car.

Gantry Plaza State Park, Long Island City, Queens

Photo: sbraffles

Gantry Plaza State Park was in sad shape 20 years ago, as the major factories in this Queens neighborhood on the East River began shutting down and the area awaited gentrification. Over the past decade, the Gantry has become a major draw for neighborhood residents and people from farther-flung neighborhoods of this outer borough as new features are added to the park.

Watch the sunset illuminate Manhattan’s East Side buildings (including the United Nations) from hammock on the northern side of the park or one of the piers on the southern end of the park.

What to do before or after:
Arrive early for live music at the piers (Tuesdays throughout the summer); catch a show at The Chocolate Factory, or eat at one of the restaurants along Vernon Boulevard.

Ft. Tryon Park, Upper Manhattan

Photo: Berk2804

In certain parts of the park, you can glimpse the Hudson River and the George Washington Bridge, and if you look south, you can see the sun setting at its appointed hour.

What to do before or after:
Visit The Cloisters (before) or have dinner and/or drinks at the New Leaf; all profits from this restaurant return to the park itself (after).

Manhattanhenge

Photo: Pabo76

**
“What had dried up and disappeared from the mind’s riverbed was the flow of attention…. The tiles Louis Palmer walked along on his way to immense and beautiful rooms were decorated with fish and flowers; they could just as easily have been engraved with the reminder, ‘I don’t really know what this is.’…. The ‘wonder induction,’ it could be called– a simple matter while you’re moving around or looking at a scene or at anything at all… and saying to yourself that however many times you’ve seen it… you don’t know exactly what it is.” –Tony Hiss, In Motion: The Experience of Travel

How many times had we walked past the building and wondered about its history before I whipped my iPhone out of my bag and decided, finally, to Google it?

Dozens and dozens.

“A building like that has to have a past,” I said to Francisco, urging him to wait on the corner while I entered “Alwyn Court” into Google’s search box.

There’s got to be more to its story than this 1997 article from the New York Times tells us, but finally stopping to pay attention– to induce wonder, as Tony Hiss says–made me more attentive to places like Alwyn Court, places we pass all the time without wondering about their history.