Dragged myself to the gym today in the rain and grey cold while my roommate is in Hawaii learning how to paddle-surf in paradise. I appease my jealousy by convincing myself that standing up and rowing on a surfboard looks like a superhero flying in a standing position. This of course came to mind as said roommate has been working out like a fiend and now actually LOOKS like a superhero... And he has blue eyes... and his hair all goes in the right direction. I know, I know... Envy makes you fat. I feel like a chorus boy in Annie Hall, The Musical...
So. It's off to Planet Fitness, so deep in Queens, I think it might actually be near Iceland.
Then to a gig at Carnegie Hall in which--as I am running from my rerouted V Train, I hear a homeless bum in the middle of a babble and in stereo with the loudest fart I have ever heard say, "A sex SCANDAL is when ya ain't gettin' any". A Savant Prophecy from this ersatz Fisher King and then a mad scramble to Carnegie Hall to cater a dinner for some folks who actually have more money than France, yet don't know enough to not leave a disgusting plate with half eaten food on the actual serving buffet. There I am... standing in my lovely blue Nehru jacket trying not to look judgmental as I feel my blood teeth begin to shoot out of my gums.
And then home to the wine and muscle relaxers to plan Thanksgiving dinner which I am fearlessly cooking with a little help from The Wise and Powerful Martha...
Another perilous day in Gotham...
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
Another Opening, Another Show
Last night, I went to the premiere of the revival of Neil Simon's Brighton Beach Memoirs and the subsequent party at Tavern on the Green.
Great play and really well cast. Jessica Hecht as Blanche Morton is heartbreaking and Laurie Metcalf as Kate is brilliant... but then she's always brilliant.
The star of the show's LAST outing was a high school production of The Producers in which he played Max. Off, off, off, off, off, off Broadway as the program states. He as "Eugene" is quite a find.
Openings are a blast. You get to play Spot the Facelift and Who Am I Peeing Next To? (in my case, it was Neil Simon himself during the intermission). Woo. And since when did the lines for the mens' rooms get to be longer than the ladies... What the hell are we DOING in there???
The party at Tavern was great fun. They separated crew and cast in different rooms, which I thought was a bit Jim Crow-ish, but whatever, the food was great and I had a blast at my table. The menu was what you would find in The Jerome Household, so of course I went back for Kugle, chopped liver and meat balls... delicious.
In the 26 years I have lived in NYC off and on, I have never been to Tavern so this was unique. The whole place is kitsched out in the New York of another age and I really hope this stays as it is. Too much here is changing too fast and not really for the better... It's all just one big Upper West Side Pottery Barn past 59th Street. Anyway...
The ceiling in the main room looks like the top of a wedding cake and the gardens with their twinkling Chinese lanterns and Fairy-lit trees jolt you out of your big city complacency and into the second reel of an Audrey Hepburn movie--although the giant King Kong topiary was a little out of place and creepy in an otherwise empty garden.
Joan Rivers showed up and she looks surprisingly good considering that I don't think that any part of her face is real. She's also utterly minute. As is James Lipton--although his face was blotchy red and he sort of seemed like a demonic leprechaun.
Ah well, fun evening thanks to an old college friend and will be doing it all over again at the opening of Ragtime.
Great play and really well cast. Jessica Hecht as Blanche Morton is heartbreaking and Laurie Metcalf as Kate is brilliant... but then she's always brilliant.
The star of the show's LAST outing was a high school production of The Producers in which he played Max. Off, off, off, off, off, off Broadway as the program states. He as "Eugene" is quite a find.
Openings are a blast. You get to play Spot the Facelift and Who Am I Peeing Next To? (in my case, it was Neil Simon himself during the intermission). Woo. And since when did the lines for the mens' rooms get to be longer than the ladies... What the hell are we DOING in there???
The party at Tavern was great fun. They separated crew and cast in different rooms, which I thought was a bit Jim Crow-ish, but whatever, the food was great and I had a blast at my table. The menu was what you would find in The Jerome Household, so of course I went back for Kugle, chopped liver and meat balls... delicious.
In the 26 years I have lived in NYC off and on, I have never been to Tavern so this was unique. The whole place is kitsched out in the New York of another age and I really hope this stays as it is. Too much here is changing too fast and not really for the better... It's all just one big Upper West Side Pottery Barn past 59th Street. Anyway...
The ceiling in the main room looks like the top of a wedding cake and the gardens with their twinkling Chinese lanterns and Fairy-lit trees jolt you out of your big city complacency and into the second reel of an Audrey Hepburn movie--although the giant King Kong topiary was a little out of place and creepy in an otherwise empty garden.
Joan Rivers showed up and she looks surprisingly good considering that I don't think that any part of her face is real. She's also utterly minute. As is James Lipton--although his face was blotchy red and he sort of seemed like a demonic leprechaun.
Ah well, fun evening thanks to an old college friend and will be doing it all over again at the opening of Ragtime.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Rambling Addendum
I am also cat sitting my roommate's fathers adorable--and I MEAN adorable, purebred Rag-doll cat.
These little balls of sweetness are bred to be affectionate. They are actually creamy pink with brown tipped ears and Ice Blue Eyes. Follows me from room to room and likes belly rubs... I have never in my born days seen a cat that likes THAT. I love cats, but the one thing I really could do without about the species is that you can be petting it and having a lovely time... the little beast is affectionate and responsive... then, in the throes of it's being-petted ecstasy, it does a complete 180 and bites the bejesus out of your hand. I don't get it. It's like courtship, marriage and divorce all in one go round. Not this one though. This is a breed I could live with. It's also the same breed of feline that lives in The Algonquin Lobby. Very Dorothy Parker. Very me.
Speaking of all things New York and classic, I am going to the Broadway premiere of Ragtime and the First Night party at Tavern on the Green with my roommate and dear friend who has invested in the show. Very, very proud of him and thrilled to be a part of it.
Curtain up, light the lights, where's the bar...
These little balls of sweetness are bred to be affectionate. They are actually creamy pink with brown tipped ears and Ice Blue Eyes. Follows me from room to room and likes belly rubs... I have never in my born days seen a cat that likes THAT. I love cats, but the one thing I really could do without about the species is that you can be petting it and having a lovely time... the little beast is affectionate and responsive... then, in the throes of it's being-petted ecstasy, it does a complete 180 and bites the bejesus out of your hand. I don't get it. It's like courtship, marriage and divorce all in one go round. Not this one though. This is a breed I could live with. It's also the same breed of feline that lives in The Algonquin Lobby. Very Dorothy Parker. Very me.
Speaking of all things New York and classic, I am going to the Broadway premiere of Ragtime and the First Night party at Tavern on the Green with my roommate and dear friend who has invested in the show. Very, very proud of him and thrilled to be a part of it.
Curtain up, light the lights, where's the bar...
Atta Girl...
Finally did the last day of temping and all the productive things I WANTED to do today were eclipsed by simply drinking coffee, recovering from my roommate's birthday party and staring out the window like a schlumpf. Meh... what can ya do.
There's always tomorrow.
Have decided to take on the task of cooking Thanksgiving dinner. It's time. I blame Julia and the renaissance surrounding her work in the kitchen. I think it's past due that I attempted such a mammoth task in my small little cubby hole of a Queens kitchen. Bird in oven, stuffing, about six thousand desserts and lots... LOTS of wine... plus a Xanax or two to keep me from jumping in front of traffic when it comes down to timing.
I have a whoooooole lot of unemployment coming to me and I plan on using the time for auditions and the gym. Hell, why not... That IS why we came to Camp New York, isn't it?
Sitting in a desk is enough to make me crazy. I had a great boss, but I have to admit, I don't like getting bollocked out because one of the directors missed a call from the London office because he wasn't at HIS desk. "I'm soooooo sorry, it's possible that I, or the two other assistants I notified, might have been running interference for the OTHER five people we support in tandem with YOU"... but no... you can't say that. You just have to smile demurely (making sure your fangs are covered)... take a deep breath and try to make sure that the rat poison and the coffee sweetener don't look alike... I now understand why secretaries drink at lunch.
At any rate, I'm done and Monday begins the audition cycle and gym. Tuesday, I will be catering at the cramped dining room at Carnegie Hall. Now that there is 40 pounds less of me, it will be a little easier on my body and it's a job I don't have to take home with me. It's just the GETTING home at Sleep Thirty when all the subways are local and the only occupants are more or less indigents.
Dinner guests next week for which I intend on turning it out French style with the flounder, the buerre blanc and something diva like with pears.
In between all of this, I will try to make sure that the paperwork for my health insurance is done properly and LEGALLY so as not to be dropped and hopefully get the rent a LITTLE closer to being paid on time. I may even go on a date. Yes... a date... one of those things where someone who thinks you are attractive actually decides to pay for dinner. The odd thing is, I haven't been on one in so long, I can't really remember the game. Well... back on the horse, so to speak.
It really is time to play the lottery. It is also time to lower the cat down to street level so it can eat that damned cockatoo at the dodgy florist under me. Sounds like a Peacock in a food processor.
Sigh...
There's always tomorrow.
Have decided to take on the task of cooking Thanksgiving dinner. It's time. I blame Julia and the renaissance surrounding her work in the kitchen. I think it's past due that I attempted such a mammoth task in my small little cubby hole of a Queens kitchen. Bird in oven, stuffing, about six thousand desserts and lots... LOTS of wine... plus a Xanax or two to keep me from jumping in front of traffic when it comes down to timing.
I have a whoooooole lot of unemployment coming to me and I plan on using the time for auditions and the gym. Hell, why not... That IS why we came to Camp New York, isn't it?
Sitting in a desk is enough to make me crazy. I had a great boss, but I have to admit, I don't like getting bollocked out because one of the directors missed a call from the London office because he wasn't at HIS desk. "I'm soooooo sorry, it's possible that I, or the two other assistants I notified, might have been running interference for the OTHER five people we support in tandem with YOU"... but no... you can't say that. You just have to smile demurely (making sure your fangs are covered)... take a deep breath and try to make sure that the rat poison and the coffee sweetener don't look alike... I now understand why secretaries drink at lunch.
At any rate, I'm done and Monday begins the audition cycle and gym. Tuesday, I will be catering at the cramped dining room at Carnegie Hall. Now that there is 40 pounds less of me, it will be a little easier on my body and it's a job I don't have to take home with me. It's just the GETTING home at Sleep Thirty when all the subways are local and the only occupants are more or less indigents.
Dinner guests next week for which I intend on turning it out French style with the flounder, the buerre blanc and something diva like with pears.
In between all of this, I will try to make sure that the paperwork for my health insurance is done properly and LEGALLY so as not to be dropped and hopefully get the rent a LITTLE closer to being paid on time. I may even go on a date. Yes... a date... one of those things where someone who thinks you are attractive actually decides to pay for dinner. The odd thing is, I haven't been on one in so long, I can't really remember the game. Well... back on the horse, so to speak.
It really is time to play the lottery. It is also time to lower the cat down to street level so it can eat that damned cockatoo at the dodgy florist under me. Sounds like a Peacock in a food processor.
Sigh...
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Rainy Day's and Sundays Always Get me in the Kitchen
It's been raining for... well .. ever. And it's bone-chilling cold. In the grip of of this Northeast Storm. Apparently Autumn bypassed us and the Indian Summer was the Eskimo version. No matter. I just keep soldiering on.
I seem to just want to stare out the window and put on a Joni Mitchell CD (Urge For Going) comes to mind.
Going to a party at my dear friend's apt. today in Upstate Manhattan (Inwood). A Long Island Railroad, a local subway and a bus transfer. With a barbell's weight of Gazpacho in one hand. In the rain. This is how much I love these people.
Watched Like Water for Chocolate last night and wryly noticed some similarities, but decided to keep it to myself and just keep on cookin' anyhow!
This has been a week of reunions. Really remarkable timing as they all seemed to occur at once, which of course meant yesterday I pretty much had a bathrobe on all day and sat on the couch watching movies and drinking wine. The gym beckoned, but hey--why ruin a good week.
Well, that's why God made Mondays.
I seem to just want to stare out the window and put on a Joni Mitchell CD (Urge For Going) comes to mind.
Going to a party at my dear friend's apt. today in Upstate Manhattan (Inwood). A Long Island Railroad, a local subway and a bus transfer. With a barbell's weight of Gazpacho in one hand. In the rain. This is how much I love these people.
Watched Like Water for Chocolate last night and wryly noticed some similarities, but decided to keep it to myself and just keep on cookin' anyhow!
This has been a week of reunions. Really remarkable timing as they all seemed to occur at once, which of course meant yesterday I pretty much had a bathrobe on all day and sat on the couch watching movies and drinking wine. The gym beckoned, but hey--why ruin a good week.
Well, that's why God made Mondays.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Just a thank you.
Thanks to all who are reading this. Love any comments, commiserations and RECIPES!
Friday, October 16, 2009
Same Auld Lang Syne
New York City is reeling in a Nor'Easter (Makes me feel like a bonafida Yankee when I type that. Love it... Sorry, dead Confederate ancestors). Last evening, another reunion; this time with my old friend from Louisville. We have not seen each other in 23 years since we both plie-d for a living (and barely a living it was... even in 1986/7). Despite her parking her fabulous self at a bar at 5 pm where the drinks were plentiful and free and it being after 8 when I got there--AND several wrong directions in the freezing rain -- I arrived to find her waiting for me ouside the bar.
It's lovely when two people have NOT seen one another in a quarter century or so, have totally different lives and pick up exactly where they left off. That's how you know you KNOW someone. Luckily, she has not mellowed or changed all that much. Still has a mouth on her that can make a child smile and a second later, render a bar sleazeball paralzyed. Fun to watch.
I'm still taking notes.
I learned how to stand my ground verbally from this girl... how not to take crap, how to give it when necessary and basically how to enjoy the hell out of myself with a beer in one hand and a quip in the other (quip... not whip.. that came later. Kidding). Hearts open and forcefields up, so to speak.
Caught up, drank up and time flew by.
Said goodbye in the rain and hung onto each other for dear life. As things were beginning to resemble the end of a Dan Fogelberg song, I left and schlepped home to move my roommate's car (he's in Hawaii for three weeks, poor bastard) and wake up at four am. But all day I have been smiling about seeing her one more time and planning our next bar crawl... because I know that is what it will be.
Miss her already!
Drinks for all my friends...
It's lovely when two people have NOT seen one another in a quarter century or so, have totally different lives and pick up exactly where they left off. That's how you know you KNOW someone. Luckily, she has not mellowed or changed all that much. Still has a mouth on her that can make a child smile and a second later, render a bar sleazeball paralzyed. Fun to watch.
I'm still taking notes.
I learned how to stand my ground verbally from this girl... how not to take crap, how to give it when necessary and basically how to enjoy the hell out of myself with a beer in one hand and a quip in the other (quip... not whip.. that came later. Kidding). Hearts open and forcefields up, so to speak.
Caught up, drank up and time flew by.
Said goodbye in the rain and hung onto each other for dear life. As things were beginning to resemble the end of a Dan Fogelberg song, I left and schlepped home to move my roommate's car (he's in Hawaii for three weeks, poor bastard) and wake up at four am. But all day I have been smiling about seeing her one more time and planning our next bar crawl... because I know that is what it will be.
Miss her already!
Drinks for all my friends...
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Barbecue, Tequila and Good Memories
Last night I had dinner with two people I had not seen in over 25 years.
Over barbecue and Diabetes-inducing margaritas we laughed, gasped, told some ancient secrets and reconnected. It was lovely.
I couldn't help thinking how different my current life is from its beginning trajectory. I ALSO remembered how much I viscerally hated my High School years. They were vile. And violent. I dropped out halfway through my Sr. year and did not look back... not once--despite the recurring nightmare that I had until the end of my thirties where I was a full grown adult sitting in 5th Period. When I accquired my GED, I fled.
I made the mistake, as so many youngun's do, of throwing out what was then the scalding bathwater with the baby. Youth makes us all do some dramatic things, but some of them I regret. I would have liked to have become closer with some of the people (few, mind you, but they were there) who made those years bearable and who were fun.
The 25th Reunion is around the corner and while I will not be going (70 bucks to go BACK to High School and no open bar??? Clear, please...), I will be visiting friends individually when I go back to see family.
Due to Facebook, I have managed to reconnect with a handful of them and I am profoundly grateful. Last night brought it home. In the diaspora from youth to adulthood we fling so much away from us out of fear that it will pierce us, but later on--after we have FINALLY calmed the hell down, we realize that we want much of it back. Say what you want about "The Modern Era", but it has done that; brought much of it back. Overwhelming gratitude and humility on my part as a result. It's nice to know that fiberoptics may be knocking Wolfe's theory on its ass. It seems that you can go home again.
:)
Over barbecue and Diabetes-inducing margaritas we laughed, gasped, told some ancient secrets and reconnected. It was lovely.
I couldn't help thinking how different my current life is from its beginning trajectory. I ALSO remembered how much I viscerally hated my High School years. They were vile. And violent. I dropped out halfway through my Sr. year and did not look back... not once--despite the recurring nightmare that I had until the end of my thirties where I was a full grown adult sitting in 5th Period. When I accquired my GED, I fled.
I made the mistake, as so many youngun's do, of throwing out what was then the scalding bathwater with the baby. Youth makes us all do some dramatic things, but some of them I regret. I would have liked to have become closer with some of the people (few, mind you, but they were there) who made those years bearable and who were fun.
The 25th Reunion is around the corner and while I will not be going (70 bucks to go BACK to High School and no open bar??? Clear, please...), I will be visiting friends individually when I go back to see family.
Due to Facebook, I have managed to reconnect with a handful of them and I am profoundly grateful. Last night brought it home. In the diaspora from youth to adulthood we fling so much away from us out of fear that it will pierce us, but later on--after we have FINALLY calmed the hell down, we realize that we want much of it back. Say what you want about "The Modern Era", but it has done that; brought much of it back. Overwhelming gratitude and humility on my part as a result. It's nice to know that fiberoptics may be knocking Wolfe's theory on its ass. It seems that you can go home again.
:)
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Sigh...
Ah, show business... You get called in for something you know you are perfect for, you kill in the audition, you make the panel laugh, they tweak it, you take it, you do it again and you KNOW you are "in the zone" and then you get the "Thank you...".
Delightful... Charming...
Yes, it's part and parcel of the gig. Yes, it's 97 percent rejection, yes, the union is 97 3/4 % unemployed, but we still do it. "What I Did For Love" may be oversung, but there is such truth in its lyrics as anyone in this life will tell you.. I'm most happy when I am doing a play. That's just the way I am wired.
At any rate, yesterday was one of those marvelous days when things did not go as well as they seemed to. You doubt yourself, you consider giving it up and moving to a farm upstate and then you realize how much you will miss if you DO leave it all behind... So you suck it up, you once again go to the gym at dawn, go to a soul-sucking temp job all day, scan Backstage and bug the crap out of your agent. All over again... in the hope of one of the little Roulette spins coming up on the number you bet it all for.
Delightful... Charming...
Yes, it's part and parcel of the gig. Yes, it's 97 percent rejection, yes, the union is 97 3/4 % unemployed, but we still do it. "What I Did For Love" may be oversung, but there is such truth in its lyrics as anyone in this life will tell you.. I'm most happy when I am doing a play. That's just the way I am wired.
At any rate, yesterday was one of those marvelous days when things did not go as well as they seemed to. You doubt yourself, you consider giving it up and moving to a farm upstate and then you realize how much you will miss if you DO leave it all behind... So you suck it up, you once again go to the gym at dawn, go to a soul-sucking temp job all day, scan Backstage and bug the crap out of your agent. All over again... in the hope of one of the little Roulette spins coming up on the number you bet it all for.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Outer Queens Kitchen Happiness
Had a celebration dinner the other night for some friends... one of which who just got Jersey Boys in Las Vegas... Playing Bob Gaudio. Well done. The guy's ridiculously talented, so I am happy
Moules Mariniere, Grilled Portobello Mushroom/blanched asparagus salad, Grape tomatoes in a red wine reduction with leg of lamb marinated in olive oil, soy sauce, shallots, garlic and crushed rosemary--and because I am not martyred enough, a lemon souflee tart.
... And about seventeen bottles of wine. Thank god for a roommate who indulges me on these cuisine sprees and for friends who love the fruits of my labours... especially when the fruits are whipped into submission and turned into a soufflee!!! ... or however you spell it.
Have been watching The Donald Stratchey Mysteries on dvd and if wasn't auditioning, I swear I'd live in a house upstate... with a giant kitchen.... and hungry neighbors!
Some strange things have been happening to friend's lives lately. A dear old friend lost her husband on their second anniversary to a heart attack, another couple is splitting up... yet, there is something therapeutic and borderline redemptive about feeding people.... In a world where there are no guarantees, it's nice to know that whipped egg yolks and sugar turn into gold ribbons and can produce sighs of contentment (hopefully not indigestion) and eyes that are as beautifully glazed as the desserts!
Bon appetit!
Moules Mariniere, Grilled Portobello Mushroom/blanched asparagus salad, Grape tomatoes in a red wine reduction with leg of lamb marinated in olive oil, soy sauce, shallots, garlic and crushed rosemary--and because I am not martyred enough, a lemon souflee tart.
... And about seventeen bottles of wine. Thank god for a roommate who indulges me on these cuisine sprees and for friends who love the fruits of my labours... especially when the fruits are whipped into submission and turned into a soufflee!!! ... or however you spell it.
Have been watching The Donald Stratchey Mysteries on dvd and if wasn't auditioning, I swear I'd live in a house upstate... with a giant kitchen.... and hungry neighbors!
Some strange things have been happening to friend's lives lately. A dear old friend lost her husband on their second anniversary to a heart attack, another couple is splitting up... yet, there is something therapeutic and borderline redemptive about feeding people.... In a world where there are no guarantees, it's nice to know that whipped egg yolks and sugar turn into gold ribbons and can produce sighs of contentment (hopefully not indigestion) and eyes that are as beautifully glazed as the desserts!
Bon appetit!
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Vegetarian no Mas!
Vegetarianism.... Noble, interesting, advanced, evolved... and I'm sorry, sooooo bloody dull. Maybe it's me. I just can't find (after years of doing it) any excitement in the many different ways to braise, blanche, broil and otherwise bring Tofu/Seitan/Tempeh to some sort of delightful frenzy of taste.
Yes, of course, the cruelty in factory farming is utterly Shoah-like, which is why I don't buy meat that has been dispatched as such--and yes I check--AND yes, I know what I am looking for.
I am sure there is a way to do it right and my hat goes off and heart goes out to successful vegetarians and vegans... Fruitarians just bugger off. I have no time for you... "I only eat the fruit once it's fallen from the tree", they say to you when they sneer away the plated meat during a catered event--peering at your tray-laden hands, as though there was some roadkill remnant in them, through their stringy hair- through their mole-like eyes as they TRY to offer an expression that comes off nothing more than utterly condescending. Of course it's probably not a pleasant face.... surely just colitis making itself seen and not (yet) heard. Yes.... this is something that will make your cater waiter plot your death through his/her servile smile...
Point is, we seem to DEFINE ourselves and our progressing evolution through what we swallow. And here's the bottom line; I'm not swallowing the BS about vegetarianism any longer... "a HOST of flavour, as long as you KNOW what to DOOOO!" Oh just bite me right now. Wait you can't! You're a vegetarian!!!! Mwah ha ha haha... ahem...
Julia Child said it best, "I feel sorry for Vegetarians... they have nothing to look forward to." Hear, hear! I ended my foray up in Saugerties, NY by making Julia's Boeuf Bourguignon. I knew as I began to brown the bacon and it's comforting and layered scent filled the kitchen that I was back.... and I mean back to stay. It was the first meat I tasted in years... Browned bacon... My God... The world was suddenly reeling and I had to grasp the counter top as my eyes rolled back into my head and I murmured something utterly unintelligible, but utterly joyous!
Also-- I don't think it is possible to be a Vegetarian and a Flamenco Dancer. Class tonight was wonderful! I felt better, I was connected to the material and once that guitar started I was tapping into musical subtleties and playing with movement like I hadn't done in years
Because of meat? Possibly... LIKELY. Or maybe I was just in a damned good mood.
Moo.
Me.
Yes, of course, the cruelty in factory farming is utterly Shoah-like, which is why I don't buy meat that has been dispatched as such--and yes I check--AND yes, I know what I am looking for.
I am sure there is a way to do it right and my hat goes off and heart goes out to successful vegetarians and vegans... Fruitarians just bugger off. I have no time for you... "I only eat the fruit once it's fallen from the tree", they say to you when they sneer away the plated meat during a catered event--peering at your tray-laden hands, as though there was some roadkill remnant in them, through their stringy hair- through their mole-like eyes as they TRY to offer an expression that comes off nothing more than utterly condescending. Of course it's probably not a pleasant face.... surely just colitis making itself seen and not (yet) heard. Yes.... this is something that will make your cater waiter plot your death through his/her servile smile...
Point is, we seem to DEFINE ourselves and our progressing evolution through what we swallow. And here's the bottom line; I'm not swallowing the BS about vegetarianism any longer... "a HOST of flavour, as long as you KNOW what to DOOOO!" Oh just bite me right now. Wait you can't! You're a vegetarian!!!! Mwah ha ha haha... ahem...
Julia Child said it best, "I feel sorry for Vegetarians... they have nothing to look forward to." Hear, hear! I ended my foray up in Saugerties, NY by making Julia's Boeuf Bourguignon. I knew as I began to brown the bacon and it's comforting and layered scent filled the kitchen that I was back.... and I mean back to stay. It was the first meat I tasted in years... Browned bacon... My God... The world was suddenly reeling and I had to grasp the counter top as my eyes rolled back into my head and I murmured something utterly unintelligible, but utterly joyous!
Also-- I don't think it is possible to be a Vegetarian and a Flamenco Dancer. Class tonight was wonderful! I felt better, I was connected to the material and once that guitar started I was tapping into musical subtleties and playing with movement like I hadn't done in years
Because of meat? Possibly... LIKELY. Or maybe I was just in a damned good mood.
Moo.
Me.
Flamenco Boots and Spatulas
Cooking, Flamenco, Auditioning and recently re-settled back in NYC with an agent, a re-upped Actors' Equity card, a house in the outer borough of Queens (Kew Gardens) and trying to live--as beautifully put in Under The Tuscan Sun, "spherically".
I have found that one hobby/vocation/obsession/passion is currently not enough. So, cramming too many activities in 24 hours, I have undertaken learning the fabulous and slightly deranged art of Flamenco (performing it as well!) and trying to teach myself to be a bona fida force to be reckoned with in the kitchen--at least to my friends. All this while managing to keep my head above water as a temp worker, caterer, theatrical hopeful (here we go again) and incurable and ridiculous closet romantic. I think it's residue from being brought up as a Southerner and loving it in spite of what the place did to me!
I am a feeder and a caretaker. Always have been, always will be. Those who know me seem to enjoy it and I love what being in front of a stove does for my mood. Something about feeding not only a fever, but all the other ills as well. Western meditation...
More to come.
I have found that one hobby/vocation/obsession/passion is currently not enough. So, cramming too many activities in 24 hours, I have undertaken learning the fabulous and slightly deranged art of Flamenco (performing it as well!) and trying to teach myself to be a bona fida force to be reckoned with in the kitchen--at least to my friends. All this while managing to keep my head above water as a temp worker, caterer, theatrical hopeful (here we go again) and incurable and ridiculous closet romantic. I think it's residue from being brought up as a Southerner and loving it in spite of what the place did to me!
I am a feeder and a caretaker. Always have been, always will be. Those who know me seem to enjoy it and I love what being in front of a stove does for my mood. Something about feeding not only a fever, but all the other ills as well. Western meditation...
More to come.
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