Loooooovely dinner last night. First one at the new dining table with food that required a defibrulator.
Last hurrah before decamping to Flat Rock/Theatre Narnia.
Very happy that everything tasted decent, nothing was burned and botulism kept it's distance!
Something about cooking is just hypnotic, therapeutic and meditative.
Will be bringing the books to North Carolina to take over the kitchen of whomever lets me!

Saute-ing and No Sleep

Well, that's it. I am officially a Foodie Geek.
I am fixing dinner for some folks tomorrow night and in lieu of said event (very excited as there is now a table to eat off of... if we could just get some decent chairs), I Netflix-ed Julia Child's, The French Chef to siphon off as many Boeuf Bourgignon tips as humanly possible.
This morning was spent quartering mushrooms, peeling and scoring Pearl Onions, making Lardons (Ooooooooh look it up. I had to.) for the bacon, and basically just getting everything ready to pop into the oven tomorrow.
Picking up the beef from the butcher, etc...
Feeling very Mrs. Dalloway about the whole thing, but sad to see my friends leave for California.

I was going to make the Boeuf Bourgignon today, but having crawled in at 4:30 am from ...oy...A STRIP CLUB... (wasn't my idea) I just didn't have the energy.
One of the strippers--in her attempt to offer a lap dance sat square on me. I asked, "Please. No... Now please, would you just please get up?". She breathed, "Ah darlink... Dooon't be shyyyy", with some unplaceable Eastern European accent. Retorting, "I'm not shy, just gay, now shift it, ya succubus"... definitely lessened the lap activity.

At any rate, bottle service, a VIP booth and more silicone than could build an igloo made for rather surreal evening/morning.
Truly an odd way to spend an Monday.
Ah well.. at least I could sit down.

All right... Off to The Guggenheim to try not to throw drinks in the face of pretentious art twits and then back to the oven.
Will more or less cook it tonight once the headache goes away.

Caught a matinee of A Little Night Music at The Walter Kerr.
Angela Lansbury, Catherine Zeta Jones, Leigh Ann Larkin, Erin Davie, Arron Lazar--really, realllllllly good (although there was something Elaine Stritch-like about Zeta Jones... Not that I am complaining) She really nailed it. Earthier than other Desirees I have seen.
Angela Lansbury gives hope to anyone, anywhere who pray for career longevity as she is completely remarkable, subtle and sounds amazing. Arron Lazar--GREAT accent work and formidably talented. Erin Davie (my friend Dana said, "When the hell did Erin Davie become 40?!?!?") sublime, Leigh Ann Larkin's Petra-diction perfect (Miller's Son is a bitch of a song!) and funny as hell.
The rest... er, beige. The actress playing the ingenue belted her way through the entire show. I kept waiting for her bust into Rose's Turn any second and Henrik had his matinee falsetto on.
The understudy for Frederick... Meh... But it's hard to cover a part in a Sondheim show.

Anyway, it was fantastic to see it revived, although in the 8th row mezzanine, my knees started to feel like they had ground glass for joints and I was sitting like a Heiroglyph (Is the Mezzanine where they put children and Asians? Because frankly I felt like a freakin' Hippo up there).
I love this score so much and any orchestra that makes use of a bassoon has my attention (I was forced to play one in Jr. High... until the damned thing broke... twice... I then switched to the flute because I wanted something to fit in my locker... plus... ooooooo shiny)
Anyway, such a great score... could do without Rhapsody of Unwrapping Candy in the cheap seats. Matinee audiences should be forced to go to some form of training because it really is a Colosseum-like vibe at work. Kept expecting Angela Lansbury to hurl a spear at the altakaka square dancing with her Baby Ruth bar... ANNOYING.

At any rate... if it takes a movie star to get people to come see works like this, well so be it. As long as the movie stars can do the work, and these sure as hell step up to the plate and deliver.

Hello, I Must be Going.

Thomas Wolfe once said that, "You can't go home again.". Well, you CAN, but it requires planning, the Internet and you're always older, hopefully wiser ...and thinner (as long as we're hoping, here...).
I just found out that my dear friend T. is coming back to Flat Rock with me to play "Leo" in The Producers. This makes me happy beyond belief as he's just so talented that I have to lie down. Not to mention an utter blast to be around.
It's also a trifle bittersweet, as two others that I truly love will not be there and will be missed tremendously. Still--- Two outta four ain't bad! This place is in the mountains and directly across from Connemarra (Carl Sandburg's Farm). I mean... the only thing that's missing are Unicorns and a talking lion...

A friend is taking me to see A Little Night Music on Broadway today and I am QUITE chuffed as it is one of my all time favourite scores and I have never actually seen the show.

To quote, La Martha... "It's a GOOD thing." Yes, this is a Spring of many good things. A true turn around from a year of not so much. That's the 13th hour on my clock, by the way, and for the past year, the time has read half past not so much o' clock. I'll digress before I break into a "Woman on the Verge" number...

I DO love good news.

On the cooking front, a farewell dinner for my friend P. as she loads up the covered Lexus and heads off to San Diego for Grad School. Three Broadway shows and several national commercials under her belt and she's going back to school. Seriously. That's a level of dedication that requires a nap. I have recurring nightmares that I am still IN school, so volunteering to return--regardless of the League's Ivy, at the VERY least, is deserving of a toast or six.

Lots of goodbyes and changes, but several returns.

The menu will be Pear and Stilton Salad on Boston Bibb lettuce with a Sherry Shallot Vinaigrette (yes, I'm making the Vinaigrette), Boeuf Bourgignon, something with Potatoes and pretentious name and maybe a Bavaroise. T.L. is making his famed Ceviche that is so delicious it could make Rocco Dispirito blush. Lots of wine followed by me hoisting my carcass out of bed and slapping on a tie to temp the following am. Perhaps the Hedge Fund Partners will enjoy some leftovers... Sigh...
Perhaps I will enjoy being face down on my computer for most of the morning until the Vivarin kicks in.

Leaving for the mountains in a month and thrilled.

Just saw my old friend Lois Sage return to NYC last night to do a cabaret at The Laurie Beechman Theatre. She was wonderful. Has one of the best voices in the business and has taken twenty years off, give or take, to raise a family.

It was so wonderful to see her back in action again as she has so much to give.
Nice to know that things can turn around at any age, for anybody.

Other great news is that I will be returning to Flat Rock Playhouse to play Roger deBris in The Producers... Could NOT be more happy about THAT, as it is one of those parts that you'd sell a sister or brother for!!!
Flat Rock is a place I love dearly and their shows are always an absolute blast to be a part of. A level of professionalism that just makes you never want to leave once that final curtain rings down.
Things seem to be slooooooooowly turning around career-wise. It's been a tough few years back in the city from being oversesas. Getting my Equity card back, getting signed with an agent and getting WORK. So, seeing Lois start over is pretty inspirational.

Rock on, sistah.


Thank God...

Easter and The Yankees

I went to Mass at St. Francis' Church on 31rst Street yesterday. Lovely place. I like The Franciscans. Very appreciative of Life and loving of nature, living things, etc... and there is a real zeal and encouragement to question things. My inner Half-Jew loves that and I have truly enjoyed my time in this place. Lovely environment and I just feel good when I'm there. I could launch a million explanations as to the whys and the wherefores, but the bottom line is how it makes me feel. And the sum total of all of the pros and cons is that "it makes me feel good!"

So... anyway, Easter Sunday. Kind of a big day in the Christian world...
I get there at five to 11--forgetting that people who aren't in weekly attendance sort of come out of the woodwork for the "Big Days". There is no place--I mean NO PLACE, to sit. Totally SRO. I am getting nervous as the thing is about to start and I don't want to get caught wandering around--nor do I want to stand with my gamy leg. FINALLY, someone official comes up to me and asks me if I want a seat. I smile and say "Yes, please!!!". Thinking I'll end up in the back because as a non-Catholic I don't get up for Communion and I really don't need all and sundry seeing me sitting down in an empty pew wondering what I've done to keep me from going up to the priest (Small Town-itis even in Manhattan), but I blithely follow the lady with the badge.

She then heads up the aisle, onto the altar and then puts me square in the middle of the twelve seats in plain view of the 2,000 plus congregation. Oy... so... the beautiful Mass begins (trumpets, clarions, choir, piano, GORGEOUS voices, stand up, sit down, fight, fight, fight) and all I can think of is how to avoid looking like a refugee from The Scarlet Letter, sitting up there on the main altar with everyone seeing lonesome little me NOT going to Communion...

So... The priest begins to wander through the church, with the vat of holy water and the very large, very golden censer to spray it all over us. Total silence in the church as he comes to the twelve of us first in the "Royal Family" seats.

"In the name of the Father, the Son and--BAM!!!!!!!!" The very gold, very heavy end of the censer flies off, arcs through the air and hits me square in the chest. I go tottering backward and the whole church gasps. I look at the priest and his eyes are open VERY wide and I think I remember saying, "I CAUGHT IT!!!!!!" (a feat in itself for anyone who knows my lack of hand/eye coordination... My people don't catch.) At which point, everyone starts laughing and my friend Joe (a wonderful associate in the church) comes running up to me to get it back saying, "THAT'S NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN!!"
Um... I'm not Catholic, but I gathered that.

So ... Communion was the least of my worries with The Holy Water Follies being played out in front.

I wonder if St. Francis' has a baseball team...

Start Spreeeeeeadin' the News...

The USS Intrepid is a battleship that saw active duty in WWII, Viet Nam and countless other military initiatives. As far as The USA is concerned, it is an absolute icon permanently moored off The West Side of Manhattan. Today it is a museum.
To those of us in the theatre who must support ourselves with jobs here and there between gigs, it is a place we cater-waiters occasionally and grudgingly trudge off to work. Grudgingly as it is a Grand Exodus to get there. The Blue Line Subway gets you as close as 8th and 49th and then there are long blocks to go in the cold past theatres, restaurants, apartments and eventually warehouses and buildings that belong to another century and whose use is now mysterious and at best, circumspect. Getting back after work is even more fun because--belieeeeeve me--you want to take a cab to either Penn Station (Ah, Kew Gardens), your apartment (if lucky enough to live in Midtown) or back to the E/C train because it is dark, late and potentially dangerous... even post gentrification of Hell's Kitchen. And puh-LEEZE---as long as Port Authority is nearby, it will ALWAYS be Hell's Kitchen regardless of what cute little name you want to attach to it. "Clinton"... Uh huh... and Shell Shock is Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
I digress.
You never know what you're going to have to put up with when you go to a catering gig. Here, you know it's a steel floor and a dodgy sewer system. Last night, add dressing up like a sailor in a tshirt, dog tags and little sailor hat... which sat on my big head like a yarmulke with fintails.
Adding to this discomfort, my cheap, black, polyester trousers decided to abandon ship and break the clasp, so I ran around trying to look as if my shirt were tucked in, when in reality I was praying to any handy deity to please at least keep my loose zipper half of the way up so said trousers would not slide South during the salad course.
During the set up, I noticed that the white, red and gold motif was a little on the MGM side--circa 1963... Did Jerry Lewis work for MGM? I don't know, but it looked like one of his sets.
Essentially it was some Australian company that was being treated to a concert--direct from Atlantic City... Cher, Bette, Liza, Diana and Sinatra lookalikes crooned/lyp synched into the wee hours whilst I tried to smile, serve coffee and keep my pants on.
Discomfort and embarassment reached sitcom potential when I realized that the Sinatra lookalike ("look" is all, because "sound a like" was beggaring belief) was someone I had a brief but memorable and sweet fling with 1,000 years ago.
Folks--nothing tops an evening when you must consistently walk past an old amour--dressed like an extra in South Pacific and schlepping dirty plates when they are clad in an Armani tux.
I sometimes wonder if my life is on pay-per-view up on Mount Olympus, or wherever the gods meet to laugh at we mere mortals....
The fun of this night kept exploding like a concussion grenade... Humiliation after degradation--
UNTIL--he and the drag queens began a rousing rendition of New York, New York.
Clad in Armani, surrounded by drag queens and a bad sound system--there he was, attempting a kick line. Ghosts of sailors past more than likely watching in amazement, I realized that while he may be in a tuxedo, and I was dressed like a cheap sailor we were equalized by the serving up of the cheesecake.
I like to think that mine was palatable.