Our Own "Mounties"

I used to be very impressed by the appearance of our NYPD mounted policemen, even though they didn't wear anything as dramatic as the red serge dress uniform of the RCMP, à la Howard Keel in Rose Marie, e.g. They always seemed to pick the best-looking guys for the job. Was reminded of this today, when a couple of them trotted by on West 57th Street at Seventh Avenue. I couldn't get a really good look because their spiffy blue biker helmets—a good idea in practical terms—prevented my getting a closeup. What is nice is that they really have to sit up straight and look most imposing, even if not like the late Howard Keel (or Nelson Eddy). It's just nice that New York still has them. They add a little class to the general chaotic proceedings.

Ye Olde Matzo Ball

Amusing restaurant review by Pete Wells in today’s Times. He’s covering Kutsher’s Tribeca, an homage to one of the best-known hotels from the heyday of the Catskill Mountains Borscht Belt, Kutsher’s Country Club. I was particularly struck by his comments regarding that sine qua non of Jewish cookery, the matzo ball:

“Take, for instance, his [chef Mark Spangenthal’s] matzo ball soup at Kutsher’s. Matzo ball preferences are deeply personal and beyond argument. Mr. Spangenthal aims for midrange fluffiness, so people who like a tightly compressed matzo ball that lands in the gut like a sock filled with pennies may not be satisfied.

"But they will certainly notice how flavorful these matzo balls are, and appreciate the rich broth, with its robust flavor and lip-smacking stickiness. The kitchen has been hard at work on that soup, but it has covered its tracks.”

The “deeply personal” tastes regarding this delicacy remind me of my Aunt Jeanne (pronounced “Jean” as in Jeanne Crain or Jeanne Eagels, not “zhan” as in Jeanne Moreau or Jeanne d’Arc), who, at Passover, would deliberately make both light, fluffy balls and hard-centered ones. When the soup was ladled out at the seder table, she would take requests for either hard or soft. I always asked for a mixture of both.

I also liked Wells’s calling Bob Dylan and Neil Diamond’s output “classic Jewish music.” Until I saw this, I could think only of either Ernest Bloch or klezmer:

“SOUND LEVEL Classic Jewish music (Dylan, Diamond) and pop hits of the ’70s and ’80s keep the place humming along.”

Have to mention that my favorite cuisines still run to north Italian and classic French,  but I’m open to suggestions.

Here’s the piece from today’s Times:

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/02/08/dining/reviews/kutshers-tribeca-nyc-restaurant-review.html?_r=1&ref=dining

Anna Who???

“Anybody sellin’ tickets?” Patrons of most of the theatrical and artistic venues of NYC are used to being casually accosted by scruffy, nondescript men, usually in knitted watch caps and lumberjack-style jackets, standing at the steps leading up to the main Lincoln Center complex as well as at other theaters and performance spaces around town. These requests are not usually aimed at the cognoscenti, who are well aware that these guys are not interested in attending Alan Gilbert’s Mahler or that evening’s Madama Butterfly or Tosca. They hope to buy the tickets cheaply and resell them at a profit. So, after many years of doing this, they have become pretty familiar with the standard repertory even if they’ve never set foot inside the Met, e.g.

Last Saturday, when entering the theater to see the New York City Ballet, I heard one of these operators ask the other: “What’s the opera today?” This surprised me, since they usually know what’s on even if they don’t know much more about it than the title. The other guy replied, “Anna Bolena.” Good thing he didn’t have to pronounce Götterdämmerung, which is coming up soon, and for which there is a giant poster on the Met’s façade.

"Our Own Business Directory"

Have spent a lifetime addicted to The New Yorker, frequently using it as my model for my own feeble literary/journalistic attempts. Although the magazine has necessarily changed over the years, I'm still a faithful reader. One small feature that seems to have disappeared—can't say exactly when— was one of their humorous column fillers, "Our Own Business Directory." I've compiled a very short list of my own favorites, all of which actually exist in New York. Or, perhaps, existed until recently.

Shredding service: Code Shred
Upper West Side shoe store (now closed): Scarpe Diem

Long Island City glaziers: Amazing Glazing

Provider of portable toilets: Call-a-Head
Sign in Fairway's canned fish section: Tuna Central
Shop on Third Avenue: Insomnia Cookies
Lush Maintenance
Empanada Mama

More TK!

King of Cabbages

You can't make kimchee or sauerkraut out of it, but the monarch of the cabbage family is the beauteous ornamental kale which, possibly owing to our freakishly warm winter (so far), is brightening up many city streets, vest-pocket parks, and apartment house façades, even in late January. I fell in love with this plant some years back, and once even had one on a coffee table for a while. It resembles irradiated roses or peonies but has no scent. You can buy smaller ones at florists or corner Korean produce markets and add them to mixed bouquets, but the really beautiful large ones need to be planted outdoors. We have had one small snowfall and, regrettably, I didn't have my camera at the ready to snap the sight of these botanical lovelies poking their curly heads out of the snow. 

Curtain Up (Soon)!

In recent years, theatergoers in the main Broadway area have been obliged to line up outside the theater until the doors are opened. I just don't remember this "herding" style approach in my (many) former years of theatergoing. That said, it's certainly encouraging to see hordes of enthusiastic patrons queued up for, in my case, Hugh Jackman's one-man show and, behind us, going in the opposite direction, the continuing masses attending The Phantom of the Opera, "still crazy after all these years." Despite ever-higher admission prices (and no discounts for Mr. Jackman), theater seems not to be affected by the current recession, at least if the show is any good.

Hugh does not disappoint, having one of the most charming and magnetic personalities of a performer in any medium. And, although he can be funny, his humor is never biting or malicious. And his singing and dancing would grace any venue in which he cared to perform. Though thoroughly skilled and polished, he is able to project a lack of self-consciousness and can appear not to take himself too seriously. I guess you can tell that I enjoyed the show. And, normally, my idea of a great evening out is Wagner's Ring or any opera by Mozart! Nothing against popular entertainment, when it's this good.

O Tannenbaum!

A classic New York City—particularly Manhattan—sight is the Christmas tree vendor, filling a good third of the sidewalk with his fragrant green wares. Here is a typical scene, right near my apartment, slightly blocking the entrance to a local Duane Reade. Many of these vendors come down from New England and Canada to do their yuletide business. An unusually warm late autumn or, if you will, early winter doesn't set the trees off as well as do snowy pavements. I remember being in Latin America one Christmas and finding their decorated evergreens (a different style, with droopy branches) somewhat incongruous in the semitropical climate.

A typical bit of Christmas New Yorkiana: When asked what I was doing for the Big Day, I told my Italian hairdresser, "Un natale ebreo" ("a Jewish Christmas"). Hip and au courant person that she is, she countered, "Oh, yeah—a movie and Chinese food!" Perfectly correct, of course. We haven't chosen the movie yet, and the food could possibly be Thai or Korean. Last year it was Thai.