I can’t remember who took this photo, Hannah or me, but I love seeing the often cute-ized macarons in this dark light, its smooth tops in contrast to the doilies on the tray. Don’t the pastries second to the left have the contours of a pig? Back to the macarons, I never see them…
I’m trying to start that legit food blog. Bought a domain and everything! Eventually I want it to accept submissions. But until then, please follow.
I was reading an article on Ed2010 titled How to Become a Great Food Writer — Hint: It’s Totally DIY and thought to myself, I ought to turn my blog into a food blog, since every few weeks I find an urge to re-shape my blog into some sort of solid bloggy topic. Then I looked through my posts and realized they are all about food anyway. Speaking of food, Joy the Baker will be at Club Monaco at 12:30pm tomorrow. Not shopping, though the thought of a thousand eager self-described foodies swarming a woman while she tries to buy a cashmere cardi did just make me chuckle in a morbid way.
What’s great about cooking on newspaper is that sometimes old men have speech bubbles of entirely spinach.
Cool Lady Art in NYC this Fall
Here’s my intermittent digest of cool things I want to see or do in NYC based on the listings I update for the Village Voice. The three that struck me were topics related to feminism and femininity.
Rub Me The Wrong Way, Traci Talasco.
Where: Brooklyn Arts Council Gallery (111 Front Street, Suite 218)
When: Sept. 26 - Feb. 13
(from BAC website)
Traci Talasco transforms BAC Gallery into an interactive, domestic environment created entirely out of sandpaper. Rub Me the Wrong Way humorously represents how women have become worn out by their absurd attempts to to fit “ideal” standards, juggling their home and work life. Gallery visitors will be able to walk through the space listening to the scratching sounds their steps generate, eventually wearing down the sandpaper floor to create a visual map of pedestrian traffic. (BAC website)
More info here.
Horst P. Horst: Retrospective
Where: Staley-Wise Gallery, 560 Broadway
When: Sept. 19 - Nov. 1
Horst. P. Horst’s influence on today’s fashion photography is obvious, but instead of portraying models in submissive or hyper-sexualized poses (and he has plenty of nudes and people in lingerie, some very sexually explicit), he exalts them to the levels of his inspirations: classical architecture and surrealism.
More info here.
Huh, Lily Van Der Stokker
Where: Koenig & Clinton, 459 W 19th St
When: Sept. 4 - Oct. 18
(from Koenig & Clinton website)
An installation that’s almost entirely pink. Roberts Smith writes in the NYTimes: “The cartoonish verve of Lily van der Stokker’s irrepressible installations…can sometimes disguise the originality and sharpness of her art. Her best efforts appear adamantly cute until they start filling up with mixed signals of longing, conflict and repressed urges.” Sounds critical, but aren’t longing, conflict and repressed urges inherently full of mixed signals?
My Own Compost Cake
I had spent about an hour trying to locate a good recipe for key lime cake. Of key lime pies, there are recipes plenty — but my search for it’s cake equivalent yielded very few results, and one of them was a Betty Crocker one with blatant product placement. It was for my roommate’s birthday, my roommate who has two different icing knives and makes great personalized birthday cakes for the rest of us. Using a mix seemed brutally unfair. But I finally found a non-mix one from an Alaskan blogger whose son liked the color green. Then it took me another hour to locate key limes. Where does one find key limes in NYC? I googled. Lots of suggestions on where I could get juice, but I wanted zest. “Citarella,” someone on Yelp said. I called Citarella, was put on hold for 10 minutes, they didn’t have it. I called Whole Foods, and they said they had them. “Are you sure?” I asked. He put me on hold to go double-check. When I got there, there were piles and piles of key limes, small as ping pong balls, in netted bags.
I ended up adding 1 1/3 cups of flour instead of the 1 3/4 the recipe asked for. Naturally, what came out of the oven was a thin, vaguely key-lime flavored sponge, but way too short to be a birthday cake (both layers on top of one another = one inch high), at a party at least 10 people were definitely coming to. I walked to Momofuku in the rain (calling in advance to see if they had the chocolate chip layer cake I liked), feeling sorry for myself not without drama.
When I got back Sonja (roommate) was reading the 6th Harry Potter aloud to Monica. The cake is delicious, they tried to convince me, forking the sponge stuck to the cake pan. “You can make it into a trifle,” Sonja suggested. Done. Walked to Northside Bakery wearing terrible shoes for rain, bought two Neapolitans, went to the shady deli, bought a punnet of strawberries, and mixed and added them into the cake mush. Monica told me to mix it a bit more. “Won’t that make the texture to mushy?” I asked. “Bitch I know my white people desserts,” she retorted. Oh she did:
Maudlin takeaway #1: I get by with a little help from my friends.
Maudlin takeaway #2: Things don’t always pan out as you envision them, but you can stick some sliced strawberries on it and it’ll look like a cake straight from Downton Abbey.
I had been eyeing Rocket Pig since I started interning at The Paris Review, more than a year ago. I’d always pass it on my way to the office and while looking for lunch places, but settled on Chop Shop for Thai or Subway for convenience (as in, let my stand on the corner of 26th St and shove this yoga mat down my throat). It’s been a few months since I stopped working there at I have and had no other reason (besides my own wanting but who really acts on their own wantings) really to be in North Chelsea. Fashion Week brought me back here and, since today is my last show, I thought it only serendipitous that I randomly chose to walk down 26th St, and for me serendipity means a pork sandwich. Holy moly it was delish! I wasn’t even hungry! I had meant to make this a more soulful post about the meaning of sitting on someone else’s awning-ed stoop on a semi-rainy day but really, how could I, with this obliterated bag in front of me.
Probably my favorite part about working at the Voice is the free food people send to the office for press, especially when said food is a mysterious, giant bagel-bundt hybrid with a ceramic dipping bowl inserted in the middle but no dip
The love child of my two favorite cakes: Fortnum & Mason’s Victoria Cake and Momofuku’s passion fruit chocolate chip layer cake.
I went to Whole Foods yesterday to buy caster sugar and 1 passion fruit. 1 because the store I went to yesterday had only 5 passion fruits left in the basket and the passion fruit curd recipe calls for 6. They looked small, dark, and shriveled, like prunes, but the BBC says that means they are riper and more sweet.
My job at the Village Voice requires that I spend hours and hours looking up upcoming events in New York and adding them to our listings page, which I encourage you to browse if you’re looking for stuff to do. New Yorkers are lucky to be in a place where there are so many film screenings, theater productions, concerts, literary readings, art gallery shows, regular dance parties, food festivals, museum events, free outdoor celebrations, etc EVERY NIGHT, but too often we (certainly I) just go out with friends and look at their faces. I love doing this, but, it might be fun to do something in addition to that.
I read about and list so many events on the regular that it takes something truly spectacular to make me want to highlight it here, on this series that will hopefully be regular but, well. Here goes:
The Last Days of Folly, at Madison Square Park on Wednesday, Sept. 3rd at 5:30pm
Read all about it here.
Highlights: Jarvis Cocker (the first champion of hipster glasses, of the brilliant British band Pulp) creating musical interludes between stage performances; Sofia Coppola (who has made me daydream about having a canned rosé named after myself) helps choreograph of a Claude Debussy Arabesque by performers from the Joeffry Ballet School; inconspicuous wireless speakers installed throughout the park emit a hushed soundscape combining 1950s love songs, Fellini soundtracks, and traditional baroque strings with ambient and contemporary music; and the sculptures!