Another moment I knew we'd someday move to New York City

Another moment that left me thinking that we would ultimately live in New York City was in the summer of 1986. Dana had been born the previous fall and my parents had come to Gainesville to take care of her while we took a much-needed summer vacation.

We hadn’t been back to New York City since the World Series visit and this was our first time to really explore the city as a couple. I loved it. I was working for SantaFe HealthCare and had just a few days for vacation after using most of my days for maternity leave; Larry had a gazillion days as the Sports Director for WRUF and was heading to Chicago after our NYC vacation to spend time with his brother Phil and his wife Paula.

This was our first trip after becoming parents and we were determined to make the most of the visit. We stayed at the St. Moritz, a hotel on Central Park South – a fabulous location (it eventually became a Trump property and today is a Ritz Carlton), but our room might have been the tiniest we ever stayed in. It literally held a queen sized bed and a dresser, and you had to turn sideways to move between the furniture. We, however, thought we had won the lottery even though we didn’t have a view of Central Park.

There were so many firsts. Our first Broadway show. Our first special dinner (looking back, of course, it wasn’t). Our first visit to the iconic, Mai Tai-originated Trader Vic’s – which at that time was in the basement of the world-famous Plaza Hotel.

Our first Broadway show together was “Sweet Charity” (Larry had seen Chorus Line before he met me) starring Debbie Allen, who at the time was best known for her work as an actress and choreographer on the movie and television show “Fame.” Bebe Neuwirth, who was just emerging on television as Lillith in Cheers, starred as Charity’s fellow dancer Nickie.

I had visions of what Broadway shows would be like and we dressed to the nines – I had this sexy, sequin-laced black dress – and Larry wore his best suit. We were disappointed though, because, even though it was an evening performance, Broadway was already starting to see the dressed-down audience that rules today.

Our special dinner was at Mama Leone’s – more of an Italian tourist trap than we realized at the time – and we would swear there were members of the Mafia a couple of tables over. The portions of Italian American entrees were huge – much more than we could eat, but the dark, smoky, exotic restaurant more than met our culinary expectations at that time. We’d learn later what real NYC Italian food meant.

One of the most memorable parts of the trip, though, was our visit to Trader Vic’s, this amazing TIki bar located in the basement of the Plaza Hotel. Trader Vic’s had moved to the Plaza in 1965, seven years after opening at the Savoy-Plaza Hotel.

It was known for its umbrella-laced tropical drinks and its Pu Pu platters – and was a favorite of Larry’s dad and step-mom. We met them there – sharing exotic drinks and a platter – it was so cool. Three years later, a developer by the name of Donald Trump closed Trader Vic’s and added an Oriental restaurant/sports club where people running through Central Park could stop by. Yeah - right.

The end of the story is among the most interesting travel days of my life. Typical thunderstorms hit New York City the afternoon we were flying out – I was heading to Gainesville, Larry to Chicago. My flight was canceled; Larry’s was still scheduled and United wouldn’t let him move his flight to the next morning. Larry literally gave me every dollar he had in his pocket before heading to the gate for his flight.

Me, a NYC novice at best, called around and after finding out that no hotels around the airport were available for the night, called Larry's Dad and hopped a cab to the Bronx – hoping a NYC cabbie could find his way from Queens to a Bronx street I’d never visited. Thankfully, I found a cab driver who in 1986 (still not a safe time in the city) took me under his wing – and together we found our way to the Bronx. And the next day, my sweet father-in-law hired a driver in the wee hours of the morning to get me to LaGuardia to fly back to Gainesville.

Black and blue pizza - a new take on an old favorite

Our daughter Dana was telling me about this wonderful black and blue salad she and her husband Nate were making.  I immediately decided it would make a fabulous flat-bread pizza too! So here's my take on an easy, week-day pizza!


Black and blue pizza 
17" x 11" - serves six

INGREDIENTS
Store-bought pizza dough
10 ounces filet mignon (or other steak)
Large handful of baby spinach, torn into small pieces
3 ounces Gorgonzola
1 ripe avocado, diced
2 cups grape tomatoes, sliced lengthwise
Balsamic vinegar

On a grill pan, cook filet mignon to your desired doneness (we like medium rare). Slice into thin slices and set aside.

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Grease 17" x 11" sheet pan and stretch pizza dough to fit the pan. Rub the dough with with olive oil, put in oven and cook for approximately 10-12 minutes until light golden brown. Take out of oven and scatter steak, Gorgonzola and tomatoes over and return to oven for another 5-6 minutes until cheese melts and crust becomes golden. Remove from oven and add spinach and avocado.  Drizzle with 2-3 tablespoons of balsamic vinegar and serve.

Watermelon rind pickles. Yes, watermelon rind pickles.

Growing up in Kentucky, there were several steakhouses that had fabulous salad bars - something relatively new back in the 1970s. One of my favorites on the salad bar (I was definitely in the minority on this one) was watermelon rind pickles. Yes, who knew you could make pickles out of the rind of watermelons. (BTW, I don't actually like watermelon - lol).

A couple of years ago, I decided to give it a try myself and found a great recipe. These are fabulous - sweet, hot, spicy, crispy.  You've got to try them. Yes, I KNOW it sounds a little strange, but trust me! (I usually make two batches at a time.)

Quick Watermelon Rind Refrigerator Pickles
Makes 2 pints

5 cups water, divided
3 tablespoons plus 1 teaspoon kosher salt, divided
1 pound of watermelon rind, peeled, cut into 3/4-inch cubes (should be about 4 cups)
1 1/2 cups cider vinegar
1-2 cups sugar, depending on how sweet you like it (I usually use about 1 1/4).
2 tablespoons mixed pickling spice (you can find this in either the spice aisle or in the area where they have canning supplies - I use McCormick's Pickling Spice. Ask someone if you have trouble finding it).

Blanch rind:  Bring 4 cups of water and the 3 tablespoons of salt to a boil in a large saucepan over high heat, stir until salt dissolves. Add the rind, reduce the heat, and simmer until it is crisp-tender, about 5 minutes. Skim off any foam. Drain and transfer into a large, very clean bowl.

Make brine: Bring the remaining 1 cup water, the remaining 1 teaspoon salt and the vinegar, sugar and pickling spice to a boil in a large saucepan, stirring to dissolve the salt and sugar.

Combine and store: Pour the hot brine over the rind. Use a small plate or a Ziplock bag partially filled with water (I use the Ziplock bag) to hold the rind under the brine. Let cool to room temperature. Transfer the rind and brine into clean glass jars (I use Mason jars), cover and chill before serving. Keep refrigerated - they'll keep several months.

Never was there a sweeter corn

My Dad always had the best garden in all of Ohio County, Ky. Truth be told, he could have fed half of Hartford on the produce we threw away. I never quite understood why he planted so much – but it was probably because it kept him busy.

He planted all our favorites: tomatoes, green beans, butter beans, banana peppers, potatoes, squash, cherry tomatoes and green peppers, but it was his corn that kept me awake at night waiting for it to ripen.

My Dad had a magical way with corn. This is what he did: as soon as he was sure the last frost had glistened the dawn, he’d start planting two rows of corn every two weeks. He’d do this for about six weeks. This way, about the time we would finish eating the first two rows of ripened corn, the next two rows would be ready to pick – and so it would go all summer.

What made his corn that amazing? He’d pick it a good week and a half or two before the corn’s kernels were completely filled in. The result: this unbelievably sweet, tender corn that you literally wanted to hold in your mouth for hours. Forget corn on the cob – these kernels needed to be cut off the cob while capturing the corn milk that would literally ooze off the cob with the kernels. Then when cooked with a little bit of water, salt and a half stick of butter, it was literally like eating hot corn pudding. No dessert could compete with its sweetness – but that sweetness was all corn, no added sugar.

So this last weekend at the farmer’s market over on Columbus and 77^th Street, I spied these slender ears of corn (a sure sign that the corn hadn’t been allowed to fully ripen), husks still silky and green – so I grabbed six ears.  Tonight, I cooked that corn just as my Mom always did – and it was fabulous. When paired with good old-fashioned oven-fried chicken, it was meal fit for Kentucky.

It’s the first time since my Daddy died in 2001 that I’d been able to match the taste of Kentucky corn. What a blessing to have found something so simple, so enchanting, so much a reminder of my childhood days. For those who can find tender, sweet corn, here’s the recipe (if you can't find tender corn, don't bother):

6 slender ears of corn, as tender as you can find, cut off the cob
1 cup of water
Pinch or two of salt
Pinch of ground pepper
4 T. of butter (or a half a stick as we’d say in Kentucky)

Put all ingredients in a wide, shallow pan and cook covered over medium-low heat for 30 minutes. Uncover, and simmer for another 10-15 minutes or until corn is tender. Serve hot!

Delicious!

My favorite cookbooks . . .

Those who know me, know how much I love to cook. If I could make a living cooking, I would.

 It started when I was 13 and my Mommy started school to become an LPN. My Dad worked the 3-11 p.m. shift and the big meal of the day in our family was lunch. The summer before I started eighth grade, my Mom taught me to cook – even though she wasn’t in the kitchen at the time.

She started easy. She’d put together my Dad’s favorite dishes – and would slowly do less and less prep each time so over the weeks I’d get to where I cooked  the entire dish.  I learned to make fried chicken, salmon patties, pork chops with milk gravy – and the accompanying potatoes, butter beans, tomatoes and corn (because if my Dad didn’t have potatoes with a meal, it wasn’t a real meal).

Then I’d put the leftovers into a wide-mouth Thermos and that was Daddy’s dinner at the coal mine. It made me feel like I was doing my part to keep our household going while my Mom went to school.

When I started at Western Kentucky University, I started creating my own dishes.  Spaghetti sauce was one of my first tries – but I’d take bottled sauce and then add my own touches to it - spices, green peppers, meat – and over time, I gave up on the bottled sauce.  I learned to make chicken and dumplings, Swedish meatballs (which all the guys I hung out with at WKU loved – including Jimmy, Jamie and others), lasagna and more. My cooking still leaned towards Kentucky-style meals, but I started learning how to make my own creations.

When Larry and I married, one of the coolest gifts we received was a carbon steel wok from Bob and Murph  – it was the real thing (not electric, not non-stick), the real deal. I was terrified of trying it.  I found a cookbook – “Great Chinese Cooking: From Fire Pot to Food Processor” at the local bookstore and tentatively started trying.

My first attempt at Chinese cooking – seriously – was Stir-Fried Celery. Yup, sounds scary, huh – but it actually was pretty good. Over time, I started becoming pretty solid on the Chinese-cooking technique, and started coming up with my own combinations of meats, vegetables and the accompanying sauce. As you can see of the photo of the cookbook, I literally loved the cookbook to death – fried rice, egg drop soup, beef with broccoli, chicken and vegetables and egg rolls.

That experience gave me the confidence that I could learn to cook anything – because for me and most people - cooking Chinese is among the scariest.

So over time, I’ve devoured – and loved - a lot of cookbooks. If you’re interested in what I consider my favorite – and most-loved cookbooks, here they are:

·         The aforementioned “Great Chinese Cooking: From Fire Pot to Food Processor.” This cookbook, which is no longer in print, literally taught me who to cook what I consider the “hardest-to-learn cuisine.” These days, I make a killer Cashew Chicken and Shrimp, a spicy Beef and Vegetables, and Pork Fried Rice (I gave up on egg rolls – WAY too much effort).

·         Emeril’s “Louisiana Real and Rustic.” True story:  Emeril opened his first restaurant (named Emeril's) in New Orleans in 1990. In December 1991, we had a tasting menu there with our friends Mark and Robyn Sieron. This was before Emeril was anybody – literally, few people outside of New Orleans knew who he was. Of all his cookbooks – and I’ve had several (most of which didn’t make the move to NYC) – my favorite is “Real and Rustic.” It’s real Emeril – homemade cocktail sauce, the best recipe ever for boiled shrimp. You get the idea. It’s the real stuff. Not complicated. Not fru-fru. Just delicious.

·         Lynne Rosetto Kaplan’s Italian cookbooks are the best – “The Splendid Table” and “The Italian Country Table” may be my favorite cookbooks. Again, like Emeril’s “Real and Rustic,” these cookbooks are about real cooking – how to make the best sauces, how to use seasonal ingredients, how to cook the best from Northern Italy. If you have to buy just one, go with “The Italian Country Table;” it has wonderful tips, stories and history, but they are both terrific!

·         And finally, one of my new favorites: Dorie Greenspan’s “Around My French Table.”  A fabulous cookbook – a wonderful “Roast Chicken for Les Paresseux” – translated as “Roast Chicken for Lazy People,” “Gougeres,” and more.

Some of my favorites – share yours. I’m always looking for new cookbooks!!

A cool relief on a hot summer day: fresh tomato soup

One of my favorite recipes when the heat of July bears down (like it is today on the Fourth of July) is Chilled Fresh Tomato Soup. It is light, refreshing and can be made from ingredients you almost always have in your pantry and fridge. You can garnish it with a dollop of sour cream. Or some shredded cheddar and green onions. You can easily adjust the spices in the recipe if you like your soup with a little more kick. Here's to a refreshing Fourth of July for you and yours!

Chilled Fresh Tomato Soup

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 red bell pepper, coarsely chopped
1 jalapeno chili, chopped (or 2 tablespoons pickled jalapeno, chopped)
1 1/2 pounds tomatoes, seeded, chopped
2 tablespoons lime juice (can also use lemon juice)
1 tablespoon prepared horseradish (more if you like more kick)
6 green onions, chopped (can also use 1/4 cup of chopped onion)
2 garlic cloves, chopped
4 cups tomato juice (can also substitute V-8 juice)

Heat oil in a heavy large saucepan over low heat. Add onions, peppers, garlic and jalapenos. Cover, cook until veggies are tender, stirring often, about 20 minutes. Add tomatoes, tomato juice, lime juice and horseradish. Increase heat to medium high, boil uncovered until flavors blend, stirring often, about 10 minutes. Cool slightly. Working in batches puree soup in blender until smooth. Chill at least four hours.

To serve, mix 1/4 of sour cream with a little half and half to thin. Serve soup with a drizzle of the sour cream on top. Or garnish with shredded cheddar, a few chopped green onions and a dollop of sour cream.

The House That Built Me . . .

I know they say you can't go home again
I just had to come back one last time
Ma'am I know you don't know me from Adam.
But these hand prints on the front steps are mine.
And up those stairs, in that little back bedroom
is where I did my homework and I learned to play guitar.
And I bet you didn't know under that live oak
my favorite dog is buried in the yard.

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
this brokenness inside me might start healing.
Out here its like I'm someone else,
I thought that maybe I could find myself
if I could just come in I swear I'll leave.
Won't take nothing but a memory
from the house that built me.

Mama cut out pictures of houses for years.
From 'Better Homes and Garden' magazines.
Plans were drawn, concrete poured,
and nail by nail and board by board
Daddy gave life to mama's dream.

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
this brokenness inside me might start healing.

Out here its like I'm someone else,
I thought that maybe I could find myself.

If I could just come in I swear I'll leave.
Won't take nothing but a memory
from the house that built me.

You leave home, you move on and you do the best you can.
I got lost in this whole world and forgot who I am.

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
this brokenness inside me might start healing.
Out here its like I'm someone else,
I thought that maybe I could find myself.
If I could walk around I swear I'll leave.
Won't take nothing but a memory
from the house that built me.

The moment I knew one day we'd live in NYC

I’ve told parts of this story before – but here (as Paul Harvey would say) is the rest of the story.  

When Larry took me to New York City for the first time in 1981 to see the Yankees play the Dodgers in the World Series, I fell in love with the city – the beautiful, the gritty and the hopeful. For a girl who had grown up in small town Kentucky and thought her move to Gainesville, Fla., was a huge accomplishment, the last thing I expected was to fall head over heels for the second largest city in the world.

1981 was not one of the city’s best years. The days between January 1^st and December 31^st were filled with news reports of mob violence spilling out into the street, rape, robbery and other seeds of crime that had the city’s citizens fearing what their city was becoming. There were more than 120,000 robberies reported in the city that year - the most of any year in its history.  There were over 2,100 murders and the city was still reeling from the killing of John Lennon a year earlier. By comparison, there were 648 murders in 2013.

We flew in late on a cold Monday night and were picked up by Larry’s Dad. It was my first time meeting my new father-in-law and I was scared he wouldn’t like or accept his Kentucky-born daughter-in-law (we ended up really connecting and have been very close over the years).  He took us to Larry’s Aunt Dot’s apartment for the night, and Larry and I grabbed a few hours of sleep before starting our two-day exploration of New York City. 

We spent the first day with Larry’s Grandma Catherine – strong and vibrant at 81-years-old. She took us to her favorite Chinese restaurant in the Bronx for lunch and showed us around the area. She had worked her entire life – and even though she was retired and living in a Catholic retirement home – she left her apartment every morning, walking the city until late afternoon – the exact 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. timeframe she’d worked for years. She’d explore the Bronx, Manhattan and other parts of the city – anywhere her feet took her. She was remarkable.

That night we took in the first game of the World Series at Yankees Stadium – a 5-3 win over the Dodgers – alongside Larry’s Dad and our friend Chuck Cooperstein.  Pregame saw people parachuting onto the field; Pearl Bailey sang the national anthem. The Yankees players included such luminaries as Willie Randolph, Reggie Jackson, Tommy John, Lou Pinella, Graig Nettles and Ron Guidry. 

The following morning we headed into Manhattan – grabbing a hot dog on a street corner and exploring city streets, ending up at Battery Park where Larry convinced a bum to pose for a picture.  Larry and I took turns taking pictures of each other with the World Trade Center in the background.  Mid-afternoon we headed back to the Bronx, packed our bags and left them with Larry’s Dad before heading to the subway to get to Yankees Stadium for Game 2.

Chuck was joining us again that night, but Larry’s Dad had decided he wasn’t going to join us, so we had an extra ticket. While heading north on the subway, we started talking with an older black man who was heading to the Stadium in hopes of securing a scalped ticket. When Larry offered him our extra ticket at face-value, the gentleman was stunned, somewhat afraid that the ticket was a fraud. We assured him it was real – and even though he kept telling Larry how much we could make scalping the ticket – he bought it and joined us in our seats, nine rows behind home plate (yes, nine rows. Thank you, Ray Graves). 

That night the Yankees won again – this time a 3-0 win for pitcher Tommy John that included an amazing down-the-line catch by third baseman Graig Nettles. Goose Gossage (who might be one of the ugliest players in major league history) got the save. Note:  The Yankees went on to lose the next four games – three in LA, one in NYC – but hey, we saw the two wins.

We left the game – exhausted, yet thrilled with our visit – and headed to meet Larry’s Dad to grab our luggage and drive to Laguardia. We left New York around 2 a.m. that night, flew to Jacksonville and drove to Gainesville in time to go to work that Thursday morning.

That was my first introduction to this amazing city – and was the first of dozens of visits that took place over the last 35 years.  Who would have thought that that visit would set us on course to where we are today?

Tom Wolfe may best describe my relationship to New York City: “One belongs to New York instantly; one belongs to it as much in five minutes as in five years.” 

The history of our apartment building

Several people have asked about the history of our apartment building. Our building is a pre-war building, a term generally applied to apartment buildings built in New York City before World War II. These buildings typically have high ceilings, thick walls (we can attest to the thick walls – haven’t heard a peep from any neighbor since moving in) and plaster ornamentation. Here’s a bit of the history of our building . . .

Between the mid-1880s and the turn of the century, most of the housing being built in New York City was single family row houses and town houses in a variety of styles and materials.  Around the turn of the century, apartment living began gaining respectability among the middle and upper classes and developers began building small multiple dwellings in the West End-Collegiate Historic District Extension (an area located west of Broadway between West 70th and 79th Streets).  These smaller dwellings were often referred to as “French flats.”

With the advent of the smaller, more practical electric elevator in the early 1900s, developers began constructing larger, multiple dwelling buildings ranging in height from six to nine stories. In addition, the opening of the IRT subway in 1904 (today’s 1, 2 and 3 subway lines) made the Upper West Side more accessible and appealing to the city’s expanding population.

Rules established by the Tenement House Act in 1901 determined the form, massing, and maximum height of new residential buildings. These regulations contributed to the height of apartment buildings, including ours, that were designed during the 1910s and 1920s by many of the city’s most prominent residential architects including Schwartz & Gross, Gaetan Ajello, Rosario Candela, Emery Roth and George F. Pelham.

Our building – 228 West 71^st Street – was designed and constructed in 1916-1917 by Emery Roth, one of the city’s leading builders of pre-war buildings. The 14-story (plus penthouse) apartment hotel was named the Hotel Robert Fulton, in honor of the inventor of the first commercially successful steamboat to provide ferry service up the Hudson River from New York City to Albany in 1807. The building’s Colonial Revival style features red brick, limestone, terra cotta and granite.

Advertisements for the hotel, beginning shortly after its c. 1917 opening, touted one- to three-room suites (either furnished or unfurnished), “complete hotel service,” an “excellent restaurant,” and emphasized its views overlooking the Hudson River. By 1955, kitchenettes were added to the advertisements after the laws were changed to allow them in apartment hotels. The interior of the hotel was noted for its tasteful design in a 1917 issue of “Architecture and Building Magazine” in an article that included images of the lobby, a typical living room, and the hotel dining room. 

When we started looking for our new apartment, we hoped to find a pre-war building that would work for us. We love the original wood floors, thick walls and old-New York feel these buildings offer – plus it’s wonderful to be able to discover the history of these dwellings. The location of our building in the heart of the Upper West Side – just blocks from Riverside and Central Parks, Lincoln Center and the Hudson River – makes it ideal for us. We’re very happy with our apartment and the neighborhood so far!