Xicala

Carrie Bradshaw once said that New York is the perfect city to be pissed off in. You were RIGHT, Carrie. It is. While it does absolutely nothing to alleviate pain it does offer several helpful options for transferring anger. Instead of being pissed off at your faulty alarm clock you can scream at the C train. Instead of hating on your landlord you can slam your huge wooden door in exasperation and trot down your brownstone steps in disgust. Instead of crying over tax season you can fight with a gypsy cab driver over a 7-12 dollar ride, throw an apple core at a blocked entrance, or talk back to an opinion piece in the Times. New York saves the foot-in-mouth complex, shall we say.

I have also found that in New York bitterness makes the beautiful more stunning and the ugly more grotesque. It has something to do with the way we hold our heads, with the way we pierce our lips upon disappointment. We reign it in better than most. The same cannot be said, however, about anger. It makes all of us unattractive no matter the circumstance. Anger cannot be masked.

Well, dear reader, while I haven't necessarily been pissed off this week I have been... off. Just slightly off. It started with a tough conversation about New York herself and ended in yours truly getting deeply hurt by a stupid (yes, STUPID) reality TV show and then not being able to turn on the morning news in fear of what Oskar Schell would call heavy boots.

It's rough out there, people.

Luckily... there is another saving grace in New York to aid in the off-ness... It's a lovely little mixture of friends, conversation, and downtown wine bars. Last night it was Xicala on the LES mixed with Katie and Allison and light discussions on life that brought me down to a normally functioning level. While Xicala wasn't our first choice (did Peasant close?) it was there for me with open arms, soft lighting, and $5 glasses of house red. We also love the queso. Yes, please.

Like I said... it's rough out there. Gotham City will kick you when you least expect it, and drag you along its tax-payer littered streets without so much as a friendly hello. Luckily we are New Yorkers, and by basic definition are tougher than most. We can take it. And as the Beatles would say (I know, two random pop culture refs in one post... give me a break, I'm OFF, people) we get by with a little help from our friends.

:)

La Denver Dish

Guess who has a new blog!? My big sister, La.

Laura lives in Denver and works as a doctor, delivering babies for her day (and night!) job. I am super proud of her and miss her much, as Denver is far, far away.

She blogs about one of our favorite topics-- food-- while sharing memories and experiences and bits of her life with her lucky audience. She is a gorgeous, crafted writer-- much better than I, as she actually studied writing at Wash U before she decided to become a fancy doctor.

Laura and I turned into two very different grown-ups... she lives in the mountains of Colorado and I have a tiny brownstone in New York. She studied medicine; I studied art. She spent her time abroad volunteering at clinics in South and Central America; I spent mine studying paintings and theater in Western Europe and on French speaking islands. She spends her weekends skiing the Rockies and I spend mine in galleries, movie theaters, and brunch spots. She is in a Final Four bracket and I don't even know what that is.

We both like wine, though. And food. And travel. We have the same voice and the same sense of humor. We shared a childhood and we share every single memory. She cracks me up like no one else and is my favorite person to watch laugh. (Admit it, we love watching Laura laugh.)

Her site is la-denverdish.blogspot.com and YOU should start reading. Her current post is about none other than her little sister Sarah and my favorite dish, ratatouille. Yes, I cook. Who knew?!

Chez Oskar/Charlotta Janssen

Vivien, Karen, and I had one of those great conversations at work today that comes full circle and surprises everyone with a great sense of excitement and confirmation. It started with Karen talking about restaurant week in Brooklyn and ended with the three of us gathered around a computer and falling in love with a new artist who isn't actually so new to us.

The artist is Charlotta Janssen and the restaurant is Chez Oskar in my dear Fort Greene. I've been to Chez Oskar for many-a long brunch on Brooklyn Sundays and a few late dinners. The spicy lamb burger is a favorite, but I prefer the rabbit and roasted potatoes.

Vivien met Ms. Janssen at the art fairs a few weeks ago and was startled by her vibrant and innate sense of cool. Viv mentioned that she owned some sort of restaurant in Brooklyn and led us to her website. I recognized the paintings from my Bellini-filled bunches, and sure enough, Janssen owns Chez Oskar and the gorgeous rust-tinged paintings on the wall are hers. In fact... she bought the restaurant to provide a space for her paintings. So. Cool.

Enjoy.

Sunshine Cleaning

You are strong.
You are powerful.

You can do anything.

The beauty of Sunshine Cleaning exists in moments like the quoted dialogue above... Amy Adams holding her head high, taking a deep breath, and conquering the world without complaint. I love her in this movie.

I first saw Sunshine Cleaning at a screening and again this past weekend with Meg, Karen, and Katie at that cute Cobble Hill theater off Butler street.

Amy Adams tends to smile with each word she says. Happy, sad, excited, non-emotional, emotional... every word. (Maggie Gyllenhall does this too-- watch Trust the Man, its gorgeous.) She smiles with her eyes but also with her mouth, translating to that 'full of life' quality that is so very difficult to pinpoint.

Emily Blunt follows suit, but only in one very specific scene, while talking about the death of her mother. If you pay attention, you will see that always Amy holds her head high while Emily looks to the floor. Its such a theater-y trick but works perfectly in this film essentially about the dynamic of two very different sisters.

Sunshine Cleaning represents the rare film about love in a non-romantic or even friendship form. Neither character enters any sort of hopeful romance, nor do they necessarily grow leaps and bounds with each other. And that's okay. The love exists (as love should) in the form of vocation, in the form of pride.

Rose learns to love herself and love those she encounters in her crime scene clean up business. It is a love story, get it? "We enter people's lives when they have experienced something profound. And sad. And we come in and clean it up and make it better." (The baby shower scene is phenomenal. I love, love, love watching Amy Adams talk about her work. It's just stunningly fresh.)

The grand swirling idea that I left this film with is the idea that we can be happy if we chose to be. It's that simple. We take what we have, do it really well, and find not only happiness but love. I think of Rose a lot while going about my days. I think about her handling of conflict, about her smiling through disappointment, and about her way of living without complaint or sorrow.

Rose has what I would consider a terrible, terrible life but has found a profound sense of self. She has what so few of us have... contentment and honor. And she spends her days scrubbing blood off shower walls and emptying body fluids into bio hazard waste containers. I look at myself and realize that I can do the same while calling galleries, while researching shows. Its about pouring love into every crevice of living... Rose does it better than anyone I've seen (save Poppy, maybe...).

I like that this film left romance out. We met Rose while she was mid-affair with a married high school boyfriend and left her when she was standing tall on her own two feet. They perhaps (perhaps!) hinted at a maybe-romance with the cleaning store guy but I, reader, don't think that was the point. The one-armed-cleaning-store-owner represented Rose's ability to see the world without judgement, to accept without thinking twice. He was the embodiment of 'rejected' and Rose welcomed him into her life with ease. Argue with me if you please, but he wasn't part of the plot, he was part of the meaning.

This movie caused me to think, to ponder, to change. (I mean it!) I no longer gag while cleaning the food bits from my sink drain, nor do I think twice before getting on my hands and knees to clean the toilet and take out the trash (stinky! stinky! stinky!, right Katinka?) And as I said before it altered the way I view my work and my vocation. The film was heartwarming and comforting where I expected crude humor.

I hope Amy and Emily can work together again soon, they killed it. In a good way. :)

That's One Tall Woman

The beauty of this ny mag aritcle is actually less about Michelle (although, as my roommate would phrase it... Michelle rocks) and more about the genius of staff writer Sam Anderson. He states grand lies that only serve to punctuate his point rather than dissolve them. It's funny too, but only if you get that he is lying.

Also, read this one. The last paragraph specifially jumps off the page and right into my bucket of word envy. Smart and thoughtful; snappy and true.

From the same article comes the stunning cut paper piece above is by Rodrigo Corral, one of my favorite designers. It captures her, doesn't it? With two pieces of torn paper. That's talent, people.

You did it again, NY Mag. Well done.

Orangette

Alison and I attended one of the most New Yorky of all New York events tonight... a book reading. It was a such lovely night with a great kick ending.

The reading was held at Idlewild Books on 19th street (which you should absolutely visit if you haven't yet) and featured Molly Witzenburg of Orangette and her newly released food memoir, A Homemade Life. The event sold out (well, didn't sell really, it was free. But the booking was full) within an hour of its announcement. Hundreds of greedy New Yorkers jumped at the chance to connect with this blogger-turned-columnist-turned-author.

Alison introduced me to Orangette just a few weeks ago and I purchased the book a day later. I finished it within two days-- a record for this very slow reader-- and was thrilled to learn that she would be giving a reading in New York the next week. This is why New York is awesome. These coincidences aren't all that uncommon.

Molly is inspiring in the least obnoxious way possible. I have had multiple conversations trying to pinpoint exactly what makes her so fantastic, concluding that her charm rests on a very genuine tone and unpretentious way of living and writing. She is sincere in a sect filled with irony. She is the anti-hipster. Finally.

Molly also inspired one of the best Saturdays I've had in a long while... Orangette Day. Al and I picked a few recipes from her book, went to the Ft. Greene farmers' market, and cooked a meal that we shared with Annie that night. (It was at that farmers' market that I also found something I've been searching for for over a year-- purple potatoes.)

We made a radicchio, avocado, feta, and endive salad; purple potatoes with shaved parm and fresh lemon; toasted french bread with butter, radishes, and sea salt; and for dessert a lovely berry pound cake. Amazing. And only a little embarrassing that our obsession has gone this far.

The real beauty of this obsession, however, is that Molly has gained a book deal and relatively large following from a blog. She is a blogger at heart, which of course strikes a cord with Little Miss Somuchtofallinlovewith over here. Orangette began as a way to hold herself accountable to writing and thinking, and somehow morphed into a monthly column in Bon Appétit and then a book deal with Simon & Schuster. This route is VERY APPEALING. That is a hint if you are an editor or someone important in publishing or anyone besides my mother and auntie who might be the only readers of this blog. VERY APPEALING. Not that I have ANY right at all to write a book, but come on. VERY APPEALING.

(Oh, and she also met her husband through her blog. I'm not going to advertise myself for that particular route, but did want to throw it out there.)

A Homemade Life reads quickly and familiarly. It leads us through a spectrum of comfort and fear, thought and perception. Both Alison and I found ourselves sobbing on the subway while reading this book... really! Tears streaming down my face! Molly writes from her heart and whips up a tangible embodiment of each story in the form of recipes at each chapter's conclusion. To just go with the cheesiness that is this post I am going to call her writing delicious. Because it is.

So after a drink at Apsen tonight ($5 sangria, yes please.) with Lizzie, Al and I strolled to Idlewild to bring this flurry of excitement to fruition. We were going to meet Molly.

I was definitely prepared for disappointment, as my last book signing event went VERY, VERY badly. (It involved Nigella Lawson and an incredibly awkward photo, I can't think about it any more than that, it was so embarrassing.) I also know from experience that meeting anyone who holds that much admiration will only fail to live up to expectations. But Molly didn't disappoint. She rocked.

She talked about how she came to be standing on that stage with that microphone... about her late father, about Paris, about food. She spoke with much grace and appreciation, and seemed so honestly surprised to find herself the center of so much positive attention. She acted like any of us would have... she blushed.

Then came the evening's highlight: the question and answer portion of the night. Lets remember now that Alison and I both know EVERYTHING about Molly Witzenburg. We read her blog, read her memoir, and look at her photos on flickr. What else could we possibly need to ask her?

Well, after reading the chapter entitled 'Summer of Change' (mocking a Judy Blume title, so funny) Molly turned to the audience for questions. Lets remember that there are over 150 people packed into this tiny bookstore, all of which are obsessed with Molly and her work. But its crickets. NO ONE has a question. Ugh.

So I, reverting back to my college art history courses, grudgingly raised my hand to relieve this poor girl. I hated when Nancy Thompson would stand in front of our class and ask something about Roman columns or Giotto's impact without anchoring a single response, and I hated when Molly looked fearfully out into her entire New York fan base without a peep. I always feel so bad for people in those situations. No one deserves that fearful silence. So, just as I did for Nancy Thompson, I quickly found a suitable question to ask Molly.

'Molly, your book is extremely fluid and readable while remaining thoughtful and fresh. Who has inspired you, and who do you read? Do you have any recommendations in food writing or other topics?' (Wordy, I know, but that's me.) I had just had a conversation with Alison about what we had been reading and was actually truly interested in her response. I have fallen in love with memoirs as of late but have a difficult time sorting through the shelves without any guidance. However, we are both currently reading novels. Alison is reading Netherland and I am reading Michael Chabon's The Mysteries of Pittsburgh.

"Well," said Molly, looking directly at me, "the book that has had the biggest influence on me and on my writing is Michael Chabon's 'The Mysteries of Pittsburgh.'"

I know. Maybe I will turn into her after all.

Walk the Line

'Marry me, June.'
'Oh please, get up off your knees, you look pathetic.'

I've seen Walk the Line a million times and still get sucked in and completely invested with each viewing. I had a long (but lovely) day at the art fairs and stuck this movie in when I got home to clear my head and fall into another world. It worked. Katie and I took turns exclaiming our love for June Carter and her enviable sixties wardrobe and groaning as Johnny took another handful of pills before crashing into something terrible. We love this film.

The music comforts me and reminds me of my summers spent in the Ozark Mountains where crickets scream at nightfall. I never listen to country music but I love good bluegrass for that very reason--- it feels like a place, like a memory. I also have never cared much for Johnny Cash (sorry) but Holly and I learned every word to this film when it first came out. We tried to listen to Johnny and June but kept going back to Joaquin and Reese. And yes, even I judge us for that.

That said, the blending of music and dialogue is seamless and quite important. We understand the performance as just that, but also feel the pulsing emotion behind each word. It's stressful for most of the movie because, well, Johnny Cash couldn't walk a line.

While the film is essentially about Johnny Cash, its June who pulls us in. Reese Witherspoon won the Oscar for this role and rightly so. Joaquin is also phenomenal as Mr. Cash (And while we're on it, what is going on with him right now?! Anyone?! Crazy bearded man!? Wowza.) and the two are completely believable as static forces intertwined with strength and necessary pull.

June holds more strength and poise than any female character I've encountered in a long time. She isn't perfect, in fact her flaws are many and her mistakes epic. But June faces her life and its difficulties with absolute presence and honesty. There are no excuses, she casts no blame. Watch her with Johnny when he first tries to kiss her. Note her words in the market when faced with cruel criticism. Pay attention to her reaction to Johnny's demise and her strength when he needs her most. She looks everything and everyone straight in the eye and loves with the biggest of hearts so very effortlessly.

If I ever have a little girl I'm going to point her towards June Carter in terms of learning crucial lessons of grace, acceptance, forgiveness, and above all, love. Not romantic love, but human love (I wish for the umpteenth time that we had as many words for love as the Greeks do).

Ginnifer Goodwin, on the other hand, again plays a heinous female character whom no one should ever look up to. Yes, she was right in many (most!) aspects but her handling of conflict is what she got so terribly wrong. I could go on about this, but as my sister Laura would say when faced with someone really awful... I'm just glad I'm not her.

Walk the Line is a great film. A gorgeous, thoughtful, and important film. It's a world to fall into and a wonderful escape from all things city. As I lay here, in my bed in Brooklyn way past my bedtime, I can almost hear the crickets screaming their harsh summer songs.

We got married in a fever
Hotter than a pepper sprout
We've been talkin' 'bout Jackson
Ever since the fire went out
I'm goin' to Jackson, I'm gonna mess around
Yeah, I'm goin' to Jackson, look out Jackson town...