The Big Apple never disappoints

Home again, home again, jiggety jig. Jack and I had the most magical, special two days together in New York. We knew all the rave reviews of Hamilton, and yet it managed to far exceed our expectations, something that doesn't happen terribly often. It is a rare truffle worth every penny, and we both felt really thrilled and grateful to have seen it. 

Beyond the score, the choreography and use of the set and stage were exceptional. I have been lucky enough to see dozens of Broadway shows over the years, but Hamilton ranks right near the top. Jack sat forward in his seat, elbows on knees, at full attention the whole time. And then, ice cream.

We spent much of Friday at the Museum of Natural History and the Hayden Planetarium. If y'all have the chance to see the film Earthflight (a BBC Earth production that was filmed over four years in eleven countries and four continents), do. It is just magnificent. It's a 3D avian journey of migration and predation and flight and it moved me to tears. Why more people don't feel hellbent on protecting Earth and its creatures is beyond me. Nature is magic and beauty and grace.

We also enjoyed Dark Universe, a space show in the planetarium narrated by Neil deGrasse Tyson. Jack was spellbound. I can hardly comprehend the amounts of time and temperature and cosmic movement and drama that our existence entails, but it's humbling and awe-inspiring. And I learned a lot.

a big-ass geode

After hauling it downtown to see a friend and back uptown to change, we hauled it back downtown for dinner at The Spotted Pig, a cozy joint in the West Village whose ambiance really cannot be beat. Jack and I shared the savoy cabbage, speck, parmesan, and balsamic plate before he dug into his giant burger and mess of fries and I forked my arctic char with beets and creme fraiche. He declared his burger the "best I've ever eaten." I didn't much like my fish, but the cabbage dish was marvelous, and my wine was sublime. 

y'all, those fries. Shoestrings fried with rosemary and slivers of garlic.

Then to Rockefeller Center to see the Christmas tree in all its glory and then to get milkshakes. Jack doesn't eat much during the day, but damn does he make up for it come dinnertime!

I think I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow last night, and Jack slept like a baby until nearly 10 this morning. Places to go and people to see, buddy. So we dressed, and flew down to ABC Kitchen to enjoy brunch with one of my favorite people EVER, Shawn. Shawn who told me I had to start writing about food and thus, this blog. The best. 

So brunch and catching up and laughs and then we parted ways, and Jack and I went to see the Flatiron Building, and to Eataly, and to the Lego store, and then we walked the two miles back up to our hotel. Jack got quieter and quieter, and he slipped his hand in mine and said, "I love you, Mom."

We are home now, and I will never forget these two days with my sweet boy. I love that Jack and Ol love NY like I do; I think they totally get why my heart resides there, and I love that we can share that. Yes it's busy and noisy and can be dirty and rude and brusque, but it is so utterly alive and no-nonsense. Aah, as I saw on a bag today, "New York is my boyfriend."

Steve Martin Short, San Fran, the Good Food Awards

Y'all cut me some slack on this post because not only am I typing furiously on my phone a la Lisbeth Salander during her recuperation in the hospital in book 3 but also I tasted approximately 2,000 jams today and am sugared to the max. In a great way, but dang. 

Let's go chronologically because that makes easy sense to me right now. 

On Friday night, Tom (just back in town and tired from four days away) and I (gaga tired and slightly frazzled because of his four days away) dropped the boys at his parents' house and headed to Wolf Trap, an outdoor concert venue, for a picnic and a few hours with Steve Martin and Martin Short.  

I adore both men, as comedians and actors, and admire Martin also as a writer and banjo player.​ They did not disappoint. Oh my gawd, did we laugh and laugh. 

"It's more than a thrill to be here;​ it's an obligation," deadpanned Steve. They roasted one another, took swipes at Hollywood and a few named celebrities and politicians, Martin sang and put on an absurd show that involved him stripping down to a flesh-colored onesie bedecked with Sharpied muscles and (generous) genitalia, and Steve slung a banjo over his chest.

I have always considered Steve such a handsome man, and that estimation was enhanced considerably when he began to play. He was later joined by an incredible bluegrass band out of North Carolina, the Steep Canyon Rangers, whose fiddler is a masterful genius. It is unclear to me how he can play with such sustained and racing intensity; I wonder if he's just so good and has been playing so long that fiddling is like breathing- you don't think, you just do.

We made our way home and I threw a few last items into my suitcase before throwing myself into bed and willing myself to sleep. 

For at the crack of dawn on Saturday, it was west, young man.  

Gorgeous, huh? That's Utah, the Hanksville area if my GPS is right. 

Touch down in San Francisco and my aunt Renee is waiting for me.  We head straight for Golden Gate Park, as she generously honored my desire to see the Art of the African American South exhibit at the de Young museum and then putz around the park. We wandered through the Japanese Tea Garden and ate lunch and a separate dessert too before I faded and had to call it a day. 

the drum bridge in the garden

One of the several stone pathways across various creeks and ponds in the garden. 

I slept like a baby until 4:30 this morning. Still on east coast time, I took advantage of the quiet, early morn to tear through much of Everything I Never Told You, the 2014 novel by Celeste Ng. It was her debut work, and my god is it stunning. The only reason I willingly inserted my bookmark between late pages was my need to get to the Good Food Awards on time. 

Unsure about what to expect, I shyly entered Impact Hub, the multi-story Mission District site of today's blind tasting.  It was abuzz- registration, a line for fresh pour-over coffee, breakfast provided by local joints. I met a dynamic food and spirits writer with great style and gratefully took the spot next to her on a couch. A half-hour in and we were checking each other's teeth for post-bagel poppy seeds. 

She headed to Spirits and I to Preserves, and the games began. 

In my judging trio were a cheese aficionado from Austin and one of the owners/founders of Petrichor Vineyards. Both were utterly delightful, and I couldn't have more enjoyed spending today and 900 jams with them.

Nicholas, me, and Margaret

Jam

More jam

More. Also I think we each drank 90 liters of water today and spit as much jam as possible. We were jam sommeliers, y'all. You want to try and avoid getting drunk on sugar! OMG, the heady headachiness that sugar can impart. 

It was SO.much.fun. The finalists are well-deserved.

Afterwards, after submitting our rating forms and hugging goodbye, I simply had to walk.  I took 15th to Guerrero to 18th and spent some time at Bi-Rite Market, knowing that as much as I wanted to attend the GFA after-party, I was too sleepy and in need of some solo time. So, take-out, top-quality dinner. And wine. 

Then for a stroll through the Mission and to Dog-Eared Books, via 18th and Valencia and past the Women’s Building, too.

I meandered languidly through the aisles, deeply content with the luxury of slow time that was just for me. My hair and teeth hadn't been brushed for hours, a recyclable bag of takeaway and Edible Marin and a gifted cookbook hung from my right shoulder, my phone battery was nearing dead, and I was utterly content.

Me too. :( #stillwithHer

And then, back to my hotel. For a bath, some dinner, finishing one book and starting a new one, and packing up to head home tomorrow. What a rich and satisfying three days. 

Love Letter to Amsterdam (and the Netherlands as best I know)

No, despite all the ugliness of the past week, I have not decamped to The Netherlands. That said, because I am desperate to take some mental space from the devolving country in which I live, I want to tell you more about our trip to Amsterdam, including a magical day trip to The Hague, and share some of my favorite photographs from both places.

For starters, I adore much of Dutch architecture, especially what visitors can glimpse by walking through the Canal district in Amsterdam. I love the matte brick facades, painted in all colors, the narrow (but deep) structures designed and built when cost and taxes were based on house width. I love the steep roofs so many of which are threaded with a massively strong beam running front to back which supports not only the roof but also a functional pulley, an exceedingly necessary element of homes whose cramped, precipitous interior stairwells make moving furniture and appliances in impossible or nearly so. 

I love how the buildings have settled over the centuries, some walls bowing out, some windowsills looking as if they were built on the diagonal. I love the striking doorways and the shiny enamel-like paint used on doors and trim. I fancy the unique plaques, carvings, and other various types of facade bling many homes boast. I love the big old windows and the trailing vines growing from the tiniest plots of earth nestled between sidewalk and stoop up and over entryways and window frames.

I love the ambience in the Netherlands. In my most romanticized notions of it, no one ever sues anyone because they are happy on free love and soft drugs. Kids run barefoot through the parks and playgrounds. Parents do not helicopter but when they are alongside their kids, they are joyous, warm, and easy. It is always time for a coffee or an aperitif. In the Vondelpark's Groot Melkhuis, you can purchase juice boxes, Belgian beer, and appeltaart, sit at a picnic table and watch your kids play the afternoons away.

I love the thousands of bikes that call the city home, love that no one wears helmets when they ride, and that even the most laid-back Amsterdamer follows the bike rules of law. You've never seen such orderly, chockablock mayhem. I love how comfortable people are with their bodies, how cosmopolitan they are, how most everyone is at least trilingual. I love that the swastika is a banned symbol.

It's a beautiful place, visually and culturally, and I cannot wait to return.