We picked up the cake in the morning and I got my first glimpse of the bakery’s new Spring Street neighbor: The Best Chocolate Cake in the World – the first American location of São Paolo-based mini-chain O Melhor Bolo de Chocolate de Mundo. Can’t yet confirm the veracity of their claim, but the name alone seems an almost too easy set up for some snarky commentary in this town.

According to W Magazine, it’s destined to become the statement cake of the decade — succeeding Lady M Cake Boutique’s Mille Crêpes cake.  I have on good authority that it also makes a fine birthday cake.

For his part, Joshua seemed to enjoy his birthday cake and party — save for the 30 seconds immediately after he attempted to extinguish his candle… with his bare hands.  Ouch.

I’ll admit: once I got out of the habit of posting a blog entry every day, it became ever easier to just abandon the project entirely.  But lately, I’ve begun to (re)consider: perhaps the best way to ease back into this process would be to dash out these episodes, as the mood or inspiration strikes, sometimes including photos and at times, not.  And just see how it goes.

This is what I’ll write today.

To recap the entire past year would be an exercise requiring more time and energy that I’m ready to dedicate now.  But to fill in the most recent highlights:  I spent two late spring weeks in Spain, eating and drinking (and photographing) my way through Barcelona, Bilbao, San Sebastián, Sevilla, Córdoba, Granada and Madrid.  (Glorious!)  In mid-June, I had another birthday (somewhat less so), followed in rapid succession by the commemoration of several milestones: a 70th birthday, a funeral, a wedding, and a 50th anniversary.

And tonight I sit in my apartment on the eve of little Joshua’s first birthday, assessing the 15 pounds of chicken wings I just purchased to prepare for the celebration tomorrow.  (Quite the grisly scene of fowl carnage it is… so you see: sometimes the lack of photographs is a very good thing.)  For the marinade, I’ve settled upon Gourmet’s recipe for “Asian barbecue sauce,” even as its lack of specificity strikes me as strange.  I’ve never come across a recipe for “European sauce,” after all.

Last week, I read through Aimee Bender’s The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake, about a girl who discovers she can taste emotions in food — specifically the feelings of those preparing it.  I picked up the book having been intrigued by its premise after catching an interview with the author on NPR.

If this weren’t surrealist fiction, if this were at all possible, what impressions would my family and friends sense in these chicken wings, lingering beneath the tangy hoisin and sweet shaoxing wine?

Welcome to the world, Joshua!

Obama’s inauguration was broadcast on screens large and small throughout the five boroughs.  In the Financial District, productivity plummeted (and Internet connections slowed) around 11:30AM as workers put aside their work to watch the event on their computers or office television sets.  I made my way to the Jumbotron screen set up outside the New York Stock Exchange where the crowds were quickly building, arriving just in time to hear a sparkly bow-topped Aretha Franklin belt out “My Country, Tis of Thee” before Joe Biden’s swearing in by Justice John Paul Stevens.

Several hundred people filled Broad Street despite the freezing temperatures — though no comparison to the crowds that were shown at the Mall in DC. Crowd estimates there varied wildly from 1.5 million to 4 million — though most of the time, the figures are almost entirely made up anyway; the Associated Press stayed conservative with their report of “more than 1M“.  I believe it.

The musical selection lead-in was by John Williams with snippets of familiar melody lifted from the traditional Shaker hymn “Simple Gifts,” which Aaron Copland also famously borrowed for his “Appalachian Spring“. The tune broadcasts Inspiration, capital I, especially when rendered by Itzhak Perlman and Obama’s favorite cellist Yo-Yo Ma.  Even if the music was pre-recorded.

And then, the moment we were all there to witness: Barack Hussein Obama taking the Oath of Office:

The assembled crowd cheered riotously, among them several dozen schoolchildren in homemade Obama headgear, who had gathered with us on the steps of Federal Hall.

Our new president delivered a measured, somber speech on this jubilant day, one which garnered generally favorable reviews.  I did appreciate the nod to American songwriter Jerome Kern (at 1:03) — and yes, friends, this song was written in 1936, but it’s a standard, and it was performed by Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, so therefore not so strange that I recognized the reference… geez!

“Starting today, we must pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and begin again the work of remaking America.”

Check out the full NYSE Inauguration simulcast Flickr set here.

It was a snowy Sunday when we all gathered in Sunnyside… complicated further by travel detours due to the seemingly endless track work on the 7 line. No service between Queens and Manhattan until March? Why do these disruptions always seem to coincide with Chinese New Year?

But I digress.  JL already had signed on to bring the Chicago-style deep-dish pizza (one of the 20 Worst Foods in America?), so when the prospect of tracking down the curiously extensive array of toppings that go into a Chicago dog proved too daunting, I went the Hawaiian route instead. Also, admittedly, I just didn’t know what else qualified as uniquely Chicagoan fare. (Um, sauerkraut?)

Tonight marked my first attempt at making a pineapple upside-down cake, and aside from the nerve-wracking sequence of inverting the cake pan layers atop one another (parchment helps a lot), I think it turned out pretty well.

I first heard of this dessert on The Jetsons animated series in the early 1980s — it was Rosie the robot maid’s specialty! — not realizing then that it was an actual cake and not some fanciful futuristic Hanna-Barbera invention. Much later than I care to admit, I learned that, in fact, it’s an American classic with origins dating to the turn of the last century.

SYB provided the ice cream to accompany my cake: vanilla, though, not Yes Pecan — Ben & Jerry’s “Inspirational Blend” of “Amber Waves of Buttery Ice Cream With Roasted Non-Partisan Pecans.”

Maraschino cherries, by the way, are maddeningly difficult to locate in a supermarket if you’ve never had occasion to buy them before. In the canned fruits section? Baking supplies? Pickles? Drink mixers? No, no, no and no. At my local Food Emporium, at least, the bright red jars are located just off the ice cream freezer cases, near the colored sprinkles. Well sure, that makes perfect sense… in retrospect.

Snowy Bliss Street Station on the ride back home:

From one of my favorite magazine features: New York’s annual “Reasons to Love New York — Especially Now” issue. Reason #1: Because Obama Is One of Us, Despite All That Business About Chicago.

Decisions, decisions…

Civic duty completed, I headed into work where I would remain for the better part of the next day. And to prove that journalists do have a sense of humor (sometimes), my co-workers dropped off a couple of friends for an impromptu visit.

Alas, it will be a quiet post-season for the city’s baseball fans. Last week, the Yankees bid farewell to their old stadium amid much fanfare; by contrast, the Mets final loss to the Marlins was marked by familiar frustration — yet another late season collapse and an ignominious end to a 44 year run at Shea.

(Half an hour before the Mets’ final out, The Brewers did their part to clinch the NL wild card with a 3-1 win against the Cubs.)

This night in late August, though — my second game of the season — the Mets’ playoff hopes were still alive. J and I arrived during the second inning to find our team had already posted up five runs in the first against the Braves. It was a perfect night for sitting in the stands — unseasonably cool for late summer — and what followed was probably the quickest game I’d ever seen at the stadium.  Just about 90 minutes later, we found ourselves chiming in on the eighth inning sing-a-long song: The Monkees’ “I’m a Believer“. (Bitter irony there.)

From up in the nosebleeds, we had a prime view of the Amazins’ future home, whose construction progress we’ve been watching all year.

Soon this will all be reduced to a pile of blue rubble.  While Shea was hardly ever a paradise, it will be strange riding the 7 next year, and finding it paved over to put up a parking lot.

NB: My involvement with the organization this season is the primary reason that this blog has fallen by the wayside of late.  Only so many hours in a day…

The gritty edge of Long Island City is not the typical venue for these types of fundraising events, but given the haute barnyard vibe, it felt appropriate somehow.  The rain, which had fallen steadily through most of the afternoon, cleared out in time for our evening at the “beach.”  As we checked in, I was tickled to be presented with a selection of flip-flops — pink for me! — more suitable than my office pumps for traipsing around on the still-wet sand.

The event, dubbed “Let Us Eat Local“, began with an awards presentation honoring local leaders and farms.  M and I hardly heard the announcements, perhaps because we were happily distracted by the ice cream and Long Island winery tables, which the organizers had positioned in the outer tents, farthest from the podium. (Later, Adrienne Young and her band would provide the musical entertainment from the same stage.) Over two dozen restaurants and purveyors were represented here in all — each offering tastes of their wares, emphasizing local, organic ingredients.  All presented with biodegradable servingware and utensils, of course.

We quickly assessed that it would not be possible for us to sample everything.  Highlights included the offerings from Cleaver Co. & The Green Table, Candle 79, and Craft.  Chef Tom Colicchio, though, was nowhere to be found; perhaps he was otherwise engaged with the new Top Cheftestants in town.

Egg salad on chive biscuit from Tiny’s Giant Sandwich Shop on Rivington:

Both the Telepan and Jean Georges tables ran out of food by the time we made our way their direction towards the end of the evening — we’d heard their dishes were delicious — but we did manage to get to the smokey homemade kielbasa from Gramercy Tavern, artfully presented on skewers, while chatting up their three-starred chef Michael Anthony.

After all the unique gourmet bites presented to us — tasty all — M and I agreed that the most satisfying of all was the humble Harry Hawk burger.  After all, very few things can compare to the simple pleasures of a great burger.

Check out the rest of the photos on Flickr.  And for more inspiration, read the New York Times profile on Will Allen — urban farmer and genius!

At the corner of Prince Street and Roosevelt Avenue sits Sifu Chio, an unassuming restaurant which my parents introduced to me as one of the best places in town to get a bowl of authentic Hong Kong-style wonton noodles – a simple thing, done very well. (Chowhounds like the dumplings.)  The restaurant isn’t quite a dive, but the aesthetic is rather plain and utilitarian: open kitchen, florescent lights overhead, menus on the table under glass and every dish served in disposable plasticware. We were the only ones in the shop this evening, probably owing in no small part to the river of wretched rainwater coursing along the sidewalk in front.

What had started out as an order of a few bowls of wonton noodles expanded to include a side of Chinese beef brisket, a dish of Chinese broccoli, a bowl of noodles and fish balls, and a bowl of shrimp watercress dumplings.  As the driving rain pounded against the darkened windows, we eagerly scarfed down every bite.

Hard to pinpoint precisely what sets these noodles apart from the hundreds of other bowls I’ve eaten over the years. Dumplings made to order — delicate, tender skins with deliciously fresh filling — are certainly one factor.  Mostly, I think, it’s the perfectly textured noodles. In Cantonese, the word to describe them is “song,” a wonderful adjective which has no true English equivalent. Song can be used to describe a bitingly crisp wedge of fruit, a firm yet succulent shrimp, or here, snappy, springy noodles.  Al dente in this context comes close, I suppose, but doesn’t quite get to the heart of the irresistibly pleasurable sensation: of tooth meeting initial resistance, then bursting through to tender, juicy center.  “Toothsome” (definition 2) is the best general English translation, though I find it lacking in the poetry of “song“.

Later that night, the second annual Sunnyside Shorts Film Festival, which had been scheduled to take place at The Sunnyside Gardens Park, was driven indoors to the newly inaugurated Sunnyside Senior Center at Sunnyside Community Services  (Note to self: 39th Street — not the same as 39th Place. A girl raised in Queens should know this. I plead temporary rain-blindness.)

We sat at round formica-topped tables to watch the 16 submissions by filmmakers hailing predominantly from New York — among them a few Sunnyside locals — with contributions from Europe and South America.  Several of the short films were set in New York City, and covered an array of genres: animation, documentaries, comedic skits, one painfully earnest teen film student exercise, a sock puppet music video…

Quality varied widely. My favorite was Yolanda Pividal’s 16-minute “Two Dollar Dance” — a poignant examination of the Latino clubs dotted along Roosevelt Avenue in Jackson Heights where a clientele of immigrant men, isolated from mainstream society, gather in the evening to pay for female companionship, if only for the duration of a song — an update of the “dime a dance” girls of the taxi-dance halls of the 20s and 30s. (Unsurprisingly, the workers at these places are often exploited.)

But as credits rolled on the experimental “interpretive dance” short (oof), I discreetly slipped out with SH and AP, in search of the less challenging pleasures of frozen yogurt: green tea and blood orange for me.

R&B heartthrob (and boyfriend of Rihanna) Chris Brown sported a retro-looking red blazer for his Sam Cooke tribute on “Cupid“.  Minutes later, he picked up a black fedora and doffed the jacket — the better for showing off some of those famous acrobatic dance movies — for a performance of his hit “Forever.”

Terrence Howard, looking very dapper.  Howard earned an Oscar nomination — and a record deal — for his work in 2005’s Hustle & Flow.  His solo album Shine Through It debuted on Tuesday, but Howard was here tonight as a presenter only.  (Perhaps for the best; early reviews: not so good.)

Justin Timberlake garnered the most enthusiastic applause of the night with his Motown tribute: Marvin Gaye’s “Got to Give It Up,” followed by a duet with Beyoncé on “Ain’t Nothing Like the Real Thing.”

A Timbaland-produced medley (introduced by a heavily made up Tyra Banks) with One Republic, Chris Cornell and the Pussycat Dolls, who performed “When I Grow Up“.  The acts all took the stage for their final bow, joined by Timbaland, who strolled out like a triumphant fashion designer at the end of a successful runway show.

Fergie was less successful in her tribute to punk, despite the assist from 63(!)-year old Deborah Harry on “Call Me.”

Mariah Carey, who this spring surpassed Elvis Presley’s record with her 18th chart-topping single “Touch My Body.”  Only The Beatles, with 20 No. 1 hits, have more.  (To commemorate, NYC lit the Empire State Building in pink and purple in her honor.)

Kid Rock closed out the show with his summer hit “All Summer Long“.  Special guest Lynyrd Skynyrd took the stage to segue off the classic riff and add a chorus of “Sweet Home Alabama,” which brought the star-studded crowd to its feet.