It's Super Fat Tuesday. I'm settling in for a long night of result-watching. Thank God I'm at a party where we are lucky enough to be eating paczki's (pronounced POONCH-kee)—the Polish doughnut you eat the night before Lent starts. And when I'm done with that, I'm going to move onto these delicious Election 08 map-snaps. I will try not to spill any jelly on my "Irish Americans for O'Bama" t-shirt.
P.S. We're taking t-shirt orders.
As readers may guess, my departure from Chicago and long-planned return to New York was met with some sadness. My winter sabbatical in the Windy City was restful, recuperative, and fun. I was re-introduced to many of Chicago’s bright spots and contemplated when I might come back for a longer, and more permanent, stay.
But Brooklyn has some bright spots too. One of them is the beef patty, a staple of the Caribbean bakeries that dot the borough. Today, after my first day back at work, I rode home from Manhattan on the C train, thinking about the flaky yellow crust filled with soupy ground beef that awaited me on Fulton Street. There was a knot of hunger knawing at my stomach and I knew that for $1.35 the knot would go away. There was no line when I walked into the Golden Krust, a franchise operating in 8 states and Canada. (I highly recommend checking out the website to listen to the Golden Krust jingle: “Taste the rhythm of the islands. The flavor can take you there. To Golden Krust. Tell me if you really wanna roll with us.”)
The regular guy behind the counter glanced at the clear plastic heat cabinet by the window to see if they had any mild beef patties left, nodded his head to me, walked over and slipped one into a paper sleeve. “There you go, sis.”
I walked down Fulton Street, past the Met Foods, run by a Yemeni family, which has some items on its shelves from the last century. And past “drug bodega” which had a new friendly face outside, nodding to me. All the while, the beef patty kept my hands warm and I didn’t have to dig my gloves out of my pocket to cover them. I tried not to trip on the snake of fresh asphalt that seemed to cover an electric line under the sidewalk, across the street, down the corner, back up to the sidewalk. Remnants of a ConEd project I’m glad I missed. As if the sidewalk in front of drug bodega wasn’t bad enough already!
I climbed the stairs and opened the door, to discover I’d left my bedroom light on all day. Ah well. And finally, sat down at the dining room table, ready to enjoy my reward. Brooklyn has its bright spots too.
Sometimes those Brits act in a way that is not only civlized, but highly respectable. I wanted to cook a chocolate, orange and prune cake for my sister's birthday. I got this recipe out of a cookbook I have back in Brooklyn. I've made it twice before and it's a hit, with a lovely bittersweet chocolate icing that gets quite hard. But the cookbook is in Brooklyn and I'm in Chicago.
I looked high and low on the internet, where I usually have luck finding favorite recipes, but found nothing. I had already announced the type of cake I was going to make and my sister got really excited, so I didn't want to let her down. I looked on Amazon to find the exact name of the book, hoping that would help in my google quest. After typing in "latin american cooking" I saw the familiar image of my book and got its exact name: Leith's Latin American Cooking, written by the chefs at the Leith's School of Food and Wine in London. I visited the site, hopeful that they might post recipes. They don't, but they do offer the services of a private chef from Leith's to come and cook you an individual lunch or dinner for just 20 pounds. And they do offer cooking classes for the public. And (!) they do have a button for "internet enquiries." I sent off an email explaining my predicament and requesting assistance.
This morning at 3:44 am Viv Pidgeon from the Leith's School of Food and Wine responded to my enquiry:
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I could fax it to you - what is your fax number?
Best Wishes
Viv
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And fax it she did, making my day. For not only had I gotten my hands on the coveted recipe, but I had met someone named Viv Pidgeon. And sometimes, my friends, life just doesn't get much better than that.
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