Food in

New York

I have never been a great sausage eater and I was never tempted to buy a hot dog from the many hot dog stands in Manhattan. My 1980 baby who has a social conscience made me watch the documentary Food, Inc. directed by Emmy Award-winning filmmaker Robert Kenner. It examines corporate farming in the United States, and concludes that agribusiness produces food that is unhealthy, in a way that is environmentally harmful and abusive of both animals and employees. I did not even want to touch chicken after that. However, the variety of good food available whether in restaurants, super markets or takeaways is extraordinary.

The meat at Whole Foods was labelled in great detail so that I knew exactly what I was purchasing. Vegetables are expensive but there is anything you may wish for and more, all beautifully packed. I was told that most people don’t bother to cook but either order a takeaway or eat out.

I was taken either by my 1980 baby or her lovely husband to some excellent eateries. One of the best was The Spotted Pig which has one Michelin star. It is a gastro-pub and small but with the sort of ambience I like: rather like one of the Jubilee cafés here. No toad-in-the-hole or spotted dick on the menu but porcine and elegant pieces of vegetal art framed and hung, tiny tables tucked into corners and an excellent service. As my 1980 new mother had been there before we went early and booked a table then and there. You cannot do it by phone. Hopeful diners were already lined up at the door and we cast wistful glances at the passing plates of food.

I am not one to sit on a bar stool so we found a cocktail bar and sat on a table but not before looking at the shops nearby. New York is made up of different ‘villages’ and who doesn’t like variety.

I stuck to gin-based cocktail named, appropriately enough, after the brilliant Dorothy Parker who had such electrifying wit. Here’s a sample of her work:

By the time you swear you’re his,

Shivering and sighing,

And he vows his passion is

Infinite, undying –

Lady, make a note of this:

One of you is lying.

We hardly glanced at the menu as she knows my tastes, which are very similar to hers. “Take the devilled eggs as a starter Moo and then the Gnudi followed by fish”. What do they put in those devilled eggs? I tried making them the following day, not as I normally do with tins of tuna but with tins of salmon instead with dashes of Tabasco but there was definitely something lacking.

The Gnudi served with a lush sauce, were out of this world. I found a recipe on internet but, like the devilled eggs, I wonder if I shall get the same result. They are similar to Gnocchi and made with ricotta but the shell is made of semolina which means they are so very light. Delicious. These two dishes were the stars of the evening. The vegetables and potatoes which were served with the Sea Bass were positively singing with flavour. She had not exaggerated when she told me that it was an excellent place to eat as a special treat. No wonder it has an unparalleled track record.

The effects of the cocktails had not yet worn off and we started walking to the subway whose mysteries I have not yet penetrated though she has. How do the young do it? We navigated it with Theo in the pram several times and we never got lost once.

On the way to the subway through a haze of the Dorothy Parker cocktails I saw that a psychic was doing a “Special” that evening for only $2. I proposed we get her to tap her crystal ball or tarot cards or our palms. We were both in that kind of mood. So in we went. It was obvious that the $2 were not going to give us much insight into our past, present or future so we opted for the $10 reading, which as it turned out, did not give us anything which was new either, just a great deal of guff. As her son came in with a MacDonald’s and I asked her what about my past, she said she could not see anything! What were we expecting? Nothing. She even looked fake and half-way new-agey with photographs and statues of Jesus, Buddha, Hindu gods and goddesses everywhere. She wanted to please everyone who came to seek her services. She was not picking up her messages through energy or through her intuition. She was there to make a quick buck. Nothing she said rang true. Anyway, nothing in the future is ever for certain. I was happy to be in the absolute present enjoying my caring daughter’s company.

So that is my story from Greenwich village: tarot, Taureans and tall tales. But the cocktails, company and food were excellent.

I love lobster in any shape or form. I acquired the taste in Mauritius where one could buy it for a few rupees from the fishermen, as they landed their catch on the beach. I haven’t ever had it since I came to Malta. Although my young one does not like it and cannot see what the fuss is about. However, together with my 1975 darling who was there for a short time, they took me to Ed’s Lobster Bar. It is rather like a kitchen with just a few tables at the back and marble everywhere. I don’t know if tattoos are mandatory to work there but everyone was sporting them. Too hot for lobster bisque I opted for steamed lobster. If there is a next time I will opt for the lobster roll. The the cino-american girls on the table next door were eating lobster hamburgers and chips! We took away some fish sausages with us which turned out to be delicious.

My young one, doing everything under the sun to please me, also took me to Chelsea market, an attractive indoor market where there are artisan cheeses and breads and of course more lobster at The Lobster Place. Chelsea Market was formerly the National Biscuit Company factory and the original brick walls are exposed and give the place character. The ‘restrooms’ are unisex, the first time I have seen this, and the two genders form one line up which is practical. It is a foodie paradise. As to the lobster, we managed to grab a table and then take it in turns to go inside The Lobster Place and order our food, pay for it and eat it outside.

You could have a small lobster, a medium or a large one. I opted for a small one which was not small at all and set me back $21. While I paid for it the Mexican, one of the cooks, I suppose, steamed it and handed it over to me with a sachet of mayonnaise and another of melted butter and a fork on a cardboard plate. Out of this world.

In the meantime in the New York Post an independent panel was blind-tasting Maine lobster and Fourchu lobster, a rare lobster from a tiny fishing village in Nova Scotia. Two out of three opted for Maine lobster. I have no idea where the ones I ate during my stay came from. But I loved them.

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