[Pink Pig Time Machine by Wilfrid: October 12, 2015]
A double edition for Columbus Day 2015, as it took me a while to turn up my diary for October 2005. When I did, I opened it to be confronted by a quotation in pink (of course) ink:
"These golden years of our pleasure and only too few and too brief..." What a wise thought. A French author, perhaps. Montaigne, or even Guy Debord?
Well I looked it up, and it's Sade, which goes to show that even the most prosaic writer indulges in the occasional purple passage.
But you left your hero in London, and this is where we must continue his adventures, lunching at St John in fall of '05, just as he did in summer '15. Lamb's fries (of course, whenever I can get them) with aïoli, then a grey-legged partridge, roasted with lentils. Prune and Armagnac ice cream to finish, and a sensible country red.
It was later that evening I got into the Burgundy, at Incognico in Covent Garden--so named because it was a Nico Ladenis operation. One of hisbistro operations along the lines of Simply Nico: roast scallops, duck breast with a potato gratin, cheeses. I spent the next day flying back to New York.
I was glad I did, because I had a front row ticket for Claire Danes' modern dance performance, "Christina Olson: American Model," at PS 122. I don't know how well known it is that Danes has a dance background. I saw her twice at this small, casual East Village space. On this first occasion, she interpreted Christina Olson, polio-stricken subject of the famous Andrew Wyeth painting. We watched a video of Claire crawling across First Avenue on her elbows, but the fantasy of dance permitted her to be on her feet most of the evening.
I daren't really say more, except that watching Claire rolling about on the floor in her shift for an hour or so was time very well spent. Yes, she's a good dancer too. Supper was a lobster roll at Black Pearl, then operating out of a hatch at the back of a dive bar, Double Down.
Matt Hamilton's Uovo on Avenue B was on my permanent rotation by now (for those with short memories, it's in the corner space which recently opened as Babu Ji). This time around deep-fried duck livers, simple hanger steak with fries and a side of roast sunchokes, then aged Pecorino wityh honey and nuts. The kind of dinner you could eat every day.
On Saturday, amidst the excitement of the Yankees clinching the AL East with a win over the Red Sox, I attended a superb music documentary at Film Forum. Santo Domingo Blues was the story of bachata--now a rather popular form, but ten years ago still the poor country cousin of merengue. Dominican blues indeed, with its clipped guitar lines and tales of love and drink. Many classic bachateros , but the movie belonged to Luis Vargas, and if you can't find the movie I at least recommend his music. Fajitas for supper at Hop Devil Grill.
Sunday dawned sunny, so the afternoon seemed ripe for whiling away at Bohemian Hall, that lazy beer garden, with kielbasas chased by Pilsners and dunkelbiers. Next evening, a visit to Bar Carrera, the not-quite-there tapas bar next door to (and sharing owners with) Bar Veloce in the East Village. New York tapas--recognizable, but not magical: pinxtos of shrimp/egg/olive, tuna/artichoke and morcilla/chorizo; Garrotxa with membrillo (quince paste), queso de cabra. A standard Lusta fino to drink.
As the Yankees and Angels kicked off the ALDS, I was drinking and watching the game at Manitoba's, cooking at home. I did manage some local bar snacks: pulled pork and lobster (not together) sliders at Punch & Judy, an ersatz Philly cheeseteak at Epstein's. Saturday night I was at craftbar for a light supper of scallops and bacon-wrapped sturgeon. Then the Yankees were out, and I was off to Toronto).
Comments