cafe cluny: the benefits of being late

in 2006, frank bruni, offered his view of the then-new cafe cluny in the west village, titled "the benefits of being french and familiar." it wasn't a fully negative critique --he liked the roasted cod, the monkfish, the "supple" scallops and the profiteroles--but to his mind, the young cafe cluny could have tried harder to be better, with a more imaginative menu. it could have been more disciplined in the kitchen and on the floor. it seemed, though, to be coasting on the success and popularity of its forbears (the restaurant is partly owned by keith mcnally's ex). tennis player/legend john mcenroe once remarked that his kids might have suffered from a bit from "affluenza," suggesting his success might have allowed their ambitions to lie fallow, at least in their youth. bruni seemed to suggest the same thing about cluny, being in the cafe luxembourg-odeon-mcnally (by marriage) brood.

but cafe cluny was five years old when my friend z and i made a visit last week (my first time) and it seemed to have found good balance after its initial growth spurt.

the charming corner of west 12th and 4th street went though a tumult that night, a full-on hail storm, and cluny was the big, warm blanket we peeked out from under. we marveled from our window-side table at the wind, the big drops of ice and the helpless people caught with and without umbrellas. and then, we marveled at all the food things...

oh, i know i shouldn't rely on a server's opinion when trying to decide between a standard menu item and a daily special--aren't they programmed to push the special? fried zucchini blossoms stuffed with ricotta are a "regular" starter--it didn't take more than a second for me to start dreaming about those delicate petals, plumped with fresh cheese and quick fried to a perfect crisp. i was certain that would be my first course until i heard three magic words: potato cod fritter. i asked our server her preference--she said, unhaltingly, fritter. they are so nice... and she was right. this was a potato bonbon, with a taste of cod to ground it. it was crisp on the outside, melty on the inside. (a reminder that i really must invest in a potato ricer.)

my friend z ordered the pancetta-wrapped pork tenderloin. her review? it was so good, she was "really sad when it was over" and she would have licked the plate if she could. ah, but she's too much the lady.

i opted for "homemade handkerchief pasta and roasted autumn forest mushrooms with black truffle mushroom robiolina cheese." that sounds rather lady-like, too, yes? but midway through the meal, i had the feeling of breathlessly foraging my way through a glorious shroom forest--i think i was popping them a bit too fast. did i put my fork down even once? the lady in me sure hopes so. they were just so salty and woodsy and good, it was hard to slow down.

i wouldn't have minded a few more homemade "handkerchiefs" for the journey, i think there were a mere four pockets of pasta.

the robiolina was unlike any cheese i'd had before--it could be mistaken for a dollop of whipped cream or the finest butter. it was a touch salty and delicately cheese-y, with a lasting truffle essence. i felt guilty for leaving even a drop of it behind, but i was just so full...i wasn't even going to have dessert, only coffee.

but then the storm really hit...i took a gander outside, remembered that i'd forgotten my umbrella.

once of a sudden (as my adorable, bulgarian-born high school biology teacher used to say), i had room for dessert.

caramelized banana trifle...

i suppose it's hard to screw up a pudding? though i haven't actually tried to make one myself.
this was exactly what i wanted: layers of sweet thick pudding, the crumble of a vanilla biscuit and the crunch of a caramelized banana.

it made me happy to stay under the cafe's cozy blanket a little while longer.

so you think you can dance?! (part 1 - stills)

the 2010 so you think you can dance tour performers

jose

dominic

dominic

robert

robert and courteney

courteney and adejike

courteney and adejike

allison and kent

lauren and kent

lauren

october 17, prudential center, newark, nj.

all photos © anitaguilar

taken with the canon g10...

read a good poem: sleepers awake

the big teas. @ TeaGschwendner, rockefeller center, nyc. oct 10, 2010.

Cervantes was asleep when he wrote Don Quixote.

Joyce slept during the Wandering Rocks section of Ulysses.

Homer nodded and occasionally slept during the greater part of the Iliad; he was awake however when he wrote the Odyssey.

Proust snored his way through The Captive, as have legions of his readers after him.

Melville was asleep at the wheel for much of Moby-Dick.

Fitzgerald slept through Tender Is the Night, which is perhaps not so surprising,

but the fact that Mann slumbered on the very slopes of The Magic Mountain is quite extraordinary—that he wrote it, even more so.

Kafka, of course, never slept, even while not writing or on bank holidays.

No one knows too much about George Eliot’s writing habits—my guess is she would sleep a few minutes, wake up and write something, then pop back to sleep again.

Lew Wallace’s forty winks came, incredibly, during the chariot race in Ben-Hur.

Emily Dickinson slept on her cold, narrow bed in Amherst.

When she awoke there would be a new poem inscribed by Jack Frost on the windowpane; outside, glass foliage chimed.

Good old Walt snored as he wrote and, like so many of us, insisted he didn’t.

Maugham snored on the Riviera.

Agatha Christie slept daintily, as a woman sleeps, which is why her novels are like tea sandwiches—artistic, for the most part.

I sleep when I cannot avoid it; my writing and sleeping are constantly improving.

--John Ashbery, via the poetry foundation

(read the rest here)

***

sleep, write well...

when love comes to town (part 2)

we stop for lunch at a very unassuming (dive-y) pizza place.

but the fellas at the parlor were so nice, they made us a fresh pie. the dough was sweet and thick, maybe a touch underbaked...

but it was good...

and greasy...

the kid was into it

until he wasn't

when love comes to town

in the form of my two nephews, we go to the lego store.
which is pretty nifty place (if you can bear the sight of pleading eyes and the push of grabby hands. and you're deft at avoiding flying elbows. standard kiddie chaos).

october 9, 2010. legos at rock center, nyc.

i like'em husky...

how beautiful, the delicate husks and the colors...

green and purple "revolutionary" tomatillos.

more "revolutionaries": ground husk cherry tomatoes.

oak grove plantation/ the blew family, pittstown, nj.

union square, nyc october 6, 2010.

market fresh: do you see what i see?

a man, grimacing?

ziggy?

mr. tomato head, courtesy of oak grove plantation, and the blew family, pittstown, nj.

union square, nyc october 6, 2010.

back in the saddle/downtown train

i've been without my dslr for about a month.

i've missed it.

(and i'm rusty.)

but here are the first "back in the saddle" shots. last saturday afternoon, the downtown #6 train.

the drummers from subwayrecords.com ("log on to the truth").

squirrel crazy/crazy squirrel

yesterday at work, in the midst of the afternoon lull, i started giggling. i couldn't help it.

my co-workers didn't say anything (this time).

i sort of wish they had because i would have explained that my maximum favorite writer (and i'd probably have to also explain the "maximum" bit) just wrote this really funny story about a squirrel. and i would have let them read it over my shoulder, or i'd have sent it to them.

it's actually not a squirrel "story," it's a lead-in to something about robby ginepri. but i love that he shared the news this way.

and then i thought of all the squirrels that have besieged, annoyed and impressed my friends, like "the scraper" at 147 bleecker. and the squirrel that frequents teresa's neighbor's roof (she flings slices of toast at him. he's clearly never going to leave).

by coincidence, today, at the union square market, the samascott orchards folks were all in a dither about some crazy squirrel that kept stealing their $7/pound italian-american chestnuts.

and then he popped up!


and he zipped and hopped boldly around, probably for the rest of the afternoon. sort of crazy and cute. but not sure how i feel about that garlic after his city squirrel nose and paws got all into it...

storm king, part 10: i've never been to england

but what has lasted in my imagination, at least since last winter, are david hockney's dreamy renditions of the yorkshire landscape, which you can see here.

these "new york trees" are my dream of england.