Magic Jewball

I’m not especially good at decorating, and if you knew the excruciating way I’ve made decisions in my kitchen, you’d know this. I should really have put quotes around decisions, as I usually begin to doubt them within twenty-four hours. Sometimes, I troll kitchen forums for ideas but this is hard, really. These people have huge, elegant spaces, the better to put in islands and baking centers and butler’s pantries. While I struggle to find a refrigerator both shallow enough and narrow enough for my space, they wish heartily that fridges came wider than 48″. So instead, I went surfing though the local real estate listings where galley kitchens and spaces so narrow they look like they’re being photographed through fisheye lenses predominate. I assumed that these would be the crème-de-la-crème. They’d need to be to sell, right? Fantastic place to get design inspiration, yes.

Let’s have a look, shall we?

I like to call this one, “field of ugly neutrals.”

And this one, the “hallway of bland.”

This was a common theme in for-sale kitchens. The all stark white look. I’m not sure if it’s “I just couldn’t pick a color” or “I’m afraid color will ruin my resale value – can’t you see yourself in my milk-white cucina?” I chose this one in particular because the pictures seem to say, “no! No! I’m not all white, see?” Where instead they just seem to make everything whiter.

Still not as bad as this one, though. Ice cube, anyone?

But both are better than bisque. The white fridge next to everything else bisque is a nice touch.

Or maybe it’s just horrible lighting that causes half the kitchen to look like it has a bad case of jaundice. I’m not sure which is worse.

They tell people to de-clutter before sale but some people don’t get the memo.

This kitchen broke my brain.

By the way, this is the most popular fridge in all Manhattan. I know why. It’s from Amana (and now Whirlpool) and it has excellently narrow and shallow dimensions. I should have gotten one, but no, I had to get the one with actual handles. Now it can’t open all the way without banging into the cabinet across. Anyone want a fridge?

Speaking of appliances, I think this kitchen is my favorite. Yes, it’s ugly. Yes, it’s cluttered. But the best part is, it’s tiny, and yet the owner used a major chunk of real estate for a full-sized dishwasher. I’m betting he stores the dishes in there too.

Don’t forget, follow kitchen “progress” here!

Vanilla Ice – Ice Ice Baby

This is one of those things that I have no idea if you’ll find as funny as I do. Not even if you were there. But my neighborhood is dotted with little Kosher shops (and they get bigger… they all inevitably expand or move to larger storefronts) and at one certain one, the cashiers are all Caribbean accented ladies who smile at you a lot and hand back your credit card the second after they swipe it. They trust you, you see. This isn’t the funny part, even to me.

The thing is, they know more about Kosher products than you and I ever will. Even if you’re Jewish and Kosher. This afternoon, I went there because I needed a cake. I know, I never buy cakes, but I have no kitchen and it’s hard to come up with one without paying someone else to bake it. And I’m going away for the weekend and must bring my hosts a cake. Believe me, I know you are currently thinking of the Seinfeld episode with the babka, and I did, in fact, get them a babka. This is because I can’t make babka and I don’t want them to say something along the lines of, “mmmmm, these rugelach are WAY better than the ones you make… try to bring these from now on, would you?” Actually, my cousin is British and extremely polite and would never say such a thing, especially if she thought it. She is one of those people who make you want to live the lifestyle of an observant Jew simply because of the way the sabbath goes on. You see, there’s always a lot of food and preparation, every single week, and so five seconds into any conversation, any day of the week, they will say, “do you want to come for shabbos?” Because there’s always enough for you, a room, food, etc. and it’s taken for granted that guests won’t be a burden but rather enhance the host’s life. I think this is kind of the way the South is portrayed in Gone With the Wind, except I won’t be staying for several months or years. But it’s like that. So I’ve had Mammy pack up my trunks to have shabbos in Atlanta. And by Atlanta I mean Bergen County, New Jersey.

Anyway! So I was there and the Caribbean ladies are all in one row, that’s the way it works. The one next to my smiling cashier was on the phone with a customer and it went like this, “A choc-o-late chip challah? I’ll check but what kind do you want? Zomick’s? Bagel Citee? Zadie’s? Oh never mind Zadie’s, there’s no choc-o-late chip. Rita! See if we have a choc-o-late chip, any kind. Oh pull-apart is all we have, she says. You know, pull apart [slight impatience]. Pull-apart challah!” It was kind of awesome the way she had to explain to the Jewish customer what a pull-apart challah was. It almost made me believe that Kingston was actually Bagel City, mon.

Maybe you had to be there. And by there I mean the Upper West Side of the Caribbean.

Todd Rundgren – Bread

Please don’t park your ice creamy goodness along my favorite route to walk home. See, as I say all the time, math is not my strong point. But if I burn 200 calories walking home from work and then purchase an “artisan organic” cup of mint chip, I am still net about a brazillion calories. Of this I am pretty certain.

I know, the ice cream is technically optional. But we both know that’s not really true. Because you have this trick. Often you’re there. Sometimes you’re not. This is tortuous. Because then I have to act and act now. With Grom, I know it will always be there, waiting to dole out heavenly gelato. But not you, Van L. truck. It may be now or never. When I see you, it’s like serendipity.

Crafty.

And the way the mint tastes like real peppermint and the chocolate isn’t hard chips but rather crushed and blended throughout the scoop… why, I’ll never eat that violent green stuff again.

Maybe you’d better park right in front of my building.

PS, having that skinny hipster chick scooping the ice cream is just cruel.

Van Halen – Ice Cream Man

In the several days I’ve been missing from your lives, days of oppressive heat and humidity, days in which walking down the street was like a preview of Hell, I have done some more research on the topic of the previous post. Intensive research. Yes, I looked at other people’s clothes as I walked around. And I have changed my mind on this topic. You see, I’m sure fewer people wear shorts here than in your town, that is, if you don’t live here. Or in Alaska. But lots of people did, in fact, wear shorts in my neighborhood. Almost every guy. And maybe 30% of women.

Then I went back to work in Midtown and the only short-panted people were obvious tourists. And so, I have a new hypothesis. The chick who wrote that letter never leaves the tourist area! And she is shocked, shocked, to see that the natives are not hanging about, lounging, walking slowly, looking around, dressed in casual, comfortable clothing. What is it with these people? Don’t they realize this is like Disney World North? Why are they all dressed up? If she visits every year, she might try leaving Times Square and Rockefeller Center.

But seriously. This is why we love the cities we visit. We’re on vacation while we’re there.

Spandau Ballet – To Cut A Long Story Short

Which is why there’s no real post today. Also, I’m preparing for our dairyriffic holiday, Shavuot. Shavuot means weeks. Weeks of despair. For me, that is. That’s because the A/C unit I blogged about spending a thousand dollars on just two years ago is already broken and out for repair. Shockingly, the one part that was under warranty is not the actual part that broke. YaY! I don’t really care, actually, as long as they fix it and fill the hole in my wall and life. Right now, I just refuse to go into the part of my apartment that this unit cools.

But it’s closing in on 100 degrees here and will be at around that for several more days. Which made this letter to the “FYI” column of today’s New York Times all the more timely.

Q. I live in Texas, and my wife and I visit your city every year in the late summer for my birthday. I always bring shorts. We have noticed when we visit that few people wear shorts in New York, even when it’s hot. Why not?

A. There are plenty of shorts to be seen on jogging paths, and in parks and other open spaces. But when in public, New Yorkers have to spend a lot of time sharing close quarters: crowded sidewalks and packed buses and subways. It’s one thing to rub elbows with strangers, another to rub knees and legs with them. And passing vehicles can kick up a lot of grit.

Other aspects of life here are also factors. Some groups of New Yorkers are forbidden by religious custom to wear shorts. Many nice restaurants bar shorts because people expect that kind of dress code for their money. Your expense-account client might enjoy ogling someone’s Daisy Dukes, but the ladies who lunch would object.

Finally, Manhattan is the capital of the financial services industry, which practically compels conservative dress. You might talk to Chuck, but you probably don’t want him managing your money in shorts.

Designers agree that shorts are just too casual for the city, especially on a work day, said Jennifer Fisherman Ruff, a fashion publicist in Manhattan.

“With the trend of dresses being so strong these past few years,” she said in an e-mail message, “you have the look of an exposed leg while still looking more polished.”

Does this strike you as meandering around throwing out half-baked theories that seem to have no real basis in reality? Me too! In fact, that whole answer could have been these two lines.

Shorts are not in fashion. People in NY try to stay in fashion.

Wait, that was politically incorrect. Let’s try again.

We have different fashions here in New York! This is to help us figure out which people are tourists and which merely are confused. The tourists are people for whom we answer questions. The confused get shunned. You’re welcome!

See what I mean?

This is our mayor. He’s not from around here and someone forgot to send him the memo.

Anyway, happy Shavuot! Blogging will resume when the holiday and/or heatwave end mid-week.

The Cure – Hot! Hot! Hot!