Riding a Tidal Blog.

Ahoy!
I always say that the NYTimes is a bit behind the times. Sometimes even more than a bit. Often the trends or issues 'discovered' by the Times journalists are such afterthoughts by the time the paper runs, that you forgot that you had pondered very similar theories and 'relevant cultural musings' months ago, when they were still novel and thought provoking.

So, the genius trend followers wrote an article about Bloggers in the Sunday Style section back in beginning of June (and yes, in keeping with the above remarks, I too am demonstrating a remarkably slow response time to this article). The general gist of the article was about how millions of people start blogs but never get beyond the initially exciting first few posts before they give up and let the blog die a slow, slow death.

"...Mrs. Nichols speaks about her blog as if it were a diet or half-finished novel. 'I’m going to get back to it,” she swears. Her last entry, in December of last year, was curt and none too profound. Like Mrs. Nichols, many people start blogs with lofty aspirations — to build an audience and leave their day job, to land a book deal, or simply to share their genius with the world. Getting started is easy, since all it takes to maintain a blog is a little time and inspiration. So why do blogs have a higher failure rate than restaurants?"

Many blog abandoners were in it for the fame and fortune, thinking that once they started jabbering about something cool and trendy, someone would be there to pay them the big bucks. A book deal waiting to happen, (a la Julie and Julia) sponsors lining up to reward your hard coffee house Pulitzer worthy words. I can only speak for myself.

The article hypothesizes that 95% of all blogs are abandoned. Wow. That is hell of a lot of percents. (I've gone even farther than most bloggers, abandoning 2 previous blogs and leaving them to mold on the wayside.) The fact that there are countless blogs out there in the webisphere, unattended to and left to rot, made me think even more about why is is that I am even bothering with this seemingly purposeless task of talking to myself via an imaginary audience.

Blogging is a true self centered exercise. Those who know me know I am not a horn tooter or a fan of those who do. I am also not known as a keeper of journals or diaries and if I have ever attempted to be one, the books are many and the pages filled are few. (as attested to in a previous post on this blog...)
I'm no Times journalist, but if I had to really think about why I persevere with this exercise I would have to state the obvious. Writing deep thoughts and musings are simple, cheap therapy. Working out my thoughts in writing is helping the process of leaving one life in search of another. As I read back on the past 37 posts I have written since starting our life in exile, I've been able to see the journey a bit more clearly and objectively. It has been healing. And entertaining. A way of getting out of my head and thinking critically about the process. Who knows what the next step will bring - it's the adventure of not knowing that is so exciting.

From frozen lakes in Minnesota to mushroom boutiques in Montreal, to Ayrshire cows in Vermont.

So there, another meta meta blog about blogs.

Anchors Away!

THE Ultimate Slice

If you know what's good for you, you know NY pizza is unparalleled in its deliciousness and diversity. When do we eat pizza? Let me count the ways. (feel free to contribute some of your own)

1) There is the ubiquitous early morning breakfast pizza - either leftover (I, sadly, rarely come home with leftovers - it's all eaten way before it makes it into cold storage!) or purchased on the street on the way to work. Rational: it is a complete meal! ...starch, veggies, protein, what a way to start the day.

2) The mid-day snack slice: or, the leisure slice. This is the slice that can be eaten anywhere and usually for me, it was on the go. Either heading to work, taking a break from work, or celebrating not being at work. Usually the mid-day slice is one that is easily accessible to whatever your current location is. So, if in the West Village, the slice would be from Bleecker St. Pizza (hot, oven fresh- delicious pizza, awful website) , or maybe Two Boots (if looking for some more sustenance and heavy toppings). When I was living and teaching on the UWS, Sal and Carmines was the destination. Even if it meant trekking up 15 blocks in the slushy snow for a hot salty slice.
On a very sad note: Sal, of Sal and Carmine's passed away last week. Read about it here and here such a loss in the world of artisan pizza makers...

3) Pizza For Dinner: on those nights when you I am either too lazy to cook, to hot to cook, to far from a kitchen to cook, too poor to eat for more than $5. That is when pizza for dinner comes to play. Usually pizza for dinner is 2 slices and some beer (real or root). Ordering from where ever is closest. Amazing hot pies from Sal and Carmines or moderately decent Cafe Viva Pizza back in the olden days of the UWS. Joes of Bleeker or the red vinyl booths and glass boots of Two Boots, Park Slope.

So the gist of the blog is really to tell you all about the best pizza in the world. And that is at Di Fara's on Ave. J.
I know I am slow to the game. I know I am about 10 years behind the pizza times and I also know that you told me so many times over. Oh well. Better late than never, right??


Yes, I've read the new Newsweek's (trying to hard to be a less fluffy weekly) short editorial piece about NY slices. The writer mentioned some key pizza masters and laments the imminent death of the pizza masters who are not passing down their legacies to the next generation. For a wonderful NYC pizza article, check out this wonderful photo journal on The Eaten Path)



Hot, salty, crispy, delectable everything. Crust, sauce, cheese, fresh herbs cut to order and sprinkled liberally on each slice. ahhhh. heaven, if I believed in it, would be a slice of Di Fara's.

If you haven't explored the wonders of Midwood, Bklyn. Head over. In addition to the above magic of Di Fara's (beware the long lines and secret society rules to getting a slice without pissing people off), there is a strange shnitzle bar called Shnizies and an outpost of the Pickle Guys of the LES. Food, glorious food.

Cheese Apologies

Fellow readers, I know that I have not kept up with my cheesing as promised. I apologize for leading you all on and perhaps disappointing a few of you. Do not fret. I will be back with more from the depths of the caves and the cheese house, as soon as the muse of the keyboard comes a calling. Hopefully, tremendous inspiration will soon follow and reveal my inner cheese musings once again. Until then, enjoy the following posts...

Spring comes to VT. (part 2)

Our heroes were last seen drinking endless mugs of diner coffee and enjoying the yellow vinyl booth benches at Henry's on Bank St. in Burlington... Our story continues:

After an hour's drive eastwards, to the hustle and bustle of cosmopolitan Greensboro (note the sarcasm), our visiting duo and their uber excited hostess crash. A nap for one, a walk to the lake for others. Breathing in the clean, green, less-toxic than-lungs-are-used-to air, the duo walk all the way down to the shores of the majestic Lake Caspian or Caspian Lake depending on formality. Lake Caspian, the reason hoards of locals and domestic travelers flock to this little hamlet in the North East Kingdom. The muse that beckons to boatloads of well-to-do orthodontists and accountants across the state to buy summer homes here and consequently jack up cost of real estate through the roof. Lake Caspian, (and when you google it, all you get are property listings...) a little slice of heaven, in the form of a lake.

After a good night's sleep, our trio were ready to hit the road, green mountain style! Into ye old reliable '01 Taurus, and off to Hardwick for delicious brunch with friends. Tummys full, bright eyed and rearing for adventure, their first stop was at bizarre and slightly frightening Bread and Puppet Theatre and Museum in Glover, VT. Picture it. Creaky old barn, slightly bent and looking precariously condemned. Rooms and rooms of huge papier-mache puppets all set up in various poses and eerily alive in the dark. The only sound is your footsteps, on the old creaking floorboards. Recipe for a really freaky horror movie. Here are some pics.

Spring comes to VT. Memorial Day Weekend (part 1)

Having my very first guest over the Memorial Day weekend was a delight! I was able to play tour guide in a place I am just beginning to familiarize myself with. The multi-shaded green landscape was a perfect backdrop to the weekend, painting a most perfect pastoral setting to an adventure over the hills of the North East Kingdom.

The adventures were many and the sites visited varied. I think that I'll cut the blog in half and recount some of the highlights.

After an early morning shift at the cheesehouse, I was off to Burlington airport to pick up Jenine and Ruby. (Jet Blue rocks.) Our first stop after the pickup was City Hall Park in downtown Burlington. That Saturday was the first of the season when the artists and crafters would be coming to the weekly farmer's market to showcase and sell their art. Also, there would be a ton of food and I, big food fan, was ready for some springtime produce. There were some awesome food vendors selling all kinds of delights, from preserves to cheeses to (I think most of you will agree that root beer floats are not produce but we can make an exception)
The square in front of city hall was totally happening. Quite the hippie scene complete with dogs off leash, wild dreaded dudes and lots of grass lounging.

From the market, we wandered around Main and Church Streets in search of brunch. We had all had a long and early start to the day and were ready to chow down on some home cookin'. Big ass lines at brunch are not just a NY thing, as it turns out. We skipped the 35min wait at a recommended joint in town and took a chance at a super cute diner called Henry's. Good call. Henry's was awesome. The food, pipin hot and delicious, the decor gave me plenty of fabulous photo opportunities and the waitresses with their awesome uniforms were fantastic.

Thoughts and Musings about Farm Life.

Back in '87, when I was but a shy and sheltered youngster in grade 7, endless jokes were made at my expense with regard to my parents' decision to move to the then sparsely populated former farm land in the West Island of Montreal. Was that your dad's tractor I saw pulling up to school this morning? Are you going home to feed the cows? Funny. Guess that farm talk got under my skin and into my blood stream and maybe, just maybe was a catalyst for this deep rooted desire to come to the farm, this one for real, and see what life here is all about.

Growing up in urban/suburban Montreal, a direct connection to the land was seasonal. We would go on an annual apple picking trip in elementary school and during the summer, at sleep-away camp, there would often be some animals and a mini-garden to tend. Later on, once I had moved out of my parents' home, my mother began to cultivate an amazing garden in her front and back yard. The care and love that she puts into the garden are reflected in the astonishing and vibrant array of plants and flowers that blossom as soon as the days become longer and the sun warms the ground.

On our drive back to Montreal this past Friday, my father was remarking how interesting it was that here I was, the fourth generation, renewing my connection to the land. Three out of four of my grandparents were born and lived in Poland before WWII and had come from families that at some point in their histories had large vegetable gardens, owned animals, farmed and had a reciprocal relationship with the land they lived on. "They would be proud of you," he remarked. "You have carried on the tradition of your family ancestry." I guess he is right. There is something really amazing about being a part of a system that functions with this inherent interconnectedness between parts. We tend to the land that feeds us and the animals we care for. We barter with others for the goods we don't produce ourselves and grow what we can to survive. We pray for rain, thank the earth for her bounty, recognize that we are but a small part of a very complex and timeless system that relies on each and every one to fill a role and a responsibility.

Off the Farm: Montpelier, VT

According to the official website, Montpelier is the nations smallest capital city. Fancy that.
It was a rainy Saturday and a great day to spend indoors. I prepared myself for the big city field trip by packing up my trusty MacBook, charger, camera and coffee mug. Since I am car-less here, my bike still hiding from the cold country air, I am totally dependant on anyone who offers to drive me out for an adventure away from the hustle and bustle of downtown Greensboro. Though devastatingly hard to peel away from the beautiful trees and picturesque mountainous landscape, getting a breath of other humans and coffee is vital to my well being. When I was offered a lift to the big city capital, I leapt with excitement. Really. About an hour drive south west, we rolled up and down hills and drove by silos, old barns, odd junked out trailers and came into Montpelier.
First stop, Langdon St. Cafe. Occupying the bottom floor of a three story adorable house, the cafe was started as a cooperative and later was bought and run by two owners. Live music nightly, a fabulous and extensive food and beverage menu makes this place a cultural center and a very busy place - especially on a weekend afternoon. Hot egg and cheese on a bagel and a cafe au lait and I was set for the next few hours.

After warming up with a hot mug and catching up on my emails, I decided to take a stroll along Main St. (is there a town in this country that doesn't have a Main St.?) to check out the scene. The scene was adorable. Bookstores with awesome window displays, an old apothicary/museum of 19th century pharmacy items, more books, and a beautiful golden domed State Capital building that usually gives tours in the summer (which I found out doesn't actually begin till July).

Next on the mini tour was the famed Hunger Mountain Coop. I was super excited at the prospect of purchasing fresh produce as it had been close to a week of packaged, canned and refrigerated food for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I was ready to come to the inn with an armful of farm fresh greens and other much needed boosts of vitamin rich food. I took the long walk down the old railroad tracks that lead to the hidden coop and along the way spotted this really cool bike-meld sculpture. The coop was beautiful! everything looking so enticing and delicious. I filled up my little cart with produce, perusing the aisles and snatching up some goodies to take back to the horn of unplenty, Greensboro. The cheese counter alone was a plethera of bounty. Cheeses organized by region and state, small farms and well known favorites. Hunger Mountain was celebrating Earth Day with a great big member appreciation day complete with prizes and a cookout! There were samples galore and really intersting local artisanal product. I bought some local 10 grain bread, some Montpelier made chocoalte bars to send off to Brooklyn and the May edition of Saveur. Having gotten myself so accustomed to my beloved and dearly missed Park Slope Food Coop in Brooklyn, I forgot how ridiculously expensive organic food can run you. Here's waiting for VT spring to show it's little tiny head and grace us with some fresh local produce! $103 dollars and 3 grocery bags later, I was still really happy to have my kale and eat it too.