What’s For Dinner? New Kitchen Appliances.

I went into the city this morning with grand designs.  I was going to buy a gravy separator at Williams Sonoma, a bunch of large freezer-safe Tupperware boxes at the Container Store, and then head downtown to the Greenmarket and Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s to begin buying food for my dinner next Thursday.  I made it as far as Lexington Avenue, where I became the proud owner of not only a fine gravy separator, but also an apple peeler/corer/slicer, an exceedingy heavy pasta machine, four large glass jars (to hold my various nut collections), and a plastic food storage box with adjustable compartments.  I did show some restraint, however: I was *thisclose* to buying the block of Shun knives (with free! Japanese blade sharpener), but talked myself out of it, wisely rationalizing that I should not invest in excellent, impossibly sharp cutlery until I am living with someone who can supervise me while I dice things.

At this point, both my laden bags and my shoulders were strained and close to tearing.  Needless to say, I still haven’t bought any food for Thanksgiving dinner.

Happy Half-Birthday, Charles Simic!

My Weariness of Epic Proportions
Charles Simic

I like it when
Achilles
gets killed
And even his buddy Patroclus–
And that hothead Hector–
And the whole Greek and Trojan
Jeunesse doree
Is more or less
Expertly slaughtered
So there’s finally peace and quiet
(The gods having momentarily
Shut up)
One can hear
A bird sing
And a daughter ask her mother
Whether she can go to the well
And of course she can
By that lovely little path
That winds through
The olive orchard

How Very Lower-East-Side/Germantown Of Me

I bought a giant pickle from the barrel in the grocery store tonight. I’m pretty excited to have a slice of it for lunch tomorrow. Someday, in addition to the indoor grill, the Turbochef speedcook oven (in Hearth Orange), and the floor-to-ceiling eel tank (hey, I like unagi don), my kitchen will have a pickle barrel. Yum.

Unlike Pheidippides, Modern New Yorkers Don’t Die After Running 26.2 Miles

I watched the NYC Marathon for the first time ever today. I was there mainly to cheer on my coworker Jessica, but I had a blast yelling encouraging remarks to pretty much everyone who had a name written on their shirt. I was seriously outside screaming my lungs out for a good five hours. The race draws a massive and diverse crowd–in addition to thousands of Americans (you can spot them by their Rutgers/I *heart* NY/Longhorns/Boston Red Sox shirts), I saw French facepaint, South African hats, Danish flags, Colombian jerseys, German first names… too many to remember.

I got to see Jessica twice–once in Long Island City, which is a great place to watch, and then again in Harlem, where the crowd was a little thinner. I made a big sign for her, a modified Accelerade bottle with DON’T FADE painted in large print at the top. There weren’t too many (labeled) Jessicas on the course, but anytime I saw one, I’d wave the sign at her, too.

Another highlight for me was pronouncing foreign runners’ names correctly, and seeing them nod in appreciation. Poor Kjell probably heard “GO KUH-JELL!” a lot more often than “GO SHELL!” As a loud and supportive spectator (or maybe just one who is not afraid of making an ass of herself or losing her voice), I highly recommend writing your name prominently on your shirt. I saw a few people who’d spelled their names phonetically, too; that was nice for non-Swedish/Dutch/etc. speakers, and probably meant they heard a lot more personalized cheers.

Also, “run the NYC Marathon” is definitely going on my list of goals. The atmosphere at the race was really awesome (and surprisingly emotional); I can only imagine how energizing/tiring/exciting it must be to complete the whole course. Plus, I’d get to eat tons and tons of delicious carbs (beer! pizza! Lucky Charms!) afterwards, with zero remorse.