Sunday, May 18, 2003

After a Friday spent like normal New Yorkers, watching a silly movie and going out for Basque food at an east village restaurant where the Euro-Owners flagrantly and cheerfully broke the smoking ban while playing 80s pop at insane decibel levels, it was back to the old grindstone on Saturday.  Eric had left to go stick some ice cream on Amish people’s noses, and I was left to my own devices.  Which is something I should never, ever be left to.  The morning was meant to be spent shopping in the city for cat supplies and groceries.  Knowing I’d be carrying a lot of stuff, I brought by huge honking rolling cart, which is not terribly handy, but would be only way I’d be able to get everything home.  First stop, Dean & DeDevil. Every time I go to Dean & DeLuca, I swear “NEVER AGAIN!!!”  Often I swear this while in the store, pushing aside the idiots like swaths of grain, as they wait in line for the $150 caviar, or pick up their trays of sushi, or buy French sieves to hang in their unused kitchens, or exclaim over all the varieties of green tea, isn’t it just di-voone?  Saturday, I got their early enough that it wasn’t an absolute madhouse, though I still had to glare at the people standing line for their coffee and pastries, what kind of fucking moron goes to Dean & DeLuca for coffee and a croissant, that’s just asinine.  And then I thought of buying Eric some coffee, but they charge like twelve dollars a pound for the stuff, so as I walk by the display, lugging my cart behind me, I mutter, “I fucking hate this place.”  As it happened a check-girl heard me.  And her response, to her credit, was to very nicely say, “Ma’am?  If you’d like you can store your cart here behind the cash register.  You can pick it up when you leave.”  Which really was very nice.  But then the veal cost twice as much as I’ve paid for veal the last two times, and I couldn’t find glaceed fruit, which was my whole reason for coming to Dean & DeDevil in the first place, so that was annoying. Next stops were Astor Place for wine – rose for tonight, cheap red for marinating some beef for Braised Beef in Aspic, and something nice to bring over to Bekkah and Jeff Sunday, when they cook dinner for us.  Then to the pharmacy to buy toiletries.  Then I passed to Petco where to buy – and this is where the day got really silly – a 22 pound bag of “light” (ho-ho) cat food, two dozen cans of wet cat food, a 15-pound carton of kitty litter, a small bag of kitten food for the under-nourished outside cats, and a mouse for Zuzu the Snake.  THEN, on the way out, cheerfully rolling my not terribly wieldy cart in front of me through the Union Square Greenmarket, I spied a lovely huge bin of dogwood boughs.  So beautiful  Dogwood blossoms were on our wedding cake.  So romantic.  So of course I bought a bunch. The first thing I realized, and I realized this as I was descending into the subway with my 22-pound bag of catfood, 2 dozen cans of catfood, kitty litter and kitty food, three bottles of wine, six veal scallops, shampoo, conditioner, bottle of diet pepsi, toothpaste, two toothbrushes and boughs of dogwoods, was that the boughs of dogwood were probably not a good idea.  The things spread about as wide as my armspan.  They were slapping folks in the face right and left.  That plus of course, I had some hundred pounds of shit I was trying to get down the stairs.  And another set of stairs.  And on to the R train to 34th street.  The people on the subway, thank god, were tourists, and therefore not assholes when I slapped them in the face with dogwood blossoms.  I was sweating like a pig already – give me a break, I’ve been way to busy cooking heart attack-inducing food to exercise.  I got off at 34th Street to transfer to the other R train.  This because trying to get to Queens on a weekend these days bears more than a passing similarity to crossing the DMZ into North Korea.  The transfer to the seven entailed one more trip up the subway, and one more trip down.  A nice young man helped me get up, anyway.  “Why is this so heavy?” he asked.  I had no reasonable response.  Getting down stairs was manageable – I just kicked at the back of the cart while leaning back as hard as I could, so the cart rolled down only one step at once.  But getting up them – leaned over at a 45-degree angle, pulling – was tougher.  Never forget the dogwood boughs as big as me, swaying in the cart, by the way – they are key to the image.  Also never forget the mouse, who was in a flimsy cardboard box somewhere in the midst of all this.  At Queens Plaza I climbed another two sets of stairs – again aided on both sets by nice men.  Who knew there were so many gallant souls left, and all of them riding New York City Transit?  The dogwoods were wilting by then, but whatever.  Just get me the fuck home.  The guy – couple, actually -- who helped my up the last set of stairs did so in exchange for information on how to get to MoMA QNS.  It’s the one great advantage of living in my neighborhood; I get to be all helpful and superior to all the clueless Manhattanites wandering our blighted streets, looking for art.  I got home.  I tried to feed Zuzu.  I went back out.  To buy the groceries. Jesus.  It is becoming more and more obvious that I am entirely responsible for my own suffering – what other person in the world would subject themselves to something like this? Dinner when it happened was Escalopes de Veau Chasseur – Sauteed Veal Scallops with Mushrooms and Tomatoes.  This is made by browning the veal in butter and oil, setting it aside, then making a sauce by sautéing some minced shallot, throwing in chopped tomato, mashed garlic, salt, pepper and  basil, letting that cook covered for five minutes.  Pouring in vermouth, beef stock and some cornstarch dissolved in water, and boiling for five minutes.  In a separate dish browning sliced mushrooms in butter and oil, and mixing it in with the tomato sauce.  Putting the scallops back in and letting it warm covered.  While this was doing, I made noodles, and also fried some circles of eggplant.  This was none of Hannah’s healthy sautéing in Pam stuff.  This was deep fry in peanut and olive oil stuff.  This was good good.  In fact, it was the best part of the meal.  The noodles were slightly overcooked, and veal, though fine, was not fabulous.  I think I slightly overcooked it as well.  But mostly I was pissed that I’d paid twice as much money for veal that didn’t seem any better.  But next is veal chops – so I’ll get to go completely broke while, hopefully, eating something yummy.  Oh, and I tried to make Cremes Frites, which is cream filling like you’d make to fill a crepe – I made mushroom and cheese filling – chilled, cut into squares, dredged in flour, beaten egg, bread crumbs, egg again, and crumbs again – deep fried.  Except I didn’t get nearly that far, because the cream filling hadn’t chilled enough.  We’ll try again tonight.  In the meantime, excuse me – the leprosy scene on Ben Hur is on the TV.  I love that shit. 2:33:20 PM    comment []