A very quick post to urge you to treat yourself to a viewing of the grossly underrated 2008 movie, The Love Guru, starring the incomparable Mike Meyers as “the second best guru” (after Deepak, of course). I have watched this at least 6 times now and never fail to laugh at Meyers’ hilarious Peter-Sellers-worthy performance: his accent, the gleam in his eye, the sheer delight he takes in his performance, the fabulous musical numbers, not to mention all the infantile scatalogical jokes. And Ben Kingsley as the cross-eyed Guru Tugginmapudha is absolutely priceless.

sir ben, doing what he does best

these cookies are flavor bombs

OK, so maybe we used a little something to enhance our enjoyment, but these are seriously some of the best cookies of all time: chocolatey, nutty, satisfyingly chewy. They’re the flourless chocolate meringues with walnuts that I posted the recipe for here. Make them immediately, then rent (or download) The Love Guru, and prepare for the best evening EVER…

Occasionally—not very often—I go off on a crazy tangent. This is one of those times. Searching for a little mindless entertainment to keep me company as I wrapped countless presents, I decided to download “Sex & the City 2.” Some girly fun, I said to myself, thinking back wistfully to a time when Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha were actually a fresh concept. A time before Magnolia Bakery had lines like Studio 54, before SATC tours of the West Village. Friends, do NOT subject yourselves to this movie. It made “Showgirls” seem like a European art film. G told me some people had complained about its depiction of Arab men. WHAT ABOUT ITS DEPICTION OF AMERICAN WOMEN?! There was scarcely a time in the entire movie that I was not either cringing in embarrassment or gagging in dismay. From the second Liza Minelli appeared in thigh-high boots, an abbreviated tunic and a kabuki mask to cover Beyonce’s “Put A Ring On It” during the opening gay wedding scene, it was one crypt-keeper moment after another. No amount of Botox, Pilates, makeup or lighting can disguise the fact that these women are trying WAY TOO HARD to be “young.” Whatever the f*ck that means. Hey, I’m all for fantasy, etc. This was just painful. SJP looks like a sinewy drag queen half the time, and a homeless lady playing dress-up the rest. (See the ridiculous ball gown and t-shirt ensemble she chose to wear to the souk, above.) Samantha’s menopausal moanings and desperate sexual lungings—not to mention her god-awful getups and over-oiled flesh in virtually every scene—are cruel jokes only the snarky gay writers could love. No wonder it’s been hard to lure her back for the sequels. They must be paying these “girls” wads of cash. Soon they can just segue into a remake of “Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?”

Saw The Social Network last night. I think Fincher’s best movie thus far. He really got out of his own way for a change, and Aaron Sorkin’s screenplay will probably win the Oscar. It’s a great portrait of tortured soul and Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg, whose stupefying mix of arrogant brilliance and crippling insecurity reminded me of half the people I encountered at Harvard, especially the genius-geeks whose shameless misogyny stemmed from never being able to get a date. The film is  less about the phenomenon of social networking than it is about the irony that the dude who creates it is a social outsider. Jesse Eisenberg gives a flawless performance, his face a motionless enigma that rarely jerks into a grimace we come to recognize as a smile. Movie night was preceded by yet another trip to Eataly, this time at the sub-prime hour of 4pm. The place was buzzing but  not overcrowded, and G and I slipped right into a couple of seats at the counter of Pesce. An appetizer of razor clams bathed in olive oil, parsley, garlic and hot pepper was delicious, a harbinger of things to come. Both G’s whole branzino, infused with lemon and roasted on a thin crust of half-crispy-half-velvety potatoes, and my smoked black cod with a crackling skin and salad of watercress were fresh off the boat and perfectly executed. A quick trip to the gelato stand (chocolate for G, equally smooth and unctuous pear-vanilla sorbetto for me) and we were off to the races. I love a dose of the city on an unseasonably warm fall day.

photos by anna raugalis

Readers from the early days may recall a post I wrote about my husband, a talented filmmaker and true gentleman. Well, here he is again, this time featured for completing his first narrative short film, Aftershock, which he wrote, produced and directed. (Also a DP, he decided to have someone else shoot it as he kinda had his hands full.) I am so excited for him, and have every confidence it will get into festivals and receive the acclaim it deserves. The film tells the bittersweet story of a man who loses his family in an earthquake in China, and later finds himself struggling as an immigrant in New York City. Read more about it, find out about future screenings, and see some beautiful stills and on-set photos here.

Here’s a little behind-the-scenes secret: I was asked to access my rusty acting chops and contribute some (rather emotional) voiceover work for the film’s final scene! I got to play opposite the lead, Steven Lin—unbelievably, he’s the guy below and in the first photo above.

We’re seriously considering buying this piece of land that was brought to our attention by a guardian angel up here in Sullivan County. The idea would be to build our dream house on it one day. It’s a nice-sized 5-acre lot that starts with a gorgeous meadow and rolls down a hill to a breathtaking reservoir. The best thing is that across the reservoir is all state-owned land that is a protected sanctuary for the bald eagle. We put the canoe in there the other day and it’s absolutely stunning. The prospect of being able to live in such a place seems almost too good to be true.

So you can imagine how my heart broke when I watched Josh Fox’s gripping documentary, Gasland, on HBO the other night. It was a hit at Sundance and I imagine it will get theatrical distribution at some point, but I urge you to see it now; you can watch it on HBO On Demand. Hot, bitter tears rolled down my cheeks during most of the film, which is about fracking—the hydraulic fracturing process that is being used to free up natural gas from within vast shale deposits. Natural gas is being touted as the ideal “transition” fuel that will take us away from fossil fuels and toward alternative energy sources. In fact, this extraction method is entirely unregulated, thanks to a loophole created by Dick Cheney, that evil and calculating sonofabitch. He even convinced the Bureau of Land Management, an agency that is supposed to look after 264 million acres of pristine public land—that’s OUR land—to allow drilling.

the reservoir

There is a huge area slated for drilling called the Marcellus Shale, a black shale formation extending deep underground from Ohio and West Virginia northeast into Pennsylvania and southern New York. I knew that drilling had already commenced in parts of Pennsylvania, but I was shocked to learn that it has been going on in other parts of the country as well. Gasland show the ghastly effects of drilling in Colorado and Arizona, including brain lesions and testicular problems from contaminated water tables and atmospheric conditions. Because drilling would take place quite near the New York watershed in the Catskills, New York State has managed to put a moratorium on drilling until “more research” can be done. This is in large part due to the very real possibility that New York City’s water supply could become contaminated.

It makes sense that such an affluent and vocal constituency would be able to exert its influence, but what about the poor and disenfranchised in the rest of the country? Sullivan County, where I live, is among the poorest counties in NY State—what do you think these people will say when the gas companies offer them $4,000 an acre to lease their land for drilling? Especially when they are assured that it’s “totally safe.”

In reality, fracking injects hundred of Halliburton-created (Hello, Dick!) carcinogenic chemical compounds into the shale, and then produces a huge amount of contaminated water run-off that has to be disposed of…somehow. Gasland includes numerous frightening shots of people literally lighting on fire the stream of methane-polluted water coming from their home taps. The people of Dimock, Pennsylvania, know only too well what happens when 8,000 gallons of toxic drilling fluids spill into their groundwater. Check out this article for the gory details.

Drilling may never be allowed on the state-protected land across from the property we want to buy. But the Marcellus shale extends deep into New York and Pennsylvania and these water sources are all connected. Just because there is a moratorium on drilling in New York now, doesn’t mean the oil and gas lobby won’t find a way to get that lifted. You know that New York City tap water we always brag about? Gone. And even if drilling never makes it into your backyard, it’s happening—and slated to happen—all over the country. Just click on the Drilling Areas link on the Gasland website to get an idea of the extent. Please do what you can to prevent our land from being ruined by drilling for natural gas. Spread the word so this issue gets the attention it deserves, and write to your legislators; all the information is here.

Because I want to be able to live in peace with the eagles and the fish and the bear and the wild blackberries and the red fox and the deer, right here on this beautiful land…

the meadow

You can take the girl out of the city but you can’t take the city out of the girl…especially when she’s stuffing it back in with both hands! No better place than Momofuku Ssam Bar to remember what it’s like to eat somebody else’s cooking. We chowed down on David-Chang-deliciousness and it was yet another flawless dining experience, from cocktails to cookies. You know all about the place already, right? So I don’t have to tell you that you’ll eat hunched over at the bar on a hard stool, gazing at strange ’70s art featuring John McEnroe and rocking out to loud music. It’s all part of a funky, stripped-down dining experience that really wakes up your senses. So glad they’ve now got a full bar and mixed drinks on their extensive alcohol menu. I’ve written before about the truly wonderful “Penicillin;” even posted the recipe for you here. Smoky Scotch + ginger syrup + lemon juice = divinity. It outshined the Wild-Turkey-based “Gold Rush” I had last night, if you ask me. Here’s what we ate:

Small, plump and briny kusshi oysters with a pureed kimchi sauce, garlicky and spicy. Seasonal house pickles, featuring sweet-tart-salty beets, burdock root, cucumber, daikon, carrot, shiitakes, romesco broccoli, kimchi and baby bok choy. (Each vegetable in its own carefully calibrated bath–that’s a labor of love!)

Honeycrisp apple kimchi with jowl bacon (addictively sweet) and maple labne and a sprinkle of baby arugula. Spicy pork sausage and rice cakes (with a texture like crisped marshmallows) with Chinese broccoli (in photo at top). Roasted diver scallops with an intense daub of XO emulsion, a few sweet-funky, gelatinous slices of black garlic and a garnish of dehydrated pineapple (inspired!).

They say “roasted” but look at the sear on those scallops!

It may sound like a lot but it was the perfect amount for two. The portions are not large, but it is always best to go in hungry. At the end, the friendly (and totally knowledgeable without being pedantic) bartender gave us a taste of Elijah Craig, an 18-year-old bourbon that tasted of sweet charred oak. It wasn’t really the end, though, because we popped next door to Milk Bar and picked up a couple of cookies for dessert: cornflake-chocolate-chip-marshmallow and chocolate-chocolate. Both heavy on the salt (and butter) and both really, really good. I think the chocolate-chocolate is the winner.

We also had a taste of the ice cream of the day: salt-&-pepper. Weirdish. And I ogled the chocolate malt cake. (Malt is the American version of umami, don’t you agree?)

We ate the cookies in the movie theatre, while waiting for Avatar to start. It’s supposed to be the second coming of cinema, you know. Evidently it’s some breakthrough technology. There’s some pretty cool stuff, OK. But the aesthetic is not at all sophisticated. Sort of post-anime/Disney/Peter Max, but not really in a good way. If only the story (and the soundtrack) lived up to all the visual fireworks. Nobody does trite and hackneyed quite like the two Jameses (Cameron and Horner). Looks like Cameron is going to stick it to (ex-wife) Kathryn Bigelow yet again…