I was in the city yesterday and had the pleasure of two wonderful meals in two very different restaurants. Both experiences served to remind me of how unique restaurant food can be—and should be—when compared to what we make at home. The amount of technique and the sheer painstaking labor that went into the dishes I ordered are simply not feasible for the home cook. It was humbling, inspiring and satisfying.

Lunch was at The Nomad, Daniel Humm's sophomore endeavor which you can read about in greater detail here. The ambiance was surprising, as though we'd stepped into a Viennese supper club, or at least somewhere on Madison Avenue, rather than a small hotel on Broadway and 28th Street. There are passementerie-adorned red velvet chairs, chandeliers and gorgeous framed botanical prints.
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It's kind of a cliché that you run the risk of being disenchanted when you meet your heroes. Depending on how high you've raised that pedestal, it may be impossible for anyone to meet your expectations. Or, someone's private persona simply may not match a carefully cultivated public image. So it was wonderfully reassuring to encounter the women of Canal House this week at ICE—their workshop was on writing and photographing recipes (and cooking them)—and discover that they are every bit as warm and wise as I had hoped. For those of you who don't know them, Christopher Hirsheimer and Melissa Hamilton are a food writing and photography team that produces Canal House Cooking, a gorgeous series of seasonal cookbooks that has defined a new space in the publishing world. In their past lives they both worked at Saveur, where Christoper was a founding editor and Melissa was director of the test kitchen. (Still a favorite of mine, this magazine was truly a revelation in its earliest incarnation.) They refer to themselves as "home cooks," but this is a bit like Einstein calling himself a professor.
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What a week. I'm not one of those people who's constantly posting on Facebook about how much they hate Monday or how excited they are that it's Friday. I don't live for the weekend. But I kind of want this Friday the 13th to be over so I can leave the week behind. Let's just say the highlight was emphatically not spilling tea on my laptop and melting down into what can officially be called an adult tantrum. In the end, thanks to the quick thinking and soothing ministrations of my husband, it all turned out OK. What did I learn? That my laptop IS MY LIFE. (Also, not to have teetering cups of liquid near it...but I've "learned" that before.)What, then, was the week's highlight? I'd have to say it was another great day in the city. Truly, New York City at its best. I've been finding it rather energizing these days. From Howard, above, who sells his collection of foraged driftwood from a tarp near Union Square; to the lovely people at Marni in SoHo, who helped me find the perfect shearling jacket on sale; to the über-talented Lior Lev Sercarz, mixing up radical spice blends in his gallery/atelier on the West Side, the whole place seems to be pulsing with good creative energy.
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What a week. Did I mention I am making my first personal appearance for Glutton for Life? My dear friend Peter, he of Best Made fame, asked to me to participate in one of three evenings he is hosting at the Warby Parker Holiday Spectacle Bazaar, a SoHo pop-up happening (for lack of a better word) featuring stuff to eat, drink, buy, see and learn. It was initially pitched to me as a hands-on workshop for a couple dozen people, where I could talk about whatever I wanted—oh, and there's a whiskey sponsor. So mixing cocktails seemed like a no-brainer. Then, to put my own little upstate spin on things, I decided to use foraged ingredients. This seemed to pique everyone's interest. Done deal. Then, I find out they're expecting upwards of 100 people. And I stop to consider that the dead of winter might not be the very best time to forage for ingredients. Um, time to regroup.
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It's nearly impossible to take advantage of everything New York City has to offer: Central Park, the Frick, Smorgasburg, the Highline, Barney Greengrass, Eataly, the Apollo, Broadway, Chelsea Market, the gallery openings, the cocktail bars, the amazing boutiques—I get overwhelmed just thinking of it all. Despite weekly visits, now that we no longer live in the city, I feel as though I have fallen woefully behind. There is so much I simply can't see and do; maybe I have time to read about it, maybe not. So when G surprised me with tickets to New York City Ballet, I was absolutely thrilled. I wanted to start the evening with an early dinner at Boulud Sud (Daniel's latest), but it was fully booked and we were downtown anyway, so we had a quick (delicious) bite at Otto. (Mario was there—in his orange clogs, natch.) And then it was up to Lincoln Center, to the David A. Koch Theater (yet another robber baron buying respectability), and Jewels, a work in three parts choreographed by the legendary George Balanchine, seen above.
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The Rat brought the boat alongside the bank, tied it up, helped awkward Mole safely ashore, and swung out the picnic basket. The Mole begged to be allowed to unpack it all by himself. He took out all the mysterious packets one by one and arranged their contents, gasping Oh my! Oh my! at each fresh surprise. from "The Wind in the Willows" by Kenneth GrahameWould it shock you to know that the word "picnic" actually derives from the French word "pique-nique"? It dates all the way back to 1692, although I imagine this was a tradition that first began with Joe Caveman gnawing on a wooly mammoth bone while perched in some bucolic spot far from the reach of the saber-tooth tiger. Whether pique-nique is actually based on the verb piquer (to pick or peck), with the rhyming nique meaning "thing of little importance," is in doubt; the Oxford English Dictionary says the word is of unknown provenance. This fresh-air practice reached a new height of popularity after the French Revolution, when royal parks opened to the public for the first time and the newly enfranchised citizens chowed down on hallowed ground. As much as I love to spread a blanket in a meadow, there's also something to be said for staging a picnic at home—on your own lawn, on the living room floor, or even (gasp) in your bed! All you need are a big, beautiful cloth, extraordinary fixings and the right companion.
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In addition to being a style icon, the First Lady is a renowned gastronaut. (This is the word I substitute for the loathed "foodie.") We know she's actively concerned about what the children of this nation are consuming, but she and the President are also really into food. I often read about them dining á deux at various hot-spots around the country, so it was delightful but hardly surprising to hear that, during their recent trip to New York City, Michelle paid a visit to a new hole-in-the-wall that's been getting lots of buzz, Danji in Hell's Kitchen. In fact, they had to close the place down for her the very day before we went, with Secret Service in the kitchen and the whole deal. After a very favorable review in last month's New York Times, this 36-seat place, billed as "modern Korean tapas," went right on my list of essential eating. It's got quite a lot in common with the Momofuku restaurants: relatively short on atmo, but long on intense and memorable Asian-inflected flavors executed with classic techniques. We'll definitely be going back to sample the rest of the menu.
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I've told you before of my longstanding devotion to Aesop, the Australian skin- and body-care company, and FINALLY they have arrived in New York. They put so much thought and creativity into everything they do—from their all-natural, socially-conscious products to their creative store design—that it's a pleasure to support the brand. First they opened a kiosk in Grand Central Station, and now their 40th stand-alone location has opened in Nolita, with University Place and Bleecker Street outposts slated for later this year. The unifying design theme, from local architect Jeremy Barbour, is the use of repurposed editions of The New York Times. It creates a soft, faintly industrial look that's a fine, neutral backdrop for the products. Run, don't walk, to stock up on their wonderful Geranium Body Scrub, Fabulous Face Oil and Vetiver Deodorant. They've also launched Thirty Views of New York, a month-long series of recommendations from a diverse roster of cultural luminaries. Every day through October 11th, a different contributor shares a favorite location in New York. It's all part of Aesop's "passionate engagement with the cultural landscape," and is of a piece with their excellent newsletter, which pulls together an international listing of interesting and timely things to do, eat, watch, read, etc.On my way to Tribeca the other day, another new store on West Broadway caught my eye, and I stopped in for a quick look. Turns out it was Treasure & Bond, new from Nordstrom but disguised as a downtown hipster boutique.
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Although it's raining today, yesterday was unbelievably balmy, conjuring up thoughts of daffodils, asparagus and, yes, ice cream. Seems like a good time to tell you about a recent visit to the (relatively) new flagship of Il Laboratorio del Gelato, on Houston Street, conveniently located near Katz's. Not familiar with this temple of frozen treats? Even those of you who aren't in Manhattan may well have succumbed to the temptations of Ciao Bella ice cream. Well, they were started by the same gelato obsessive, Jon Snyder. For a long time, he mostly supplied fine restaurants with his quality product, including flavors both classic (chocolate, espresso, vanilla) and unusual (basil, kalamansi, prune/armagnac). But this venue is most definitely retail, and provides the fortunate public with access to a vast number of flavors, produced in authentic small batches.

For a list of the whole repertoire, see here. By no means have I tested even a small percentage of these flavors, though I can vouch for the sensuous texture and rich, true flavor of espresso, coconut and pumpkin, as well as the deliciously creamy sorbet, especially the mind-blowing passionfruit. Other flavors I'd like to go back for include rosemary, honey-lavender, mascarpone, pink peppercorn, malt, rhubarb, cheddar cheese and licorice. I can dream, right?
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I visited an intriguing new retail concept recently, on Sullivan Street in Manhattan. It's called The Little House and is the result of a collaboration between three talented and artistic souls: Savania Davies-Keiller, Michael Capotosto and Joel Alexander Morales. (The first two are a married couple, and friends of mine.) Their website describes this project as "a movement towards an inspired, personal and creative experience." The Little House offers its own label of clothing for men and women, but also curated works of art (including the amazing woven sculptures and two-dimensional works by Capotosto), beautiful objects and a limited edition Little House Periodical. It's a basement space into which you descend via a tightly coiled spiral staircase whose banister is wrapped in a wonderfully tactile leather of the sort used on bicycle handlebars. Everything in the tiny space is subject to the same surprising and delightful level of artisanal detail. The house candle, smelling of rich pipe tobacco, is encased in a supple black leather box; the shopping bags are printed with one of Capotosto's drawings; purchases are carefully wrapped and tied with leather string.
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