Thanksgiving is like the proverbial line in the sand. Once we've crossed it, we're suddenly assaulted by the ferocious business that is The Holidays. If we're not donning false eyelashes, embroidered boots and a megawatt smile, we must not be in the spirit, right? Don't look at me—I'll just be over here, hunched in front of the fire, block-printing my own wrapping paper and listening to Joan Baez sing Ave Maria. Hey, to each her own. Whatever your approach, we all wrestle with the gifts. How much is too much? How little can I get away with? Never did such a lovely and selfless act become as corrupted as holiday giving. Ever dream of taking a year off? The specter of Ebenezer Scrooge instantly rises up to banish such a perverse thought. With nothing but common sense and the sobering state of the world as my guide, I've come up with a few suggestions for how to successfully run the season's gauntlet. 

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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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I grow old . . . I grow old . . .I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.These lines from T.S. Eliot's The Love-Song of J. Alfred Prufrock come to mind whenever I bite into the first peach of the summer. Food is memory, is love, is comfort. The peach evokes summers past, Augusts at the beach, the steady thrum of the sea like the beating of my own heart. Only one of these will go on forever. With age comes introspection, but I sometimes wonder these days if solitude of mind at any age has now become a willful act. There is so much stimulus around us, everywhere at least one screen conveying essential information at all times. With the touch of a finger we are connected to thousands of people, opinions, conversations, comments. Is there any escaping this feeling that we are missing out if we aren't constantly checking in, tweeting, reporting, connecting? My old college pal Bill Powers has written an eloquent book, Hamlet's Blackberry, that looks to great thinkers of the past—Plato, Shakespeare, Thoreau—for ways to approach the digital dilemma and, ultimately, to disconnect. But there really is no way back; Pandora's box is open. And out of it, along with the demons, have emerged wonderful tools to enhance our lives.
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Though there are some male purveyors in the markets here in Yogyakarta, the majority of them are women. Many are old, very old, with frail frames, deeply lined faces and tiny, gnarled hands. Others are robust, middle-aged and full of high spirits, greeting a foreigner with a cheery "Hallo, madam!" They are clearly industrious and capable, eking out a living without the benefit of much education, I would imagine. In a city that is 70% Muslin, many women wear the head scarf, the hijab. Most favor traditional batik clothing over Western dress. I was captivated by their faces, their pride, their joyful spirits. I'm careful taking their pictures, though, as I'm aware it can be an imposition. I either ask permission, which is generally granted but often elicits a self-conscious pose; or I try to snap discreetly, which is a bit catch-as-catch-can. Here follows my tribute to these ladies of the market.
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Food is everywhere here in Yogyakarta. Rickety carts offering noodles and soups and fried this-and-that line virtually every street. Fruit stands overflow with piles of black-skinned mangoes, bunches of red bananas, scaly snake fruit and enormous purple grapes. Girls ride by on bicycles rigged up with wooden boxes that hold bottles of colored drinks to mix and sell on the spot. Yes, it's hot and grimy but the ingredients look fresh and everyone is eating with gusto. Westerners are so afraid of Third World street food, but meanwhile we are washing our own e coli-imbued beef with bleach. Take a look at these market photos and tell me you wouldn't want to sample the wares.

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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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Cold weather means hot pots which means trips to Mitsuwa, the Japanese superstore in Edgewater, New Jersey. It's on our way home from the city, and we take special delight in our visits there. For one thing, they have the most spectacular soft-serve ice cream in flavors like green tea and black sesame. I'm especially obsessed with the sesame, which is a murky purple color and so smoothly, sweetly seductive you could almost swoon. The enormous store contains aisles of ingredients—from produce to rice to fresh seafood—as well as kitchen tools (rice cookers), a bakery, an extensive sake selection, and several small restaurants serving udon, ramen, katsu, etc. In short, it's tough to get out of there in a hurry. You'll find yourself examining 10 kids of miso and 20 kinds of soy sauce. I have discovered wonderful quick-cooking brown rice; little jars of yuzu kosho and shichimi togarashi; and fresh chrysanthemum leaves. As I've mentioned before, I highly recommend you delve into the world of hot pots. These one-pot meals are super healthy, warming and hearty, and ideal for one or two people.
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