Well sorry for the minor delays in posting. I have been hoofing around the US recently. It was quite a shock, but there are some really cool things outside of New York City hehehe.

I was well prepared for my jaunt to Salt Lake - I watched Latter Days (mmm Mormon guys can be cute :p ), I hid my clandestine caffeine pills in a vitamin bottle, had my clandestine hip flask of gin slipped into my sock, and wore three wedding rings just in case. Yes, I was vice on legs - gay-coffee-addicted-martini-swilling-religious-piss-taking-new-yorker, yeah baby and it was great. Nothing better than going to a city that for all intents and purposes you simply don’t belong - it makes the challenge so much sweeter.

But joking aside, I have to say Salt Lake is a very beautiful part of the world. I stepped off the plane into snow and snow-capped mountains. Dreamy mountain peaks, uncluttered roads and that thin refreshing mountain air that makes you virtuous instantaneously. Haha and sorry it does have to be said, but apart from not being green, the Mormon Temple IS the Emerald City - I looked out for the muchkins but I suspect they were in one of the untold private clubs drinking martinis and keeping warm.

So this was my surprise - this city loves its food. And everything I ate while I was there outshone the majority of experiences I have had in New York. Service levels in the restaurants were welcoming, attentive and seriously professional. Ok, the wine selection isn’t the highlight, but the food shines. I will post soon on a very special place I went, but will say that I have never been anywhere with a full plasma screen in the dining room showing the chef at work in the kitchens - that was awesome.

I do want to share however a piece of Americana foodie experience - the burger joint. After a late arrival we ended up at a Crown Burger restaurant. Oh my, it the decor and service was a throwback from the 60’s. Brown tiles and everyone early paper caps in the kitchens. The order counter had some english-challenged workers taking orders at a sizable manual cash register. The first surprise was when you had placed the order, they pushed a large microphone on and screamed your order into it - the incontinent would have struggled.

But what came out was a down-to-earth burger with sauces and salads, then piled high with pastrami. Swear to goodness it was the tastiest thing I have had in weeks. I ignored the cholesterol intake and simply relished the amazing flavors.

After that I had the most vivid dreams ever - man alive - nothing better than a pastrami enriched dream (washed down with a little gin from the hip flask).

Categories: Food, Travel
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Certain slippery things are bad – character, substandard lubricant and subway floors. The latter bit my ass last night, it had a film of water on it that resulted in an immediate collision ass-to-ground. I am nursing a sore back in a new found café (Doma), lemon cake and coffee are wonderful substitutes to ibuprofen.

I took my maiden voyage into Brooklyn last night – I was officially in pursuit of the 2nd ugliest orange building in the borough per the directions. I was kindly invited to view a film still being edited. The orange building was quite pretty – though I don’t suppose I have the luxury of knowing the 1st ugliest building in Brooklyn. It was also raining cats and dogs.

My inviter was likely unaware of my obsession for things in progress. I always feel excited and privileged to take part in art, relationships or stories in progress. I was handed pen and paper (along with gorgeous home-cooked Vietnamese meal – dang, thanks guys that was awesome! And Trey for making it all look tidy after!).

It (what do you call in progress, it?, there is more life than that, hmmm) opens with rather raw documentary introduction to a US Vietnamese family. I liked its unpolished nature in scene 1, that’s what meeting new people is like, uncertain, mixed messages, like-dislike. Then right into the Vietnam War, how a family was split, learned to survive, harbored resentments and pain. It was raw.

Then it began to move from a documentary to something you could not look away from. Something you belonged to. Relationships in progress, fighting to find meaning and healing, finding a new voice and language to give light to the past. Some of the secrets that emerged were heart-breaking, the desolate loss that lived in some of the hearts. It however was not fatalistic, it was a journey in itself, that was awesome. I left with so many open questions, which I needed to, that was right. It took me further in understanding the meta-narratives I hold dear to: exclusion and embrace, silence and emerging language, shame and healing.

I felt like a peeping tom, sneaking into someone journal, but I also felt part of the bigger story of life, its ever emerging nature, and the futility sometimes in trying to find too much meaning in ideas rather than embracing richness of experience for its own sake.

I don’t think I was overly helpful in giving feedback last night. My only real feedback on reflection sits around identity. Often this form of documentary finds explains identity, the place we stand and are know by, in the land – too often spiritualizing the land to an extent beyond its nature. This documentary however hasn’t given into that so easily. I see the importance of the land, but there is a bigger narrative of identity – its language and relationship. If anything I would like to see that emerge a little more – not a polarized position, but one that holds the real tension of identity between the land and relationships. The latter is enduring.

It was awesome, so hope to get to see the final cut and how it emerges. Thanks for inviting me Doan.

Categories: Food, New York, Reflection, Subway, Travel
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W hat the hell, its getting cold in New York, which means I now feel more than justified in sneaking down to Soupy Place for lunch. To get to Soupy Place you have to leave the security turnstiles behind at work - yes you get to escape the four walls of the White Ivory Tower in pursuit of warm and tastie little snacks for lunch.

Only problem is that Soupy Place is not exactly the best kept secret in the city. You have to push your way through scores of people flooding the place. Its loud, its pushie, but man alive the soup is tastie as all hell. And if you really feel like being a pain in the backside during the lunch rush you ask for little tasting cups to help you decide what you feel like indulging in.

I am a fan of the clam chowder (I don’t even want to guess how fattening the damn stuff is), or the lobster bisque, but the ham and pea kept me entertained today - well that and the wall of boxed salad lectuce crashing to the floor in the middle of the rush hour - yeah exactly, bloody salads, who said they were good for you.

The entertainment continued when pushie chick decided it was an outrage that she had to then wait in yet another line to pay for her Soup, having already waited in the Soup line. Oh the drama “I am a busy person”, yeah whatever sweetheart aren’t we all, “How can they expect us to wait like this”, goddam lady go down to McDonalds and get out of my face this is my lunchbreak, “Im not coming back here”, if only I believed you - you are here every day. Bloody New Yorkers, sheesh.

I skuttled back to my desk and ate my soup from Soupy Place, ok it has a real name, Devon & Blakely, but that sounds like a pub not somewhere you sneak to for soup in the middle of the day.

Hmmmm I would like to find the Soup Nazi if he really exists?!

Categories: Food, New York
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I have started to notice a morbid reality in this city, the art of expressing harsh messages in the most dissonant fashion.

Lets think about being in a restaurant. We might expect to see branding, paintings, maybe a blackboard menu on the wall. Instead as I sit down to eat I am confronted with a few of the following wall signs at my table or on the surrounding walls

• “Drinking alcohol during pregnancy can cause birth defects” – interesting that the cancerous effects of a bad diet are not mentioned along with this;
• “Resuscitation kit available” – this comforted me, and I chewed more thoroughly to aid digestion and avoid unnecessary choking;
• “No cell phones” – though I didn’t see a cell phone check-in counter, also I was unclear if my Blackberry counted as a cell phone – I didn’t want to ask, I was hungry;
• “Save water – report those who waste it” – ok now I really am becoming paranoid, “1984” has materialised; and besides if I am not allowed by cell phone in, how am I to report?;
• “No solicitors” – does having a masters in law preclude me from eating here?;
• Oh and one of the better ones, while not at a restaurant, rather at the Social Security office, “You are not allowed to shoot or kill any Federal Government worker” … what can be said to that, ok! I would have taken a photo of that one but you were not allowed camera either.

Categories: Food, New York
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I’m even impressed by myself – brunch before 11.30 am on a Saturday … wooo hooo! Mary’s Fish Camp … ok, I have a new theory of stopping for food within 10 restaurants of feeling hungry. This was number 10, I had no choice.

Question: does it sound just wrong to be eating raw oysters for brunch?
Answer: yes very very wrong, in a very very naughtie kind of way.

I have to say this is the place to come for minimal décor and maximum service attitude. I was fragile (no food until 11.30 am), they were the sweetest ladies, and I love sitting at a counter bar to eat, where you can watch your food being created in the smallest and busiest kitchens in town. It mesmerises me completely. A happy kitchen, with happy front of house staff, all serving up raw oysters followed by Angel Hair Bouillabaisse (spicy stew of baby octopus, squid and cockles in a delicate creamed broth … did I mention, this is so not right for breakfast hahaha).

Awesome option for brunch, but my hang-ups meant I couldn’t bring myself to order a bottle of white wine to go with this at 1130 in the morning. I have my standards people. The cosmo at noon was fine though ;) 

Categories: Food, New York
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