Umbrella Carnage in Manhattan

 

Saturday's big storm  was rough on umbrellas in the city. I went out that morning and my umbrella was destroyed almost instantly by the heavy winds and rain. On Sunday I took a walk up West End Ave and the carnage was everywhere. 65 abandoned umbrellas on a nine block stretch.

Continuing on the French Theme

My Larousse Gastronomique, a food encyclopedia that I refer to rarely, has instructions for making a tarte Tatin that start something like this: Heat a brick oven until the coals are red. It's an old edition, so I believe that suggestion is more an assumption about the era it was published in than an haughty French insinuation that your kitchen is less than complete if you don't have a brick oven. France in the 1950s was still very much like a 19th century country. Well outfitted homes would have had brick ovens.
You can make a perfect tarte Tatin in a gas oven in your apartment. The trick is to use a pâte brisée for the crust(OK, short crust to we Américains)and to make sure, no matter what, that you let the apples caramelize to a dark amber color, or even deeper. You will be tempted to remove them too soon. Do not do it. Also, apple pie recipes often suggest using Granny Smith or other tart apples, but I use Golden Delicious. They are sweet, caramelize well and keep their shape after long minutes of cooking.
Lastly, don't let the final step in the recipe intimidate you. The one where you take the hot tart and flip it onto a plate. First, bake the tarte in an ordinary glass pie dish. When it comes out, cover it with the plate, lift to chest level (using oven mitts) and quickly invert it. Let it rest while the apples unstick themselves. This can take a couple of minutes and can be hurried by jiggling the plate. Then, with your mitted hand on one side and the point of a knife on the other, gently lift the pie dish up from the platter. You can also make mini tartes in ramekins, as I have done in the picture.

Real French Gothic in NYC

This statue of Joan of Arc is on Riverside Drive at 93rd Street. It was dedicated in 1915 during WWI. The designer of its Gothic pedestal "incorporated stones from Rheims Cathedral and stones from the dungeon at the Tower of Rouen into the blind arches of the pedestal," according to the Riverside Park Fund, so it is an authentic example of French Gothic architecture in NY, unlike the example mentioned below at Riverside Church.

Healthy Stock to Keep you Warm

I was craving soup because it has been so cold in New York. I don't like the canned variety at all so decided to make some vegetable stock to use as a base for other soups. Rooting around the fridge, I found some carrots, parsley, celery and onion to use. To that I added some bay leaves and a little salt and here was the result. A nice clear broth that will work as a base for just about anything, like white beans, left over pasta, spinach and chicken garnished with Argentine Reggianito cheese. Or some leftover chicken cacciatore from a Nigella Lawson recipe with tomato, red pepper, beans and basil. My favorite, though, is and will be, chick peas, sausage and kale. Let me know if you need the recipe.

More Neighborhood Photos

Here are photos of the Riverside Church at 120th and Riverside Drive and the Union Theological Seminary. Riverside Church describes itself as being similar to Chartres, but beyond its buttresses and fairly purified French Gothic lines, I don't see the resemblance. Its single tower is probably twice the height of the taller of Chartre's two towers. At some point in its history, someone made the inexplicable decision to add a seven or eight story office building to the front of the tower at what must have been the main entrance, thereby destroying the building's symmetry and most of any inspiration its soaring edifice must have evinced. Around the corner from the church, the seminary is in a warmer English Gothic style which ads a kind of serenity to an area that is fairly quiet by Manhattan standards. The neighborhood, a regular Acropolis of the Enlightenment, is also home to the Jewish Theological Seminary, The Manhattan School of Music, Columbia University, Barnard and Teachers Colleges and the massive Cathedral of St. John the Divine.

What I Did Last Summer

It has been a long summer since my last post, one that included two side trips from life, to Cape Cod and to Provence. I saw Julie & Julia just before the French trip and got inspired enough to plan cooking and sight seeing posts from my base of operations at the footof Mt. Ventoux. A problem with the wireless prevented that, but I did do some cooking and was able to get a few interesting pictures.

My visit was from mid August into September which is a time when the last summer fruits, the peaches, figs and grapes and of course tomatoes, are around and the pears are starting to come into the village markets. They were all the best I have ever tasted.

We went several times to an evening marché des producteurs to buy directly from the farmers at prices that were half what they get in the village. These are often the old timers that have been around since the war and the proof of their country ways is written on their faces. But they can be kind and really warm up when they see they are appreciated. One farmer had plateaus of peaches and figs stacked in the back of his small van. He insisted we sample a fig before buying and practically forced one in my mouth. It immediately split and gushed juice down my chin. It was so sweet, wet and voluptuous that it evinced thoughts of that certain female anatomy figs can sometimes symbolize. His peaches were large and plump with that firmness that just gives way when you bite into it and tasted more of peach honey than peach flesh.
Fig with Fourme d'Ambert

We had some friends visit from Prague and their 21 year old son and 24 year old son-in-law decided to ride their bikes up Mt. Ventoux. If you don't follow the Tour de France, it is where Lance Armstrong made his name for his unsurpassed performance ascending this 6,273 foot rock faster than anyone else. It's a long ride to the top and these young guys were famished when they got back to the house, despite each having eaten a whole dried saucisson and a loaf of bred at the summit.

They were our heroes that day for having done what none of the rest of us would dare to do and in their honor, I made up the Niçoise specialty, Pan Bagnat . This is a great sandwich. It usually starts with a bread like ficelle or baguette, but I knew they were hungry so I used a huge gros pain. To this I added chunky Mediterranean tuna, topped with sliced hard boiled egg, the best Nyons olives, tomatoes, lettuce and mayonnaise. It is a superb combination and there was actually enough for all of us to eat.

Urban Scare Crows

When some mourning doves built a nest in my West End Avenue window box a few weeks ago, I greeted it with the same enthusiasm as the arrival of a jury summons. How long is this going to take, I wondered. But as the handsome pair of birds settled into a not very cozy nest of a few twigs scattered over bare dirt, I grew interested in the proceedings. In a day or so, two tiny eggs appeared.

Mama rarely left the nest and as the days turned into weeks she sat there through cold and rain, and then during a sudden warm spell, the scorching morning sun. It was maddening to watch. “How can she stand it?” I asked my partner. “She must be going out of her mind."

She kept a wary eye on me just a few feet away in my kitchen, and I, a watchful one on her. Finally, two very tiny chicks appeared. She kept them under wraps for the first few days by basically sitting on them, but they grew fast, and soon were large enough to be observed by more than just me. Mama was gone one morning and with the chicks lying there like a couple of hors d’oeuvres, a large crow landed on the box looking very much like a hungry Darth Vader. I yelled loudly and jumped to the window pounding the glass. The crow instantly retreated for an adjacent parapet where it turned and took a long murderous look at me before flying off, I hoped never to return.

That night, knowing I might not be there next time, I wondered what I could do to protect the birds. There was no realistic way to box them in and mama wouldn’t tolerate it anyway. Then, remembering how the crow stared me down, I thought, get a good sized picture of someone’s head and put it in the window. So, I went to the Times and cut out the largest one I could find and taped it to the
glass. Then I thought, if the crow sees the shape of a body, too, it will definitely not try anything. I hung one of my shirts under the head. That is when I realized I had just reinterpreted the scarecrow for urban use.


That was a week ago. The chicks are large now. They chirp a lot and flap their wings as if ready for flight. I named them Yip and Yap. Momma is still wary of me, and though I have enjoyed her presence, I’ll be glad when I get my flowers planted. And the head photo I used in the window? It was only after I finished assembling the scare crow that I realized where it came from. It was from a new movie that is out called State of Play, starring... Russell Crowe.