Polite Savages (tm)

New York Chinatown Bakeries

I love food.  I love Chinese food and I mean real Chinese food.  Not the stuff of local takeouts that cater to a bland palate.  One of the things that most Americans don't experience about Chinese food is the Chinese bakery.  The Chinese bakery in America is a fusion of Western baking techniques and the Chinese palate.  The baked goods range from sugary goodness in the middle of a napoleon walnut cake, the savory goodness of a pork thread bun and my favorite, the egg custard tart.  Of course there is so much more for sale like roast pork buns, curry puffs, hot dogs wrapped in puff pastry, sweet white pullman bread and the list goes on . . . I could eat at a Chinese bakery everyday. 

A couple of blogs and websites provide fantastic advice on  navigating the menu and ordering etiquette at a Chinese bakery.

Ed Levine provides a detailed guide to New York's Chinatown bakeries.

This is a general New York Chinatown blog.

Fay Da is one of the most prominent and accessible bakeries in New York's Chinatown.

These bakeries typically provide trays, tongs and wax bags.  It's self-service but sales attendants are always ready to help customers especially the ones that look confused.  Please do not use bare hands, put baked goods into the wax bags.  Move from left to right.  Pass your tray to a cashier who will tally your purchases.  Pay quickly and get out of the way.  Don't be afraid to ask questions.  Finally as always, say thank you and please and smile.

Enjoy!

Wine Tasting

   On July 9, 2007 the New York Times ran an article, "It's a Tasting, not a Guzzling, L.I. Wineries Remind Guests", about the growing trend of wine tasting guests that seem more like college kids on spring break in Panama City instead of responsible adults trying to enrich their palates.  Needless to say, getting drunk at a wine tasting and skinny-dipping in the adjacent lake is hardly appropriate or considerate to other guests. 

     I though of this article because last night, I went to a lovely wine tasting of wines from the Loire Valley and some new world wines at Chelsea Wine Vault.  In case you were wondering, I was the epitome of self-restraint.  We sampled some beautiful wines and tossed around words like flinty, chalky, minerality, vanilla, nose, body and fruit bomb.  I stretched my limited knowledge of wine.  I sniffed deeply from the glass and then made thoughtful faces as I set the glass down.  I ooh-ed and ah-ed for my favorite wines and said that they had "remarkable depth," or were "lovely and enticing."  Granted not perfect wine-speak but good adjectives nonetheless since they avoided naming specific aromas.  What if I described something as "grassy" when it was really "citrusy"? 

     But really, it was like sitting through a time-share presentation.  Everything was magical and would greatly improve my life.  Representatives from the distributors were on hand to extol the virtues of their wares.  I felt like I was an active audience participant in an infomercial about Loire Valley wines.  Eventually you were either convinced by their pretty words or guilted into buying something.  My partner ended up buying 12 cases. 

     Some of my favorites were the Domaine Laureau Savennieres "bel Ouvrage" and the Domaine Frederic Mabileau St. Nicolas de Bourgeuil "Eclipse" both distributed in the U.S. by Jon-David Headrick Selections and Teira Sonoma Sauvignon Blanc distributed by Teira Wines.

     My favorite quote from the evening was "It's forty years after the summer of love, it's time to get back to acidity" so said one of the wine distributor reps. 

The American Work Picnic

     Yesterday, I went to a uniquely American phenomenon, the work barbecue, held at Krucker's, a self described "catering and picnic grove."   The Krucker's website claims that "the sights and sounds surrounding Krucker's are nothing less than spectacular."  I wouldn't go that far.  To me spectacular means a lot more than a couple of shallow ponds with some anemic turtles and snakes.  But I did leave feeling wholesome and satisfied.  My daughter had a good time and the food was good and the service was very nice.  If you do go, try the sausage and peppers.  And if you can figure out what butter sauce is, then please tell me. 

     My reluctance to go in previous years resulted from my learned belief that work and personal life should not mix.  Maybe it's partially instinctual.  Mixing those two is like putting Lindsay Lohan in a holy water bath.  Someone or something would burn or evaporate.  I succumbed and finally went because it was not on the last day of my daughter's camp, one of my favorite co-workers is leaving and I do actually like some of my colleagues.  Once I was out of the office and drinking keg beer I was able to see my colleagues as three-dimensional people with children, summer homes and eclectic interests rather than cardboard cutouts sitting behind desks in the cubicle farm.  I made an effort to talk to everyone and meet their significant others and children.  It felt nice.  Not that everyone is my new best friend forever.  The reality is that tomorrow I'll pass these people in the hall and leave it at "Hi, how are you?"  The work barbecue is like Christmas in Summer.  It reminds us that we all should just be a little bit nicer to each other with the added bonus that we don't need to exchange gifts.

Chanto and Men in Undershirts

    

     I just came back from the loveliest dinner at Chanto with a dear friend of mine who dissed me on my birthday.  He replied that he would attend and then never showed up.  While he did call later in the evening to let me know, I was not too pleased.  So the lesson from that story is that if you commit to going to an event, you should follow through or else your host just might hate you.  What if your host is relying on a headcount or has prepaid for a meal?  It's just rude not to show up.  Granted if there was a true emergency like he was hit by a car, I would have been more understanding.  But enough berating and preaching.  So my dear friend made up for his absence by spending some quality time with me this evening at a new and delectable Japanese restaurant.  I forgave him after we drank a bottle of sake.  Chanto was stylish and nicely sized without being overbearing unlike certain other pretentious Japanese juggernauts in this city which I will not name.  You can venture a guess.  The quality of the fish was superb and the sushi was beautifully presented.  The deal was sealed for us when we noticed that the clientele was mostly Japanese.  Then you know it's got to be good.

    During our meal we watched the summer night parade of the West Village.  We watched groups of girls struggling to emulate Sex and the City.  There were the usual tourists looking everywhere which no real New Yorker ever does.  Then we saw a good-looking gay couple that decided that it was OK to wear their underwear out of the house.  OK they weren't really that bare.  They were wearing shorts and white undershirts.  Whether they were wearing underpants was unknown to us.  My friend offered to run after them with his new iPhone to take their picture.  I declined.  I think his offer was really a result of him wanting to show off his iPhone. 

     But back to the topic at hand.  What is it about the summertime that causes people of all backgrounds, rich and poor, gay and straight, black and white, man or woman, to think that it is OK to wear undergarments in public places?  Perhaps the heat bakes good judgment out of our heads.  Or maybe it's our crotch-flashing (e.g., Britney, Lindsay and Paris), exhibitionist culture that encourages people to show off their bodies regardless of physical condition?  I just don't know.  But what I do know is that undergarments should stay under something or displayed in the privacy of one's home or at a strip club.  Except perhaps if you're really, really hot, then you can getaway with anything. 

The Zen of Fish (or one of the things I did while on vacation)

     I read several books while I was on hiatus from this blog of mine.  I heard about one of the books while listening to a charming interview with Trevor Corson on the Leonard Lopate Show broadcast on WNYC 93.9 weekdays at Noon.  Mr. Corson was promoting his book, The Zen of Fish: The story of sushi from samurai to supermarket.

     The impeccably sophisticated, polite person should have at least a rudimentary knowledge of food of different cultures and its context in other societies.  I love food and while I would never pretend to be an expert in any one area, I always seek to expand my knowledge about cuisine.   

     Mr. Corson's book is an accessible and entertaining read about the history of sushi told through the narrative of the real life experiences of aspiring sushi chefs in a Southern California sushi academy.  Through this account, he charts the history of sushi as an ancient method of practical food preservation, sushi's role as the popular street food of 19th century Japan, and its ascendancy to haute-cuisine while also becoming popular among the masses across the world.  Anyone who loves sushi should read this book.       

     As a notable aside, Mr. Corson wrote an interesting New York Times Op-Ed discussing the positive and negative trends of worldwide sushi popularity.  He also explains the differences between American sushi tastes which not surprisingly differ from the traditional Japanese and the general reluctance of traditional sushi chefs to give Americans a chance to enhance and educate their palate. 

  I learned a lot from this man.  That sushi started out as food preservation method for the lean times in Southeast Asia.  That tuna was traditionally considered the lowest of the low.  That the best Nigiri should be eaten with the fingers.  That real wasabi is not the heavy handed green mounds piled on our plates.  And that the best sushi, sashimi and rolls should communicate the subtle flavors of the fish and other ingredients in combination or as single notes.  One other thing that I learned is that soy sauce should be kept as a minimum or not used at all. 

     So please read his book and his op-ed to learn more about one of America's fastest growing food traditions.

Drunk and Disorderly Part Two

    

     On a more humorous but not less serious note, one of my desires is to publish a coffee table book of dramatic black and white photographs of drunken people throwing up in public.  I should expand it to the subject matter of drunken people looking foolish in public.  I've been thinking about this idea since 1999.  That is when I started to go London regularly.  A London weekend from New York was fun and relatively inexpensive, not to mention you could get to work at a reasonable time on Monday morning. 

     I sigh and remember the first time I stumbled around a corner and saw a young woman on her hands and knees, her thong popping out on her exposed backside, heaving on a cobblestone street while her friend held her hair.  I remember jumping up from my seat on the night bus because the cross-eyed man next to me started to convulse.  No the convulsions were not because he was epilectic.  They were a result of drinking too many beers and apparently he had to throw up in the adjacent luggage area. 

     Maybe one day my dream of this rude coffee table book will come true.  In the meantime, keep that in mind the next time you're partying in London or some other major city.  You'll never know where I might turn up with my camera.

Drunk and Disorderly

     An article In the New York Times reported about the rise in alcohol fueled, rowdy behavior in Rome's historic city center.  The article discusses the clash between young Italians, tourists and the local residents.  Young Romans and tourists stay up all night drinking in historic piazzas causing the locals to lose sleep.  The accompanying picture shows a young man lying on stairs littered with bottles and cups in the light of Saturday morning. 

     This phenomenon is not specific to Rome.  It happens everywhere in big cities and small towns.  People like to drink and have a good time and that is just fine.  What is wrong is when someone's good time is had at the expense of someone else's sleep or quiet enjoyment.  Laughing loudly, blasting music from one's car, or shouting down the street at a friend at 2AM in front of someone's home is rude.  People are trying to sleep at that time or enjoy their homes in peace and quiet. 

     I have to be honest and say that I'm biased.  I side with the residents of Rome's historic city center because my family happens to live on a residential street in Manhattan that is around the block from two large clubs.  Every weekend we hear and feel loud music from cars, have people hang out on our front stoop as if it were some fab after-party and even have heard the occasional breakup as if it were a telenovela beamed into our bedroom.  No matter what, I can't imagine that even those inconsiderate people would enjoy those intrusions in their homes. 

     So the next time that you are out on the town just remember that other people live there too.  They might need to go to work or take their kids to school the next day while you're sleeping off a hangover.  Don't litter and don't make noise. 

    

That's Just Gross

First, let me thank all of you who read my blog regularly and apologize to you for not updating it more frequently.  I understand that for all my fans, it is disappointing to wake up Monday morning and last week's tired content is staring you in the face.  But I do have a life!

I do believe that manners are subjective.  They vary by national culture and socio-economic class.  However, there are very few cultures that find it acceptable for hands and fingers to be in a communal plate.  There are some absolute standards that should be maintained.  One should never put your hands, fingers or used utensil into a shared plate.  It's boorish not to mention off-putting to most people.

Did I eat out of that salad bowl after a couple of hands had been in there?  No.  And I can't imagine that most of you would find that appetizing.