A plane crash, a phone crash, and the noodles of the gods
Today a plane crashed into a building in New York City. My life was largely unaffected, except for a rather heavy commute, but that may have been just the rain. But the nicest thing that happened was that Emerson phoned me as soon as it hit the news, and invited me to stay at his place in Queens if things turned out to be a big mess in Manhattan. In practical terms, this is a pretty crazy idea, since his apartment is about 90 minutes from mine in the opposite direction from my office. If I had felt there was a real transportation crisis, I would have made plans to stay with cordelia_v or someone else closer to work. But it completely warmed my heart that this was his first thought.
I had a flashback to the Rodney King riots in 1992. I was in Berkeley at the time, and when the riots began in Los Angeles the middle of the day, a lot of other cities had copy-cat events. Berkeley and Oakland were not seriously affected, but at the time it was hard to know which way they would go. That afternoon, a lot of people who normally took transit got picked up at work by concerned family members or protective sweethearts. I remember riding home on the bus and feeling safe, but a little lonely that there was no one who was worried about my safety. That call from Emerson made me feel so connected and cared for.
My cell phone, my only phone, was dying. Just over the last few weeks, it's gone from a robust and healthy battery life, to barely holding a charge for a whole day. I had done some online research about purchasing a new battery for it online, but Glinda of 3WA, who also lives in NYC and subscribes to the same service said she had recently bought herself a new phone battery in one of the storefront outlets of the service provider. Spurred by fears that I might miss the next emergency invitation to Queens, I went directly to the phone store after work. They told me that I might just need a free sofware upgrade and not a $39 battery, so I agreed to try that first. They charged me $2(!) to back up my address book in case the wiped all the data by accident. They told me to come back in an hour.
I've now got the "upgraded" phone, but I can't tell if it's really any better. (At least they did clean it up nicely.) One part of me is a little annoyed, because if they did not fix it this means yet another trip to the shop. On the other hand, it may have saved me $37, so I hope it works.
During that missing hour, I went out to dinner. The phone store is not that far from my house, as the crow flies. I could have just gone home and come back. But the crow flies up and down the five flights of steps, rather than trudging up and down them as I do. Morever, I was really just looking for an excuse to eat out. Since it was early, I indulged myself at Celeste. The atmosphere is crap, the tables are too close together, they don't take reservations, and it's cash only, but the owner goes to Naples every month to buy ingredients and everything is impeccably fresh and flavorful. The olive oil for bread dipping tastes like perfume, and the wine list has introduced me to wonderful things from some really improbable regions. The thin-crust pizzas come out of the wood-burning oven perfectly crisp, and fish and meats are seared on the grill to protect all the flavors inside.
And then there is the pasta. First off, the menu distinguishes between dry pasta and fresh pasta. I have never had the slightest inclination to try the dry pastas. The gnocchi, always a shibboleth for Italian restaurants, are fluffy little potato clouds topped with fruity, barely cooked tomato sauce. But the tagliatelle? They are a sacrament. Freshly made and perfectly al dente, the noodles fairly bounce in your mouth. Even in Italy I have seldom encountered such tender, chewy delight. (I was really disappointed last month at my big Napa Valley gourmet outing -- the papparedelle at Bistro Don Giovvanni were like a limp impersonation of pasta compared to this.) Tonight's tagliatelle special involved paper-thin slices of asparagus stalk, rich chunks of sun-dried tomato, and diced sea scallops, all in a buttery light tomato sauce. I slurped up every morsel and offered thanks.
My feelings about this restaurant are something along the lines of Rhett Butler's words to Scarlett O'Hara: "You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how."
I had a flashback to the Rodney King riots in 1992. I was in Berkeley at the time, and when the riots began in Los Angeles the middle of the day, a lot of other cities had copy-cat events. Berkeley and Oakland were not seriously affected, but at the time it was hard to know which way they would go. That afternoon, a lot of people who normally took transit got picked up at work by concerned family members or protective sweethearts. I remember riding home on the bus and feeling safe, but a little lonely that there was no one who was worried about my safety. That call from Emerson made me feel so connected and cared for.
My cell phone, my only phone, was dying. Just over the last few weeks, it's gone from a robust and healthy battery life, to barely holding a charge for a whole day. I had done some online research about purchasing a new battery for it online, but Glinda of 3WA, who also lives in NYC and subscribes to the same service said she had recently bought herself a new phone battery in one of the storefront outlets of the service provider. Spurred by fears that I might miss the next emergency invitation to Queens, I went directly to the phone store after work. They told me that I might just need a free sofware upgrade and not a $39 battery, so I agreed to try that first. They charged me $2(!) to back up my address book in case the wiped all the data by accident. They told me to come back in an hour.
I've now got the "upgraded" phone, but I can't tell if it's really any better. (At least they did clean it up nicely.) One part of me is a little annoyed, because if they did not fix it this means yet another trip to the shop. On the other hand, it may have saved me $37, so I hope it works.
During that missing hour, I went out to dinner. The phone store is not that far from my house, as the crow flies. I could have just gone home and come back. But the crow flies up and down the five flights of steps, rather than trudging up and down them as I do. Morever, I was really just looking for an excuse to eat out. Since it was early, I indulged myself at Celeste. The atmosphere is crap, the tables are too close together, they don't take reservations, and it's cash only, but the owner goes to Naples every month to buy ingredients and everything is impeccably fresh and flavorful. The olive oil for bread dipping tastes like perfume, and the wine list has introduced me to wonderful things from some really improbable regions. The thin-crust pizzas come out of the wood-burning oven perfectly crisp, and fish and meats are seared on the grill to protect all the flavors inside.
And then there is the pasta. First off, the menu distinguishes between dry pasta and fresh pasta. I have never had the slightest inclination to try the dry pastas. The gnocchi, always a shibboleth for Italian restaurants, are fluffy little potato clouds topped with fruity, barely cooked tomato sauce. But the tagliatelle? They are a sacrament. Freshly made and perfectly al dente, the noodles fairly bounce in your mouth. Even in Italy I have seldom encountered such tender, chewy delight. (I was really disappointed last month at my big Napa Valley gourmet outing -- the papparedelle at Bistro Don Giovvanni were like a limp impersonation of pasta compared to this.) Tonight's tagliatelle special involved paper-thin slices of asparagus stalk, rich chunks of sun-dried tomato, and diced sea scallops, all in a buttery light tomato sauce. I slurped up every morsel and offered thanks.
My feelings about this restaurant are something along the lines of Rhett Butler's words to Scarlett O'Hara: "You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how."