Zany Tidings of Comfort Food and Joy

It is that enchanting season in New York City where the urban landscape is transformed. Ordinary steel and cement is transfigured amidst a dazzling display of twinkling lights. The urban landscape resembles storybook illustrations. In a fascinating, and somewhat frightening phenomenon, department store buildings literally break into holiday song. Tourists clog the streets and gridlock overtakes most intersections, making it a challenge to get anywhere efficiently. And tantalizing aromas fill the air. It’s beginning to look a lot like … dinnertime!

It is several nights before Christmas, and I am running a little late for a planned holiday adventure with Zany.  Dashing through the streets, I must navigate a hoard of revelers, a life-sized Elmo who is carrying his head under his arm, and a guy on a street corner with his own live menagerie on display, which seems to include several rabbits, two turtledoves and a partridge in a pear tree. It’s all part of the magic of Yuletide in New York.

We are scheduled to rendezvous at the Bryant Park Winter Village, an enchanting Christmas Town that magically appears behind the New York Public Library about the time of Halloween and then vanishes like the Spirit of Christmas Past sometime in January.  One can find a dazzling selection of high-end shops, impossibly athletic skaters performing the occasional triple axel leap across the ice rink, and most important, a maze of tantalizing food stalls.  

We have planned to meet under the Bryant Park Christmas Tree, its boughs heavy laden with holiday baubles. I circle the tree once, and Zany appears before me, full of the holiday spirit.

“We’ve got an international smorgasbord here,” she says with a twinkle in her eye.  “Let’s get started!”

She tugs me towards the Saj Mahal booth, which features of selection of Israeli inspired flatbreads with a twist.  The flatbreads are sizzling on large metal drums.  We consider the menu selection and choose our appetizer – a flatbread layered with olives, roasted red peppers and green guacamole – perhaps not traditional, but certainly the right color scheme for the season.  

We sit by the skating rink, devouring our flatbread and watch the Zamboni buff the ice until it resembles shimmering glass.  In the distance, I can hear Judy Garland singing, “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”  

Feeling in a festive mood, we head for the seasonal residence of my old pal Pickle Me Pete. Pete’s a former accountant who abandoned the corporate world for a life of brine. He looks like a right Jolly Old Elf, bedecked in pickle green from head to toe and his handmade artisan pickles shimmer like green jewels in the barrels before him.   

But it’s not the fresh pickles we’re after…

“This woman’s a fried pickle connoisseur,” I tell Pete. “We’d like one order of your amazing fried pickle chips.”

“All of our dipping sauces are vegan,” Pete explains to Zany.

She gives him the stink eye.  “Well, I’m not,” she says curtly. “We’ll take the Ranch dressing on the side, please.” We return to the skating rink for our second course. 

“Have you heard of the Christmas Pickle tradition?” she asks me. Most of Zany’s fondest memories and traditions seem to center around pickled foods and condiments. In fact, I am familiar with the Christmas Pickle.  It’s an old custom and no one really quite knows how it got started, but some suspect it was a marketing ploy by an ornament company.  A glass ornament in the shape of a pickle was hidden among the branches of a Christmas tree. The first child in the family who discovered the pickle got an extra present.  Go figure.  Next thing you know they’ll be trying to convince us that the Wise Men brought gold, frankincense and pickles to Bethlehem.  While we can’t verify the source of the custom, we decide to start a new tradition – gorging ourselves on fried pickle chips with Ranch dressing under the Christmas tree.  Pete’s fried pickles are hot and crunchy, and in our minds are far superior to chestnuts roasting on an open fire.

Our next visit is to La Sonrisa Empanadas. We split a scrumptious Coconut Curry Chicken Empanada seasoned with Caribbean curry and sweetened with coconut milk.  We are in agreement.  This hot little hand pie would make a perfect stocking stuffer.   

We wander the food stalls considering our main course and find ourselves drawn by a beacon of bright canary yellow to the window of Super Mac & Cheese.  Talk about tidings of comfort food and joy!  

A brief debate ensues when Zany spots a “V” symbol next to the company logo. “What does that stand for?” she asks suspiciously.  “Is there such a thing as vegan mac and cheese?” 

I spot a nearby group of women scarfing down paper cups full of the golden noodles.  “Nope, it’s the real thing,” I reply and we dive in.  The Super Mac & Cheese is silky, tangy and delicious.

And, what would a holiday adventure be without visions of sugarplums?  Since we’re not really sure what a sugarplum looks like, we settle on French macarons instead.  The Woops both features a dazzling spread of colorful macarons, and even a macaron holiday tree.  We feast on an eclectic selection of flavors that include Lemon Poppy, Peanut Butter, Chocolate Chili and Cookies and Cream.  

While our tummies might be full, we are not yet filled with the holiday spirit, so we make a quick stop at the historic Oyster Bar at Grand Central Station for some decidedly adult holiday spirits…a Negroni for her and a Manhattan cocktail for me.  It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas!

Some days later, I find myself in a cooking store in Virginia where I discover the perfect gift for Zany.  Back in New York, I arrange a meet up.  The holidays are now in overdrive and we can only manage a five-minute rendezvous outside Zany’s office before she dashes for a train. 

I push my way through the multitudes to meet her.  The Saks 5^th Avenue building is regaling holiday shoppers with a booming rendition of “Christmas Is Here!” 

Zany is already out on the street.  I hand her the little box, which she opens with a distinct sense of anticipation.  Inside, nestled in tissue paper, is a glass holiday ornament in the shape of three perfectly cut, glistening, emerald green pickle chips.

Zany throws back her head and literally howls with laughter. “The only thing it’s missing is a side of ranch dressing!” she exclaims.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all! May you be blessed with dear friends who magically reappear and bring you extra helpings of joy. May your condiments have zip, may your pickles be crisp and may your macaroni always be smothered with gooey cheddar!

 

©2015 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Fruitcake Weather and Christmas Memories

Christmas is always about past and present. Today’s celebrations are inextricably linked to the sights, sounds, smells and people of bygone holidays.

Every yuletide, my brothers and I recall the Goodyear Christmas Album – received as a “premium” at the local tire store – which was the musical accompaniment to our holidays when we were young.  I can still hear Robert Goulet crooning “Do You Hear What I Hear?”      

I can look at this year’s Christmas tree and touch the very first Christmas ornaments my Mom and Dad gave me for the tree in my first apartment. 

And, then there’s the visions of sugar plums - the baking starts early, always grounded in delicious memories – Mom’s Angel Food Cake, Aunt Greta’s Stollen, Zany’s Cinnamon Buns or Nana’s Sand Cookies.  

And, one can never forget the visits from holiday spirits. 

I was not familiar with Truman Capote’s short memoir, “A Christmas Memory,” but saw it performed as a musical in early December at the Irish Repertory Theater in New York City. It is a story from Truman’s childhood in the South, when he was known as “Buddy.” He grew up living with an elderly distant cousin named Sook, whom he describes as his best friend and “still a child.”  

Every year, Cousin Sook would look out the window on a cold, clear day in November and say, “It’s fruitcake weather.”  Thus began the annual ritual of baking dozens of fruitcakes to give as gifts to friends, family and even celebrities.  The story is filled with the wonder of a youngster embracing the rituals and magic of the Christmas holidays. I’m intrigued by the notion of a fruitcake tradition, and I decide to give it a try.

It’s not quite fruitcake weather, but the blustery rain is good weather for ducks. Early Saturday, I shop for ingredients. While Buddy and Sook nearly exhaust their funds buying ingredients, they would have been shocked at today’s prices for dried fruit. 

They frugally gather pecans off the ground, a wise strategy as in our era, pecan halves are running $16.99 a pound. 

In the story, Sook and Buddy approach the local bootlegger for their whisky, an essential ingredient in the fruitcake. With no local bootlegger in sight, I consider using one of our fine Long Island local whiskeys, but Truman was a Southerner, so Jack Daniels seems like the obvious choice.  Fortunately, Jack has a recipe for Classic Christmas Fruitcake, too. 

Besides, Jack and I have had a long association.  

The aromas of fruit, orange and whisky fill the house, and I am reminded of the people and pleasures that have graced my many Christmases.   

When their cakes are complete – thirty-one in total – Buddy and Sook have a mad moment and drink the remaining whisky (Buddy is seven years old).  My three cakes are just fine for my purposes and it’s a little early in the day for me for a nip, so I’m perfectly happy with the spirited aroma.

Now wrapped in whisky soaked cheesecloth, these little beauties are tucked away in the refrigerator ready to make some new holiday memories come December 25th.  

Happy Christmas to all, and happy memories past and present.  

©2014 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved  

Naughty, Nice and a Wicked Manhattan

Back in the day, whenever the winter holidays rolled around, my college roommate Ford McKenzie, our respective others and I would typically celebrate the season with a trip to Jacqueline’s for champagne. It was the kind of swanky Manhattan Upper East Side locale that made you feel like celebrating simply by crossing the threshold. The proprietress, Jacqueline, was a gallic Auntie Mame-type who kept the conversation flowing and the flutes full of bubbly, whether we could afford it or not. Naughty.

Jacqueline’s is long since gone, but we’ve never stopped reminiscing about the place. In fact, we’ve probably been in search of an ultimate Christmas hangout ever since. This year, Ford serves up a solution – a visit to the cocktail lounge Two E at the Pierre Hotel on Fifth Avenue facing Central Park. A check of the website suggests that it does seem to offer that elusive blend of Old World charm, uptown sophistication and holiday bling that we’ve been seeking for years. Nice.

I enter the lobby of Two E at the prescribed meeting time, and take in the sparkling, 15-foot Christmas tree that seems to have sprouted at the center of the lounge. There’s a nice selection of cushy seating, and jazzy Christmas tunes fill the room.  

Ford is attired in his holiday best – a trim, Thom Browne winter navy suit with chalk pinstripe, custom white shirt by Maxwell's of Hong Kong, antique gold Tiffany watch, and a skinny Charvet necktie accented with a 1960s gold Mad Men-style tie clip. It is hard to tell which is more merry and bright -- Ford, or the holiday tree?   He bemoans the fact that he has gained a few pounds this autumn eating too many “fat food truck lunches.”  What? Did you miss those adventures?  I did too. Somebody’s been sneaking out for food truck grub on his own. Naughty.

We’re joined by our friend Rosemary – Lesley Gore lookalike, professional de-clutterer, scourge of useless kitchen appliances and fashion forward trendsetter.  She’s swathed in black wool, adorned with a single silver brooch, and wears a furry black chapeau that is a cross between a Jackie Kennedy pillbox and a Russian Cossack hat. Nice.     

Now for an important disclaimer:  we did not … repeat … NOT bring a food truck picnic into the Pierre Hotel. What kind of slobs do you take us for? 

Two E is well appointed for the holidays, with a massive ginger bread house on the bar that is bigger than most Manhattan studio apartments and appears to be move-in ready.  

We scan the signature cocktail menu. Rosemary has had a tough week, and choses “Love at First Sight,” a mix of Bulldog Gin, St. Germain, Slim-line Simple Syrup, Lemon Juice, Sliced Strawberries and Brut Champagne. 

Ford’s peruses the menu and his eye goes directly to “Wicked Manhattan” a noveau culinary cocktail of Patron Angejo Tequilla, Crème de Casis, Kendal Jackson Grand Reserve Chardonnay, Peychauds Bitters and Chartreause.  It’s hardly traditional, but Ford is intrigued and heads to the bar to get more information from Paul the bartender who is happy to oblige. Paul also offers a no-fault guarantee. If Ford doesn’t like the drink, he can exchange it for a traditional Manhattan. Nice.

While Paul does not exactly fit the part of an over-the-top female French bon vivant, he is friendly and informative and mixes up that Wicked Manhattan with quite the holiday flair. 

Ford succumbs to the temptation. The Wicked Manhattan is a bit fruitier than it’s predecessor, but he likes the floral scent, and wonders for a moment if he should just inhale the lush aroma. In the end, he wickedly imbibes two. Naughty.

After several rounds of Wicked Manhattans, and champagne cocktails, we decide that a snack is in order. Ford declines, given his diet and all. Rosemary and I each order a serving of three Angus Beef Sliders with a side of horseradish sauce. Ford proceeds to help himself to a slider from each of our plates. Very Naughty. 

As we leave the Pierre Hotel and gaze across to Central Park, the moon on the breast of the new fallen snow, gives a luster of midday to objects below.  The glare from Ford’s Mad Men tie clip and Rosemary’s brooch is blinding, but festive nonetheless. 

Epilogue and Shameless Foreshadowing

Hours later, I arrive home, and there is a cardboard box waiting on the doorstep emblazoned with a graphic illustration of a slightly crazed pig.   

It’s an early holiday gift from Zany, Luigi and Sticky Hands in Chicago.  How exciting is this??

They’ve sent me a membership in the Bacon of the Month Club!! Naughty and Nice! 

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas!

©2013 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved