Business Brunch Baked Eggs

My dear friend, client and oft partner-in-crime Genevieve came by yesterday morning for a business brunch. We had much to discuss (gossip about) and celebrate. I made individual baked eggs. There was champagne.

This recipe is easy, versatile and absolutely delicious. I find it the most enjoyable and creative way to cook eggs, and you'll be sure to impress with its beautiful presentation and incredible taste.

Business Brunch Baked Eggs

serves 2

INGREDIENTS

(open to interpretation)

1/2 medium red onion, sliced

6-7 small mushrooms, sliced

a handful of fresh spinach, ripped into smaller bits

1 small roasted red pepper, cut into strips

2 slices of a large tomato

4 eggs

a splash of milk

feta cheese, crumbled

a bit of butter

herbes de Provence

dried tarragon

salt to taste

PREP:

- Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

- Lightly butter the sides of two 6" Corning Ware meneutte skillets (Cornflower Blue pattern preferred).

THE FILLING:

- In a cast iron skillet, sauté the onions and mushrooms on medium heat, adding the spinach at the end until wilted. Season with herbes de Provence, add a little butter if the mixture seems dry and salt to taste.

- Whisk two eggs each in two separate bowls, and whisk in a splash of milk.

- How to roast a red (or any color) pepper: Place your pepper directly on the burner and turn the flame up as high as it can go. Completely blacken the outside of the pepper, turning it as necessary. Seal the pepper in a paper bag for 20 minutes. Remove the pepper from the bag. The blackened skin should come off quite easily. Remove the seeds and stem and cut into strips. Voilá! Never buy them in a jar ever again.

ASSEMBLY:

- Spoon the onion/mushroom/spinach mixture into the bottom of the skillet.

- Pour in the egg and milk mixture.

- Lay the slices of tomato on top.

- Drape the strips of roast red pepper atop the tomato.

- Sprinkle feta cheese over the whole thing.

- Finish with a sprinkle of dried tarragon.

COOK:

Bake in the oven for about 20 minutes, until there is no visible raw egg on top.

SERVICE:

Put the Corning skillet directly on a plate; warn your guest that it is very hot.

SERVE WITH:

Cranberry orange muffins you baked early that morning, not too sweet

Raspberry jam and butter for the muffins

Coffee

Champagne

Slices of the orange you used for zest for the muffins

DISCUSS:

Love, plans for being inspirational in Sweden, secrets, how to avert trench-coat-wearing gallerists who are trying to ride your coattails of success, gushers.

TOAST:

Success, opportunity, gushers.

Pass the peas, please

Thanks to a certain smooth criminal, I recently acquired a new tablecloth and napkins. This inspired me to set the table. The table is set for four, even though tonight's dinner plans are for a party of three. I've requested that the third party bring a guest, so that we might use my table settings as there are.

Growing up, my brother and I would fight to the death over the honor of setting the dinner table. I usually won because I was older. Also, I was better at it. This set-up is a little ornate for me, but it's autumn, and the world is densely colored and cluttered.

And yes, those are Little Black Dress water glasses.

Tonight's menu: salad and french fries.

(Health-wise, these two dishes cancel each other out. It's true!!!)

I played with making oven fries a couple weeks ago and they were superb. I got about 2 pounds of mixed finger-sized potatoes from the potato guy at the Union Square Green Market. They were all different colors, and when cut into strips and roasted with just a little olive oil and salt, they were not only amazingly tasty but quite beautiful. I set the oven at around 400 degrees, but think I'll turn it down a bit this time. Put out ketchup and dijon mustard for dipping.

And for the salad? We'll just have to see what hits us when we're at the market. Pears will be involved. For sure.

We'll grab a baguette from Bread Alone, maybe splurge on some nice cheese, stop by the Trader Joe's Wine Shop on our way home...

Et voilá! Dinner.

Bon Apétit!

And one final request:

In the words of my mother circa 1995

"Eat with the table manners you would use if you were having dinner with President Clinton."

Oatmeal and the Opera

It's good to be back. Since I made the pot of lentil soup in June, a lot has happened. Rather than bore you with the gory details, emotional rollercoasters, triumphs, failures and changes, I will instead share with you what I had for breakfast this morning: oatmeal.

Attention recessionistas and recess-hommes: just because you're broke doesn't mean you have to live cheap.

Apples and Cinnamon Oatmeal

Ingredients:

1/2 cup Quick oats

1/2 small apple

honey

cinnamon

a tiny piece of butter

salt (optional)

Boil 1 cup water with a dash of salt in a saucepan for the oatmeal. While the water comes to a boil, cut up half an apple (leaving skin on) into roughly 1-centimeter cubes. Heat up your tiny piece of butter in a tiny skillet and throw in the apples. By this point your water has probably come to a boil - stir in the oatmeal and turn the heat down to a simmer. Stir the apples and oatmeal occasionally. When the oatmeal is done to your liking, spoon it into your favorite breakfast cereal bowl, ladle on the apples, drizzle desired amount of honey, sprinkle cinnamon, dash salt. Serve with coffee.

I went to the opera last night.

After getting cut off for rush tickets twice last season to see stage director Robert Lepage's production of Berlioz's La Damnation de Faust at the Metropolitan Opera (I cried outside the opera house the second time), I tried my luck again and managed to get a student ticket for $27.50 (think of it as being not only twice as long than, but twice more exciting than a movie).

A rear of the rear orchestra ticket in hand (nobody puts baby in a corner), I loitered in the aisle as the house lights dimmed and scurried way up to an empty premium seat. I gave a little nod to my $300-paying neighbor and proceeded to love every minute.

Going to the opera alone is so romantically melancholy. I suppose that is where you find me now, six months after lentil soup.

Lentil Soup

This soup is to be begun at a ridiculous hour to start making soup for dinner (eg: 9:30pm, Sunday night).

Recipe source: unknown/in my head.

Ingredients

1 16 oz. bag lentils

1 12 oz. can crushed tomatoes

36 oz. water (fill the tomato can three times!)

3 large carrots, diced

4 large stalks celery, diced

1 large yellow onion, diced

a bunch of spinach, ripped up into smaller pieces

3 cloves garlic, minced

1 heaping tsp. dried oregano

1 heaping tsp. dried basil

1 large fresh bay leaf (dried is ok if you don't have fresh)

1 tbs. olive oil

Balsamic vinegar to taste

kosher salt and fresh ground pepper to taste

other random things "to taste", dependent upon mood

Serve with:

Crusty baguette

Swiss cheese

Sriracha sauce

Lots of fresh pepper

In a large soup pot, heat olive oil on medium heat and combine carrots, celery and onions. Cook until the onions are soft, and add garlic, basil, oregano and bay leaf. Stir. Cook for about 2 minutes. Stir in lentils. Add can of crushed tomatoes (San Marzano is the best) and water. Stir. Turn heat to high and allow the soup to come to a rolling boil (keeps on bubbling even if you stir it). Turn heat to low, cover pot, and simmer for at least an hour.

After your soup has simmered to the desired consistency, add the spinach and stir until wilted. Add balsamic vinegar, salt and pepper to taste (I find this soup needs a decent amount of salt).

Get creative. Craving a little sweetness? Throw in some brown sugar or honey. Craving spice? Throw in fresh ground chili paste, or chopped chili peppers. I've dashed Worcestershire sauce, squirted sriracha (though I require this as a topping, as well), tossed parsley.

Set table for self or others who have been patiently waiting for dinner-cum-midnight snack. Cut slices of crusty bread (which you and guests have probably already started munching on), and arrange cheese on a small cutting board with appropriate cutlery. Put out a little vial of balsamic vinegar, salt and pepper, sriracha. Bring soup pot to table and place on a dish towel or pot holder. Ladle out soup to self and/or guests. Eat.

Put extra soup in tupperware and in the fridge (this soup is always ten times better the next day, and is even delicious cold). Soak the soup pot, leave the dishes for the morning, and proceed with evening/sleep.

Sour Cream Cookies

Mom: Did you channel Bessie energy?

Me: On the second to last batch, I did.

Mom: Good. Now I can die.

All in the Family

My Captain Kitchen training began early.  Pictured above is my great-grandmother Bessie and 2-and-a-half-year-old me, making her famous sour cream cookies.  I developed my kitchen energy, finesse and skills by simply watching my great-grandmother, grandmother and mother cook and bake. They are all fabulous cooks and entertainers, no doubt the Captains of their own kitchens. 

We all have the recipe for sour cream cookies - it is very precisely written down in Bessie's handwriting on an index card - yet only one person (my mother) has been able to make them to perfection. What the written recipe lacks is directions for the tone required in the kitchen while making them, something my mother obviously picked up on as a kid, watching her Grandma Bessie at the helm. The recent acquisition of the above photo has inspired me to try my hand at them, flying solo for the first time. I've asked my mother for a copy of the original recipe and will make my valiant attempt. In fact, the pyrex mixing bowl Bessie and I are using in the photo is in my possession, and so I have high hopes for the outcome.  

If you claim to not be able to cook, just watch someone who does. I still do it when I visit my mother and grandmother, and am constantly learning new techniques, styles and combinations.

Stay tuned for a report on the outcome of the sour creams. 

Eleven

Someone asked me at a bar the other night what my favorite number was and I quickly replied "11". I then asked him "What is your biggest regret in life?" and he asked if I was serious and I said yes and then we proceeded to discuss the number eleven. People are so nosy.

Why 11?

I discovered long ago that when someone is asked to pick a number between 1 and 20, the number 11 is almost always overlooked. I find 11 to be deceptive, close enough to the middle but not at all the middle.  

An eleven-sided polygon is called an undecagon.  

In base ten, an easy way to determine if a number is divisible by 11 is to add up the numbers located in the odd position and subtract the sum of the even-placed numbers.  If the difference is a multiple of 11, the number is also a multiple of 11.  (For example, is 17,589 divisible by 11? : (1+5+9) - (7+8) = 15-15 = 0. 0 is a multiple of 11 (11x0 = 0), and so 17,589 is a multiple).

Stand up for 11, people. It's a great number.

In other news...

The birthday cocktail party was a success!  Martha Stewart was a lovely host and I rediscovered that I am really exceedingly happy when bustling about entertaining, preparing, arranging.  

Entrepreneurship and ownership is very scary.  Hence the avoidance of this "bed and breakfast" that I mention briefly in the Captain Kitchen header. My brother, ever the astute one, was the first to say "I don't get it."  (p.s. happy almost graduation, peabrain). Well here it is:

I was preparing brunch in the beautiful kitchen (r.i.p.) in my old apartment for the final time for two friends who had slept in the orphanage the night before. (I converted one of the bedrooms in my old place into a guest room for the final month and called it the orphanage because it had two twin beds in it). As they continued to sleep, I ran around shopping for produce, brewed a big pot of coffee, squeezed fresh orange juice, whipped up a frittata and home fries and set the table. I felt exuberant, alive. All the while I fantasized about being the proprietor of my own bed and breakfast, awake before your guests and making sure they were treated to a sight to be seen and smell to die for upon entering the world from their pleasant and peaceful slumber. And so, the dream was born. 

I will have to figure out a way to buy my own place. It will probably be illegal. It will take over my entire life. 

I will fulfill my dream. I will meet fascinating strangers. I will make a profit? I will be content.

I should add up the pros and cons, subtract them from one another and see if I get 11.

And so, I set out on my journey of learning how I make home; of being the 24-year-old housewife without a husband; and eventually, not a madame, but the concierge (please tell me you've all seen The Producers). 

Possible name for the bed and breakfast: "The Eleven Inn" ?

Humphrey Bogart

I am pleased to introduce

 Humphrey Bogart, the goldfish.

Birthdays

I always wake up before the sun rises on my birthday.  This morning, my eyes miraculously opened at 4:30am, ready to seize the day and a new year.  It's not yet 7am and I've already downed two cups of coffee and watched last night's episode of Gossip Girl (guilty pleasure). 

To be perfectly honest, I spend much of the daylight hours of my birthday in tears.  They're not out of sadness or regret.  They are inexplicable tears.  Just.. water. I don't care much for Hallmark holidays, but there's just something about a rite of passage that hits home.

In true Captain Kitchen fashion, I am making myself a cocktail party this evening at my house, for which I will spend the morning and early afternoon hustling and bustling about the City, picking up groceries. Last year I made a full-on dinner party, five courses - it was a rainy, cold, windy day; the moment I exited the subway my umbrella flipped inside out and broke, and I trudged around the City like a drowned, dejected rat. Dinner was fantastic, and more than made up for my less-than-joyous day.

Today, however, is crisp and clear, the perfect spring day.  

Tonight's menu of hors d'oeuvres is inspired by Martha Stewart's 1984 menu book on the subject.  I made sure it included my favorite foods, making for a slightly incoherent, slightly cheesy spread:

• Cold blanched haricot verts with a dip/dressing tbd (grainy mustard, tarragon, white vinegar?)
• Small savory crépes with goat cheese, homemade roasted red peppers and (maybe?) wilted spinach, (balsamic reduction? - too much?)
• Homemade guacamole and salsa with tortilla chips
• French fries with ketchup and dijon mustard for dipping
• Cucumber rounds with smoked salmon mousse and a garnish of scallions 
• Cheese and crackers, grapes, olives
• Individual strawberry shortcakes c/o Mom
• Chocolate-dipped strawberries

Subject to change upon going to the market, but no less a good start.  

The Wife (a.k.a., my best friend since I was 15) is bringing the Beefeater for martinis early (she's a good wife). The DKNY dress I tried on and died over two months ago, and which I broke down and bought on sale (!!) at Bloomingdale's yesterday is pressed and ready. The pink peonies in my living room are wide open and ready for company.  

From behind my surreptitious tears, I'm looking forward to a lovely birthday.  

MOTHER/DAUGHTER POWER BLOG

My mother remembers her first Mother's Day well.  It was on this day twenty-something years ago that her first-born came into this very world.  Yes, she remembers it very well.  You could say I was a pain in the ass from the very beginning.  

This Mother's Day was maybe slightly less painful than her first.  It was a crisp and sunny spring day in Long Beach, and we, mother and daughter dined on frittata, sipped prosecco, walked along the shell-covered paths of a bird sanctuary and basically went about our afternoon creating the inspiration for this: the MOTHER/DAUGHTER POWER BLOG.  My mother will be blogging about our day together as well at Blue Heron Kitchen, so please visit her fabulous e-space to complete today's Captain Kitchen experience.  Maybe this collaboration is our way of admitting what we've known for a long time: the apple, my friends, does not fall far. I look like her, talk like her, decorate, entertain and cook like her more and more every day. (Thanks, Mom.)

Our frittata was made with mushrooms, asparagus, baby spinach and fresh herbs, topped with slices of tomato 

and fresh mozzarella from Arthur Avenue in the Bronx.  (Visit the Mamablog for the actual recipe!) We munched on baked blue corn chips and fire-roasted tomato salsa, gruyere cheese, hummus, an apricot, olive bread from Amy's Bread and, as always, there was half a steamed artichoke next to my plate. (My favorite foods as a kid were always the ones that most kids stereotypically hated - I was maybe the only kid in Queens begging for artichokes, Brussels sprouts and whole cloves of roasted garlic).  We broke out the Baccarat, popped the prosecco and had a feast made for queens from Queens.  

I slipped a card onto my mother's plate when she wasn't looking.  It was completely in Spanish because that's all that was left from ravenous offspring at the Duane Reade in Penn Station, but the sentiment was all there and I think she was mostly happy that I actually remembered to get her a card this year. Before taking this photo, she requested that I write "Mom" on the envelope, but I refused. 

And then my mother took me for some "fresh air" at the Lido Beach bird sanctuary.  I discovered that she is a bit of a bird watcher, which is pretty darn adorable.  We wandered along bright white paths of broken sea shells through the marsh  as terns, herons and grackles flew overhead and reeds cat-called us on either side.  I believe the words "oh, it's just a common tern" were uttered, and I made sure to point out that no tern was common to me and how rare it was that I see any bird other than the pigeon variety.  It was so gorgeous I forgot and forgave that I was in Long Island.  

We returned home with all intention of making something with rhubarb, but got lost in the fridge and pantry as food for the week was graciously donated to me care of you-know-who. (Thanks, Mom).  I lugged my bag of goods onto the Long Island Railroad, finished my Star magazine (I inhale trashy celebrity gossip mags cover to cover when I am on the LIRR) and fell asleep.  

And so now, I leave you with this.  Enjoy.

My mother insisted she was nothing like this caricature.  When she yelled out "Look at the ducks!" at the bird sanctuary, that battle was officially lost.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.  I love you.

Alliterative Activities

An activity, whether dull or delightful, is far more enjoyable if it has a snappy-sounding, alliterative companion.

For example:

Boggle and Bordeaux

Mass Mailings and Mimosas (that's the arts administrator talking)

Scrabble and Stir-fry (which my new roommate reality-checked as: Scrabble and Syrah)

Right now, I am Munching at the MoMA.  

I am sitting in Café 2, with long, empty tables (it's 5pm) and delicious antipasti selections.  For $8 you can pick three small plates - I chose the poached asparagus with mushrooms, chick pea salad with cherry tomatoes and rock shrimp and a cold salad of roasted carrots, parsnips and onions. A perfect snack after an afternoon traipsing around the galleries!  

As I am in the habit of doing in most museums, I started at the top and worked my way down. The MoMA hosts most of its special exhibitions on the top floor, and its a wonderful way to begin before descending to your old favorites on the floors below.  

            

There was a piece in Martin Kippenberger's show on the top floor that gave me a good chuckle. Obviously commenting upon and making fun of Andy Warhol's repetition and variation paintings (think: Marilyn, Campbell's soup), this painting featured two nearly identical frogs, one saying "I hate you" to the other, and repeated in sloppily drawn squares (the bottom right square was simply missing).  There was sludge smeared all over it.  I never see anyone laughing in museums.  People walk around so austere, as if the art could hear you; your comments and observations have to be "correct".  What ever happened to free association?  What has happened to the enjoyment of seeing art? Anyhow, Kippenberger's work was equally rebellious and intelligent - he seemed to me a cynic's cynic, and certainly a master, or at least a courageous experimenter, with so many forms and materials.  

Visiting the two floors of painting and sculpture, I was a little thrown off guard.  I haven't been to the MoMA in a while (these days, places that aren't "suggested donation" aren't on my radar so much), but was craving its treasures.  Thing is, all the treasures have been moved around and some of them replaced by others!  I walked up to the big black, white and gray Jackson Pollock hanging at the far wall of a gallery, and twirled around, as I usually do, to slyly note the Lee Krasner that sits on a small wall opposite it, as if she was watching and winking at him... but it wasn't there!  I always thought the Pollock/Krasner placement was so brilliant, and frankly, this change disappointed me.  They replaced the Magritte eye with the Magritte dark town/bright sky (not complaining); they moved the Jasper Johns map of the USA from the wall on the right to the wall on the left (the point?); they replaced my favorite de Chirico with a less favorite de Chirico.  Blah blah art - WATCH OUT, change is in the air.  

I made sure to visit my favorite lady (sitting on the wall opposite where it used to be), Woman I.  Willem de Kooning was my favorite painter in the 4th grade - we were taken on a class trip to see a big show of his at the Metropolitan Museum and I appreciated the way he represented women.  I've since moved on to John Singer Sargent, but de Kooning remains up there.  

I could sit here all day and gush about these things, but I've decided to provide something a bit more practical: 

Captain Kitchen's Guide to Seeing Good Art in New York on the Cheap

Before we begin, let me say this: do not throw out your student ID even if you are no longer a student.  I plan on using mine for eternity.  

Museum of Modern Art (MoMA)

53rd Street btwn. 5th and 6th Avenues

Today's adventure.  $12 student price, $2o regular price.  It's a lot of bang for a lot of buck. It's free after 6pm on Fridays, but the crowd is awful.  The MoMA Design Store is a good place to get gifts for people.

The Metropolitan Museum

5th Avenue at 83rd Street

Says its $20, but it's actually a "suggested donation".  I usually pay $1.  Open late on Fridays and Saturdays.  One of the most enchanting places to wander.  If you get a martini on the balcony, be advised that your bill will come with an extra charge of $2 because your martini was "straight up" - when is it not???  This is my only contention with the Met.  Oh yeah, and their lazily curated Costume Institute show last year.

The Whitney Museum of American Art

Madison Avenue at 75th Street

Hands down, my favorite museum in the City.  It's small enough that you can take a couple hours and really take in the whole thing.  Student price is only $8, and worth every penny.  New York City public high school students get in for free, but I decided a couple years ago that I could no longer pass as my 14-year-old self from my high school ID.   Their permanent collection is top notch.  The Whitney is free from 6-9 (well, it's "pay what you wish") on Fridays.

The Museum of Natural History

Central Park West at 79th Street

Dinosaurs!  Suggested donation!  Note: the special exhibitions are not a suggested donation, but you can sneak in the "exit" door pretty easily...

PS1

Jackson Avenue at 46th Avenue, LIC (7 train to 45th Road, G train to 21st/Van Alst)

MoMA's super-contemporary outpost in Long Island City.  Another suggested donation price. Last time I went, I really felt the economic crisis had taken hold - a lot of the smaller galleries were empty, and the few larger shows they had were all individual artists, and not smartly curated group shows, as is their norm.  If anything, go for the intoxicating smell of donuts that permeates the neighborhood, and for your proximity to The Chocolate Factory.

Chelsea Galleries

21st Street thru 28th Street, between 10th and 11th Avenues

If I don't have any other plans on a Thursday evening, you can probably find me in Chelsea. Here's why: Thursday evenings from 6 - 8pm are when galleries in Chelsea host their openings. It's chock full of people-watching and free wine.  Go to www.chelseaartgalleries.com, where they assemble an "itinerary" of openings for you, so you can have some clue of what's there and where to go. An alternative is to show up on 25th Street between 10th and 11th Avenues and follow the well-dressed drunk people.  

These are my old faithfuls, but be sure to pop in to any gallery during the day for a free peek. Don't forget to hit up your artist friends to see what THEY'RE working on.  And it sounds silly, but check myopenbar.com for random gallery opening listings. 

That is all.

The Ice Cream Truck

Saturday night was spent hanging out the window of a soft serve ice cream truck outside Grand Central Station. 

Thanks to a dear friend who nabbed this awesome gig, I learned the art of the swirl, the dip, the twist. The ice cream truck is at once a performance space, an observation deck and an ivory tower; a place to watch and be watched, judge and be judged, live and let live. I reapplied mascara as if it would sell more cones and calculatingly dangled my painted red nails out the window as if it would attract a "certain kind" of customer; I felt sad when the obese man bought the only double cone of the day and felt deliciously manipulative when we charged the young kids on an awkward first date a whopping $12 for two dipped vanilla cones. Hustling ice cream cones to "oots" (out-of-towners) and weekenders in midtown was so much fun that I finally pried myself out of the truck many hours after I intended to say goodbye.  

In other news...

I realized two things after my musings on "Home":

1: I am verbose.

2: I neglected to discuss three rooms in my house.

Addressing 1: 

I'm working on it.  I feel like a hypocrite, because it's the reason I never enjoyed Dickens.

Addressing 2:

room 1 - The bathroom.  And it's private.  

rooms 2 & 3 - Two additional bedrooms belong to my roommates.  One just moved in this morning and now our home is complete.  She came with a coffee table that I am very excited to put things on. The other has only one flaw that I can detect thus far: a love for stinky candles.  To each her own.  

My darling mother has given me the challenge of developing the recipe for an Arlen Specter cheese ball in light of his recent decision to convert to the democratic party.  I will share the recipe once I figure out what it is.

And, in light of my observation re: "Home", ciao for now.  

p.s. Stay tuned for: Alliterative Activities.

More ice cream truck:

Home

Captain Kitchen dedicates today's exposé to Big Edie and Little Edie Bouvier Beale, stars of the 1975 documentary Grey Gardens by Albert and David Maysles, capturing the mother and daughter pair's eccentric lifestyle in their crumbling East Hampton mansion.  HBO recently remade their story with Drew Barrymore and Jessica Lange, and while not quite as shocking as the documentary, it heart-wrenchingly portrayed the sadness and glory of their entire lives.  I think Drew just did it for the Emmy, but hats off to her for going for it...  

Today you get just what you've been waiting for: a little tour of Captain Kitchen's home!  Taken with the expert lens of my MacBook's Photo Booth, the grainy, retouched iPhotos resemble the film quality of the original Grey Gardens documentary.

The way my home looks and feels is something I spend a lot of time and energy on.  In the many places I've hung my proverbial hat, each one is a welcome change from and a slight improvement on the last.  Today marks the one month anniversary of living in my current house.  A common comment from visitors is that it already looks like I've lived here ten years - the truth is, I'm a pack rat, and I have more knick-knacks than your grandma.  Every wall, counter, shelf, nook and cranny is the way it looks for a reason, exquisitely detailed and subscribing to an aesthetic that could only be described as purely ME.  

The Living Room

We begin in my favorite corner of the living room.    I love it because in my eyes, it is aesthetic perfection.  It tells a story with each detail it contains.  Jutting out from the corner, the purple chaise lounge is an antique, purchased by my mother in the early 90's at the estate sale of the cranky old lady who lived across the street from my childhood home in Queens (my mother and I giddily went to "dead lady sales" all over the borough when I was a kid).  The flag draped on its back was .. ahem .. acquired from a certain flagpole at a certain private liberal arts college in Vermont in a certain person's (cough-me-cough) freshman year in the middle of the night. ("Certain person" meant to wear it to graduation, but chickened out).  

The framed item at the left of the above photograph (note that everything is backwards because that is the science of taking pictures on a laptop) is a piece of water-damaged cardboard that reads "This expensive wedding gown was professionally dry cleaned".  It comes from the outer box of my mother's "embalmed" wedding dress [at left]. I thought that particular phrase was so ridiculous, and the condition of the cardboard so beautiful, that I put it in an empty frame I had lying around. My mother insisted I take the dress because she didn't want to throw it away and because of the event in my childhood that explains why I have a book entitled "Megan's Two Houses" in my bookshelf.  

The two sources of lighting are an antique candy machine, named Franklin, that is stuffed with white christmas lights (it was once stuffed with m&m's, but that it made it impossible for me to stuff into some of my clothes) [see picture 1 under "These are a few of my favorite things" below for a close-up]; to Franklin's right is a great lamp I found at Green Village on Starr Street in Bushwick - I painted the base with a shiny paint and covered the lampshade with an exquisitely beaded and sequined swatch of Escada fabric that an old roommate brought home. The lamp features a suspended tray-like thing in the middle, which conveniently holds random knick-knacks and the chaise lounger's wine glass.  

To the left of the window is a piece I found at Junk on N. 9th and Berry in Williamsburg [see picture 2].  Junk often displays stuff they just can't get rid of outside at really low prices.  It is a wood-framed mirror with a built-in shelf which has a built-in vase holder.  It was $10.  The painted wood figurine of a bird next to the vase is a whistle.  

And on the right is a real, working piano.  It is a Baldwin Acrosonic from 1943 [picture 3], and desperately needs to be tuned.  I've been playing the piano since I was 5 years old.  My mother is a classical pianist, and gave me my first lesson when I had the chicken pox in kindergarten - it made me do something else with my hands so I would stop scratching (genius!).  I haven't taken lessons for years, pretty much play only Chopin and I won't play in front of anyone.  Really. Moving on...

I have a tryptic of antique lemons that hang above the couch.  (Jonah, if you are reading this, you are never getting them!) ... for the rest of you, Jonah is my (quite impressive and lemons-fiending) little brother.  

While I insist upon fresh flowers in my home, I love dead flowers, and have kept as many as I can stuffed into a giant glass vase sitting atop my favorite bookshelf.  The flowers look best when I bang out Chopin's Funeral March on the ol' Baldwin.  The pink armchair in the top photo is an heirloom from my great-grandmother.  Apparently, everything in her apartment in Miami was pink...

  

The Kitchen/Dining Room

You all know what the kitchen looks like from the Captain Kitchen main photo, but did you know it includes this fabulous dining set-up? 

The table is an old wood library table, painted a deep red on top and dark green at the base.  It has leaves that can fold in on either side to make it long and narrow.  Paired with these chrome and black chairs, it's the perfect combo of antique and modern.  The light hanging above it is something I HATE - it's a rice paper lamp from Ikea that I've had for years - and, excuse my crassness, I think it looks like a giant tampon. Despite my hatred for this hanging lamp, I find it necessary to have something hanging over the dining room table when you don't really have a dining room to define the space.

And here is another great find from Junk.  I use it as a pantry.  And check out the details on top (more dead flowers; I heart my Kitchenaid mixer) and the little gold shelf to its right (left in real life, thanks computer).  I use the glasses as wine glasses - heirlooms from a great-grandmother on my mother's side.

                          

One final thing makes my kitchen complete: hanging pots.  It looks great, and saves you space!

The Bedroom (The Final Frontier)

My bedroom is always the most awful looking room in my home.  I don't know why.  It is consistently messy, and I put stuff in there that I don't want to put out in the living area (thus, the final frontier).  A dresser contains unfolded clothes and random stuff on top:

A mainstay in my bedroom are these prints that my brother made for me the summer before I went to college.  He told me he made them so I had something to decorate my dorm room with.  They travel everywhere with me (they're easy to pack, they stack one atop the other and lay flat) and are always hung above my bed.  They are a rendering of a woman smoking - Jonah said she reminded him of me.  Charming.

These are a few of my favorite things:

Picture 1 - "Franklin"

Picture 2 - Mirror w/ shelf

Picture 3 - Piano

and more...

A bowl of hustled perfume samples (see post on "little luxuries") that I leave out for guests

bowl is silver, from my great-grandmother

Kate Bush the Goldfish (2007-2009)

Many have known and loved my goldfish, Kate Bush, who died recently in her home of natural causes.  She was just over two years old.  Born in Austin, Texas, she traveled the country as Captain Kitchen's faithful companion.  She is memorialized in the lamp below, which sits atop her fishbowl - now empty.  If you would like to pay your respects, Kate Bush resides in Captain Kitchen's freezer, and stands to make history as the first goldfish revived using cryonics. 

Thanks for visiting my home.

Little Luxuries

I am sitting in a café in NoLITa, enjoying a glass of wine and a panini before I see some dance at the New Museum - an evening called Meet Cute: Grotesque Ingénue, featuring the work of Ivy Baldwin and Ursula Eagly, curated by the wonderful Sarah Maxfield.  I've been looking forward to this one!

Today I had an extravagant selfternoon, and thought it would be a great time to talk about "Little Luxuries" : a tribute to small things that make a big difference.  Key to this part of my lifestyle is "The Hustle" - getting what you want when you want it, and for the sake of a "Little Luxury". Perhaps this is a perfect pairing with the theme of the performance I am about to see - Baldwin and Eagly "create worlds where the adorable and the monstrous coexist, often in the same moment."  

So here goes ...

Little Luxuries

Today I spent my selfternoon at Bergdorf Goodman and along 57th Street between 5th and Madison.  This is one of my favorite places to walk around by myself in the City.  Others include The Metropolitan Museum (always #1 - try sitting on the balcony on a Friday night with a martini and a book before you go out), The Whitney, Bloomingdales SoHo, the "Bleecker Street Walk" and PS1.  

I consider Bergdorf to be a museum of taste, fashion and style - and you can actually touch the art!  THIS is a little luxury.  Yes, you've just taken up an entire afternoon, but its free and its fabulous.

I started in the Chanel handbag section, and found this, the perfect bag: 

Barbara, who gave me her card (The Hustle), brought out a brand new one for me, still in the box, and let me trot around with it.  We discussed size, shape, classic versus season, the color of the chain and leather quality.  This one is a black lambskin "Maxi", and it's new this season. They're almost sold out at Bergdorf, Barbara explained, and I was advised to buy it on the spot. She was also kind enough to inform me that if I have it shipped to a friend or family member out of state, I'd save big on tax.  Thanks, Barbara!  I died a little.  I said I'd have to think about it for a little while.  Moving on...

I wandered around the next three floors in a daze - I could swear I started crying from the beauty, but maybe it was just all the perfume.  Bergdorf houses some of the most exquisitely made garments, and walking from vendor to vendor on the plush off-white carpeting, I could swear I had found salvation.  

Salvation came most especially in these two Thakoon frocks, which I excitedly had carried into a dressing room for me:

The saleswoman knocked on my dressing room door excitedly and handed me another Thakoon, saying it was the most popular one and looked great on everyone, adding that I may recognize it as "the Michelle Obama dress." Indeed, it was that same iconic dress that Lady O had worn.  I quickly realized why Michelle's arms, "thunder" and "lightning", are so avidly discussed - they must be amazing, slender things to have squeezed through the armhole of this dress. Needless to say, I could hardly get the armholes past my elbows and accepted my fate of never being the First Lady's doppelgänger.  Ah well.

I know, know, you're tired of hearing about my silly little day at Bergdorf (I also popped into the YSL store [they are always nasty to me in there], the Burberry story and the Chanel flagship store on 57th Street).  I digress. Here's some key "little luxuries" that I find it necessary to indulge in - never buy large items, just fill your life with small ones.

My house always has fresh flowers.  They don't need to be fancy, just alive.  

The Hustle: Buy tulips or daffodils that haven't opened yet, and they'll last much, much longer.  If they don't have them out, ask if they have unopened ones in the back.  

Never leave a department store, a Sephora or a parfumerie without samples.  

The Hustle: Today I left Bergdorf with a nice big vile of Coco Chanel Mademoiselle perfume.  My favorite place to hustle the stinky stuff is at Bond No. 9, on Bond Street in NoHo.  They have the most sophisticated smelling scents out there.  I went a few days ago and had my entire "smell profile" taken, citing it was my birthday soon and that I was "shopping around for gifts to tell people to get for me." (They must have thought I was such a snob, but it's a small price to pay for weeks' worth of amazing, expensive perfume for free!).  I walked away with my favorite scent, Hamptons, plus two new delicious hustles - Union Square and Astor Place.  I also favor Lexington Avenue and Coney Island.  Most of the scents are unisex.

Good cheese.  Buy it.  It's worth it.  Buy everything else cheap.  Do it.  

The Hustle: Don't think you can't try a piece of every single cheese in the store, and ask questions!  Free education, free cheese, can't lose.

Oh goodness, look at the time.  Accept my apologies for rambling and not quite getting to the point.  Alas, there are so many more little luxuries, and so many more things in this great big City to hustle.  

In conclusion: live your life in the lap of little luxuries, never fear the hustle, appreciate beautiful things that you cannot have and never, ever buy your own perfume.  

To be continued.  On to the New Museum.

Ciao.