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.