Did you know there is free* kayaking on the East River? I didn’t! It’s courtesy of the Brooklyn Bridge Park Boathouse. We stumbled across it on Sunday. I didn’t go – I’m not into unexpectedly getting my rear end sopping wet – but I’ll be back in a swimsuit. Matt, Nicole, Tracy, Jackie and Rob tried it out, though.

Even more fun, we came at the tail end when the volunteers were packing up for the day and they needed help paddling all the gear back to storage, so everyone got extra long rides.

And extra especially fun, we ran into Sarah Cooley who was one of the volunteers.

Go check it out! (They’re in the Brooklyn Bridge Park on Sundays, but Saturdays they’re over at Pier 1 in the new Brooklyn Bridge Park extension).

*They accept donations

Maggie was in town, and unfortunately it was pouring rain. “I want tea,” she had said, and so we found ourselves folded into Cha-An, a tiny Japanese tea house in lower Manhattan, with Alice and Laura. Everyone else ordered normal tea, and I ordered the oolong. Oolong, I thought, was exotic enough to feel special (the place oozes with a unique cozy/fancy vibe) but familiar enough not to feel weird.

“The oolong; it’s the kind that you pour and pour with the little things.” said the waitress, heavily accented and seeming to struggle with English.

“It’s what now?”

“You get the little… and it comes with the tea…” she made a pouring motion again.

“Ok.” I said, not knowing at all what I ordered. “Sounds great.”

When she left I shrugged and smiled. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

She arrived at the table with this whole… set up! It was a tall metal pitcher of hot water and a wooden box slightly smaller than a shoe box, on top of which was the following: a big glass tea pot, a small clay tea pot, loose tea in a little glass container [not pictured], an empty white porcelain cup just smaller than a shot glass, and a small ceramic tea cup with no handle. There was also a bowl containing a few lumpy, frosted green tea cookies which were pretty good.

She put the dry tea in the glass pot and then poured the water over it to brew. She poured the brewed tea into the little clay tea pot, and from there she poured it to the tea cup, then the porcelain cup, and and then she dumped it out into the wooden box which had slats to drain into itself. She did it all a second time. On the third series of pouring she dumped brewed tea from the tea cup all over the little clay tea pot, and then she handed me the little porcelain cup.

It was hot from the tea, but empty and dry. I was confused, but she was looking at me expectantly so, in one of the more awkward moments of my life, I touched the tip of my tongue to it a few times and glanced up to see if I was doing it right. I wasn’t. She laughed, and pointed to her nose.

“I think you’re just supposed to smell it.” said Laura.

“Ahh!” I said, and sniffed it. It smelled like tea. It was one of those “appreciate with all of your senses” moments, so I tried to concentrate on appreciating the aroma and not being embarrassed about the inappropriate licking. I handed it back, and the waitress smiled, set the two tea pots, the hot water and the ceramic cup in front of me and shuffled off.

Now, should you find yourself in a similar fancy tea place, you know what to do. You’re welcome.

P.S. If you go, try the scones. OMG, the scones!

It’s a rule of city life, even in a cozy, small-town feeling neighborhood like Park Slope: warm weather brings out the crazy. In the winter everyone is bundled, hunched into themselves and their coats, uninterested in being on the street for longer than they have to, and barely making eye contact with each other as they run around in their little human-pods of clutched warmth. In the summer people walk around with their backs straight and their clothing lighter. The one-person pods of hustling individuals are gone; we are now people in a crowd milling this way and that, making eye contact, bumping into each other. This can be good: I love that now I can wave friends and neighbors, pet dogs, make funny faces with little kids, compare apples with strangers at the farmers market – all that good warm weather stuff. But it also brings out the worst in humanity, especially when it’s hot.

I brushed between two people the other day on my way home and mumbled an “excuse me” to the woman as she stepped to the side. The man started yelling, “Excuse me! Excuse me!” at my back, and I turned and smiled, bogged down with groceries. “Yes?”
“Excuse me!” he said again.
“Yes!” I said.
“We’re talking here! You walked between us. My mother taught me that when you walk between two people you say ‘excuse me’.”

For the life of me I can’t imagine stopping someone on the street to yell at them for not saying excuse me. I would never care that much.

I opened my mouth to apologize, but he just raged on over me.

My reaction, classic Amber, was to glaze over and walk away while he continued screaming at my back. I didn’t need to stand there and wait for him to be done berating me to apologize. I think, too, talking further at that point would have made him angrier, and I take the words of the rapper Lil’ John (as featured by Youngbloodz) seriously: “Don’t start no shit, it won’t be no shit.”

I learned that in the ‘hood.

So I’d totally have forgotten about that except yesterday I’m sitting at my desk and see this punk-looking kid, about 22, slip behind my car which is parked on the street, right in front of our apartment. My desk is positioned so that I sit by the window next to the sidewalk when I’m at my desk – I like to see the people and dogs go by – and I like to keep my car parked right outside the apartment if I can nab the spot so I keep an eye on it.

This kid: he’s shifty-eyed, looking around nervously, and I’m thinking, “I’m about to watch this dude smash my window and grab something.” I was totally unprepared to see him pull out his penis and begin peeing on my tire. And, like, I’m sorry, gross, but I’m married, right? Seeing a penis doesn’t give me an initial shock like it would normally – if you’re in a long-term relationship with a dude you might know what I’m talking about… I’ve had completely boring conversations with Rob about oil changes or vet appointments while he’s just out of the shower with nary a sexy thought flitting through my mind – so I’m looking at this kid and his bishop in hand and a tiny voice is nagging me in the back of my brain that something isn’t right but it’s not like “OH MY GOSH!” for a few seconds while it all gels together, and then, all of the sudden, it so fucking is.

“YOU ARE PEEING ON MY CAR!” I shrieked out the window.

“I’m sorry miss, I really am!” he answered, and now? Now I am having a conversation with a stranger who has his penis fully visible to me.

“You are PEEING! ON MY CAR!” I hollered again, and a passerby stops on the sidewalk between us, looks left to me, looks right to him, and doubles over laughing.

“Stop!” I yelled.

“I can’t!” He said, and to his credit, he sounded really embarrassed. “I couldn’t find a bathroom! I really had to go!”

For the record, there are stores on the the avenue just up the block, a lot of them food places, that would have let him pee. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he’s bleating now, and I think he might have been a little… oh shit. What’s the PC word? Not all there? Not entirely mentally competent?

I’ve got a feeling it’s going to be a weird summer.

Tonight is the West Village Chorale’s annual Messiah Sing, and I’m going for the second year in a row. This year my Grandma is coming down to the City and we are going together. My grandmother is my favorite person ever, and I am so excited! If you come, be sure to find us at intermission and say hello!

The details:

487 Hudson Street in Manhattan
It starts at 7:30 and you should arrive before 7:15.
Admission is $12, and $10 for seniors and students – no sales in advance.
You don’t have to sing (but it’s more fun if you do!)

The Brooklyn Flea is hosting a holiday gift fair in Manhattan every Wednesday – Sunday on December 2-6 and then 9-13. After that, they’ll be there every day from December 16-24. Hours are Noon – 7 except Wednesday when they are 6 – 9.

They’re even serving beer crafted by the brilliant Brooklyn Brew Shop (look for them in an upcoming episode of Hey Brooklyn, they sell DIY brew kits that aren’t cheesy). Even Stacy London came by to have a cupcake!

You should check it out if you’re around. More info by clicking the postcard.

From Time Out New York:

Bowery Mission, which just celebrated its 130th anniversary last month, serves Thanksgiving meals from Monday 23 to November 27. Volunteer slots for Thanksgiving (7am–7pm) are filling up, but operations director Matt Krivich urges walk-ins to drop by anyway. If you really want to lend a hand, he says, bring fresh-baked pies, of which “there are never enough.” Ain’t that the truth. 227 Bowery between Rivington and Stanton Streets, Manhattan (bowery.org, 212-674-3456)

I perked up when I read this. I love baking for Thanksgiving but we celebrate at Rob’s parent’s house, and they keep kosher, so stuff from my not-as-strict kosher kitchen can’t contribute to the table. I’ve been bummed for a while that my pie baking prowess never gets to shine, so now I plan to spend Tuesday and Wednesday baking up a storm. If you want to bake a pie, too, go for it! Spread the love.

Yeah, that’s right! Two list items in one weekend!

Saturday night me, Dana, Wesley and Rob headed to the 86th floor of the Empire State Building. There are touristy things to do in New York City that are way overrated, but going to the top of the Empire State Building is not one of them, especially at night when all the lights on the ground are twinkling and you can see three states worth of view. The observation deck is open until 2 am and the last elevator up is at 1:15. We walked through the lobby doors at 1 and sailed through the empty maze of velvet ropes that usually are jammed with tourists. From lobby to observation deck was about 5 minutes.

At the top, I got good and kissed.

All I’ve been dreaming of is a special, swanky dinner at a local place called Al Di La!  It’s not super-super fancy, but it definitely pricier than I’m used to.  Clearly, though, I am not aiming high enough.

This receipt supposedly belongs to Russian billionaire Roman Abramovich.  The whole thing is crazy, but what really kills me is the $12 water.

Also, I’d expect a nicer receipt from such a ritzy place, you know?  Gold-leaf, fancy font, letterpressed… SOMEthing.  Aside from all the zeros, this looks like it could be from a crummy Burritoville.  Nellos, what gives?

via Buzzfeed

all gone!

Last night was the Fifth Annual Casserole Crazy Party hosted by Emily Farris, author of the book Casserole Crazy: Hot Stuff for Your Oven!. Rob and I cooked up a mac and cheese creation that didn’t place in the competition but received an even higher honor – several people came to us and said that ours, more than anyone’s, captured the spirit of a casserole: comforting, cheesy, and just a little bit trashy.

We wanted to make a “man food” casserole and ended up calling it a Sooper Bowl Casserole (Because Super Bowl is trademarked!). I was envisioning a potato and cheese something, but last minute scrapped the potato idea entirely and wrote a new recipe. Late in the afternoon I had the inspiration to infuse it with beer, and last second Rob said, “Bacon would be awesome in this”. Since we keep kosher up in here he ran out and grabbed some Bacos (which are vegan) and we sprinkled them in.

Casseroles aren’t a usual part of my repertoire, but I think they should be. They’re a great mix of cooking and baking and a fantastic way to get rid of leftovers or disguise veggies for picky eaters – everything rocks when it’s smothered in cheese. I’m converted, and I’m going to be making more in the future. Friends, you have been warned.

Here is Emily’s recap on the competition and there are more photos over here at MetroMix New York, which is where I pulled the above photo of me holding up my empty casserole dish.

The recipe is below. I suggest you half it if you aren’t feeding a ton of people – this filled two 13×9″ dishes.

Sooper Bowl Casserole

1 small white onion
2 lbs. medium shell pasta, al dente
2 sticks butter + some for onion
12 tbs. flour
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. paprika
3 cups milk
12 oz. lager, sipped once or twice
6 cups shredded cheese
1/4 cup Bacos
potato chips

Cook and drain pasta. Chop onion into bits and then simmer in butter until caramelized. Preheat oven to 350 F. In large sauce pan, melt butter on low heat. Whisk in flour, salt and paprika. Cook until smooth and bubbling. Add milk, incorporate, and add beer. Cook for 10 minutes on medium heat, whisking slowly, occasionally. Add onions and cheese, cook to melting. Remove from heat, stir in Bacos. Mix with pasta and pour into greased dish. Top with crushed potato chips. Bake 25 minutes covered in foil, bake 5 minutes uncovered, until crushed potato chips are golden.

Beer – Brooklyn Brewery lager Cheeses – sharp cheddar, goat and gouda.

The first time we walked by this house (which is a few blocks away from our apartment), Rob said, “Someone REALLY loves their daughter.”

I don’t know why this brownstone is painted bubblegum pink, but a lost bet seems likely. (the photo doesn’t do it justice – it’s REALLY PINK) It’s kinda cute, in a quirky eyesore kind of way.

You can view the listing, which fails to mention the shocking exterior for God-knows-what reason, here. I think I’ll sit on the stoop for the open house and watch people’s faces upon seeing the pink for the first time.

photo from Brownstoner