In the same day I had a meltdown, I had a moment that makes me love New York once again.
It was a warm evening and I was waiting for the bus on Broadway by Lincoln Center. The stop is right by all the rows and rows of restaurants that are side by side each other with massive amounts of tables of al fresco dining. The places were mobbed with eaters of pasta and drinkers of wine and enjoyers of life.
I remarked to the woman next to me waiting for the bus "I feel like we live in Rome and not New York." She said that the bus schedule felt like Italy as well! We got to talking and she lived in New York 30 years ago, but was here for a 5 day master baking class. We spoke about bread while boarding the bus and she asked if I wanted to sample some in her bag. I did.
We discussed salt and sweet and "starter dough." The woman reading a book next to us looked up and said, "My son uses starter dough too."
Hiya now lives in Redding, PA and her mom lives an hour outside Tel Aviv. She said she saw a cellist in the subway today who she saw at a concert in Redding and she spoke to him about the event. He then invited her to his graduation concert at Julliard today as his guest. We both remarked how great it is to meet people.
As we got to my stop she asked if I wanted her loaves of bread she had made. She said she has plenty. And with that she gave me her bag of fresh artisan bread and I walked off into the night a richer, yeastier man.
Hiya and her braided bread on the M104 bus.
Sean skillfully and thoughtfully organized a big brunch for eight of us at Morandi in the West Village. We had a wonderful and efficient Italian waitress (above) and great bread. (I wish I asked where they got their bread. I am sure someone knows since this is a Keith McNally place and those in the know know these things.)
Frank's Shoes. I love Frank's shoes almost as much as the bread at Morandi.
