February 23, 2012

For Just $2,300 (!) a Month, a Luxury ‘Fart Fan’ Apartment in Astoria

It’s no secret that new apartment developments in Astoria and greater Queens are often lessons in poor design, high rent, and extreme-amenity hyperbole, especially those labeled “luxury.” In fact, we have several blogs dedicated to these sad facts, among them Astoria Ugly and Queens Crap.

But I got a fresh reminder this week when I asked my architect friend John to look at some photos of a new apartment listing in Astoria (more pics/info here, too).

The kitchen photo shows what, at first glance, looks like a really nice kitchen (compared to the usual NYC fare). But as I looked at the photo for an extra half-second, I noticed the dishwasher and stove are immediately adjacent to each other, meaning they can’t be open at the same time, ever. But there was no apparent reason for this major design flaw, as there is tons of room on the other side of the sink, where a dishwasher would fit in nicely to a logical, ergonomic left-to-right flow as you load dishes from the oven/stove > sink >dishwasher.

A white dishwasher smashed up next to a stainless steel stove. (Photo: Trulia.com)

Still, overall, to an untrained eye, the kitchen does look nice — a giant fridge, dishwasher and a washer/dryer are hard to come by in NYC. (Of course, all of you who don’t live here are perhaps coughing up your last meal at the rental price of $2,300 a month for a one-bedroom.)

When I showed John this, he let loose with a keen assessment. It should be noted that some of this is speculation on his part, as he tries to surmise the “whys” behind the bad design.

“It looks like a large column is in the corner, along with some plumbing & HVAC chases, so they wanted to keep everything close to it (bad detailing with the counter and backsplash, by the way). However, the dishwasher may have been originally located under that bar or on the other side of the sink. Somewhere in the construction process, the plumber may have goofed or the owner got cheap (more than likely) to run piping and drainage that far from the chases.”

But Wait, There’s More — a Fart Fan!

Another kitchen view shows a different apartment with a dishwasher to the left of the sink. Yay. But it still has issues I never would have spotted without John's help. (Photo: Trulia.com)

“I think they started to run out of money, judging by the standard white finish of the DW and stainless steel of the other appliances, which also makes me think they were afterthoughts to begin with…There’s no fume hood over the stove, just a bathroom-style “fart fan” exhaust (yep, that’s a contractor term) up on the ceiling by the column (the little square thing in the ceiling, again, an afterthought).

And, notice how cheap the millwork is. Concealed hinges are nice, but the angled upper cabinet by the end bar is just out of place. How does one reach up into it?

Lastly, if you look at the listings, you’ll see it comes with a big patio — also a “luxury” detail since private outdoor space is rare in NYC. However, for inexplicable reasons, the developers decided to glass in the patio.

As John said, this also makes no sense: “Yeah, that won’t get hot in July.”

Posted by on February 23, 2012 in Life and tagged , , , , , .

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February 18, 2012

Home Sweet Snowy Home

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Posted by on February 18, 2012 in Life.

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February 4, 2012

Who Made Chiles en Nogada? I Did! I Did!

Me, back in 2009, enjoying two of my favorite things in Mexico: Micheladas and chiles en nogada in Coyoacan, Mexico. I can now proudly say I know how to prepare both at home, here in Bland Yankeelandia.

I did it.

I successfully replicated my favorite Mexican dish, chiles en nogada. For those of you unfortunate to have never sampled the glory, it’s a poblano pepper stuffed with ground pork, onions, dried apricots, walnuts, raisins, apples, tomatoes, garlic, cinnamon, allspice, oregano and thyme, then topped with a crema sauce made of cream cheese, sour cream, walnuts and cinnamon. Lastly, a heaping of pomegranate seeds are poured on top.

Spicy, salty, savory, sweet, crunchy, creamy, it’s everything delicious in the world, on a platter.

This dish is intentionally red, white and green. Unlike many popular foods in Mexico, chiles en nogada didn’t spring from Pre-Hispanic traditions or the influence of outside cultures like Spain. No, instead, the dish was created by a group of nuns in Puebla trying to honor Mexico’s new-found independence. (Hence the patriotic colors.) Not only did the dish warm the hearts of the new nation’s citizens, now, many years later, it is served all over Mexico around Sept. 16 (“diez y seis”). It is still a beloved part of the culture, almost 200 years later, for good reason.

When I first tried it not long after moving to Mexico, my eyes nearly rolled up in my head: I had died and gone to food heaven!  I wrote a very emphatic blog post about it: If You See Chiles en Nogada on the Menu, Order It! After that, it became my go-to dish when I wasn’t sure what I wanted, as even half-hearted efforts were still quite amazing.

We moved back to New York in 2010. It seems with each passing month, while certain memories fade away, others get more gnawing, especially the food ones. So, rather than bitching/waiting around for us to finally have the opportunity to go back (either to visit or to live — something we contemplate doing again, all the time), I decided to try and make my own chiles en nogada, with my friend Concetta.

And it was a success, nowhere near as difficult as I thought it would be. We used The Homesick Texan‘s relatively simple recipe, but had to make one big change — we couldn’t find any pomegranates (full disclosure: we didn’t try that hard), so we used dried cranberries. No, not quite the same, but tangy and red enough to step in for pomegranates. This version of the recipe was easy to replicate in a small Queens kitchen, but if you’d like to see a step-by-step on the real deal, check out The Mija Chronicles’ How to Make a Proper Chile en Nogada.

The first step is the hardest — blistering the poblano’s skin over an open fire. Homesick Texan recommends a broiler, we used tongs and the gas flame:

Then, lacking paper bags or Zip-locs big enough for peppers, we loosely wrapped each of them in foil, and let them steam for 20 minutes. (After that, you rub off their charred skin, which was easy.) While the peppers steamed, we mixed up the stuffing:

Both of us knew it was going to be good when we couldn’t stop eating right out of the skillet. While Concetta monitored the stuffing, I threw together the walnut cream sauce in the blender.

Last step: Slice open the poblanos, remove the seeds, and stuff them. Place on a dish, and pour walnut sauce on top, and sprinkle with cilantro and pomegranate seeds (or crasins). The peppers by now will not be hot, but that’s normal — it’s supposed to be served at room temperature.

Pat self on back, and eat (once you’re done photographing your bounty, of course):

And another view, aimed for your mouth.

Posted by on February 4, 2012 in Life and tagged , , , , , , , .

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February 3, 2012

Goodbye, Lavon

Brendan and Lavon pick blueberries in Wisconsin.

Just a few weeks after the loss of my uncle Steven, my family experienced another loss — my aunt Martha’s mother, Lavon, died from breast cancer. She was 80.

I’m not sure how Lavon is technically related to me (my aunt married my Dad’s brother, does that make Lavon my great aunt? Grandmother-in-law once removed?), but that is, of course, not important. In recent years, I was fortunate to get to know Lavon well. First, when I worked at the Corpus Christi Caller-Times as a medical reporter — Lavon was a volunteer at Driscoll Children’s Hospital, so I would run into her from time to time when I was out reporting.  Then, in 2007, we had a big family vacation up at Brendan’s parents’ cabin in Northwestern Wisconsin — my parents, Martha, Steven and Lavon all came.

We did a lot of the fun Wisconsin summer staples, picking blueberries and raspberries, going out on the lake in the pontoon boat, visiting a historic fur trading site, eating fry bread, and kayaking. Lavon joined us for all of this.

Yes, even kayaking. Lavon was 75 at the time, and when I expressed some hesitation in her going with us down the St. Croix River, she was insistent.

“My kids wouldn’t let me go kayaking when we all went on the cruise to the Yucatan, and I was so mad!” she said, referring to a recent Mexico trip she had taken with some of her children and grandchildren. “I’ll be fine!”

Well, OK, I thought, crossing my fingers and hoping for the best.

And, boy, did Lavon prove me wrong — she and Martha shared a kayak, and she did fantastic. Never underestimate a 75-year-old woman determined to cross an item off her life list.

That summer was also just a few months before we moved to Mexico City. Lavon — having lived in Bolivia, Chile and Mexico while raising her 5 children — was perhaps the person in my life most excited about my upcoming move.  When some family members were more than a little anxious about us moving south of the border, it was Lavon who brushed away the anxieties. And again, she was right: Living in Mexico City was a dream, one of the best decisions we ever made.

Thank you Lavon, for teaching me these things, and for being a wonderful person to everyone who met you. We’ll miss you.

 

Posted by on February 3, 2012 in Life.

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January 31, 2012

Are You Living the Simple 7?

Map of Heart Disease Death Rates in US White M...

Image via Wikipedia

My day job is editing online health information, and because I spend approx 40 hours a week immersed in health and medicine, I don’t spend a lot of time discussing it here, on my blog, which is more for my off-hour pursuits and interests.

But I came across this article from Calorie Count that I really want to share with my reader(s), on the American Heart Association‘s new My Life Check “Life’s Simple 7″ plan. In an effort to simplify the abundant information overload out there, the AHA came up with these guiding principles to help people prevent heart disease and diabetes (often intertwined). These rules also will help lower the chances of getting other related diseases linked to chronic inflammation (cancer, Alzheimer’s).

So they’re good solid rules, and I hope this simple summation does finally sink into Americans’ brains:

  1. don’t smoke;
  2. maintain a healthy weight;
  3. engage in regular physical activity;
  4. eat a healthy diet;
  5. manage blood pressure;
  6. take charge of cholesterol; and
  7. keep blood sugar, or glucose, at healthy levels.

Posted by on January 31, 2012 in Life and tagged , .

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January 23, 2012

Dolphins & Whales Kanoodling in Hawaii

The moral to the story here is that, simply, I need to live in Hawaii.

Or, Florida. Wow: Video: Dolphin races waterskiier: MyFoxTAMPABAY.com

Posted by on January 23, 2012 in Life.

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January 22, 2012

Joy’s Review of ‘A Visit from the Goon Squad’

Taking inspiration from one of the final chapters of Jennifer Egan‘s A Visit from the Goon Squad, here’s my take. Click to embiggen.

Posted by on January 22, 2012 in Life and tagged , , , , .

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January 21, 2012

Meh

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Posted by on January 21, 2012 in Life.

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January 19, 2012

Sex Offenders and the Swamp

Florida sunset!

Swamp full of danger, or respite? Image by Odalaigh via Flickr

Florida has been called America’s heart of darkness, a descriptor mentioned in a book I just finished, The Lost Memory of Skin by Russell Banks. The comparison with Heart of Darkness,  Joseph Conrad’s novel chronicling a journey in the uncivilized Congo, is still apt — modern Florida is a scary, fascinating place, full of terrors joyful, nightmarish and mind-numbing, which is perhaps why it so often serves as the setting for terrific books. Along with The Lost Memory of Skin, I’d add Swamplandia! by Karen Russell to the category. Reading the books one after the other was an interesting, serendipitous exercise.

The Lost Memory of Skin chronicles a few days’ existence of  ”the Kid,” a young, not-too-bright convicted sex offender living on the muggy streets of a Miami-like city. The Kid’s life is harrowing and complex. He must contend with living under a causeway with a bunch of other exiled sex offenders while navigating a legal, social and cultural system murkier than any African river from Heart of Darkness. How will he, if at all, overcome the odds?

Skin’s point-of-view is two-fold — first from the Kid’s, and also from a sociologist researching the Kid, known only as the Professor. They provide different viewpoints to understand the issue both from the offender’s perspective and that of our society at large. Only briefly does Banks cross over into preachy exposition, via the Professor, in an attempt to make us understand the Kid’s circumstances. The Kid comes across as a somewhat sympathetic figure, a fully developed person, just as some sex offenders are in real life, despite what we’d like to believe. Banks shows us the Kid is lonely but not evil or without love – he cares for pets, taking in an iguana, a dog and a chatty parrot. He seems more of a hapless product of his environment, one in which pornography of the most illegal kind is only a click away for anyone. By the time the Kid finds his way into the real swamp, the heart of darkness, we are relieved. The swamp – with its invasive, deer eating Burmese pythons and mosquito swarms – seems quaint compared to the Florida streets or even the Kid’s childhood bedroom. I found myself hoping he’d stay put, and not move back to the causeway, fraught with its urban dangers and temptations.

By the end of the book, the plot has turned from an interesting novel with an intriguing scenario – how do castigated Florida sex offenders make ends meet? – to a murder mystery/thriller. The pace is fast and riveting, if at times a little too rapid. (The Kid gets fired from his job, loses his best friend and kicked out of his encampment, all on the same day.) Because of how human he made the Kid feel, I would be curious to see how Banks might write from the perspective of another character in the book – a state senator turned sex offender, who Banks hints committed crimes far more heinous than the Kid’s, and who is hard not to despise each time he appears in the book. What’s his story? Do we feel more comfortable with him living the completely unlivable life of a convicted sex offender?

Swamplandia!

Then, when you pick up Swamplandia!, keep the Kid in front of mind when the novel’s protagonist, Ava Bigtree, encounters another intentionally vaguely named character, the Bird Man. Ava, also a product of absentee (but loving) parents, lives on a former wildlife-based amusement park on a mangrove island in Southern Florida with her teen siblings and widowed father, who is often back on the mainland trying to find new ways of supporting the family. Because of the remoteness of her home, Ava lacks access to modern temptations like the internet, but that doesn’t mean she stays out of trouble as she grows up. She too embarks on a journey through the vast Florida swamp, trying to find her runaway sister. While we were relieved when the Kid sought out the swamp, we feel the opposite for naive Ava as she sets out on her quest. Waiting for her is the Bird Man, who I see the Kid becoming as he reaches middle age, still lurking in the swamp. Russel’s Swamplandia! doesn’t tackle any big political issues (though it does touch upon the shifting economy in Florida), but it is is more mystical and dreamy, and less gloomy. It’s an easier read, since Ava isn’t constantly assaulted with obstacles like the Kid.

While it might be easy to peg the Kid as the criminal and Ava as the victim, both books will make you ponder that assumption, and at what point did the Kid cross over from victim, to criminal, or did he ever, really?

Posted by on January 19, 2012 in Life and tagged , , , , , , , , .

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January 16, 2012

Goodbye, Uncle Steven

This weekend my family gathered in Corpus Christi, Texas, to remember the life of my uncle Steven. He survived so much in life – most notably a gunshot wound to the head at close range when he was in his early 20s – but ultimately colon cancer was his chief nemesis, which also took my grandmother’s life. They are now resting near each other, both free from the immense pain cancer causes. I will never forget the way he communicated with the world, using his own phrases and finger spelling at lightning speed with my aunt Martha (equally amazing person), who then translated what Steven was trying to say. The world lost a unique form of human expression and language when we lost Steven. I have so many good memories of Steven, even though his life was cut short at the age of 54.

Steven, gentle giant, biker hippie, the sweetest uncle a niece can have, I will miss you.

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Posted by on January 16, 2012 in Life.

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January 13, 2012

Kansas City Southern Railroad in Texas

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Posted by on January 13, 2012 in Life and tagged .

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January 8, 2012

The Slow Reveal – I Spy the National Bird

Yesterday Brendan and I did a small hike at the Basha Kill Wildlife Management Area. We didn’t see much wildlife beyond squirrels, but we did have one great sighting that made up for weeks of nature-less existence in Queens (readers, I’m going a little nuts lately from too much urbanity). This sighting was helped enormously by my new vibration-control zoom Nikon lens, a great birthday gift from the dear husband.

Let’s play a bit of feathered Where’s Waldo. You can click any of these photos to get embiggen ‘em.

Somewhere in that tree on the right is Haliaeetus leucocephalus, hiding in the sunlight.

Let’s try a similar framed shot, but with different lighting.

See him/her yet? S/he's right smack in the middle of the photo.

Now, let’s crop my photos and see what we get.

Are you immediately compelled to sing 'My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty...'?

S/he turned to the right for us.

S/he also mooned us. They're bald on both ends!

A full look at the Basha Kill wetlands, aka the eagle's territory. There are geese on the right, on the water. The eagle is in the tree, just very hard to see without a great zoom lens.

Posted by on January 8, 2012 in Life and tagged , , , , , , , .

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January 6, 2012

Roti Boti – A Lil’ Bit of Pakistan in Astoria

Roti Boti

The name means "a little morsel of meat." But you get a lot more than a little bit.

A few weeks ago, Brendan and I formed our very own New Year’s resolution-like pledge — to eat at more restaurants in our neighborhood. Since moving back from Mexico City in 2010, we’ve been living in Astoria, Queens, but doing a dismal job of getting out and sampling the local eateries, which range from real street food (none of that silly cupcake food truck stuff you see in Manhattan) to white tablecloth service. We like it all, but it sure is hard to find the time, especially when the couch and Netflix beckon so strongly night after night.

Last night, though, we stepped out for first eating adventure: Roti Boti, a Pakistani-Indian joint on 21st Street and Astoria Boulevard. We’ve always been intrigued by this place, which seems to cater to taxi drivers. It must be good, right?

Roti Boti is not the place to go if you're seeking romantic ambiance. Unless you're into plastic flatware, TVs blaring foreign news programs (we think in Urdu), and harsh lighting.

When you first walk in, you’re met by a long row of glassed-in buffet trays with steaming food. There are no signs we could read, but we did locate a tiny menu taped to the window, scribbled in English, with prices. Luckily, an older man walked up and asked us for our order, and we pointed to various things, and asked what they were. He fired off the names of everything on the line, most of it various types of chicken dishes, in sauces. Trying to get a variety of stuff, we ordered lentils, chickpeas, chicken tikka, and naan. Not sure what to do next, we wandered over to the dining area, and sat down. (Some of the patrons seemed to be going directly up to the buffet and serving themselves — not sure what that was about.)

And a feast soon arrived, plate by plate. First, salads with a spicy yogurt dressing, likely a type of raita (but much spicier). The server also brought us cups and a full pitcher of cold water, which was handy because we didn’t order drinks. Then all our food arrived in rapid order.

The two helpings of naan were perfection — crispy and a little burned on the outside, doughy and hot on the inside. Also, the size of a large dinner plate.

That's Brendan's hand -- big by any standards -- looking tiny compared to the naan.

The chickpeas — akin to chana masala — were good, if a little overcooked and mushy (but still quite palatable). Ditto to the yellow curry lentils, which were similar to mung dal.

The showcase item was definitely the chicken tikka. They serve it very spicy, and chargrilled to perfection. Without the naan and cold water to help me get through it, I’m not sure I could have eaten all my chicken, as savory as it was — it was that spicy.

Packed with pepper!

All told, we were stuffed. Best of all? Total price: $17.

Posted by on January 6, 2012 in astoria, food, Life, new york, Photography and tagged , , , .

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January 5, 2012

Drink a Little Poison (or Just Listen to It)

I first heard this song on Treme, which does a fabulous job of showcasing New Orleans music.

This song has to be among the finest. Feeling a little sad? Listen. Feeling a little tired? Listen. Feeling a little homesick for the South? Don’t listen — it will just make that worse, while also making  you crave hush puppies and spicy boiled shrimp. Or maybe that’s just me.

This is antidepressant medication in a song, people.

Posted by on January 5, 2012 in Life and tagged , , , , , , .

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January 4, 2012

You Know You Live in Queens When…

…you see signs like this.

My friend Adam posted this photo on Facebook after spotting it at a car repair shop in our neighborhood of Astoria, Queens.

It’s brilliant on so many levels. First the Queens accent I hear in my head when I read this: no smokin’ fo NObawdy! You can’t live in this borough and read that sign and not hear that thick, jarring, nasal-y accent.

Second, the health consciousness of it. New York long ago banned smoking in restaurants and bars, but apparently it’s still a problem in auto repair shops — where, you know, the presence of flammable fuels and welding materials would make you think that no smoking would kinda be a no-brainer. But, apparently not.

Third, the mystery. Was this an innocent mistake on the part of a native speaking in the local dialect, which is heavy on the double negative? Or was it crafted by someone belonging to the 46% of the Queens population who is an immigrant whose first language is not English? Or ….maybe…was the sign maker just trying to be healthy, safe and funny?

Posted by on January 4, 2012 in Life and tagged , , , , , , .

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