Obsession

I was looking through my cupboards and came across a huge bag of miscellaneous feathers which I spent the morning organizing.

When I was growing up, I remember looking out my window at a huge tree, a few acres away, in our neighbor's back yard. In that tree (which was actually four trees that, from our house, look like one huge one) was a very large vulture nest. I remember watching the birds as they circled the tree, their huge wings curling under them as they landed on their nest.

The day I discovered the tree outside our window was actually four, I had been following our Australian shepherd, Uboo, who, on a whim, ran excitedly, crazily, through our neighbor's field. Below the trees was an ominous looking little shack and on the ground, surrounded by feasting vultures, was some kind of decomposing animal. Little red innards spilled from the corpse as the huge, ugly, bald creatures pulled apart bits of its body. Amazed as I was by the scene, I stopped abruptly, too frightened to move any closer. I never discovered what kind of animal it was. The birds were giants, their wings about as long as I was tall and bigger than our dog. I called as Uboo terrorized them, fearing that, at any moment, they might turn their attention to her, or me. I imagined them landing on my shoulders, eating the eyes from my head. Eventually I ran away.

Uboo, being the luckiest dog in the world, returned sometime later, unscathed.

All throughout my childhood, those birds left huge feathers in our yard, feathers as long as my forearm, that I meticulously collected to make quills for my brothers and me. I learned calligraphy with them, signed my name with bright red ink in my sketchbooks. I don't know what ever happened to those quills.

Nearly 15 years later, I find myself still collecting feathers. None quite as large as those I found in my yard, but just as magnificent. I wear them in my hair as a memento, a memorial to those birds whose nests no longer exist.

(ps: I'm pretty sure they were California condors)

Chillin at Lillie's

Beautiful, delicious stouts.

Ok so, once in a while I just want some ham and cheese.

Nick's traditional Irish breakfast.

Look at all that sausage.

Black and White pudding!

Mark's bacon Burger.

I remember before Lillie's opened, I don't remember where I was working (I've had many jobs), but it was still in Union Square. Nick and I used to walk past the windows framed in painted gold marked "Under Construction." We'd peak through our reflections at the bar as it was being built, the red lamps as they were hung. We were waiting.

When it opened, we weren't disappointed, it lived up to its extravagant decor. And, it wasn't overpriced. Their menu is an assortment of miscellaneous traditional and typical European dishes with a few general American dishes thrown in. Bottles of alcohol line the walls behind the bar, displaying their impressive list of beers from all over the world.

Too Hot to Cook.

As of late, Age of Iron has become more about my haunts than about anything else. It's been too hot to cook in our little kitchen lately, so we've been sticking to salads and other cold foods. None of which are all that interesting to write about.

But, never fear! Nick's pool team won their regional championship so they're playing in Vegas! Which means we're headed to Vegas for Nick's team (and a small actual vacation for us), then off to California to visit family!

So, bear with me through this dry (boring), month. I promise there are interesting stories to come.

Thai Food!!

There's nothing like a hot bowl of curry for a sore throat. Especially those nagging summer colds that always last longer than expected. This is 'Duck Curry' from Three E, a Thai restaurant on Broadway around the corner from our place (34-16 Broadway, Astoria). Duck is one of my favorite poultry meats, it has such a unique flavor and it's fat is just amazing. There's nothing quite like Thai duck, it's always crispy and it's fat absorbs whatever flavors are around it. In this case, red curry with pineapple, red pepper, bamboo shoots and tomato. So delicious.

"No One Here, but People Everywhere..."

I love being outside. I love the feel of grass beneath my feet, sand between my toes. I love the bugs that land on the pages of my books and the sound of birds calling...

Despite the weather in New York being much nicer than the desert, I tend to spend far more time indoors, here, than I ever did in California. And, after several hours a day staring at my apartment walls (however nicely decorated they may be), I start to go a little crazy. I'm in my element outside, I'm just not meant to be locked between walls with potted plants.

The problem is, every street in New York is surrounded by walls, some straight up to the sky. 

There's no nature in this city, the animals will practically walk onto your lap for food. The wildest, most frightening creatures are the stray cats and the giant solitary roaches that appear from nowhere. There are also rats, but they're more interested in the garbage at your feet than the smell of your skin. And there are people everywhere.

Even so, I adore my parks. A good book amongst the clovers on a cool day is my kind of heaven.

Heartland Brewery

The Pu Pu Platter.

I freakin love Oatmeal Stouts. The lighter was the Indiana Pale Ale and the red is a Buffalo Bok.

The old pita bread and humus.

Pollo Quesadillas!

BBQ shrimp with cheese.

Sesame chicken in buffalo sauce.

Classic Ribs.

My personal favorite, Buffalo Spring Rolls. These guys are buffalo chicken with goat cheese in filo bread with buffalo sauce and bleu cheese dip.

When I worked as a waitress in a horribly--and abusively--managed restaurant in Union Square, I often worked late into the night. And, since waiters very rarely get breaks, I usually ended my workday without having eaten. Not many restaurants are open after 11pm, and most places that are, close their kitchens around then. Heartland became my go-to.

After spending the majority of my day being shat on by needy eaters and antagonized by our horrible managers, all I really wanted was some greasy comfort food and a beer to wash it down. Maybe a dark place to sulk. So, a few nights a week, before heading home, I'd stop by Heartland for a little self indulgence. I got to know the beautiful waitresses and always tipped waaaay more than 20%.

Because it fucking sucks to wait tables.

When you eat at your favorite restaurant (I don't mean McDonalds) and that beautiful (or maybe not so beautiful, I don't know where you eat) waitress hands you your food 6 minutes later than you expected, before you decide to short change her, remember that she probably makes--at most--$5 an hour. And the food she just handed you? She didn't cook that, there's a whole kitchen of people making your food--she has nothing to do with it. When the kitchen makes mistakes, or becomes over encumbered with orders, ticket times begin to stretch. Most of the time it is not your server's fault. So leave them alone. What they're doing is a lot of fucking work.

But, lets take a step back from the rant.

I haven't been a waitress for years (I'm now a technician) and when I was, I hated it. Food tends to bring out the primal instincts in people. Think about holidays--have you ever cooked in a roomful of family members? Even in a kitchen full of friends things can get tense. A restaurant is an entire building full of people with food foremost in their thoughts.

The need to satisfy hunger is one of the oldest parts of the brain. It develops first, before abstract thought, before decision making--which means it is part of the survival portion of our brain. So, when we get hungry our subconscious goes into survival mode. Meaning we want food, we want it exactly as we want it and we want it immediately. We might not be aware of it, but we're more aggressive when we're hungry. Imagine your body when about to eat; your mouth waters, you're more aware of smells--I often find myself fantasizing about tearing into whatever is in front of me, destroying it, filling my mouth with taste. Just the act of eating is violent. Imagine that thought process times 30, sometimes 50 and if it's a big restaurant it could be more than 100. And that's just a single hour. Most waiters work between 5 and 12 hours (sometimes more) so you can imagine the amount of people they're helping a day.

The restaurant business is a huge group of people whose job is to make you happy. And, just like myself on those nights so many years ago nursing my beer, it's a form of self indulgence. I have a kitchen, I make enough money to feed myself. Really, I don't need a whole kitchen of people to cook for me. When I go to restaurants, it's because I want someone else to wait on me, because I'm too lazy to cook at home. And, since they're kind enough to do that for me, even if I'm a total stranger, who am I not to tip them?

I'm no one. And if they don't get tipped, that means they've just attended my every need for free.

The Many Misspellings of Me #1

Thing is, I don't think I've ever pronounced my name like this. I'm assuming it'd sound something like "Frensee" if said aloud.

This is the most common misspelling but I accept it, cuz at least it's my name.

I'm not really sure where "Frengi" comes from, but I've gotten it more than once.

So. I go to Starbucks. Pretty often.

 I'm not a big coffee drinker, but I do love a good cup of tea and happen to really enjoy Starbucks' "brew." One of my favorite parts of my daily (sometimes twice-daily) cup of tea is the rather creative spellings of my name. I've gotten everything from Frankie to Reggie and Reggie has shown up more than once--that one's usually pretty surprising.

The most recent repeat offender is 'Frengi.' Which, by the way, is Turkish for syphilis. I looked it up. I'm pretty sure neither of the baristas who've written this on my cup are Turkish. But, seriously? Not cool. Although it is a rather aesthetically pleasing word. Too bad it means something so terrible.