Kitchen Kat

I used to think that the Macy’s Thanksgiving balloon inflation was an event known only to locals.  Not even my friend Susan, who has lived in NY almost her entire life, has ever walked along Central Park West pre-turkey day night.  Back in 2000, the year that I moved to the city, I breezed past the balloons outside of the Museum of Natural History, stopping when I wanted, taking photos when I felt like it.  I never fought snarky crowds or grumbled about tall people, poofy hair or fuzzy hats blocking my view. 

In the past few years hordes of people have begun showing up for balloon inflation night.  Last night’s turnout along W. 81st to W. 77th and Columbus and Central Park West swelled to ridiculous proportions, as enormous and monstrous as a giant Kermit the Frog pumped up high on helium.  So much for stopping and snapping tons of awesome pictures as I used to do.    

Balloon inflation officially started at 3 o’clock in the afternoon.  Due to a last minute trip to Kitchen Arts and Letters and an apple pie purchase at Zabar’s, Sean and I reached the route a little later than planned, around 5:15.  (Actually, it was Sean and I and roughly 3,500 other gawkers showing up around 5:15.)  Clustered on the corner of Columbus and 79th, we waited what seemed like an eternity before shuffling across the street.  It took another 15 minutes of jostling through the throngs, clutching my Zabar’s bag and hoping that the Thanksgiving dessert survived, before we saw the first balloons — Ronald McDonald and the late Keith Haring’s “heart” — on 77th. 

In spite of the wait and multitudes we arrived in time to watch two remaining balloons go up.  Working beneath weighted nets, men and women hustled to erect Sesame Street’s Abby Cadabby and good old Sponge Bob Square Pants.  

“Fish! Fish! Fish!” a favorite balloon as well as the mantra chanted as it glides down CPW, was already inflated and in place.  Likewise, Snoopy a/k/a the Red Baron, Shrek, Horton, Beethoven, Kermit and the new Smurf — or as some weirdly called it, “Schumurf” — and Buzz Lightyear were blown up and tied down in anticipation of the next day’s parade.

Along with famous cartoon faces, we and countless others spotted Michael Bloomberg among the balloons.  Cell phones, little digital cameras and even a medium format Mamiya captured Bloomberg as he talked to reporters about the recent MTA terrorist threat.  

Oblivious to the topic or to whom she had photographed, a woman standing smack in front of me yelled out, “I got a picture of Bloomberg!  I got Bloomberg!  Now who’s Bloomberg?”  Guess it’s not a locals thing anymore. 

In the end we spent two hours wandering down 4 blocks, looking at 13 big balloons.   Amazingly, the apple pie survived all the jolts and jiggling.  And so did we!

Earlier this fall I had the pleasure of returning to the 19th century, Victorian style resort Mohonk Mountain House in New Paltz, New York.  Nestled into the Shawangunk Mountains in New York’s oh-so scenic Hudson Valley, about 90 minutes west of NYC, Mohonk has become synonymous with relaxation and comfort.  A National Historic Landmark as well as a Historic Hotel of America, the 265-room hotel has been owned, operated and cared for by the same family, the Smileys, since 1869.  They have made every effort to jettison their guests away from the chaos and stress of daily life and into a world of wholesome luxury and fun.   

Blame it on a desire to squeeze every single hotel-sponsored activity into my visit but I never miss afternoon tea.  In spring, summer and fall we sit on wooden slat rocking chairs and take in the views of the putting course, gardens and huge fish swimming in Lake Mohonk.  In winter we curl up in front of one of the resort’s 138 working fireplaces and dunk our peanut butter, oatmeal raisin and sugar cookies into steaming cups of black tea.   So winsome.  So delicious.  So Mohonk.

With the aforementioned fireplaces, parlors, balconies, gardens, spa center and 7,800 acres of preserved land I have endless places to get lost in a good book, indulge in a massage, take a yoga class or go for a stroll.  Our most recent room overlooked the half-mile long, 60-foot deep, freshwater Lake Mohonk, so while Sean went off on an early morning kayak excursion, I lounged on our balcony, one of 238.  Feet propped on the railing, a back issue of The New Yorker in my lap, I watched plump chickadees flit from tree to tree and the lone kayaker paddle across the water.   

Tired of reading, I can slip off on a mule-drawn carriage or ride horseback around the hotel’s wooded property.  When I go into museum-withdrawal, I can tour the Barn Museum and see not only artifacts from the Mohonk’s past but also artwork from regional artists.  Forever the nerdy student, I can attend a lecture on NY woodland creatures, join an educational nature walk or try out birding.   

With the exception of tennis I absolutely suck at sports.  However, my clumsiness and lack of athletic prowess doesn’t stop me from having fun.  Scratching at pool in the billiards room, swinging and swinging again at the 9-hole putting course, flailing in the indoor swimming pool or, in the summertime, the lake, tumbling onto the ice skating rink, or skinning my knee while rock climbing — you name it, I’ve done it with a smile on my face. 

Luckily, I can redeem myself on one of two clay or eight hard tennis courts and hold my own on the game room’s ping pong table.  Kayaking, canoeing, boating and fishing on Lake Mohonk as well as hiking to Sky Top Tower likewise allow me to save face among my more agile companions. 

One activity at which I excel is eating.  Unsurprisingly, Mohonk provides me with ample opportunities to do just this.  Whether taken in the spacious Main or smaller East and West dining rooms or on picnic benches at The Grainary, three daily meals — plus afternoon tea! — are included with each stay.  With an emphasis on local, seasonal ingredients as well as options for kosher and vegetarian diners, the fare is creative, flavorful and sure to satisify the most particular of eaters.  And should I still feel peckish, I can always grab a bite at the hotel’s soda fountain or at the new cocktail lounge.   At Mohonk I never go hungry. 

During the summer months “after dinner” means movies on the lawn, campfires with music and s’mores and walks around the grounds.  Wintertime there are sleigh rides, ice skating at the 18,000-square-foot pavilion and snowy night hikes.  Square dancing in the parlor seems to be a year-round event, one that this uncoordinated guest has managed to skirt again and again.  Likewise, theme weekends dedicated to astronomy, art, photography, chocolate, dancing, birding, mysteries and theatre occur throughout the year.

Mohonk Mountain House truly offers something for everyone.  For me, it provides a little slice of heaven here on earth. 

Before a recent trip to St. Louis, all that I knew about the “gateway to the West” was just that — the St. Louis a/k/a “Gateway” Arch.   Au contraire!  There is far more to this city of 354,000 than the iconic 630-foot high and 630-foot wide monument.  Lush parks, vibrant festivals, beautiful museums and unique, local foods rank high among the many offerings.

As luck would have it, my visit coincided with the 36th annual Great Forest Park Balloon Race.  The colorful, two-day event kicked off on Friday evening with the traditional “balloon glow;” roughly 39 inflated hot air balloons, illuminated by their burners, stood in Forest Park’s Central Field where spectators strolled, snapped photos and partook of food and drink.  The next day’s race filled the sky with these plump, cheerful balloons.  Both on land and in the air they were a breathtaking sight.

The 1,293-acre Forest Park is a site in its own right.  Home to the 1904 World’s Fair, it now contains the city’s art and history museums, zoo, science center, tennis center and opera house.  An art addict, I spent an afternoon admiring the works of such diverse artists as Chuck Close, Alexander Calder, Vincent van Gogh and Francisco Zurbaran as well as pre-Columbian and Oceanic art at the free St. Louis Art Museum.   I didn’t make it to the 3-story International Bowling Museum where I would have learned about the sport’s 5,000-year history and even bowled a free frame.   Maybe next time.

I didn’t miss out, though, on the brass star-lined St. Louis Walk of Fame or the fantastic independent shops lining Euclid, Delmar Boulevard and the Delmar Loop.  New/used record stores such as Euclid Records and Vintage Vinyl, bookstores such as Left Bank Books and Big Sleep Books, the home furnishings shop Rothschild’s Antiques, home and kitchenware store Winslow’s Home and the quirky Star Clipper were among the great local spots.     

Nor did I overlook all the wonderful foods.  St. Louis is renowned for its sweet, dense gooey butter cakes, toasted ravioli, thin pizzas topped with “Provel” cheese and Ted Drewe’s candy, nut and fruit-filled frozen custards.  It also possesses a thriving local-seasonal movement and a bounty of farmer’s markets, including Soulard Farmer’s Market, which has been in operation since 1779. 

Craving less casual fare, my friend Nickie and I dined at one of her favorite restaurants, Pomme.  A fast favorite for me, Pomme serves up French-American cuisine in a sophisticated yet congenial atmosphere.  Smoked salmon and trout with apple-celeric salad and slices of toasted baguette, pan-seared tuna, two rainbow trout filets draped over shitakes, hazelnuts and chives, a trio of housemade ice creams – vanilla, banana chocolate chip and rum raisin – with three crisp sugar cookies, and an exceptional wine list were just a few of the high points.      

 Another culinary high point?  Thanks to liberal open container laws, I gulped down local, $2 beer – Bud, Busch and the like – at Soulard Farmer’s Market while shopping for pasta, preserves and produce.  Needless to say, after all this drinking and noshing I could have used another St. Louis creation, the antacid TUMS.

The beer kept flowing at the Anheuser-Busch Brewery tour.  After an hour of exploring the Clydesdales’ stables, brewhouse and packaging plant, we were treated to two glasses of an Anheuser-Busch beer of our choice.  Not bad for free!

Tell people that you’re headed to Maine and more than likely you’ll hear “Oh, you going up there for the lobster? ” Repeated trips to the easternmost state have taught me that there is more to Maine than cold water crustaceans. Spend a few days in Portland, the largest city in the state, and you’ll soon see what I mean.

With a population of 64,000 Portland’s size pales in comparison to most urban centers. What it lacks in numbers, it compensates in character, history, charm and cuisine.  Such is the case at Becky’s Diner.  Located at the end of Hobson’s Wharf, Becky’s has been sustaining local fishermen, townspeople and tourists for close to 20 years.  Its wholesome food and friendly service pack the red vinyl booths and counter stools “362 1/2 days.”  Don’t miss the perfectly cooked home fries, generous amounts of fresh fruit and scrumptious grilled muffins at breakfast, my favorite meal there.

Nestled in a low brick building one block from the water in the Old Port District, Fore Street and its culinary feats have been recognized by the James Beard Foundation as well as Gourmet magazine.  No wonder.  Featuring fresh, local ingredients in such satisfying dishes as wood roasted red hake filet with wild mushrooms, butter poached lobster BLT, organic green beans in a sherry almond vinaigrette and blueberry cobbler topped with blueberry ice cream, Fore’s fare has dazzled the crowds since 1996.  And crowds there are.  Just try snagging a last-minute reservation on a weekend or, during the warmer months, weeknight.  Not a chance!

On the corner of Middle Street and Franklin Arterial, Hugo’s tells a slightly different tale.  Like Fore Street, Hugo’s has been praised for its innovative, seasonal food.  However, unlike at Fore Street, both the crowds, portions and pleasures were miniscule on the night that my husband and I dined there.

As serving sizes were small, our menus and server suggested ordering three items. Nonetheless, I requested two dishes:  organic tomato salad with olive oil panna cotta and aged asiago cheese; pan-seared arctic char with organic new potatoes on a bed of seaweed slaw.  In turn I received 5, skinned, yellow cherry tomatoes tumbled onto a paper-thin layer of panna cotta with several centimeter-sized cubes of cheese, a small square of arctic char, one thumb-sized potato and two forkfuls of slaw.  Good thing that I hadn’t been famished. 

Also good that I brought along my debit card.  The portions may have been petite but the price wasn’t.  My lackluster meal — sans drinks — cost $30.  My husband’s, which consisted of the recommended three but also without drinks, ran $50. 

A far better value and meal came, surprisingly, at the Portland Museum of Art’s Museum Cafe.  There we split a flavorful lentil salad studded with slivers of red peppers, diced carrots, onion and feta, a bowl of creamy yet light corn chowder and crisp, homemade ginger snaps.  The cafe likewise offered several other salads, soups, sandwiches, dinner and vegetarian entrees as well as an assortment of baked goods, all served in a spacious, art-filled dining area.     

Three and a half days in Portland.  Loads of good food but only one lobster-based dish.

Maine Lobster Roll
Serves 4
Note: Either buy cooked lobster meat or steam two 1 1/2-pound lobsters and remove the meat.

2 cups cooked lobster meat, cut into small chunks
1 teaspoon lemon juice
2 scallions, minced
¼ cup celery, minced
½ – ¾ cup mayonnaise
salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
4 hot dog rolls
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened

Toss the lobster with the lemon juice in a bowl.  Add ½ cup of mayonnaise, scallions and celery and stir to combine, adding the remaining mayonnaise if necessary.  The salad should be moist but the flavor should not be overwhelmed by mayo.  Season with salt and pepper to taste.  Refrigerate until ready to use.

Heat a large frying pan over medium heat.  Spread the softened butter on the rolls and place the rolls, butter-side down, in the pan.  Cook, turning once, until the rolls are golden brown.  Remove from the pan, open the rolls and spoon in the lobster salad.  Serve immediately.

Primanti Bros. and Pamela’s.  Multiple Pittsburgh locations.  Loads of good, uncomplicated food. 

Hot, hungry and thirsty, my childhood friends Nickie, Marilee, Jen, Ann and I wound up seated at the counter of the original Primanti Bros.  Located on 18th Street in the Strip District, Primanti’s has been serving its famous french fry and coleslaw-stuffed sandwiches here for 75 years.  This locale operates 24-7, perfect for the bar crowd or for anyone craving a kolbassi and cheese or sardine and cheese sandwich at 3 in the morning.

On a late Saturday afternoon our needs were a bit more mainstream.  Along with chilled bottles of Iron City Beer, the drink of derision for much of my 20s but not for my nostalgia-fueled 30s, we chowed down such “and cheese” sandwiches as jumbo fish, spicy capicola ham and ragin’ cajun chicken breast.  Not one of us could finish these huge sandwiches.  The beer, however, was a different tale.

Along with the good friends and food, the best part of eating at Primanti Bros. was the free show.  By sitting at the counter, we could watch the cook grill mounds of cheese-topped bologna, roast beef, ham, chicken, and fish and assemble our meals.  Meat, chicken or fish placed on a hunk of Italian bread followed by fries, coleslaw, tomatoes and another piece of bread.  Slice it in half and serve it on a sheet of waxed paper.  Perfection!

At Pamela’s on Walnut Street in Shadyside breakfast was on our menus.  Since the restaurant is famed for its pancakes, Ann and I both ordered short stacks.  Often I gripe about restaurant pancakes, complaining that what lands on my plate is too thick, floury, flaccid and/or flavorless.   Pamela’s, however, were light and airy and tasted delicious.     

In keeping with the duplicate orders trend, Nickie and Marilee got vegetarian omelets with savory home fries and toast.  Jen courageously ordered breakfast her way — two eggs with the requisite home fries and toast.  A wholesome and delectable beginning to our Saturday.