On a Mission In Search of Hamantaschen

Tale of a New York City-reared Vietnamese American Confucian Buddhist woman seeking Purim cookies.

The oh so elusive hamantaschen, obtained at last.

Primed by Molly Yeh on this past weekend's "Girl Meets Farm," then by all of my friends' posts of baking and buying all the foods and donning all the costumes, compounded by the bevy of corporatey Purim social media posts, I got in my mind by the morning of Purim to pick up some hamantaschen. The plan was to do it post-work, while picking up a Buy Nothing award, after work-from-home, all in the neighborhood, and just in time for the start of the holiday, on an evening that promised to be unseasonably warm. But the Buy Nothing pickup got postponed, till after my Tuesday in-office day, when the weather had turned, back to Winter cold. Not as ideal.

I thought of abandoning the mission. It's not MY holiday, after all. The pickup was in the opposite direction from home, farther west. And then, on top of that, I had seen a curb alert quite a bit farther north that I decided to pursue, and they were there - some not terribly heavy, though rather bulky, storage baskets and a shelf. So there I was, lugging around six storage items, over a half mile away from home, on a frigid evening, the last of Purim. I debated. But I was already out, and the most likely purveyor of the hamantaschen would be en route home, so why not check?

Hamantaschen amid the storage units.

I had high hopes for the Budapest Cafe. I entered its narrow hallway before the display case, while the clerk was helping a patron ahead of me. Rugelach, check; babka, check; black and white cookies, check. No sign of hamantaschen. I could have exited; I was, after all, blocking the means of both ingress and egress with my armload of storage implements. But I was committed to the mission; I figured I could wait and ask - in case there was a hidden supply in the back somewhere. While I awaited my turn, two women came in, discussing the treats they were seeking.

And then my turn. The clerk shook her head; no hamantaschen. I'm not quite sure why I had been so certain a Hungarian pastry shop should have hamantaschen; while I, personally, know Jews with Hungarian roots, post-Holocaust, the Jewish community was greatly reduced, and for all I know, the owners of the cafe (whom, a Hungarian classmate told me, aren't even Hungarian any longer) came up in that post-World War II time with a greatly diminished Jewish influence.

The woman ahead of me, whose exit I blocked, helpfully suggested William Greenberg. Too far, too late, and back uptown from where I had just come. And then one of the ladies who had come in after me, whose advance to the counter I blocked, said, "You're just looking for hamantaschen? I have some here in my bag; I got them just today. You can have them." So sweet, so generous, so kind. Of course, I declined. She was a white woman, whom I assumed had come from a Purim celebration. How could I take the spiritual hamantaschen that were her birthright to satisfy my mere sweet hankering and cultural appropriation? I couldn't. "Thank you so much, that is so nice of you, but no, please enjoy them. I'm sure Agata and Valentina will have them." And with that, they backed up and held the door open for me so I could exit, and get out of their way en route to the counter.

Agata and Valentina? Why would I think an Italian gourmet grocery would carry intrinsically Jewish holiday cookies? Because I live on the Upper Eastside of New York City, and it was Purim, and Agata has a pretty extensive bakery counter and selection. New Yorkers, and New York City businesses, are agnostic as to religion, culture, too, to an extent. That's why we love it so. So why in the world wouldn't culturally Catholic purveyors in New York City carry hamantaschen for Purim? But Agata is south of home. So I figured I'd check the Morton Williams on the way; but no luck. Arms tired, I debated with myself again. But by then I was invested. So, onward toward Agata. First, to Agata's gluten-free outpost, pleasantly empty and spacious. The clerk there had none; "We have rugelach, but we haven't done hamantaschen yet. But I'm sure across the street will have some." So across the street, to the older, narrower store. I looked - on the shelves, in the bakery case; I didn't see any. How could there be no hamantaschen anywhere on the Upper East Side? Well, I suppose it was the last night of Purim. But really, everyone had purchased the entire supply of hamantaschen?! Then I spied a clerk behind the bakery counter, looking like she was readying to leave for the day. And I asked. "Yes, but they'll only be the assorted ones." Holy grail!! No need for the fresh baked gourmet ones in the case; pre-packaged would be perfectly fine. She came out from behind the counter to help me look on the shelves. And there it was, high up; "These are the last ones." I got the very last hamantaschen.

And with that treasure, home I went, to partake of the cultural heritage of my city. It was my dinner that night - far too many hamantaschen in one sitting. But whatever. Not my spiritual or cultural birthright; rather, my New York City-raisedright.

Exchange with the Sissy.

[Edited to completion March 17, 2023.]

It's Not Easy Being Green

Kermit's song, as expressed by a beleaguered Thai lime tree overwintering indoors, and tulips trying to hang on outdoors.

Tiny little full leaf.

In particular, if you are a Thai lime tree living in my household under a regime of benign neglect. Despite watering - ok, make up watering after two weeks of deprivation - the Thai lime dried out and shed its leaves. Every time I brushed past it or bent my head near it, and thorns caught my hair and I tugged ever so slightly on the tree to disentangle myself, a few leaves dropped. But then, with the compensation watering, which I had hoped would stem the leaf shedding, it only got worse; they all seemed to want to end their misery and separate themselves from the unnourishing limbs. So, I decided to embrace it and collect the leaves for cooking.

Five fresh leaves remain. Well, really, four half leaves and one teeny tiny full leaf. Hopeful for more to grow in, as happened last year. It's always bounced back for me.

Withered upper half of a leaf, and normal lower half.

Full on dry shrivel.

I took to gathering the shed leaves in the rim of the pedestal planter...

... and then gathered them all into a container.

The mostly bald limbs.

It's not easy being tulips in the Jardin, either. I've neglected the Jardin more than usual the past year. There is a bag of mulch from Mulchfest that Sissy so helpfully retrieved for me (the weekend I left town on a work conference), but I have yet to deploy it. 

Tulips emerging.

So the tulips are shivering.

Somewhat older bulbs, not quite so vigorous.

Or, alternately, they are fooled by our False Spring into thinking they need to sprout like crazy to catch up to the intermittently brief early Summer temperatures. Yo-yo. Par for the course for New York City.

First real snow blanket.

[Edited to completion March 17, 2023.]

Happy Pi Day!

Math nerds, unite for mid-March pastry-enrobed filling dessert day!

After a disappointing dearth of pie options at my workplace cafeteria at lunch (where were my fellow Pi Day celebrants?! One would think there'd be some math geeks in the financial services industry...), I ended the workday still in search of pie.

Would it have been easier to pick up store bought? Sure. But, having found a single serving pie recipe online, I got the Icarian ambition to bake from scratch - sometimes I get these ideas 🤷🏻‍♀️. (x2, actually - 'cause Pi Day is more fun with more pies and more people, or, another person - the Sissy - in any event.)

Was it the best ever? No. Could the crust have used a nice egg wash? Yes - but for a single serve quick pie, a whole egg? Could the filling have been more bubbly? Sure. But did it present justifiably as pie from scratch on Pi Day? Yup! Did it taste apple-y and buttery crusty and pie-y, and all accomplished last minute, post-work (yay for somewhat better work/life balance!), with ingredients I already had in the kitchen? Ding, ding, ding! 

I shall chalk it up as a success! All of it.

[Edited March 15, 2023 to complete entry, after publishing only a partial title to ensure the correct date of observation.]

Liv(ing Vicariously Through) Work

Like MTV's "Cribs," but the in-real-life, non-filmed version, lived by the hangers on.

Rooftop pool deck, with ocean views. Each of the buildings in the complex had its own. And these were in addition to the complex's communal pool, by the restaurant, and the luxury gym.

A significant consideration in switching out of BigLaw and into BigBanking was the promise of a better work/life balance. It FEELS like I made the right choice and am headed in the right direction, though there still doesn't seem to be enough time, and in some ways it feels like there is even less time - things fell to the wayside over the pandemic, and I have yet to manage to pick them up.

Terrace off the guest apartment. Envy-worthy outdoor space. Puts the Jardin to shame.

One of the aspects that's helped work feel less like work is the breaks in the day routine. There are more meetings (now I understand the office worker backlash against excessive, overscheduled meetings; that was NOT a thing in law). It's less conducive to productivity, but it does give the brain some rest time. Not having to bill helps, too. And there are more professional excursions - an offsite retreat, an out of state conference, travel to a client meeting. Ok, so each one of those has been to Florida, which, really, hasn't been all bad (crazy politics aside). Mini-vacations, in many ways.

Different view of the rooftop, toward the building clubhouse, and gym.

And the thing about advising really wealthy people is that one gets a peek into their lives, both the good and bad. As a toddler refugee whose family used to receive public assistance, it can get a little heady - billionaires find my advice valuable. I've seen, and lived, the full range of wealth; I've observed; I understand the allure, the power, the potential, but also its limitations.

Wetlands kayaking heaven.

But, yeah. It can buy lovely things. The rich believe in trickle down because when you are in their orbit, some of the bounty does trickle down.  Exhibit A being business travel. Back in January, we went to see a client who is a developer - of luxury housing. And he had us stay in one of the units he reserves for family. Not gonna lie: It was quite nice. And in the middle of a New York winter, Florida is a fine respite.

Morning walk and exploration led to this walkway. A little scary and deserted early in the morning? A little. But curiosity triumphed. Where does it lead?

The units were huge, by New York City standards. And maintenance was less than what I pay for my rinky dink little pad.

Kayaks!!!

The complex is waterside. It's Florida, so there are wetlands. Which is pretty perfect for kayaking. And by the ocean, no worries about toxic algae blooms (that stymied my dream to buy a lake house).

Gazebo over the water.

Though they're not immune from climate change. Recent hurricanes left the landscaping in ruins.

Um, what are those tracks? Florida, wetlands... gator?

But oh what a life I could have. Spacious abode. Come home, go kayak.

Sure looks like gator habitat.

All I can do up here is to try to replicate that on weekends by signing the family up for a neighborhood association with a dock and kayak racks. With all the mandatory licensing exams behind me, THIS is the year to see whether that vision of balance comes to fruition. To balance!

"It wasn't me!"

[Edited to completion March 17, 2023.]

 

A Tale of Two Meals (24 Hours Apart)

From fine dining to Frankenstein feasting.

On Superb Owl 🦉Sunday, a Michelin star tasting menu (the first tasting menu I've had in a very long time - thanks to my out of town college pal, for upping my dining game!).

Then Monday, the 13th, more typical fair in these parts - butternut squash and chickpea curry with greens over rice/quinoa, comprising, in part: 

the squash purchased so long ago it'd started to shrivel;

chickpeas from COVID food panic buying days;

pantry curry powder and coconut milk;

"fresh" garlic powder grated from inadvertently dried out cloves;

fresh ginger frozen to keep it from further dehydrating;

spinach that started to go so was stashed in the freezer to keep it from advancing to outright slimey;

Thai lime leaves that fell off the potted tree overwintering on the guestroom heater that is inexplicably losing its leaves (despite my being only a mildly neglectful plant mother this winter) ... 

Do we sense a theme here? It's basically Frankenstein curry made of misfit foods that have the misfortune of landing in my home.🤷🏻‍♀️ 

'Twas still pretty tasty - all the years of watching cooking shows paying off in the ability to turn questionable ingredients into an edible dish. Yay, me? Yay, me!

[Edited February 14, 2023 for completion.]

Don't Go Fish

Trying not to go the way of the Mexican cavefish.

View into the almost empty jar of cashews.

Eating like an adult is sometimes a challenge. Occasionally I excel at it. Oftentimes, and moreso of late, I seem to do it quite poorly.

It feels like it is among my adulting hurdles of late. I used to have a tidy apartment, at least in the public spaces, where I could host people. That has gone to pot. And in spectacular crash and burn fashion. I am not on top of my finances anymore, either. I am confident I'm fine, but I used to be quite organized about it. I went off track somewhere. 

Today's lunch base consisted of leftover pita chips from the business travel per diem lunch from over a week ago. The creative part was jazzing up the accompanying hummus - already in the fridge - with liberal cayenne pepper and paprika, and then topping it with toasted walnuts and, here was the clever part, toasted French fried onions from a can left over from Thanksgiving. The onions added a nice salty, crunchy touch to the makeshift lunch. And this was all made possible because I finally hand washed a small frying pan that had sat dirty for far too long.

At least on the dining front, apparently I am not alone...

Now, if only I could take my own advice, right? The eggrolls were better than nothing, but not optimal. But accountability can be a good thing.

@1pot1plate is an acquaintance, a friend of a friend whom I have met a couple of times, and otherwise have interacted with only on social media. She seems very sweet and lovely, someone I might really like.

Anyway, she hit upon something that struck me - the depression and ADHD. I have suspected for a while that I am an undiagnosed case of ADD; Sissy, too. And I rather suspect that the atrocious housekeeping is a symptom of low grade depression that coincided with COVID - it was the stress of work, and the disappointment of failed relationships, and infertility, and watching the window on having a family close and not doing anything until it was too late, and not knowing how to mourn all of it, or quite letting go of the hope. And the numbing agent has been social media, rather than housekeeping. And it was all hidden away because there was too much work and accumulation during the pandemic as it was, and no one was visiting. Anyway, it's hard to make meals when the kitchen is perpetually messy.

And so easily a downward spiral can set in. The sedentariness. The change in everything. Except, in my case, I ate LESS during the pandemic. I became accustomed and inured to periods of starvation. Not exactly like the Mexican cavefish, but certainly less muscle mass.

I need to snap myself out of this. Make some headway. Swim against the current again, find the light, not lose my eyes - those poor cavefish.

[Edited to completion February 6, 2023.]

First of February Fluff

What passes for snowfall these days.

Just a dusting of snow, but it felt necessary to capture it, given our snow drought. We might not have more. Blink and you'd have missed it. But, alerted by the post of a certain early morning riser photographer, I knew to look out to the terrace to capture it.

We had the longest Winter spell without measurable snow in decades. With the planet warming, this is bound to be a trend.

For all the disappointment of not bringing human life into the world, sometimes it's also a relief - for what problems are we leaving these babies to solve? Too many.

[Edited February 4, 2023.]