What Possessed Me

In praise of artichokes

During the all too brief artichoke season, I love to eat these thorny thistles steamed and dipped in a sauce of butter, lemon, garlic and mustard. It's fair to say that anything eaten with such a sauce is worth rolling around in, but with an artichoke, it's nothing short of a religious experience.

And then - because the world is cruel and the gods are against us - the season ends and we are left with rubbery specimens that cost three dollars a piece.

Which is why I take my artichoke in liquid form when the seasons don't cooperate.

Cynar. Made from artichokes by those clever Italians. If that sounds revolting and vile, try it on the rocks with a generous wedge of lemon. So delicious.

Pesto and pom poms

My dear friend B. is having a wee baby girl in a few short months. To help her celebrate, we organized a Brooklyn Brownstone BBQ Baby Bash, complete with pom-poms...

...and pesto.*


We made a little book for B's bouncing baby to help guide her through the complicated business of being a girl.

My best words of wisdom were "stand up straight and smile" and "learn how to cook one dish- this is all you will need to impress future boyfriends." In retrospect, I think I should have added "capri pants are a bad idea unless you have nice ankles."

*Here is my pesto recipe. It's actually my mom's pesto recipe. Actually, it's Marcella Hazan's pesto recipe. You can't beat Marcella for pesto. I'm serious - this pesto is some kind of wonderful. It doesn't have anything fruity or weird in it. It's the real deal.

4-6 servings

If the pesto is destined for the freezer, do not add the cheese and butter until you're ready to use it.

2 c. fresh basil leaves
2-3 T. pine nuts
2 large cloves garlic
1 t. salt
1/2 c. olive oil
1/2 c. freshly grated Parmesan cheese
2 T. freshly grated Romano cheese
3 T. butter, softened

1. Put about 1/4 of the basil and all of the olive oil, pine nuts, garlic, and salt in the blender, and mix at a high speed. Gradually add in the remaining basil leaves. When the ingredients are evenly blended, pour them into a bowl.
2. Add the cheeses to the mixture, and beat by hand. (The extra work of hand mixing is important to the taste and texture of the pesto.) Finally, mix in the softened butter.
3. To serve, toss the pesto with the pasta immediately after draining the pasta. Be sure to have generous quantities of Parmesan and fresh ground pepper available.

Pom poms from Martha Stewart. Photograph from Kris's Color Stripes. The cover of How to Be a Girl was shamelessly ripped off from a Borf print. Let's hope Borf doesn't get mad at me.

The Hideout

“Kako.* It’s your brother. Call me back immediately.”

It’s Bad Child on the line. I’m thinking something terrible had gone down – I feel it in the pit of my stomach when I call him back.

“What’s happening?” I say.

“There’s a rum punch party at a speakeasy in Fort Greene. Are you in?”

“I thought someone had died. You made it sound like an emergency.”

“I needed to know if you were in.”

“OK, I’m in.”

I love Bad Child. He’s smart and funny and like most people in the booze industry, always up for a good time. We don’t see each other enough, though we both live in Brooklyn, so on late nights like this, I jump at the chance to be his bar crawling companion.

The bar looks closed. There is no sign. Bad Child leads the way, greeting a tall man from Martinique whose plantation produces the rum in the punch. Qaseem, the owner of the Hideout, greets us at the door as though we’re family. He is so handsome and suave in his fedora and white linen shirt that Bad Child and I feel tipsy in his presence.



Inside, the tiny room is cozy and dimly lit, packed with industry types talking about sugar cane and the pros and cons of molasses-based rum. I head for the punch bowls and sample the various concoctions, my head feeling lighter and lighter with each delicious sip. A photographer snaps pictures of the beautiful, sleek girls in vests and fedoras. We pose too, though less beautifully.



The plantation owner from Martinique corners Bad Child. He looks slightly unhinged as he holds forth about fermentation. Bad Child looks engaged and I smile benignly, nodding at appropriate intervals while I watch little pink and green blobs swim across my line of vision. Suddenly, I am being asked if I like my chardonnay “to pack an oaky whallop.”

“Oh yes,” I say. “I like an oaky assault.” I am not sure if this is the right answer, but somehow, Bad Child manages to extricate us.

“We’ve got to head out,” he says. “I’m the designated diver.”

“Driver.”

We laugh and head for the door.

The Hideout
266 Adelphi Street
Brooklyn, NY 11205


*Kako means “bad” or “evil” in Greek. This is supposedly what our Yia-Yia used to call us when she came to visit.


All images from New York Magazine.