Martinis Before Pot Roast



When Mrs. O posted her Mad Woman portrait on Facebook this week, I immediately had to go to AMC's Mad Men Yourself Web site and create my own vintage digital girl housewife. I've had a bit of a sick fantasy for quite some time to be a 50's (or 60's) housewife.

The scenes in my imagination mostly center around the kitchen and martinis. Big surprise, I know. I inherited two kitchen aprons and a wooden rolling pin from my grandmother. All I need are oven mitts and a desire to bake. Oh, and I suppose if I really were a housewife, I would need a husband coming home from work. Forget the kids, though. That would just be over the top. A martini for me and a scotch neat for him before the roast even touches the table. The world should be a little fuzzy before we sit down for dinner, especially if it's that world.

I had so much fun creating my vintage persona, I felt compelled to start watching the show. (Congratulations to the Mad Men marketing team. You got me through an online viral campaign. Genius, really.) I was about to start my fourth episode when I remembered I have a blog to write.

CME had warned me that seeing Mad Men might snuff out my burning desire to be a 50's/60's housewife, and she was right. Given the ideals of the time and the rampant chauvinism, I realize much of my yearning centers around style. I am delighted by A-line dresses and the idea of vacuuming and cooking in heels. I would also love to spend my time planning meals, shopping for food, cooking and hosting parties instead of going to work.

Please don't misunderstand. I don't really want the world to be like it was in the 50s and 60s. Had I lived during that time, I probably would have been the artsy mistress who throws her television out the window instead of the housewife. However, I can still wear my A-line dress and a kitchen apron and drink martinis before dinner. What make me sigh is that my post-millennium dresses really just don't have the same fantastic style that the originals did. Perhaps I need to start my own fashion company. But who has time to design clothes when there are cocktails to shake and city streets to wander in search of good brunch?

Yes, a sad attempt at a segue, I know.

Anyway, I had a lovely brunch with LP and KG yesterday at the previously blogged about 5 Ninth. LP and I ordered Toads in a Hole... the one with eggs cooked in a hole in the center of a piece of toast (not the British classic with sausage cooked in dough). The dish seems appropriately vintage, probably something that appeared in an old-school Betty Crocker Cookbook at some point.

The Toads in a Hole served at 5 Ninth is rich with a buttery, savoury flavor. The toast is a thick piece of white bread that is not soggy but melts pleasantly with each bite of yolk-gooey egg. Delicious with a side of crispy bacon and a strong cup of coffee. The Bloody Mary's we ordered were perfectly spicy and just strong enough that a second wasn't necessary. It was the best brunch experience I've had in quite some time, not for lack of trying.

After, we wandered through a sample sale. It is the meat-packing district after all. And, isn't is bizarre how fashion and high-end restaurants replaced slaughter houses and meat-packing plants?

After spending money we hadn't planned and receiving a free gift of nail polish, we headed to the High Line where we took a nice stroll. We passed one group of three having a picnic on a hard bench. It seemed a little too crowded to relax and enjoy the cheese, but the diners weren't bothered. If you live in NYC, you should visit though. It's quite a marvel that an old elevated train has become a garden park. It was peaceful despite the crowds and it feels liberating to be above street level among the flowers and dragon flies.

That is all I have this week. Stay tuned and draw yourself an alter ego. It's fun!

Comments

  1. I would almost consider paying you a full salary to quit your job and spend all your time designing A-line dresses, which are my absolute favorite, but which aren't as abundant as I would wish.

    ReplyDelete
  2. OMG. A dream come true! But we would need a good seamstress because I can barely sew a button back on.

    ReplyDelete

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