What's for Dinner?

Fish Tank View (imagine me at the stove)

I live like a fish in an aquarium. Mostly, I try not to be bothered by this. This is New York, and if there is one thing above all others that Big Apple residents obsess about, it's other people's apartments.

I live on what they call garden level, which implies that I have access to an enjoyable outdoor area where I might grow my own herbs and flowers or sit outside on a sunny Spring day. What it really means, is that there are a lot of spiders and an occasional slug in my bedroom, which is in the back, and I am subject to a steady stream of sidewalk ogling in my kitchen, which is in the front.

Some folks are so bold as to stop and take their time assessing my apartment. Once, when I stepped outside to drop the trash, a woman asked me what color paint is on the walls.

I even have a fan club at the bodega across the street. I stopped in a few weeks ago for some missing ingredient and the gentleman at the register asked me, "What's for dinner?" He told me they always see me in my kitchen cooking things up. I shared this with A., who happened to be here that night, and she asked whether they said 'stalk-ya-later' on my way out of the store.

This actually doesn't bother me so much. I saw the bodega crew rescue a kitten from a tree once, so I don't think they are really the stalking type. This may be flawed logic, but I'm sticking with it.

I'm a little annoyed with the general sidewalk staring this weekend because I've spent a significant amount of time in the kitchen. It's the first weekend I've had no real work or social commitments in quite some time.

And, it was awesome.

Yesterday, I had coffee in bed while reading the Real Estate section of the New York Times. Sometime around 11:00 I made myself brunch: an omelette filled with roasted sugar snap peas, oven-crisped bacon, and blue cheese served with toasted chapati that was topped with mango chutney.

Later, HA and I spontaneously decided to celebrate Cinco de Mayo and the Kentucky Derby while lamenting the hazy fog that was hiding the Super Moon from Brooklyn. Gastronomically, this translated to margaritas and guacamole at Fonda, a poncho-bedecked Negra Modelo, complimentary jello shots, and spicy pork tacos at our favorite Nuevo Mexico, and mint juleps for dessert at Commonwealth.

Today, again in my kitchen, I did no less than the following with all my spare time:

--Pickled ramps using David Chang's recipe (and processed them in a canner to preserve their goodness for weeks to come)
--Made ramp pesto with hazelnuts, lemon, and parmesan
--Poached an egg and served it to myself with arugula and parmesan atop Zaatar-spiced chapati
--Roasted tofu and mushrooms with jerk seasoning
--Whipped up some classic hummus

And, I began preparing ingredients to make tofu, mushroom and ramp tacos...

Because that is dinner tonight.

Who knows? Maybe that rare Park Slope creature--a single man in his late 30s or early 40s--will walk by, peek inside, and ask 'What's for dinner?' And perhaps, he will also be tall, fit, tattooed, employed, nice to children and dogs but not attached to either (or at least not the former), a gastronomic flexitarian, appreciative of good cocktails, agnostic at the most, and excited about world travel.

Oh come on, if we can have a super moon, surely the world still has room for super men!