Wash out

The build up to this weekend's Memorial Day festivities was exactly as you'd expect for late May: hot and muggy with occasional bursts of rain. We were hitting the ice cream truck on a daily basis early in the week, and the sprinklers came on for one gloriously summery afternoon at SGP.  Carolina was a bit hesitant to get her feet wet at first, but within the hour I found her scooping (and drinking--ick!) cups full of dirty water from the emerging drainage pool.  Of course, all that heat and sunshine wasn't here to stay and by Thursday, things were heading for a rainy finish to the week. Which is really too bad because our friends Julie and Dawn have been planning the heck out of the Memorial Day Fair at the park which was slated for Saturday. But by the time I was running errands on Friday morning, they decided to go with the rain date on Sunday since the forecasts weren't looking good. And considering how wet, cold and windy today ended up being, they definitely made the right call.

So instead of hitting the fair today, we opted to use our family time for a quick drive to Roosevelt Island where we hoped the sprinkles would hold off for a little longer, but to no avail. It started pouring rain as soon as we drove by the park at the southern end and that sealed our fate--off to brunch in Astoria at Strand Smokehouse.  Nacho has been reading up on a few local places to try and this was our first outing. I'd give it big thumbs up for having plenty of space and a family-friendly vibe, but the brunch menu was extremely limited. I got the Sunnyside Up (a fitting name, I thought) which was two eggs over pulled pork and grits. Unfortunately, I was pretty underwhelmed with these stiff, bland Yankee grits and the pork was swimming in some kind of oil that didn't really enhance the flavor. The girls got the only things I thought they might eat which included congealed mac-n-cheese and a huge stack of rather tasteless pancakes which came with more pulled pork.  But hey, Carolina tried it at least, so that wasn't a total waste. I hate to sound so negative on the food since Nacho really enjoyed his beef spare ribs and both beers we had (mine a maple porter and Nacho's wheat pale ale) were delicious. But I think it will be a while before I'll go running back. Maybe then they'll have a little more variety and they might even need those ceiling fans running that were whipping cold air down my back. 

It probably also didn't help that Carolina was a beast to get in the high chair today. After two restaurant outings yesterday--Bareburger for lunch followed by Casa Enrique for dinner after LIC Kids--it was probably too much to ask for her to sit through yet another meal. Elisa was going a little nutty too with her overdose on root beer, and I was looking at Nacho wondering why we couldn't be dining alone. We're so close to enjoying these casual adventures, and yet, we're still not there. But if practice makes perfect, then we must be getting close to not just surviving restaurants but enjoying them. At least that's what I'm hoping. And since today was a total wash out weather-wise, our misery had plenty of good company. The restaurant was filled with kids and even a baby's birthday party that got moved indoors from Socrates Sculpture Park. So we weren't alone in searching for some place--any place--to take the kids. And in that respect, we did good.  Hopefully the sun will come out again tomorrow morning so we can finally celebrate our Memorial Day Fair and the rest of this holiday weekend. I know I'm going to be there helping out and remembering that hot, muggy weather of years past that sent me running inside for the A/C after a couple of hours. Maybe tomorrow we'll last a little longer. We'll see. 

Lunch date

Before our Spanish visitors could leave, we had to make it out to at least one sit down restaurant with them. So much of our time together revolved around food (Thanksgiving being a day of eating almost for sport), but most of it consumed at home. We had Thai take out for dinner, Good Burgers and shakes for a fast food lunch, Peter Pan donuts for breakfast, and even a morning of pancakes and bacon. So why not venture into uncharted territory all together and try Vietnamese for lunch?  Silvia and Jose were adventurous enough to agree and so we met up with them on their last day in the city and took them to Pho Banc in Elmhurst, Queens. The girls did their best to sit still and nibble on some homemade snacks while we got spring rolls and shrimp rolls brought out in minutes. Yes, service here is nothing short of lightning speed, which makes it a good place for the weary traveler. Elisa loves her beansprouts and also pleasantly surprised me by chowing down on the chicken fried rice I ordered her. I love it when she acknowledges that she likes a food. It makes lunch so much easier. Carolina wasn't thrilled with anything, but she happily chomped on my ice and tried to suck down some of my Vietnamese coffee (the straw!) before I pulled it away--only to have Elisa finish it off. 

I know there are thousands more places like this our fair city, but sometimes when you find one that works, you just like to stick with it. The waiters were prompt but not pushy and the food comes so fast you get to really enjoy the experience of eating and not anxiously entertaining hungry kids. Plus, the chopsticks make excellent drum sticks.  So we'll probably be back for more pho or vermicelli on a day we need a little help getting lunch together. And I think our friends are now looking for a Vietnamese restaurant in Madrid. I hope they find one!

Eating a legend

I've never written a review on Yelp before, and I doubt I ever will. I probably should, since I often read them and base my decisions about where to eat on them. But I guess I figure everyone has a right to their own experience and I don't need to color it for them. Kind of like parenthood, right? I mean once I figured out that no one really wanted to hear all about the pitfalls of having a colicky child, I eased up a bit. I couldn't give anyone any real shortcuts on how to be a better mother. It's something you have to find out for yourself.  Oh parenthood? It's great. [Said with a knowing smile].  So that's how I kind of feel about today's little adventure to Di Fara Pizzeria in Midwood, Brooklyn.  Over the years we've lived here, I've seen it's name pop up again and again in various lists of NYC's best pizza.  It's charm lies in the fact that one man, Domenico DeMarco, has been making all the pies there for over four decades. I love a good Sicilian slice, but for $5 a pop, it better be phenomenal, right?  Well, today my curiosity finally caught up with my desire for a great saucy bite so off we drove south along the BQE until we found our little piece of pie heaven...

The man himself Dom DeMarco making each and every pie to order...very slowly.

Dom chopping the basil with scissors over each hot pie

Me giving the wait time (an hour and counting...) a big thumb's down

And that's where I wish the story ended...in pizza heaven.  Only after showing up and taking a good look around the place, I realized that the taste experience of their pizza must be partially based on equating grime with authenticity.  Seeing barely any line, we placed our order for three square slices (one olive, one pepperoni, one cheese) and one regular slice (sausage) and the wait began.  Now I might have been delusional, but I kind of thought we were in for a 20-30 minute wait.  Maybe 40.  I mean, given the stories of lines wrapped around the building, there was no one there.  We grabbed some drinks, found a great little table and the only high chair (can I just say I'm amazed there even was one) and proceeded to use up our goodie bag treats to keep the girls entertained.  By the time Elisa said she needed to use the bathroom, I was happy to stretch my legs and so we ducked through the counter and followed the pointing fingers back through the kitchen.  As we pulled the rickety old door back to reveal one of the smallest, darkest bathrooms I've seen in a restaurant, we were only inches away from a huge mound of resting dough. In all honesty, it was kind of cool for us to get a sneak peek at the inner workings of the kitchen, but it also reminded me of all the headlines of Di Fara's health code violations and shut downs (both in '07 & '11).  The old man definitely has a quirky little world unto himself with his hand shaved mozzarella and drizzled olive oil and cut basil.  He moves at such a snail's pace that I can't imagine he really loves the work anymore. It seemed like such a chore.  But who knows.  Maybe he really has nothing else to do.  I think I was more intrigued by his hunching figure slowly turning and stretching dough than I was by the pizzas appearing every half hour. I picked up my camera at one point and started clicking away wondering a bit if they worried I was documenting all the hazards for some kind of Kitchen Confidential blog. But no, this was just for me. 

Another 30-40 minutes passed and we tried to wait it out at the table. But eventually I took the girls outside for a bit to walk around since it didn't look like we were anywhere close to getting our slices. Four meager slices.  I think Nacho was getting more restless than Carolina, but at least he stayed seated. Elisa took turns dancing both outside the restaurant and inside close to the counter. I really couldn't blame her for wanting to do anything but sit some more, so I followed her around. We must be getting close, I thought. Luckily, the two guys seated right next to us were amusing with their conversation about all things New Yawk. One of them had been by Di Fara's three other times and never gotten in the door. He was determined to make it happen today and we kept track of the wait by marking how much time he had left in his meter.  Surely he wouldn't need more quarters...oh, but he did.  Yes, the wait was going on an hour and ten minutes before I dared to ask the counter help "so, how are we looking?"  An icy stare and "you're next" greeted my inquiry, and placated Elisa who demanded to know where her pizza was.  And then it was our turn.  I watched a news crew descend on the scene, shooting footage of Dom cutting basil on my pie.  Time for the best slice in the city...and I'd love to say it was.  After the steam stopped rising from the sauce, I attempted a bite.  It was good. The cheese was thick but perfectly oozing and chewy.  The small pepperoni disks pooled with oil and the basil infused everything with strong, vibrant note.  Elisa declared that she loved this "store" the best, and Carolina refused all crusts but took care of some pepperoni for me.  I think Nacho and I were too hungry and tired of dealing with restless children to savor every bite, but we managed to exchange glances of approval.  So my final verdict:  the pizza itself might not be worth the wait, but the experience is one you will never forget. And that is worth something in a world where food is often taken for granted and the people who make it overlooked. Dom DeMarco is a legend in this city, and to see him shuffling around in the same restaurant he's run since 1964 was an honor.  This was a kind of culinary theatre and everyone who enters must know it.  How else can you explain the crowds? Sure the quality might have slipped in the past few years.  If you want a good fast slice, just about any place can give you that. But Di Fara gives you a glimpse of something more. Imagine Willy Loman making your pie and you kind of tear up a little....yeah, that pretty much sums it up.

Playing tourist

After my facebook/blogging conversations of late, I've decided to try to make things on here a bit more transparent. I'm all for transparency in government so why not in the blogging world? So in full disclosure mode, I have to say I kind of enjoy playing tourist here in New York. Sometimes. On a Monday. Meaning that I like being able to do the things that lots of people pay good money to fly in and do in 3 or 4 days over a long-ass weekend and which I can space out over the course of years and do on a weekday. Because it makes all the difference--especially with kids. You can't just deathmarch them around and cram it all in. So better to pace ourselves and pick locations that aren't so crazy on a weekday.  I don't think I will ever learn to stomach the crowded sidewalks around Times Square (the worst 10 blocks in the entire city in my opinion and probably what most people take away as their NYC highlight). But there are lots of neighborhood institutions that have earned their reputations by serving the locals and the tourists alike.  

So when Nacho had a day off earlier this week, I thought long and hard about what we should do. I was feeling a city vibe that day (as opposed to beach vibe, local park vibe, running errands vibe, etc) and decided that we should head into the Lower East Side for a bit of a walk. And then the thought of eating at Katz's sprung into my head. I think the only other time I was there, I was too confused by the ordering process and the hordes of people (probably on a weekend at noon) that I fled in disgrace. And that was before kids. Damn, I had no idea how much more I would enjoy it then. Oh well. But anyway, we made the trek in on one bus and two trains before getting primo real estate at a large empty table just as we entered the deli.  Things were looking good. Nacho ran up and grabbed us a pastrami reuben, a selection of pickles and I grabbed the drinks and fries.  Carolina was snacking away like a champ and Elisa was sucking down cream soda long enough to be still and quiet. I took a few bites of my half of the sandwich and realized this was worth the trip.  There's no way I could eat a whole one, but the half with its oozing sauce, tangy kraut, toasted cheese and melt-in-your-mouth pastrami was just what I needed that day. It was a culinary pick-me-up and another tick on my list of things every visitor here should try. Oh, and we swung into nearby Economy Candy on the way towards Tompkins Square Park which was a definite score. That place is absolutely packed with sweets some of which I hadn't seen since childhood. 

After 7 years living in this city, I'm starting to feel a sense of ownership about the place. I've worked here. I've given birth twice here. I've moved within the city.  And I have my favorite haunts in almost every neighborhood in Manhattan and a good chunk of Queens.  I figure after 10 years, I might even feel like calling myself a New Yorker and drop the Midwestern smile. I probably look like a dope.  But we'll see. Most of the time, I'm just happy to be able to share these places with my family and to confirm whether they merit the praise. This time, it definitely did.