Un Venerdì a Brooklyn

e sembrava Mea Shearim.

Downtown walk

Downtown is not a place where we go often. Overall, three things are worth the trip:

1) Century 21, a bargain-hunter’s dream, insanely crowded and inappropriately dubbed ’NYC’s best kept secret’;

2) taking your guest for a walk across the Brooklyn bridge and, despite your husband’s recommendation not to give his visiting friends a lecture on landmark buildings because they don’t give a damn, bring them to the Woolworth building, Customs House, Federal Hall and Trinity Church until they drop;

3) getting married at the City Hall before Carrie does.

This last Saturday at the Financial District was a little different:

- we walked around with a US History PhD student who offered the ammunition to finish off my future guests,

-then we wandered around for an hour or so, looking for a decent place to have a bite. We ended up in a diner where evidently someone is paying off the health inspector. I sat at the sticky counter, asked my waiter what was that bird whistle. It’s the cook, he said, the cook is a bit nuts. All right, as long as he can fix a ceasar salad. Where can I wash my hands? Hmm…. He turns to the other waiter: ¿Dónde está el baño? They start a discussion. Outside, inside, upstairs… They didn’t seem to know. Well, where does the parrot cook wash his claws, then? I passed on the salmonella salad and we left.

-we came across an Italian hole-in-the-wall type of place where the cook and owner was half Italian and everything was fresh and cooked from scratch. A little Italian paradise.

-after lunch we headed over to an electronics expo held in the Winter Garden lobby at the World Financial Center. The expo was disappointing. Moreover, although the Winter Garden is a lovely place, there is always this somber feeling of the sorrow that hangs over the whole area when you look out those $3.5 million new front windows facing the giant hole and agonizing construction.

Something's rotten in Chinatown

I love Chinatown. I love Chinatown because it’s pure Blade Runner, except there are no camels. Everyone else hates it. When I take my guests to Chinatown I can read the disgust on their face.

It stinks, they say. The sanitation standards may sometimes be dubious, I say. Moreover, it may stink in absolute terms, whereas in relative terms it’s just slightly smellier and filthier than the rest of the city. Plus, according to French standards, "the stinkier the better". Finally, in the grandeur of New York, a stinky neighborhood is not just a stinky neighborhood. It’s a place for discovery and celebration, where you can take a walking-tour of Chinatown's illustrious garbage.

They say it doesn’t give you a real taste of China, and China itself is way more progressive than Chinatown is. There's no denying it, but this is an immigrant neighborhood. Just like Little Italy. Naples, case in point, is more progressive than… Nevermind.

I go to Chinatown at least once a week to buy fresh produce. The moment I’m out of the subway, I’m like Leonard Zelig in Woody Allen’s movie. I immediately chinatize myself. My self-chinatization includes not giving a damn about getting bumped around by old asian ladies, speaking pidgin and masterly dodging spit. Plus, I feel shorter. And I walk faster. I don’t argue semantics with Chinese who aren’t fluent in English. Sometimes you see these girls at the nail salon asking complicated questions like “Do you have sun-dried cherry tomato nail color?” With a puzzled look, the pidgin speaking manicurist systematically repeats the last word: “colol?”. Instead of simplifying it, the girl repeats the question, this time shouting “DO YOU HAVE SUN-DRIED CHERRY TOMATO NAIL COLOR?”. Needless to say, they don’t get too far.

I don’t do that. I’m a result-oriented, one-word communicator. Like the other day at this no thrills no frills back rub place. I wanted a receipt, so I asked: “Receipt?”. She asked back: “Sipt?”, I nodded: “Yes, sipt”. No, of course she can’t give you a sipt. You think you are at the Four Seasons Hotel? I learned my lesson. In Chinatown less is more and never ask for a sipt.

Some of my favorite shots of Chinatown:

This is what I mean by pure Blade Runner. Stall selling cherries in the snow, February 2008.

Store cat. The odd thing is that this is a fish store.

A couple of ideas for China's Olympics

This morning we went to the Union Square market to buy new plants for our terrace. While looking for bay laurel plants, the following surreal conversation took place between my husband and a vendor:

husband: do you have laurel plants?

vendor: laurel? I don’t think so… what is it like?

husband: it’s green [bravo, great hint], it’s used to marinate meat [right, unlike all other herbs that we normally use to wash the scooter]…

vendor: ….?

husband: [with his fingers around the head] like the laurel wreath that Roman emperors used to wear on the head…

vendor: ….?

husband: like those branches used to crown winners of olympic competitions…

vendor: parsley?

Manolo vs Duane Reade

I took this pic last weekend in Union Square where hundreds of people lined up to see Sex and the City.

This gal I saw walking with plastic bags wrapped around her feet is living proof that not every woman in NY has a shoe fetish.

EU Pride and Prejudice

Last night we attended a reception for the launch of a US environmental campaign, a massive consumer engagement initiative which brings together companies and government agencies to help people drive down their carbon footprints. For example, campaign partner Marks & Spencer is encouraging its customers to lower their washing temperature to 30˚C, a car insurance company offers up to 15% off its standard rates to clients that drive an environmentally friendly car, London mayor Livingstone is setting the good example by refraining from flushing the toilet if he had only a pee, etc…

We spoke with a few American environmentalists who praised the EU for being light years ahead of the United States in terms of advanced and innovative environmental policy development. They acknowledged that EU best practice and existing standards provide valuable guidance for incorporating environmental concerns into the US national agenda. I was thrilled and flattered. For once, we are the role models. I guess my husband got way too excited because at a certain point I heard him saying that in Europe we are very glad the US is finally moving towards “the adoption of policies we developed and implemented 20 years ago..” Wow, wow, cool down, I thought, or they’ll ask us to repay all the Cheddar cheese my grandma got from the Marshall Plan.

Anyway, for a change we are seen as a world leader in something, and it feels good. True, Europe has become a safe haven for terrorists but hey, at least we teach those damned jihadists to lower their washing temperature to 30˚C.

Rapporto Festa 2 Giugno

Mi aspettavo di vedere, che ne so, Sofia Loren o Al Pacino, e invece mi sono beccata Melba Ruffo di Calabria, non senza riuscire ad evitare l’elegante uscita “Oh, ma che ce frega di Melba Ruffo” davanti ad un diplomatico italiano; le nostre autorita’ hanno dato discorsi improntati a temi di grande attualita’ quali Meucci, Puccini e Toscanini; ho appreso che Boccelli e’ un bastardo che picchia moglie e figli; ho appreso che per una soppressata come si deve bisogna andare al Bronx; una ragazza straordinaria che ho conosciuto la settimana scorsa portava un ombretto glitterato che cerco disperatamente da quando due anni fa l’ho visto indosso alla moglie di Totti in TV, e me ne ha regalato uno (per le interessate: marca MAC ed esce solo a Natale, almeno a Beirut, go figure…).

L’highlight della serata: una mozzarella di bufala che farebbe risorgere Meucci, Puccini e pure Toscanini.

Impact of EU harmonization on dance parties

Going to the party thrown by the Austrian Consulate... in the elevator with a Polish couple... sidelong glances between me and the woman. Panic. I was in a white linen suit and golden stilettos, she was wearing a flowery hawaiian shirt and flip-flops. “Am I overdressed?” I leaned over my husband and whispered, “No, no…”  he replied. She whispered something in her husband's ear and he replied “Nie, Nie…”

Turned out the party was a full blown celebration of personal styles.

This is what we call EU harmonization: one party, 27 different interpretations of the dress code.