Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Urban Pioneers

I saw a sign in the Lower East Side last weekend celebrating the "urban pioneers of the municipal frontier" - in this case, immigrant workers who lived in New York tenements in the early 20th century.  That phrase stuck with me as we made our way - or I should say, ate our way - through the neighborhood.  Today's urban pioneers are reinventing the city experience, in many cases by paying homage to the kinds of small, product-specific stores that were once the only option. 

Of course, today's versions are often less practical than the butcher, baker, and candlestick maker of old.  At the Pickle Guys, you can choose from new, sour, half-sour, hot sour, or dill pickles; you also have a variety of other pickled items - tomatoes, peppers, string beans, and more.  To hit your sweet tooth, head across the street to the Doughnut Plant.  I highly recommend the carrot cake doughnut.  If you can't decide between pickles or doughnuts, get some sweet and savory at Pop Karma, the specialty popcorn store.  (Seriously. They only sell popcorn. Cheddar, Porcini Cheddar, Kyoto Mix (umami, and if you don't know what that is, don't bother), Caramel and more).

Apparently, just by living in Brooklyn, I'm another kind of urban pioneer.  Today I walked behind a frustrated woman, complaining to someone on the phone how she is "always sent to desolate places like this" (that would be Park Slope) and that she "wouldn't live here if someone paid her mortgage."  The crux of her complaint? Apparently it's easier to park in Manhattan than Brooklyn.


Pioneering is uniquely American.  Nobody is a pioneer in Europe, even if they're breaking new ground or starting a new trend.  Plus, I don't think anyone in France ever played The Oregon Trail computer game.   Fortunately, we don't have to hunt for our food here in Brooklyn, no matter how desolate it may seem.  If it gets desperate over here, we'll just ford the river to get some more pickles. 



 


Thursday, September 12, 2013

Cultural Look

We all know the stereotype of the American tourist with shorts, sneakers, and a fanny pack.  Many of us strive to never be caught in any of those items while in Europe (thankfully, I haven't seen a fanny pack for sale since about 1994).  Some of us don't care; some of us flaunt our American-ness.  And that's cool. 

But one thing I've realized as I walk the streets of Brooklyn is that we really look like shlumps.  When did that happen?  Also, is "shlump" a word?

In Paris, nobody wears exercise clothes in public.  Since they don't exercise, they actually don't even own exercise clothes.  One time I wore yoga pants to the park with Max.  I could feel those Parisian eyes on me, thinking, "Americaine...bah."  From then on, I made sure I was properly equipped with ballet flats, scarves, and skinny jeans.  For the playground. 

Now, many people will think to themselves, "But those Parisian women are all so thin. It is easy for them to look elegant and chic as they drink tiny cups of espresso and smoke cigarettes."  And these people would be right.  Others will think, "It doesn't get oppressively and disgustingly hot and humid in Paris.  It is easier to look nice when you aren't sweating through your clothes."  These people are definitely right.

But I wonder if there is also something to the cultural idea that it's important to take time to look nice.  At my son's new preschool, they instruct parents that kids should come in "play clothes."  I don't think this concept exists in France.  Children routinely look like mini-adults - I often said that nine-year-old girls in Parc Monceau were some of the best dressed people around.  Certainly better dressed than me.

I like that Americans are relaxed. I like that we can let our hair down, and we embrace individuality, which can be expressed through what we wear.  In the past weeks, though, I've wondered if we've gone too far.  Body parts are all over the place, even when they're not doing anyone any favors. 

As I write this post, we are experiencing an intense superhero phase in our house. Specifically, Max wants to be Superman EVERY DAY.  We have two Superman shirts, which I pry off his sweaty, dirty body to wash.  Would I be giving in to this phase if we were still in Paris?  Would we even have owned a Superman shirt to begin with?  Isn't there something nice about letting a 2-year-old be Superman for a few days (weeks)?

This isn't a complete condemnation of American style.  It's part of an ongoing conversation I have with myself, in which I often conclude that Americans and Parisians are on opposite sides of many spectrums.  And if I can just find the right balance, then I will be well-dressed and put together while wearing clothes that can be spit up/peed/bled on, and my children will be comfortable and experience the joys of imagination while looking like they could be, you know, French.

Sunday, September 8, 2013

Maggie Norton

Maggie Norton is one example of what America is all about

Ms. Norton is 103 years old.  She was born in the town of Cold Spring Harbor, NY, on the north shore of Long Island.  In fact, she has lived virtually her entire life in Cold Spring Harbor - she's been there since 1918.

But what makes Maggie Norton so great is her book - "Maggie's Memories: A View on Cold Spring Harbor."  This paper-bound "book" - on sale at Sweetie Pies, the local bakery - shares Maggie's memories of who lived where, what the town was like, and how it's changed.

Just an hour away from Brooklyn, Cold Spring Harbor is a delightfully quiet and boring little town.  The main street is just a few blocks, and boasts the bakery, a pricey children's boutique, several antique stores, a few restaurants, and a fire engine museum.  There is something remarkable about the idea that this tiny woman has watched the town change from horse-and-buggy to SUV and from letter-writing to smartphones.  She actually lived there when the antique fire engine from 1933 (one of three vehicles on display in the aforementioned "museum") was in use.  Is there another generation that will see such an incredible shift in how life is lived?   When Maggie was a child digging up clams with her feet, did she ever imagine she would live to be 103 (and, apparently, have a personal trainer!)?

We love charming waterside villages - it seemed that wherever we went in Europe, we ended up in a charming fishing village - Anstruther, Scotland; Honfleur, Normandy; Amalfi, Italy; Deba, Spain.  There's no real reason to jump up and plan an outing to Cold Spring Harbor (unless you have a child ages 2-6 who would really enjoy the fire engines and feeding the hatchery fish).  But the idea of Maggie Norton's life has stuck with me all week (despite three visits to the ER in five days for my kids- but I'll save that for a future discussion of American vs French healthcare).  What she's seen, and that she recorded it for the future.  There's something uniquely American about it all. 

Sunday, September 1, 2013

Saving Grace

Supposedly, cupcakes are passe.  But when you have spent the better part of a day listening to your children cry intermittently due to various fatigue-cranky-moving-humidity-generally-conspiring-to-make-you-lose-your-mind reasons, a solid cupcake can go a long way to easing the pain.

Today's saving grace was the vanilla cupcake with sea-salt & caramel-topped chocolate frosting from Butter Lane.  We saw the sign from down the block and figured any bakery with butter in its name was worth a try.

The Butter Lane model is a good one - they have three types of cake: vanilla, chocolate, and banana.  They have many kinds of icing, including coconut, cinnamon honey, raspberry, espresso, and more.  You pick the cake and the frosting - one personalized, delicious cupcake coming up!

Even more exciting, Butter Lane offers classes for adults and kids.  The kids' classes are for ages 5-12, so we will have to live here for 2.5 more years in order for Max to participate in the 90 minute class offered every Sunday for a (New York) reasonable $25.  Kids get to take home four cupcakes, which would run you $13 in the store anyway.  The adult course is 2 hours on Thursday evening - a good reason to get some babysitters lined up so I can get my cupcake on.

I have heard that macarons are the new cupcake.  But I've been-there-done-that (and then some), and I say let's embrace the all-American cupcake.

Park Slope is one of those neighborhoods where it feels like every time you leave home you can find or see something new.  Maybe it's a cupcake, maybe it's this hair:

 
One part of living abroad that was hard for us was feeling like we were permanent outsiders.  I think we believed that simply by returning to the US, that feeling would disappear.  But strolling through our varied and lovely neighborhood today, we still had that sense of being "other".  Maybe because we are new, maybe because on this Labor Day Weekend there seemed to be endless extended families picnicking in the park, maybe because New York City has its own culture that we don't yet know.  Over time, I think we have a shot at feeling like we belong, which is something that would never have fully happened in Paris.  Meanwhile, there are so many cupcake variations to try.