Breakfast: bloggable minutiae reaches a new low (or high?)

Yes, it's come to this. Me, telling you, what I had for breakfast. (Truly, the nadir of blogging knows no limit.) Usually, it's just oatmeal and tea. But on the weekends that changes. 

When I have time, I will make brunch for my roommates.  Last weekend I made a pretty good applesauce cake, and attempted a Spanish-style tortilla (as you may have seen better executed on my friend Alex's blog.) And though she may have the recipes, photos, and humorous testimonials that make a good food blog, she does not have the regular access to New York and its eats you will find on this one.

And speaking of such things, on some weekends I work. And since I must go into the city early, I usually pick up breakfast and coffee somewhere to make the morning bearable.  Sometimes, I'm looking for good coffee, with the meal being secondary. And other times the treat is more of a pastry. My standard is the pain au trois chocolat from Bouchon Bakery. Yes, I know--very bourgeoisie. But it's awesome: a chocolate-dough croissant, with creamy chocolate filling, and little drizzled on top ... decadent, and it keeps me buzzing all morning. I should post a picture here, but you'll pick up one the next time you're near Columbus Circle. 

And although I had to be at the Lincoln Center again yesterday morning, I just had the chocolate croissant the last time I worked a Saturday. And besides, I was a looking for something to hold over my doughnut craving, as I eagerly anticipate the opening of the Doughnut Plant branch at the Chelsea Hotel--very near to where I also work.  (And by "eager", I mean that I mention it to my roommate nearly every week, check the website often, and even monitor the situation in person whenever I visit the public library across the street from the future storefront.)  So, I sought out a list of the best doughnuts around not made at the Doughnut Plant (or in my kitchen).  And as it turns out, Bombolini is very highly regarded and very near the LC.

I'd read that the Nutella-filled bombolini was very good, so I of course selected the one indicated by a chocolate-covered hazelnut balanced on top. But for my other doughnut, I was at a loss.  I didn't want to seem too ignorant of Italian, (genuinely wanted something not in the realm of chocolate), so I avoided the labels I could not translate and simply asked for a fruit-filled one.  I got an apricot, which turned out to be a good choice.

The dough itself was chewy, with a nice fried crunch on the outside.  The ratio of dough to filling was balanced, leaning slightly towards the filling, which is what I want if it's especially good. The apricot was sweeter and thicker than I'd expected. Granted, my only real reference for apricot pastries would be my grandfather's apricot kalac (although not as good as the nut version--which he will tell you is "so freakin' easy" to make.) 'Twas a good doughnut, with even a powdered sugar garnish.

Fortunately, I had to handle several phone calls and could digest a little before the Nutella one.  Again, the dough was good, with the filling being definitely lighter than Nutella.  Though delicious, it did not have the intense chocolate and hazelnut of the pure spread. But, considering most eater's palates, a more custard-like filling was probably a good decision.

Yes, the bombolini were rather good (though perhaps not the healthiest way to start the morning), but ... the craving for the Doughnut Plant's seasonal specialties and solid standards (and amazing chai!) was not abated.

Things I've been reading lately

Over the last month, I've had the opportunity to read an issue of my favorite journals. Here are the best articles from each:

From The Atlantic (which has become a hybrid of The New Yorker and Time ... still not sure how I feel about this):

On the wretched state of dialysis treatment in America (yet another infuriating health care topic):
http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2010/12/-8220-god-help-you-you-39-re-on-dialysis-8221/8308/

On the development of "clean coal" technology and it necessary role in future energy solutions:
 http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2010/12/dirty-coal-clean-future/8307/




 From The New Yorker:

On bananas, their blight, and how genetic-modification and/or breeding may save them:

http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2011/01/10/110110fa_fact_peed (abstract only)

On Belgium, its widening cultural/political rift, and potential separation: http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2011/01/10/110110fa_fact_buruma (abstract only)

On the innocuous toppling of a Saddam Hussein statue in Baghdad in 2003, how it became the iconic image of the Iraq War, and how it was spun to project a false sense of victory:
http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2011/01/10/110110fa_fact_maass


From Smithsonian:

On the inner-workings of the Colosseum, now open to visitors:
http://www.smithsonianmag.com/history-archaeology/Secrets-of-the-Colosseum.html

On the rising problem of wild pigs, how they plague Texas, and possibly the rest of the country:
http://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/A-Plague-of-Pigs-in-Texas.html

On the visually playful and rather beautiful portraits of a Renaissance painter:
http://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/Arcimboldos-Feast-for-the-Eyes.html (for those of you in or near DC, you should definitely visit this exhibit at the National Gallery)



From National Geographic:

On the advent of world's seven-billionth person (7 billion!), the first article in a series looking at the development of the global population, ensuing problems, and potential solutions in the next century:
http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2011/01/seven-billion/kunzig-text

On a huge f-ing cave just found in Vietnam: http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2011/01/largest-cave/jenkins-text (with amazing photographs, which I'm sure do no justice to what it's actually like)

On the impressive (and often overlooked) Native American Indian mound city near St. Louis:
http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2011/01/cahokia/hodges-text


And from The Economist:

On the secession referendum vote for South Sudan: http://www.economist.com/node/17851379?story_id=17851379 and http://www.economist.com/node/17851399

On when bad things happen to good people: http://www.economist.com/node/17851369?story_id=17851369 (in Pakistan) and http://www.economist.com/node/17851285?story_id=17851285 (in Russia)

On continuing crises on opposite sides of the Atlantic: http://www.economist.com/node/17851265?story_id=17851265 (Haiti one year after the earthquake) and http://www.economist.com/node/17857371?story_id=17857371 (Cote d'Ivoire and its neighbors)



So, overall, some good news and some bad to start off the year.  Stayed tuned and stay informed.


ps.  Here's an update on the Sudanese referendum vote: http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/16/world/africa/16juba.html?scp=4&sq=sudan&st=cse

Sharon Van Etten! (again?)

Yes, again.  Of course, again.

See?

Okay, I will admit that I am something of an SVE groupie (by the mere fact I call her SVE, and have seen her in concert 3 times in the last 4 months, and own her latest album, Epic, on CD and vinyl—as well as her first LP, Because I was in Love.)  

But, you see, I just had to go this time, for reasons outside my own fandom.  First, it was at the Bowery Ballroom—both the largest venue she’d headlined in this city, and something of a homecoming concert (her parents and extended family—from Jersey!—were there, after all.)  And secondly, my roommate/uncle Tim had never seen her in concert.  There you go.  And so, of course we found ourselves sharing beers at the basement bar way too early—because that’s exactly what you’re supposed to be doing on a Saturday night in the city.  But enough of this needless justification, on to the concert.
 
The night began with an act plagued by technical difficulties and too-beautiful guitar playing for a male singer/songwriter-type artist.  His name will be withheld lest he search for reviews of himself, find this post, and be bitterly stung by this all-too-accurate description of that evening’s performance, and his style in general.  (I know I would.)  But since SVE had invited him, she joined him onstage for a song to salvage his set  (undermined most-cruelly when his guitar amp failed mid-song—just as he finally got rocking!) 

Then, came The War on Drugs, a favorite of SVE’s who joined the bill at her behest (I like to think she wields that kind of power, but who really knows.)  They brought more rock than the first band, but, as Tim would point out, they channeled fading classic rockers, with little originality.  Well, they didn’t sound too bad, and had some pretty good energy overall (as well a drummer whom the entire audience thought was a roadie.)  But as eleven o’clock approached, they thankfully yielded the stage for the artist we’d all come to see (hear?)

Though apparently nervous, Sharon Van Etten began by belting out “A Crime,” her usual opening song—one that immediately brings her and the audience into the moment.  Her arrangements are simple but solid as her voice—a beautiful instrument on its own.  And to provided fullness and rhythm to them, she sang the rest of the set supported by her regular vocal, bass guitar, and percussion accompanists, as well as a pianist for the first time.  And of course, all this music serves very well to compliment her honest, bittersweet lyrics.  With guest appearances from friends in the indie music scene, shout-outs to her parents (and her boisterous cousin in the front row), multiple encores, much nervous banter, and a general sense of appreciation/reflection from an earnest singer who’s come a long way from open-mic nights in Tennessee dive bars—it was a memorable concert, and evening overall. 

Here’s a sample and more coverage, but it really is best to see her perform live, if possible:

OMG!

Omigodomigodomigodomigodomigodomigodomigod …. I saw Prince in concert nearly a month ago and I haven’t written a damn thing about it.  That’s right, Prince—aka. the Kid, the Purple One, the Artist Formerly Known as Prince, or just:

On a cold December night out at East Rutherford’s Izod Center, my roommates and I witnessed the first concert of Prince’s “Welcome 2 America” tour (whom he was welcoming was never made clear.) Perhaps the strangest aspect of the evening (normally just Prince himself), was the fact that before the concert and in between the opening acts, the film Finding Nemo played on the multiple enormous projection screens in the center of the arena—without sound.  While that certainly did not set the proper mood for a Prince concert (although it is more of an “experience” than concert), it just barely kept those of us who’d seen the movie entertained, and everyone else confused and bored. 

But eventually, the animated fish were replaced by a jazz band, led by Esperanza Spalding.  A petite young jazz musician dwarfed by her bass and immediately recognizable afro, I’d actually seen her in one of NPR’s “Tiny Desk Concerts.”  She’s very good, with a fresh voice that recalls classic jazz singers, but her style is more suited for the intimacy of a club rather than a gaping arena.  Then (after the next installment of the Nemo saga) came a singer of arena-sized voice and girth.  After this performer’s soulful serenades, we suffered through the finale of Nemo, while eagerly anticipating the headliner.  I napped.  Then, suddenly, the lights in the arena darkened, and from a trapdoor in the symbol-shaped stage rose the funky, fifty-something-year-old music icon himself. 

What can I say about Prince that hasn’t been said before?  Let it be known that I’m not really familiar with his oeuvre, outside of the Purple Rain album/film, that is.  This, however, did not prevent me from thoroughly enjoying the performance.  He began with one of his newer songs, featuring a trio of Amazonian vixens that would frequently accompany him throughout the night.  But for me, the concert did not properly begin until he sang “The Beautiful Ones” to his ballerina/muse.  And that wouldn’t be the last time he danced on his grand piano, either. 

With his band in the center, Prince roamed the stage, making full use of the 360-degree exposure—as well as trapdoors, multiple costume changes, song medleys, and guitars that seemed to appear out of thin air.  As an aspiring guitar player, I particularly enjoyed the wailing riffs and tasty licks.  Both the openers returned to the stage for a number each, which was nice to see.  Overall, the concert balanced upbeat, funky songs with down-tempo ballads.  Prince also balanced a mix of new and old songs—but nothing seemed out of place or outright bizarre. 

Except for everything.  

Essentially, it was as if we in the Izod Center were visited by extraterrestrials from an incredibly cool and funky planet for two hours, and then had to make sense of the world after their departure.  Maybe, this is what Prince meant by “Welcome 2 America.”  Who knows?  All I know, with certainty, is that “Purple Rain” is definitely a 15-minute, sing-along arena anthem; and anyone who says otherwise wasn’t there and just doesn’t get it, and probably never will.  I pity them.

And since I really don't have any pictures or videos from said concert (and since Prince thoroughly patrols the Internets for such things), I offer you this dramatized (though highly-accurate) account of the man in his prime: 

My New Favorite Band I Just Heard Of

No, not Mumford & Sons.  Although I did recently listen to their album Sigh No More just last week for the first time.  (And after this, I’m equally enamored with their sound, and perplexed as to how I missed out on these guys all year.) Definitely give them a listen.

But tonight I briefly want to mention a band I heard about on Sunday—and then again, and again.  The band Buke and Gass derives its name from the homemade hybrid instruments it members play: a baritone ukulele (“buke”), and a guitar/bass combo (a “gass,” naturally.)  They also use stomp-boxes, kick-pedal tambourines, and an array of custom distortion pedals all played through homemade amps tweaked to produce the unique sounds that populate their eclectic, but oddly catchy, songs.

As the owner of a homemade cigar-box guitar (hand-crafted by my grandfather), with an interest in creating more instruments, writing my own songs, as well as an open ear for cool local bands operating in the DIY mode—of course I was taken by Buke and Gass.

I first heard them perusing the 50 Favorite Albums of 2010 on the NPR Music website (as nominated by NPR staff in DC and at member stations.)  If you’re looking for a summary of 2010 in music and some new stuff for the iPod, I highly recommend this.  Surprisingly, the selections are more diverse than I expected, but I really appreciate this aspect.  (And unsurprisingly, the bands—and provided sample songs—are quality.)  But if you’re looking for a more passive way to get a sense of 2010’s best music, you could also listen to the latest All Songs Considered podcast, wherein the NPR music staff runs through their favorite new artists, albums, and songs of the year (many of whom I had the privilege to see in concert.)

As if a mention on both these lists was not enough, Buke and Gass also appeared at the NPR offices for a Tiny Desk Concert.  Again, you should watch it, especially if you want to check out their instruments—unique and experimental, if not especially unusual.  But as if this wasn’t enough coincidental publicity and exposure in single week, guess who’s profile appeared in the music section of the Village Voice?  Buke and Gass, of course. 

And wouldn’t you know it, they’re doing a concert this Saturday night at Mercury Lounge.  I love going to concerts (for anyone new to this blog), especially for hip local bands I first heard of less than a week before.  However, as it turns out, I will be working that evening.  Do not shed a tear on my behalf—I have cried into my growler of craft beer for many a night already.  But, if you’re anywhere near NYC this weekend, I highly recommend the concert.  And if you do happen to go, please don't rub it in (much.)
 

One man's trash ...

Late last night, as I wearily scanned the blogosphere, my roommate entered my open bedroom door carrying a milkcrate.  As he set it next to me, I could tell that the uniformly similar objects contained within were collectively heavy.  And considering that my roommate had just come from a chilly walk outside, I had the strong sense that a pile of junk had just been deposited on my floor.

It took me all of a second to realize that he’d found a second-hand collection of two dozen vinyl albums—and nearly all of them in Spanish!


As I began to examine through this bizarre collection, I recognized the title of a song on the very first record and immediately played it on my turntable.  As “Los 3 Paraguayos" (a trio straight out of a Canadian world music festival) played in the background, I flipped through my new—and wholly unexpected—treasure trove.

Although this may not hold true with books any longer (you know, with the digital age upon us), with vinyl, eye-catching cover art remains essential.  And let me tell you, Spanish albums from the 1960s are particularly hilarious to see several decades and a language removed:

from serious portraits of male singers featuring their impressive guitars and/or facial hair,

to ensembles in native garb;

whether the Simon & Garfunkel of northern Brazil,

or the eight albums by famed Chicano singer Trini Lopez.

Apparently, the former owner is a big fan of TL—but now I assume he has the collected works on his iPod.

And there’s even a cover featuring a rotund Latino man in sombrero and bandoliers slouching next to a bottle of tequila—an album appropriately called Mexican Joe.   

Oh the hilarity!  I couldn't help but chuckle as I put on record after record, read aloud from the few English album descriptions, and attempted to decipher just what any of this milkcrate meant.  All I know is that I have some rather strange and enjoyable hours of music ahead of me (perhaps I’ll even pick up some Espanol.)  Now that I can entertain with style, I just wish I could host a swinging Sixties cocktail party, throw on a Trini Lopez record (they’re all good—especially The F**k Album), and dance about my apartment full of urbane, witty guests with a highball in hand. 



(By the way, did you know that Mr. Peabody went through a lengthy legal process to possess his boy, Sherman?  That’s right—he owns him.  Get on Netflix, grab a bottle of hooch, and watch a few episodes of Rocky & Bullwinkle—you’ll see what I mean.)

Civil Liberties, Cultural Relevance, and … Picture Books?

"At what point then is the approach of danger to be expected? I answer, if it ever reach us, it must spring up amongst us. It cannot come from abroad. If destruction be our lot, we must ourselves be its author and finisher. As a nation of freemen, we must live through all time, or die by suicide."  

                                                                                                                                      --Abraham Lincoln, 1838

While perusing the Internets during the week, I tend to keep an eye out for articles pertaining to the protection (or, more likely, the violation) of civil liberties or civil rights.  Oh, there’s nothing I like more than a story on Guantanamo Bay detainees, or gay marriage, or oppressed ethnic minorities to get my blood boiling.
This week, however, rather than the subjects of the articles themselves, I took notice of the authors’ arguments and evidence.  Specifically, I twice read an allusion to the same historical event—although to different aspects of the event.  Glen Greenwald (a civil liberties watchdog) and Akhil Reed Amar (a law professor), while addressing the legal and judicial issues surrounding suspected and convicted terrorists, each refer to the trial of British soldiers involved in the 1770 Boston Massacre.