Coronavirus: A Year of Cooking with my Daughter

I love Eric Kim's piece on a year of cooking with his mother, which he called "a masterclass in Korean Home Cooking." No children would move home to learn cooking from me. Their father and stepfather did the cooking, while I happily and occasionally baked -- to great acclaim, I might add.  Paul Hollywood is my idol -- 'nuf said.

This pandemic forced me to confront this lacunae in my homemaking skills. My daughter Molly took over my food life in gentle steps, first of which was bringing me food in those days when my age group was in lockdown and we were all living in terror of the unknown. Given raw ingredients, could I make something? It was a tad grim at first. Gradually, the meat-and-potatoes recipes I'd learned at my mother's side all fell into place. Beef stew, spaghetti and meat sauce, meatloaf -- you see the pattern here.  I ventured into lentil soup and rice and sweet potatoes.  

Then we went on a vacation for two weeks and I got to cook at Molly's side. She was at the beginning of a cooking adventure.  While we were at Plum Island, meals featured the fresh produce and amazing ice cream and bread that were to be found.  Chocolate milk ice cream, fresh corn on the cob. The house we were renting was equipped with a grill, reputed to work once you got past the cranky starter. Molly insisted I work this thing -- I was ready to quit when the starter acted up, but she powered us through that. We made hamburgers and hot dogs and veggies on that grill and ate on the porch overlooking the ocean. We were satiated.  We were not afraid.

As we returned, the second wave took off, followed closely by the third wave.  We had to stay close to home.  Molly took up cooking with real seriousness.  She tried many recipes, investigated cookbooks, bought new spices.  She regularly shared what she was trying with me, by which I mean, we talked about it, as we rarely got to eat together.  We subscribe to the New York Times Cooking app, and discuss Sam Sifton's advice on a regular basis. She encouraged me to try certain recipes that she thought would be easy and satisfying.  Thanksgiving was a time for experimentation, as was Christmas.  We could only share in our small "pod," which put certain constraints on, for example, the number of pies we might bake.  The many satisfying discussions of stuffing were topped by a terrific meal.  Molly got me a Challenger bread pan for Christmas, which is one of the best presents I've ever received.  

As we come to the end of this year, I find that I am a very different cook.  Mainly this shows up in how comfortable I am in my kitchen.  My pots and pans are friends.  I can throw a meal together from what I have in the refrigerator.  I can steam, boil, bake, braise, sear, grill.  I chop with ease.  It doesn't always turn out well, and that usually happens when I get too freeform.  I'm much better off with a recipe.  But some things are so clear to me that whatever variations I try they work.  At the beginning of the pandemic, I could not make a decent pot of rice and now I can.  At the beginning of the pandemic, I rarely ate green leafy vegetables of my own volition.  Now cabbage, kale, collards and spinach are friends.  I even harvested dandelions from my garden and threw them into the pot of collards I was making.  I know how to freeze and unfreeze.  I can make a shopping list.  These are good things.  

The year of cooking with my daughter has been a master class in "try it, you'll like it."

Coronavirus: "Caring across social distance"

I couldn't make this morning's Grant Club meeting because I woke up with a terrible sore throat.  I am in the C/F/C--cold/flu/coronavirus--netherland.  The only things I know for sure are: I hope it's a cold and it's lonely.  I shouldn't say it's that lonely -- I was talking on a webinar to 100 people and other calls have been coming in all day.  But it has a shell of loneliness because I shouldn't go out and others shouldn't come in, as least not until this thing declares itself.  I've never wished so hard for a runny nose and sneezes.

Anyway, in this state, I was glad to see a google doc shared by our UofO leader, Molly Rose Kaufman, called "Caring across social distance."  By way of context, Molly is my youngest child. When she was a baby, she would sit in the kitchen nook and have breakfast with every member of the family as they floated through.  Social distance is not her thing.  Some of the items on the "Caring across social distance" list included: headsets for the UofO team (so we could optimize our Zoom calls); "digital campus" that included a baking show led by Holly Barszcz and me (which has long been a dream of mine); and telephone call trees.  While much of what is going on is dreadful (meaning full of dread), it is also a time when we have to invent a new way life.  It's like camping, or breathing during an inversion.

An email to faculty from the university where I teach (The New School) had the subject line:

Moving your face-to-face courses 

online in a hurry

It was very supportive of the challenges we face and suggested that we take control of that which is within our control.  At this moment, it is within my control to plan my first contribution to the baking show, "Making David's Brownies."  Link to follow!

Getting change

I got through the heat wave that wilted NJ the past few weeks by drinking iced coffee. One day I went to the Dunkin' Donuts on Main Street in Orange and I saw a sign that said no $50s, no $100s. A few days later I was on the main drag in Upper Montclair, which by contrast to Orange is dripping with wealth. I went into Dunkin' Donuts to get some iced coffee. The lady after me was digging in her change purse. "I have to give you change," she said to the young clerk who stood waiting patiently. "All I have is a $100."

"We can change $100," the clerk said.

I asked my daughter, Molly Rose Kaufman, a take a picture of the sign in Orange, as a memento of difference. The clerk there said, "Why are you taking my picture?" Molly said, "I'm taking a picture of the sign." She explained my experience in Upper Montclair.

The young girl shrugged, "Of course they can change $100 in Upper Montclair!"

[murmur] Orange

Yesterday I attended a wonderful party celebrating the launch of [murmur] Orange, a new project telling stories of the city in the words of its citizens. Over the summer, teenagers collected and edited stories about places. These were edited and posted on the web. Then organizers installed signs at the spots, informing passersby that they could hear a story by calling a number and entering the location's code.

At the party, the youth talked about their experience of doing the project. They agreed that they had gotten to know their city in a whole new way. The stories helped them understand and take pride in their hometown. They hope that people who listen to the stories will share this new awareness of the city.

To that end, the [murmur] organizers -- Shawn Micallef and Robin Elliott of Toronto -- proposed that we all go out on an algorithmic psychogeographic walk. This is a pretty random walk through a city, governed by directions like "Walk two blocks, turn right, walk two blocks turn right, walk one block, turn left." My team and I wandered around the Valley's old industrial sites. We stopped by the great local restaurant, Bella Italia, which is one of the [murmur] sites. We didn't immediately see the small green ear which is the [murmur] signature sign, so we asked at the restaurant. The maitre d' said we'd find on the side, and we did. We called the number, and heard a story about a young man who celebrated his eighth grade graduation at the restaurant and won the prize for best dressed. He won a hat covered with glitter. "I have a love/hate relationship with that hat," he chuckled.

Molly Rose Kaufman, community organizer, and Khemani Gibson, one of the youths involved in the project, shared their enthusiasm in an interview on public radio. The stories and the storytellers reveal a complex and dynamic little city, willing to share its hopes and scars through this new medium of digital storytelling. For more info on the project, check out the Star-Ledger article, which appeared on September 29, 2009.

ps--I'm one of the people interviewed and I tell a story about growing up in the historic Unitarian Universalist Church on Ben Jones Street.

From St Patrick to Paterson: A NJ Drive

On Sunday, March 9th, Molly Kaufman, my daughter, and A'Lelia Johnson, my granddaughter and Molly's niece, went to West Orange to see the St. Patrick's Day Parade on Main Street.  It was a fine parade with lovely pipe and drum bands from all over the state, parade organizers in convertibles, and a lively audience that appreciated the fine day and good music.  Just off Main Street, on Park Avenue, we passed a playground and A'Lelia, 12, insisted we play for a while.  The park has an outstanding 4 person seesaw.  A little boy joined us and we four bounced up and down in zigzaggy patterns.  Though we outweighed our little friend by several hundred pounds, he held on tightly, proving he has the talent for a career in horse racing.  We had planned to go straight back to Englewood but that seemed too tame for such a fine day.  After considering many ideas, we settled on driving back on the streets rather than the highways. There is no road that goes straight from West Orange to Englewood -- probably why they built the highways.  The roads stay out of the Meadowlands and follow the course of the Passaic River, which lies between the two cities.  In no time at all, we found ourselves in Paterson.  The southern part of Main Street, Paterson, is a middle Eastern neighborhood.  We stopped for coffee and Turkish pastries at Saray Bakery.  We strolled down the street to Fattal's Market, where we stocked up on their freshly baked pita, and delicious platters of hummus, baba ganoush, olives and stuffed grape leaves.  

If you're in Paterson, you have to visit the The Great Falls, so we drove to the center of the city to see the second largest waterfall in the Northeast, after Niagara Falls. Paterson was an early center of American industry because of the power provided by the Falls. Alexander Hamilton, one of the founders of the nation, saw the potential of the area and organized its early development -- he's honored by a statue in the park around the Falls.  He made the point that the US should reduce its dependence on foreign products -- proving that what goes around comes around.  The roar of the Falls makes it clear how much power is involved in good-sized river suddenly dropping 77 feet.  Though it was a clear bright day, the water was cold and the spray had frozen in places around the viewing zone.  We were thrilled by the mist and the noise and the icicles.  

Visiting Main Street with Guru Rod

Dr. Rodrick Wallace is one of the great human ecologists in the United States.  He was willing to take a couple of hours out of his busy schedule to visit NJ Main Streets with me.  We started off from the Columbia University Medical Center where his office is located.  Journalist Molly Rose Kaufman and public health student Laura Gabby joined us.  

First stop--Fort Lee

Fort Lee, once a center of the movie business, is a bustling urban center and the NJ terminus of the George Washington Bridge.  Towering Miami Beach-type condos dot its riverfront skyline. Main Street, however, reminds of us an earlier time.  The old wooden building that houses the hardware store stands out against the backdrop of highrises.  The welcoming post office anchors the comings and goings of local residents.  Like other Main Streets it has found uses in providing banks, restaurants, and clothing stores.  It proudly boasts a major bookstore, Border's, carefully set along the sidewalk to fill the urban tissue.  It is an active center, invigorating a city bisected by major highways.  

After a quick walk up and down the street, we got back in the car and headed out towards Hackensack.  Main Street changes its name as it travels through different cities.  Along the way, we crossed of Grand Avenue, which serves as Main Street, Leonia.  This is a reminder of Joe Getz' point -- Main Street is found at the intersection of Main and Main.  

Second stop--Bogota

Main Street runs north and west from Fort Lee, mostly through residential areas.  It becomes Main Street again in Bogota, a small city with a one block locus of commercial activity that boasts a post office and an excellent candy store.  We walked one block off Main to see the civic center -- city hall, library, senior center, with the police and fire stations nearby.  On our walk we saw a stately Victorian house.  We appreciated the homeowners' sense of whimsy expressed in a sculpture made of old lawnmowers.  "That's the house I thought I'd live in when I grew up," noted Rod.  He left the suburbs, however, for the city and apartment life.  

Third stop-- Hackensack

We drove just 5 more minutes to get to Main Street, Hackensack.  Like Grand Avenue, Main Street, Hackensack runs perpendicular to the road we were on.  Somewhat like a movie set, Hackensack respected the buildings that fronted Main Street, but scooped those behind.  One would guess, given the history in what remains, that many historic structures were demolished and made into parking.  We stationed our car in this vacant area and found our way onto Main Street by passing through an aromatic Asian grocery store.  By this time, the crew was ready for coffee.  A coffee shop next door to the library had good java and eats for us.  Afterwards, we took a minute to visit the library, a spectacular building erected a hundred years ago and recently expanded.  

Whether it was the old slate sidewalk in Bogota or the statue of a Native American in the library in Hackensack, our trip along Bergen county Main Streets revealed layers of history. Rod commented, "It's important to know this history because it is also the future of the city."