Monday, March 26, 2007

I went to Staten Island...

(Photo of an SI resident from the New York Times)

... and I didn't take any pictures. Trust me, there's not much to see on the island. Sure, Richmond Terrace is a lovely coastal ramble, but once you get to the old salt mines and a long stretch of nothing, it gets a little old, not to mention scary. So you will have to make do with pictures I have ripped from other people's Web sites and some handy links. And take my word for it.

Getting there
Of course we took the ferry, and it was filthy with tourists. It was a cold spring Sunday afternoon, but they were out in droves. The ride is nice. I got as close to the Statue of Liberty as I've ever been, and they sell beer on board. This is about all I would need or want to know before I took the trip.

You're there!
Once you step off the ferry, most people turn around and go home. My intrepid friend and I decided to take a walk. Outside of the terminal, you have a choice to go left or right. We went to the right, knowing the S44 bus to Denino's was in that direction (you can also take it right at the terminal.)

The whole point
So, as any lapsed Catholic would, I gave up something for Lent. I gave up pizza. This is a completely self-indulgent move, having nothing to do with suffering for Jesus (though I would have suffered going 40 days without a slice).
I have been hearing about Denino's since my cousin started dating an Italian guy from Bensonhurst, and I am on my own personal mission to have what is commonly known as the ten best pizzas in NYC. (Note: I will likely never make it to Di Fara's because I cannot wait for two hours on a line with tourists.)
The bus drops you right there, at 524 Port Richmond Avenue. My co-conspirator pointed out that it doesn't look like an old-school pizza place, with murals of Venice on the walls and such. It feels more like a country pizza place, a specimen found upstate N.Y. or out in the wilds of Jersey. It has a bar in front with $1 glasses of Bud or $2.25 pints (yes, please!) and the tables in the back. Children everywhere, lots of women in sweatpants, albeit the tight, velvet kind, and good service. It looks more like a rec room, very beige in color and even a generic sports bar feel up front.
The pizza itself? Really, really good. A smaller pie, but as pointed out in other reviews, not soggy, holds a pile of toppings well, and the crust is very chewy and softer than on a typical pie, if you're into that. My companion was, which sucked for me because I can usually count on eating his discarded crusts.
We got our pie (only pies) half "M.O.R." (meatball, onion and ricotta) and half plain. I hate foods that look like ricotta cheese but the melding of all three ingredients was really good.
While it looks like a saucy pie, the red stuff is a little bland for my tastes. Then again, I like it acidic enough to induce heartburn before you even get up from the table. It also had that cornmeal dusting on the bottom that I could live without. But it all went really well with cheap beer and the fact that I was on Staten Island.

In the end, Lazarra's is still unbeaten in the "best of NYC" pizza category. Surprising, because it is a very thin-crust square pie, but it really is the sauce that does it. And for the record, my still-unbeaten favorite dirty pizza joint slice is in Polito's on Broadway in Astoria. Just make sure it is a fresh pie.

Of SI Note:

This story from the New York Times is a very good indicator of what you will find. It was pretty informative and I wish I had read it before we went. I would have tried to make it to Linoleumville.

The Staten Island Advance goes above and beyond the call of duty. It is truly a great newspaper and they have a sense of humor about the whole Staten Island thing.

Friday, March 23, 2007

learning curve

No sooner do I mentally commit to posting regularly does it become St. Patrick's season. I say season because for someone who works at an Irish institution, this is pretty much all we have. I still don't understand the twinge of heritage that makes our subscriptions go up in March, but
perhaps one day I will. I met a man at the (Czech) Bohemian Beer Hall and Beer Garden reading our paper last night, and he seemed a lot more interesting than the readers who call me up to complain about the caricature of St. Patrick on the cover. But I digress...

As I am just getting my free time back, I was thinking about taking the plunge and laying out for a spring sewing class since it has become apparent that I can't sew in a straight line or measure accurately. I also ordered the bible, commonly known as the 1976 version on the Reader's Digest Guide to Sewing. I ended up with two (thanks eBay!) and I actually prefer the 1978 version, not that I have found a difference yet. It is just in better condition.

Well, I may still find a class useful, but this book is genius. It has given me my confidence back, which was sorely lacking. I am no longer lax to, or afraid of changing out needles and using the dials for things like stitch length and thread tension. And you know what? That stuff is important!
I ordered some jersey recently, looking to make a dress I have a Built By Wendy pattern for, and I was doing some practice sewing, you know, to see what to set the dials to. I even put on a ball-point needle in the correct size, which I learned from the handy chart on page 27. And it worked! I sewed two pieces of jersey together and the seam did not pucker or snag and now I am looking forward to making that dress. Sometimes it just takes a little effort, I suppose.

And now, a gratuitous picture of Seamus, who was recently given a clean bill of health and will be getting the snip as soon as I can make an appointment. This picture was taken right after I told him as such. Please ignore the filthy floor, it was rainy that day!

Monday, March 05, 2007

Down on the farm

I am way late in posting my trip to the General Bailey Homestead Farm, but it isn't going away anytime soon.

Once our trip to Indian Lake, N.Y. was set, I started researching fiber farms on the way up. Why? Because I have the most special princess life, that's why! And it was my birthday and roommate was stuck (he was still roommate at this point, he is now my, um, my soul provider. And my fiancé.) I was originally planning on hitting the Morehouse store, but when I realized I wasn't going to be able to see the sheep on the farm, it lost a little of its luster. I looked for something more farmy. And I found General Bailey's, sitting in the Adirondack foothills. It is actually just a short drive outside of Saratoga Springs, for you racing fans. And while you could miss it driving down the road, the bleating of the sheep would carry you back. They are that loud.

The very nice Kathy Bourgeois, who was semi-expecting us, led us into the barn where the store is. It is full of yarn. She has one floor-to-ceiling wall of her own homespun and another of various sock yarns of mostly merino wool (that I saw), mostly from Australia. There is also a good selection of notions and a cat named Buttons (Buttons!!!), named so because she would keep knocking over Kathy's display buttons. You thought I was going to say knitting needles, didn't you!

The real attraction, aside from the hand-dyed yarn, was the flock of merino sheep that do the work. Sheep's eyes give me the heebie-jeebies, what with that narrow slit and all, but they were dear animals. The soul provider got up close and personal with one of them.

Even while the others looked on in horror.

Then it was feeding time! There was a mini-stampede for the hay.

Thanks for the yarn, buddy.
I have decided that for sure, I want a farm someday. I take a sick amount of crap for stating that wish out loud, but it is true, these people know me and how I grew up. It was not near agriculture. Still, I feel that with a lot of elbow grease, I WE can be self-sustaining. But that is for another post, of course.

Now, if you will excuse me, I think I have just eaten a bad nectarine.

Friday, March 02, 2007

Loukaniko

I guess I am going to squeeze it all in so bear with me. At least there are pictures. (Is it bad to type like people are reading?)

The shrug I started is almost, almost almost done. I got lazy after the second sleeve, but here it is in all the glory. The color is a little off... that blue should be a little more turquoise, but you get the idea. Maybe the picture on the cutting mat was not the best idea. But anyway, it is most definitely small and I hope does not look too silly covering only my shoulders. I have decided I love the pattern and will make another one that actually covers my boobs with some bright red dk I bought at General Bailey's Homestead. Oh my god! I have to post pictures of those sheep. So fun.

Then I had a burst of creativity and re-did the old nurse stool (It looked like the stools the school nurses would sit on) that I rescued from - you guessed it - outside a school. You can see in previous pictures how ugly it was, brown on tan or something. I had a hard time actually deciding on a color, of course I wanted something bright like yellow or red but fabric dictated the show here. I found good-quality cotton gingham with some texture to it (like a really light canvas, almost) at Ragshop, and that kind of said it. I also used the occasion to buy my very own heavy-duty staple gun. I did squeal with fright every time I used it, afraid I would staple my hand together. How, I don't know. Moving on!

Then I decided I would move on to felt plush, stealing everyone else's ideas in the process. I want to say that I have never SEEN the plush ravioli, so perhaps this is the first one. hey, at least it's not a doughnut.

And then, so confident with my sewing skills, I decided I would have to try the machine of doom again. After one breakdown, I actually managed to make a tote bag. Canvas, no lining, but I took measurements (correctly), used my iron, AND did topstitching on this one. Can you see the reinforcement on those handles? I am quite proud of it. I realized how plain it was and I am planning to fabric-paint something on it this weekend that does not involve an owl, a craggy tree branch, or a bird silhouette.

In other news, I had really, really excellent homemade sausage (how's that for a transition?) at Ovelia, a new restaurant in my old neighborhood (Astoria, Queens.) They make it in-house and I have to say, greek sausage, when done correctly, is better than any other kind of sausage in the world. Italian sausage has nothing on this, even the freshly made kind from a real market. This was unreal. I don't know if it is lamb, beef, goat, whatever. It is called
Loukaniko and it rocks. That is Gayle there, going for my piece! The waiter actually asked why I was taking a picture and, not being a suave food blogger, I said "because it's really good. I want to remember it." Which is, really, kind of true. I have to make note that it does lead to some kickin' breath... the kind that fills up the room while you sleep off your sausage coma. And in the morning, the room reeks of sweat and garlic. Do not eat this on a date.

Also, I am now the proud owner of the 1976 version of the Reader's Digest Guide to Sewing. I hope it is as good as everyone says. I realized I need to go back to the drawing board to learn sewing the right way, especially if I ever want to make anything that resembles clothing that I have to wear. In public. In fact, I might be the proud owner of two copies, unless someone outbids me (please!) on this one.