Lily Brett's Blog

What I thought was a new food truck in the area, turned out to be a political statement. One of the most aesthetically pleasing, eye-catching and funniest political statements. Somebody, with a great sense of humor, went to a great deal of trouble to make this statement about Anthony Weiner, the candidate for Mayor of New York, who is hoping that New Yorkers can overlook his seemingly rabid compulsion to text genitals. His genitals.

This msemem Moroccan bread is baked by the Hot Bread Kitchen, makers of multi-ethnic bread.  The square, pancake-like bread, this one stuffed with scallions and cheese, reflects the multi-ethnic nature of the city. The bread was placed between the brioche and the bialys.

My father wearing one of his birthday presents, a Cuban shirt. He said he thinks that in three years when he turns 100 he will get a letter from President Obama. But I don’t think that is correct.

Something else that draws me to the Bowery is the sight of old restaurant equipment being revived and renewed. Ovens and stove tops that look as though they couldn’t possibly be used again are restored. This work is often carried out on the sidewalk outside the restaurant supplies stores. Years ago, I bought one of these industrial stoves. It has ten burners and two ovens. I often feel absurd putting one kettle on one burner to make a cup of tea while the other nine burners remain unused. I feel as though I should be making at least fifty portions of coq au vin or a good goulash.

I find second hand restaurant equipment irresistible. To me, the dented ladles and bent spatulas and worn saucepans are so alluring. The restaurant supplies stores on the Bowery often have a jumble of used equipment and utensils on sale outside the store. Each piece has its own unknowable history. I try not to buy anything. I already own more saucepans and strainers and whisks than any one person needs.

I am often not very good company in cafes. The last time my husband and I went out for coffee I spent almost all of the time writing notes. He took this photo of me. I’m not sure why. I am always writing notes.  All through high school I managed to overlook what the teachers were trying to teach. I spent most of my time writing notes about the four imaginary cousins I had or compiling lists of names for the triplets I hoped I would have.

This not a farm in the American mid-west. It is an agrarian revolution of sorts. It is in the heart of downtown Manhattan. What was, until very recently, lawn is now being planted with vegetables. This farming venture borders Houston Street, one of the busiest streets in New York. I love that contrast. New York is a city of contrasts and contradictions, so nothing is surprising.