Mastic, Mastiha,... It's about Childhood Memories...

I have already professed my love to Korres, an all-natural brand that promotes the whole goodness of many things that I grew up with... The yogurt my Grandmother smeared on me after a sunburn, Korres has it in its moisturizers, body lotions, face masks,... You name it! Now, they've entered another territory, one that whooshes back so many memories, my mind is running faster than my fingers can type...

Spending time with my Grandparents in the summertime, we would make a summer pilgrimage to Cesme, a seaside resort that's now so huge, I don't even recognize my antiquated version. In Cesme, two things entered my life to remain forever: Kumru (buttery bread, often served with a slice of cheese, tomato and a green pepper for breakfast), and Mastiha or Mastic Pudding.

In the mornings, we would run over to the bakery and buy a few of the kumru's and then impatiently wait until I could bite into it with some Kashkaval cheese (feta cheese was not a "friend" until about my late-teens) and a tall glass of Coke. Sitting on the balcony, enjoying the salty breeze, and stream of "hello" and "good morning"s with walking-by neighbors were all part of the daily ritual. People asked about you and you wondered about the people who, one day, did not show up at their expected locations. I like to believe that Cesme retained some part of its charm today. In the mornings, we'd look over at the water, wax and wane about the direction of the wind and the tides as we planned for the day.

One of those summer days, I was introduced to Mastiha Pudding- a gum-my tasting pudding, sweet and pungent all at the same time. See, with the region's long history, the Greek and Turkish cultures intermingled, almost to a point that it was worthless to argue over which belonged to which tradition. It was (and I think it still is) commonly accepted that we had many crossovers, and may do the same things but with a slight twist in how we do them. Same went for food- a slightly different herb was used in stuffed grapes, or the size was altered a little- the bottom line was that both cultures enjoyed the bounty of the region.

Back to the Mastiha Pudding. I loved it so much that I asked for the recipe, and went ahead playing with it for many years to come. No one complained about my burning the bottom of the pan or adding too much mastiha, or making it too dense, or too soft- my family enjoyed my puddings in all shapes and forms.

So, when I was online ordering my favorite Korres yogurt face mask, I saw their line of Mastiha products, and like Emeril would say: Bam!, it flooded my nostrils with the smells of my childhood. I thought what a better way to start my morning but share my favorite recipe with you!

So, here it goes- it's so easy, so simple, yet the taste remains with you for a long time. I hope you enjoy it just the same. Play around with the ingredients, add a little more, a little less:

Ingredients
1 cup flour
6 cups 2% milk
2 tablespoons margarine or butter
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon gum mastic, crushed (Check out Mastihashop to purchase)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Preparation
1. Heat the margarine/butter in a medium/large pot, making sure the heat is low so that you're not burning it.
2. Slowly add the flour with a whisk (similar to making of the Béchamel sauce), mixing it constantly.
3. Add the milk in small quantities and gradually so the flour does not get lumpy.
4. Add the sugar and mastic, and continue stirring until the gum has melted.
5. Stir all until the mixture, as my grandmother would say, gets the consistency of an earlobe.
6. Take away from heat, add the vanilla extract, and stir to make sure all is mixed in well.
7. Pour into a large rectangular serving dish or individual custard cups.
8. Let it cool completely outside, and then place in the refrigerator for some additional cooling time.

If you decide to use a large rectangular serving dish, you can cut the pudding into small squares/ rectangles when serving. Otherwise, single serving dishes are just fine.

If only life could be this simple again...

Banana Republic's Exciting New Partnership!

'Tis the season for partnerships: From Gap's (PRODUCT)Reds, to Target and Kohl's designer alliances, to the Wall Street's "partnerships" that come in form of takeovers, now we have another one to add to our list. Banana Republic.

Banana Republic is collaborating with the New Museum as a sponsor for the museum's "Live Forever: Elizabeth Peyton" exhibition, premiering in New York City on October 8, then moving on to Minneapolis, London, and the Netherlands.

Of course, as expected, this partnership comes in a very chic and eco-friendly package: for a membership at the New Museum, you can get a eco-chic tote with the exhibition catalogue. I was hoping for instant gratification and order my tote online, but they are not available until November 6th at select Banana Republic stores.

Is it November, yet?

Topshop is Coming!

It was Boots at Target, then SpaceNK in the City- later in Scarsdale- now it's Topshop! Can we say we're loving the British?

It's brilliant! With over 300 stores in the UK, and a third of that across the world, Topshop is finally coming to the US in October with a flagship store on Broadway & Broome in SoHo. And, it was about time!!!

The fashion trampoline- helped launched the careers of Alexander McQueen, Preen, Jonathan Saunders, Matthew Williamson, Giles Deacon, Christopher Kane and Marios Schwab- carries collections from Kate Moss, Celia Birtwell and Parisian lingerie designer Fifi Chachnil. Most recently, the London Fashion Week was an opportunity for Topshop to show its high-style pieces.

I casually visit their website to see what's up and coming in Europe, and I am happy to report that they have customized their website for the US. Now you can order online (they have the cutest oversized beaded clutch!), check out their McCarren Pool Parties series, download their Daily Fix widget and get style advice.

So, this City girl at heart will be catching the 6 train from GCT this Fall to head over to the new flagship. Then again, I have a feeling that Topshop will make its way to the 'burbs, and what's a better place to have a store than Westchester county? Mark my words...

Boogie Down in the 'Burbs

When the Westchester Magazine came out with its Nightlife issue in March '08, I couldn't help but be cynical and think that nightlife in Westchester was an oxymoron.

It's not that hubby and I don't go out a couple days a week, or that we don't appreciate the nearby venues where we have a good time, it's just that the suburbs have always been synonymous with quaint neighborhood eateries, quiet streets and a 10 PM curfew. Or, so I had thought...

On Saturday night, we ended up at Lucy's Lounge in Pleasantville- not by coincidence. When hubby and I were sitting by the waterfront in Yonkers a few weekends ago, we had browsed through a copy of the "More Sugar" paper and noticed that one of the U2 tribute bands, 2U, we had previously seen (the other one is the Unforgettable Fire) would be playing on Aug. 16th, same day as the Jets pre-season game where we would watch Favre for the first time. We decided that we'd go to the game and then head over to Lucy's afterward.

I was happy that Lucy's was easy to find, right off Bedford Road, conveniently accessible from the Saw Mill & the Taconic. Parking was accessible as well- not in the bar's designated parking lot but at the municipal parking spot across the street. From the outside, it looked like a cool cousin of one of the bars in White Plains- girls and guys catching a few smokes, the door-boy making small talk, and music pouring outside the door.

Walking inside, I was pleasantly surprised to find the bar packed with not only 20-somethings, but also with some slightly more mature (at least in their looks!) crowd. There were women decked out in tent dresses and big jewelry, men in casual slacks and button-downs, adding to the polished atmosphere. (I thanked my wisdom in taking off my Jets jersey and putting on something more appropriate prior to going in!) There were also more individualistic styles- I attributed it to the wide range of crowd that the band must've drawn in to the bar that evening- I actually love that!

The band played on, Michael Phelps won his 8th gold medal, we sipped our beers, and enjoyed the cool breeze coming in through the doors and windows. Our evening at Lucy's in Pleasantville, overall, was quite pleasant (cannot help myself!!!); I'd love to go back and sample one (or two?) of their martinis.

Maybe, after all, there's a nightlife in Westchester for those of us in their 30s & 40s aside from our neighborhood comfort zones- we just need to stretch our thinking...

It's All About Taming the Hair: The Marilyn Brush

So you get the best coffee from your favorite shop of joe, you get the best school for your kid, you live in the best town for the recreation, you go to the best bar for killer mojitos, seek the best boots for the fall, and the list goes on... So, what do you do, when you have the best haircut ever (see my post on Lindsay hair), to highlight its features in the best way possible? I am talking about the gorgeous layers, the volume, and the shine.

Well, very simple: You get the best hairbrush possible!

Enter: The Marilyn Brush. Bristles made from 100% boar, these brushes come in many shapes and sizes, and you pick them depending on your need. The company offers ceramic brushes, made of a combination of plastic and ceramic, which allows the brush to heat for up to 10 minutes, thereby reducing time on-task with your blow-dryer and keeping your ends just spiffy without any heat damage! Now, that's not only a smart way to reduce your morning routine time but also a great way to go green at home. Now, here's a company that takes your hair seriously!

Recommended by my glamorous-haired friend (you're the best!), I purchased the one with the hour-glass barrel, size 3.5, to get more oomph and nip-tuck for my hair. (Ummm... Confession: I cannot wait until Nip Tuck's new season starts! Such a guilty pleasure, it's even on my mobile...)

I ordered mine online through the company's website- total instant gratification- you can also get it at Zitomer's Pharmacy; the closest one to GCT is at 40 W 57th St, between 5th & 6th Ave's.

Brush away those potential bad hair days!

SPACE.NK is here!

There are a few things I get excited about, and one of them is finding a beloved store in the City in my own backyard. To add to my excitement, this time it is a global favorite, and I am simply thrilled! I think the last time I felt this way was when Target partnered with Boots- a total "must-visit-when-in-the-UK" destination for me...

Space NK opened up its NYC flagship store on 99 Greene Street in Soho. I've made my pilgrimage, and opened up my wallet without a blink- I absolutely love the brands they carry as well as their own brand.

And now, they're in Scarsdale, right on Harwood Court- an ideal location for a boutique apothecary. Oh, I am getting goosebumps!!! It has a gorgeous layout- all white- and although some may not find the space large, I found it's pretty spacious for its location.

You know I love sharing my finds, so here are some faves from Space NK:

• Space NK Seaweed Body Polish- perfect way to exfoliate before that waxing appointment and pre-beach sunning session
• Philip B Travel Kit- a set of shampoo and conditioners small enough to put in your carry-on and large enough to have it last for that week in the summer cottage
• Space NK Foot File- very handy for in-between summer pedicures
• Go Smile Touch Up Mini Mint- a good excuse to run to the ladies room to get the red wine stain off your teeth

If you are not familiar with SpaceNK, then go online to their website (or, click here) and order their catalogue. It arrives at your mailbox in a handwritten envelope a couple of days after you click send.

Now, that's British sensibility!

Instant Gratification

What happened to "waiting"?

Before I add to my Fall/Winter wardrobe, I wait until the September issues of my fave magazines. Similarly, I do the same in March when planning what to purchase for the following Spring/Summer. I love these magazines' thickness, their juiciness- I devour them over a weekend or two, indulging post-its on potential candidates, chewing over my selections, taking a bite out of offerings,... I find beauty in my anticipation.

See, I learned all this from the best: My mother. With a cup of joe at her side, she would perform this ritual every March and September. When I replicate it today, without her physically by my side, I try to adhere to every little step. And then, I cannot wait to get on the phone with her and exchange our findings. Beyond the comparisons of what's hot/not in the US vs. Europe and our takes on the upcoming season, our conversations take many intimate turns. Sheer delight.

Am I so "yesterday"?

The New York Times Thursday Styles may claim so. (Ironic enough, I used to wait for Sunday Styles but now I've been indulged with a mid-week snack of Thursday Styles...) In today's article, "Where the Fashionistas Go for a Quick Fix", there's a review of online fashion magazines to quench a fashion lover's thirst for the newest available. As the article claims, these online magazine may not be able to replace the print counterparts, however, they're a growing clan and attracting viewers and advertisers. I smell money.

Here's a sampling of online magazines from the article:
hintmag.com
luxuryculture.com
unvogue.com
net-a-porter notes.com
gloss.com
fashion156.com
iconique.com

So, the City girl in me loves the speed of information- feed me, feed me! At the same time, I cannot help but feel threatened about losing the sense of anticipation and what that means to me.

Now, what does that make me?

About Lindsay and My Hair

Early July, HBO On-Demand was running Georgia Rule- a movie about a generation of women, clashing, congealing, and then clashing again and coming together for good. What interested me more than the plot was- ready for this one?- Lindsay Lohan's hair. Yes. She had gorgeous, long-layered hair. And I know, she has probably more extensions than anyone, more hair-coloring jobs than my years of hair dying combined, a stylist at hand, and all those countless luxuries that those in the eye of the public can afford. With all that said, I wanted her hair.

So afraid that I was reverting to my teeny-boppy years, defined by the 'original' 90210 days, I emailed my girlfriend who is always up and about these things. After a few confessional email exchanges, she reassured me that my obsessions was ok, it wasn't Lindsay that I was yearning after but her haircut. Whew. Then she made me promise that I pass on the research after I am through. No problem.

So, I went online. First things first, I needed to get a photograph of her from the movie. The photograph had to reflect the best part of her hair that I loved: the distinct long-layers, the length, and the tousled effect. Definitely NOT the color- so totally not! Not that it's not to die-for, but, see, I am a brunette who has finally found her own natural hair color and proud & protective of it. And here is why:

My dalliance with my hair color goes back to elementary years where I used to use a lemon-water mixture to lighten my hair in my grandmother's backyard. In the middle school, I continued using the lemon-water solution but added small doses of peroxide to speed up the process. Then, I moved on to experimenting with henna, trying every brand that Ricky's carried. Not only it added subtle color, but also gave shine to die for. After a few years of increasingly reddish hair color, I moved onto semi-permanent hair dyes. Now, in this territory, I started off with natural ones like Natural Instincts and Herbal Essences. After a disastrous "Bozo-the-Clown" experience where my then-boyfriend hubby had to run to the nearest CVS to get 'corrective' dark brown hair color so that I'd look semi-decent to his friends who were meeting me the first time EVER (still a story we share & laugh about), I went professional.

During my professionally-done hair coloring days, I first started with honey-ish highlights around my face. Noticing that my hair was increasingly getting lighter, I thought I would extend the highlighting from sectional to all-over my hair. During these years, I went highlight- obsessed: I would randomly ask women (on subways, business meetings,...) who I thought had amazing highlights about where they went. After a few different hair-colorists and four to five sessions of all-around highlights, I was on my to becoming a very light brown brunette. Now, with my olive complexion, that was not a pretty scene. In addition, I was spending a fortune that should've really been going into a 401k account per Suzie Orman. So, I decided to go bare, and forget all about highlights.

Well, that lasted, ummm, about two months, until I realized I needed some serious help: Coming down the escalators at Saks Fifth Avenue, I saw a woman- me- with multitude of hair colors that ranged from brassy orange blond to very dark brown. Literally tears running down my cheeks, I ran to Dean & Deluca and treated myself to a full-fat cappuccino and a walnut brownie. Now that explains my relationship with food, doesn't it?

I called my Mom. Now, my Mom who lives in Istanbul, visits her hairdresser on a weekly basis- which is a norm in major cities in Turkey- to get her weekly treatments, blow-outs, styling, and coloring. She said she would talk to Mehmet, her hair stylist of decades, and then get back to me. So, it was upon their urging, I waited until I went to Istanbul to get my now-multinational "hair issue" fixed.

Mehmet, true to his word, did a fantastic job! My hair was finally one color yet subtly multi-toned, and from what I remember, the closest to its natural shade. Now, I needed someone in the City who I can trust would maintain my hair in between my visits to Istanbul. This is how I started making the pilgrimage from Westchester to Astoria to see Baris, the owner of Friends hair salon.

Equipped with the empty box of hair coloring that fixed all my problems, I was treated like a queen at Friends- they are so friendly and so amazingly knowledgeable about hair, from the latest styles to the latest techniques. Yet, the travel was taking a toll, and I, very reluctantly, started going locally. By the way, from what I hear, those guys also work in Toka in the City, NYC home of the very famous DC salon. With the end of my visits to Friends came the end of my hair coloring adventure.

Going back, a picture of Linsday's haircut from Georgia Rule. Got it. Check. The next step: Find who does her hair. Thanks to the Internet, that was easy: Neil George. Bad news: There's no New York City outpost and I am not traveling to LA anytime soon. More research led me to Rare Salon in the Tribeca. I was conflicted at this point: Do I take the picture and go to my local salon (who has gone very price-y now), or do I give Rare a try?

I picked the latter and went to see Alana. I think this has been one of the best decisions I made about my hair without borrowing from my retirement account. Alana not only gave the most luscious layers to my hair but she also gave me so many usable tips to play around with my new hairstyle. It's been so much fun!

Now, who says a girl cannot have a movie star hair without paying a hefty price?

Back to the Local Library...

I admit: I had not borrowed from a public library for my own personal reading in a long time. So long that- not counting my college library experience- I can trace my public library borrowing back to my high school years.

See, I am a book consumer- I indulge in buying my books, getting that "fresh" smell when you crack it open, the softness of the pages, the richness of the graphics. Often with a pencil in hand, I write all over my books- in the margins to document my dialogue, in between words that are intriguing, under sentences that I plan to use at one point,... Usually, I do go back to my favorites, not to reread the entire book but to locate my markings. Oh, and I love buying them in 'bulk', usually 4-5 at a time, after a careful research.

At the end of June this year, I did a quick calculation, and realized that the money I spent on books rivaled our grocery budget. And this is when I became frugal.

I went through my filing cabinet to locate that membership card that I had signed up for about a year ago. I knew it'd come in handy one day. I went to the Westchester Public Library website, registered, and started searching around. Some books I found my local libraries had available, others I put on hold.

With a plan on hand and a list in purse, I drove to my first local library. Disappointed that it's undergoing a major renovation, I quickly made my way to the "New Releases" and located my book, and coyly approached the library lady (I used to be one in college!) and showed my card. All went well. Then, I drove to another nearby library, and that's where I lost myself in shelves, shelves full of books. Though no longer fresh smelling, the books were still appealing, preserving their allure of newness. Equipped with four books by the end of the day, I drove home happily. When hubby came home that night, I boasted about how much I 'saved' that day by borrowing my books, instead of purchasing them. He was impressed.

Now into my second month of using the public library, I am feeling content about saving the money I would've spent otherwise. So, you can imagine, I was not the least bit surprised to hear about Queens Library's release:

"Public library usage is expected to rise dramatically in the coming months. Traditionally, people turn to public libraries during hard economic times for free entertainment, free after-school child care, to help with employment, for free access to the public use computers and to help them save money by doing things themselves, such as home and auto repairs. Queens Library saw a 16 percent jump in circulation and attendance immediately following Sept. 11, for instance."

About the pencil in hand? Well, it's still in my hand, but now I jot down my notes on any paper that I can find. That is, until I find the 'perfect' notebook companion to my books...

Watching the Sun Go Down...

"The light gradually forsook the deep water, as well as the deeper air, and the gloaming came to the fishes as well as to us, ..."

- Thoreau

Some things stay with us forever- and with me, the love of watching the sun set over the horizon has remained as one of the purest joys of summer. The simplicity of the experience is the same across the board whether it is sitting in my grandmother's white-washed porch, sinking into a chaise-lounge, cold marble under the feet, with the constant clicking of G&T's and the sweet sound of olive trees whispering against the glorious view of the sun dipping into the cold, salty Aegean sea, or it is bouncing gently on the Pacific waters, skimming the surface in a lean catamaran, with MaiTai's in hands, Jimmy Buffett in the background...

More choices have been added to enjoy the sunset against the lush Hudson River. This weekend, hubby and I explored the new Yonkers waterfront, and ended up at Whiskey Rio. There is plenty of seating outside- from small tables to cushioned sofas. The bar is set right by the entrance- and a small section of it remains on the sidewalk (too bad all four stools were occupied while we were there). The bartender and the prices are very nice and friendly- during ballgames, beer is $3, instead of the usual $5. Not too shabby... In terms of food, if you get the munchies, there's an outdoor grill where a young guy makes burgers and hotdogs. Plenty of people were helping themselves to the grill.

Personally, I loved the feeling of sitting outdoors, enjoying the combination of the sun and water, and good conversation with hubby- reminded me a little of bit of how Battery Park used to be before it got crowded with high-rises.

Will we go back? Yes! Next time, I might even think about heading to Pierview Restaurant right next door to the bar...

Rethinking Eileen Fisher

An older gentleman- oh, about 80 or so- stepped off the pedicure chair as I squished my body in the empty chair, in between two older ladies who were in a deep conversation. Feet soaked into the warm bubbly water, I pulled out my book and tried to concentrate on the lines that I found myself reading over and over. Their conversation jumped from Bat Mitzvahs to Weddings to Whole Foods as did their talking arms jumped from the sides of their seats into mine. I was about to pull out my iPod when the lady on my left started talking about shopping from Eileen Fisher since she's put on the post-menopause pounds. Hmm... I had never associated Eileen Fisher's clothing with plus-size, then again, lately I've noticed that brands have started stretching their range of sizes from 00- to 20+...

I got acquainted with Eileen Fisher about a year or two ago from an article in Westchester Magazine, I think it was about her home. Ms. Fisher lives in Irvington, over commanding views of the Hudson River. I remember looking at the pictures and noticing the simplicity, elegance and harmony of colors in her home- and later, I found out that she started off as an interior designer. When you read her bio on her website, it really does not do justice to many contributions she has made to women in business, including her support for Powerful Voices.

In terms of price/value relationship, Eileen Fisher delivers- especially when they're on sale. Her clothing has clean lines- reminiscent of 1980s Calvin Klein-, contemporary feel without being overly-trendy (which is a big no-no for me), and incorporates very luxurious textures. You want to keep rubbing your hand on her cotton tanks, cashmere shawls, and silk wraps. Well, at least until a sales associates meets you eye-to-eye!!

Recently, I came across a couple of fall pieces that I plan to add to my wardrobe:

Fair Trade Short Cardigan in Organic Cotton Crimp Ladder, amazingly soft with modern lines.

I also love the Short-Sleeve Dolman Cardigan in Natural Cashmere. You can definitely stretch wearing this cardigan way into winter. To me, it's a timeless piece.

Overall, I think Eileen Fisher offers a life style to women- simple, modern and luxurious. I don't think I'm going to wait until my post-menopausal stage to start investing in Eileen Fisher; a piece here and a piece there, I can build my wardrobe staples.

Oh, back to the pedicure scene- deciding not to put on the iPod was sage. Sometimes I think we don't listen to the older generations enough, even if they're completely unrelated to us- their stories and wisdom just pass us by. Well, I learned that you can use olive oil to get rid of the paint stuck to your hair... Who knew?

And the gentleman whose spot I replaced on the chair, was actually 92 years old...

Those Pecan-Honey Buns...

The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd has a special place in my life: its publishing loosely coincided with our move to the 'burbs. I'd sit on our patio and get lost in the old South, and think of the tastes of honey buns, peach cobblers, banana cream pies,.. I was so inspired by the book that I dragged one of my friends with me on a quest to locate "honey buns" in my neighborhood. Well, we found them at a bakery at the Golden Horseshoe Mall nearby, and I have to be honest, they were very small and disappointing...

Recently, in honor of all the Honeybees out there, several publications included honey recipes in the past months. Recharged by my interest in honey buns, I've been tempted to bake them all- but I have to admit baking requires accuracy in measurement, preciseness in following directions, and most of all, abundance of time. I came very close to baking Martha Stewart's Honey-Glazed Beehive Cake, but couldn't justify buying the $39 (plus s+h) Beehive Pan from Nordicware. Where else would I use it???

Then I stumbled upon the Pecan-Honey Buns recipe in Food & Wine's August '08 issue. It screamed oozy-gooey deliciousness with crunchy pecans, and I could not resist. So, I set to gather the necessary ingredients from my local sources.

For the dough, you need:
2 1/4 teaspoons active dry yeast
2 tablespoons granulated sugar (I substituted Rapadura Whole Organic sugar)
1 cup milk, warmed
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted, plus more for buttering
3 large egg yolks
2 tablespoons honey, preferably orange blossom or clover (use local honey here)
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract (I added an extra teaspoon or two)
3 1/2 cups plus 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting (I used a combination of whole wheat and all-purpose)
1 teaspoon kosher salt

For the topping, you need:
1/2 cup honey, preferably orange blossom or clover
1/2 cup packed light brown sugar
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, plus more for brushing
1 1/2 cups pecans (6 ounces), coarsely chopped (Buy them whole- you may want to store them in the freezer, place in a sandwich bag, beat with a meat tenderized or anything that delivers some punch!)

For the filling, you need:
3/4 cup packed light brown sugar
1 tablespoon cinnamon (I added another 2 tablespoons)
6 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened

Here are the steps:
1. Make the dough: In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle, combine the yeast with a pinch of granulated sugar and the milk and let stand until foamy, 5 minutes. Add the remaining sugar, the 4 tablespoons of melted butter and the egg yolks, honey and vanilla; mix until blended. Mix in the flour and salt. Switch to the dough hook and knead at medium speed until the dough forms a smooth ball, 4 minutes.

2. Brush a large bowl with butter. Add the dough and brush the top with butter. Cover and let stand in a warm place until doubled in volume, about 1 hour.

3. Meanwhile, make the topping: Butter a 9-by-13-inch glass baking dish. In a medium saucepan, melt the honey with the brown sugar and 4 tablespoons of butter over moderate heat until the sugar is dissolved, about 1 minute. Pour the hot honey mixture into the prepared baking dish and sprinkle with the pecans.

4. Make the filling: In a bowl, mix the sugar with the cinnamon. On a lightly floured work surface, roll out the dough to a 12-by-18-inch rectangle. Spread the butter over the dough, leaving a 1-inch border all around. Sprinkle the dough with the cinnamon sugar. Starting at a long side, roll the dough into a log and turn it seam side down. Cut the dough into 12 slices. Arrange the slices, cut side up, in the baking dish. Cover and let stand in a warm place until the buns double in volume, about 1 hour.

5. Preheat the oven to 350°. Bake the honey buns for about 35 minutes, until golden brown. Remove from the oven and let stand for 5 minutes. Invert the buns onto a baking sheet and let cool slightly. Serve warm.

The pecan-honey buns, with my changes, came out pretty much how I hoped they would. There were altogether twelve of them- I ate one immediately and froze the remaining eleven (Ok, ok- I ate two!!) and then froze the remaining ten buns in an air-tight heavy freezer bag.

To reheat, I've been pre-heating my oven to 325° and keeping the buns in for about 25 minutes, you can adjust this time depending on the size and/or the number of buns. After the re-heating, the pecans come out a little crunchier, and have a more pronounced caramelized taste, which I love. If you don't like caramelized pecans, then you may consider covering the tops losely with an aluminum foil. Just make sure that there's enough room between the foil and the bun so nothing gets stuck.

For a little twist, you may want to add some raisins, blond or dark, or currants, which would provide a similar taste. Instead of pecans, you can also substitute walnuts. You might also want to add some nuts (pecans in this case) to the filling for that extra crunch.

As a 'nice' side, you may want to make some homemade lemonade (sun-brewed ones are the BEST), and for a naughtier side, you may think of some Bourbon on the rocks, or a little mint julep, made with reduced sugar so you are not bouncing off the walls!!

A little Janis Joplin on the side does not hurt...

Suddenly in the Burbs goes Foodie!

If you've been reading my blurbs about my trials & tribulations in the 'burbs, you might've sensed that finding, eating, and sharing food has been a passion of mine since I were a little girl.

One of my maternal grandma's favorite stories to tell (and retell) has been about me running up our marble steps while sniffing the air for the most exquisite meatballs she always made... I would (and still do!) light up in joy smelling the soft parsley mixed in with pungent cumin, fragrant onions, in 100% beef (and- no, thank you, all of you out there: I don't like to mix my meat groups)... She'd complement the dish with a side of rice pilaf and homemade french fries. And we would not even care about the double-carbs... All this wonderful meal would end with a chocolate pudding with coconut flakes for me, and a semi-sweet Turkish coffee for her. Typing these line in the midst of humid air of Westchester county, I can still smell the mix of these dishes- a talent that helped survive college cafeteria food.

I participate in a Writer's Workshop regularly- and my writing friends have urged me to continue writing about food. I have been. So, now my readers, you will find some more about food & some of my favoriate recipes here!

Cheers!

Our new addition...

It must be the stage of our lives- bridal shower invitations are turning into baby shower invitations, birthday parties at various drinking establishments celebrating milestones are turning into backyard BBQs celebrating first or second birthdays...

Yesterday, hubby and I were celebrating another kind of addition to our family- our family of electronic beverage machines: The Kegerator!! Keggy, as we named him, made himself very comfortable on our kitchen counter right next to my Tassimo. I think this morning, with my barely opened eyes, I almost poured myself some ice cold beer; I might, after all, change his location...

See, I did not know what a kegerator was until last week when a trusted friend suggested to buy it as a surprise for hubby; and I did not blink at the idea twice. Pulling out my credit card, I placed the order. After all, I thought, how much fun would it be to have it for our large gatherings?

Then the waiting period came, and I started wondering if it was the right choice to buy one. Was I regressing in age to college years? Scenes from keg parties rushed back to my mind- asking someone to tap the keg, guys pouring beer, basement parties,... I felt a little guilty. A little embarrassed. I wrestled with the thought. We own a blender to mix margaritas & daiquiris. A martini shaker for my fave dirty martinis. A wine rack. So, what was so different about this one?

Our 5-liter beverage dispenser arrived in its huge box. I emailed our friend immediately- the kegerator was here! Equally excited, we waited for hubby's reaction that evening. Needless to say, he was pleasantly surprised- started reading the manual in anticipation of the first keg that I promised that I'd get the next day.

The Internet provided several suppliers of 5-liter kegs- and I can happily report that the choices are not limited to Heineken and Coors:
Beer Geek: http://beergeek.stores.yahoo.net/5literkegcans.html
BevMo!: http://www.bevmo.com/productlist.asp?area=beer

Nearby, I located the following beer distributor:
Bavarian Beverage Center
643 Saw Mill River Road
Ardsley
(914) 693-3339

The verdict: Ice-cold beer, tap after another. Satisfied hubby, happy me. We're proud owners of Keggy.

Next, I may include him in our holiday cards!!!

Botkier

Right up there with Tory Burch, I admire Monica Botkier. She's a native City girl who has an eye and penchant for clean design with a modern twist.

This is how I was introduced to Botkier, I will never forget it: I think it was Fall of 2006, I was on the 4 line on my way from Jeniette back to GCT to catch the train back to the 'burbs. Usually buried in a magazine, my eyes caught a glorious deep burnt orange bag- with fringes and all- standing in front me on the arm of a girl. It was not only calling my name but also winking at me. Cheater. I admired the worn soft supple leather against the backdrop of heavy-duty metals of multiple zippers, the western-inspired fringes, the "I don't care if I don't look all put together, but you know I really am" look... Such classic lines with the modern tweaks... I wanted it. No, I needed it. The ride was short, and I needed to know who created such a beauty. And that's how I met her.

Over the past years, I've been stalking Botkier. Yes, stalking. I missed the 2007 sample sale, and then I missed this summer's sample sale. Needless to say, I was devastated. Until today...

I was having a breakfast of pecan-honey buns (frozen, reheated at 325F for 25 min.s) and Tassimo Starbucks House Coffee on my patio and browsing through InStyle's August issue when I saw that Botkier has collaborated with Target for an inexpensive line! Oh, my- could it be true??? I rushed to my computer, googled "botkier and target" and there it was!

My first instinct was put every single style in my shopping cart- and I did!!! Noticing my greed and need for instant gratification, I took a quick break and emailed my girlfriend who shares my addiction to Botkier; she responded immediately with an "OMG"! Indeed. We went back and forth reviewing the bags, complaining about the PVC (c'mon- even Marc Jacobs uses real leather for its inexpensive line!!!), debating over the color fuchsia, making the images larger, smaller,..., until only 3 styles remained in my shopping bag.

In order to avoid rash decision-making, I even took a break to take a shower (and a great excuse to use my absolute new fave body moisturizer: Vaseline Cocoa Butter Vitalizing Gel Body Oil). Checked to see if the mailman delivered. Tidied up the living room.

With a clearer head, I revised and pressed the "confirm order" button. Let's see, Botkier! Are you going to live up to your reputation?

Deuce

I relish my Sunday mornings. Usually first one to be up and running, I have an established routine: Wake up, make a cup of coffee, pick up the newspaper, go to the porch (alternated by the cozy living room couch in winters), de-tangle each section, place in order: Week In Review, Styles, Main section, Business, Metro, and Sports, and finally, lull into the day...

I am a girl with a penchant for routines, and a desire for a dash of sudden bursts of spontaneity. Pepper in some self-reflections and revelations along the way, and you got me, growing up...

This morning, my routine was disrupted by Wimbledon. Not so spontaneously, but in a nice, surprising way. Starting at 9:00 AM, hubby and I were glued to Channel 4, watching Nadal and Federer swing at each other. A self-proclaimed "occasional tennis fan", (Please, don't tell my Dad, he'd be crushed to know that I don't watch every major Open- not even the finals) I found myself at 4:30 PM, still in our couch, admiring Federer's grace (and his long fingers- seeing the resemblance to my very own!!!), and Nadal's child-like insistence on winning over his much better-skilled opponent. (All in this time, I've also managed to bake "Pecan-Honey Buns" straight out of next month's Food & Wine issue- an on-and-off 3.5 hour ordeal, with criminally sticky results!)

Watching the ball go from one end of the court to the next, a flood of memories surrounded me: younger me passing Ankara afternoons at a tennis club admiring my Dad play; sultry summer evenings in the town of Kusadasi, at the then-only 5-star hotel, huddled onto chintzy couches by the pool-side bar's TV, mesmerized by Ivan Lendl, instead of taking another dip in the pool; a teenager me, looking out from my bedroom window, over the river to Queens at the white HRC bubbles, imagining John McEnroe playing right at that minute; and, later, a younger adult me, perched on my blue sofa bed in my Brooklyn Heights brownstone, absent mindedly staring at the US Open- and Andre Agassi- in the heat of early-September of New York City...

Then a flood of questions: How come I never took my love for tennis onto the courts? Why did I never follow up my Dad's insistence that I take lessons? What is it about playing tennis that I find so intimidating? I think this is the part of the afternoon, where I laid the pecan-honey bun dough to rest.

I felt today turned from watching the longest Wimbledon match ever-played to seeing myself in a different light: I notice that I am upset that I never had the stamina to learn the techniques, the patience to fail, and the persistence to improve my skills. I see that tennis had been about never trying, and then always about quitting. Am I still this girl? The quitter? No, sir, no! Not me!

A sense of urgency overwhelmed me. I took out my (very) old tennis raquet and dusted it clean. After dinner, I promised myself to look up our local town recreational department's summer calendar to sign up for a course. And, yes, Beginners, please, I would like to savor re-learning the sport.

Hey- I think I am growing up!

The Invisible Hand

Where is it? I am looking at all corners, in the hidden white skirt of the dress- and I cannot find it. I swear it had been there. I tilt the photograph as if the light would do some magical trick on my eyes, and make the hand reappear in the place where the mind placed it.

I hold it at eye-level, look across the photo ink. No, it's not there. I check the empty spaces the waist left between the arms- they're filled with the white fluff of the hand-knitted dress. White pompoms. Watermelon cap sleeves. I check the darkened edges of the right hand resting on the right knee- do I see a shadow? If I tilted it a little bit to the left? A tad to the right? Maybe...

Reality: the hand is no where to be found. It is gone. And I am lost.

I am waiting for my hubby's call to see what train he's taking. I put the picture back in the frame. Back out of my mind. I cannot possibly write about a hand that I cannot see, I cannot find. The picture goes back into its silver engraved frame.

4 days later...

It had to be there. I pick up the frame, release the black clasps against the faux-velvet backing. I am determined. The hand has to be there. It's got to be.

I bring the photograph to a better lit spot, our dining room table. I set it against our blue place mats. I sit and stare. Somewhere, only George Michael is heard: "Don't let the sun go down on me..." I notice I am biting my lower lip, sinking my teeth deep enough to feel a tinge of pain. I leave the photograph. Walk over to get a glass of Puntalta- made from 100% Graciano grapes. My new fave. In my Riedel stemless glass. Even better.

I stare away from the photograph. The radio moves onto Pat Benatar. I close my eyes in pure disbelief. I am never wrong. How can I be so disillusioned about the hand in the picture? All these years, I thought the hand was holding me gently by my left side- with its gracious liver spots, the hand supporting me sitting up straight and tall and confident. I don't want to admit that I am mistaken- I could swear it was there. I cannot be wrong.

I take another full sip. I look at me when I was exactly a year old- that's more than 32 years ago. Sitting on some chair in some studio in Istanbul. My head looks big- I think it still is: I can barely get my Cape Cod sweatshirt on without some heavy-duty tucking & pulling! My left ear almost stands out. I am looking at a distant point, smiling. Perhaps, at the owner of the hand?

I am not so giggly in this picture- you cannot see my dimples. Yet, the double-chin is visible. There's some light reflecting off my eyes. No sign of teeth. Mouth clenched close. A white turtleneck layered under the white woolen dress. Wool always itches my skin. My hands resting on my knees. You cannot tell that I have long fingers. The right hand has dimples on it- so pudgy and still. Index finger bent in half, the others spread out. Black and white studio photo. A classic.

Maybe I pushed myself thinking there was a hand in this photo. Maybe I always wanted it to be there. Holding me up, encouraging me, supporting me- even in this silly studio shot. Those liver spotted hands: roughened by calluses; weathered by years; saddened by recent turn of events.

The hands that tended a picture-perfect rose garden, labored over coffee made just-right. The hands that I reached at 4 a.m. asking for food- caramelized flan, fried eggplant, chocolate pudding,...- and received. Same hands that gently walked out of the room after an afternoon nap. Same hands that solved crossword puzzles, mixed a mean gin & tonic, and fixed buttons.

Now, I cannot see the evidence. Where did it go?

Tomatoes at Trader Joe's

I didn't know about the tomato scare until a friend- fully pregnant- told me about her husband's warning on how she should limit her tomato intake. "No way!" I had said, "That's a total crime- life without tomatoes is like a tortilla without potatoes, or a ring without a band, or... Why are we being told what we can or cannot eat ALL THE TIME!!" You gotta be kiddin' me!!

I made my way to Trader's Joe in Hartsdale last Sunday morning to get some 'stuff' to prepare breakfast- after all, my cousin was over and we had nothing in the fridge to feed her other than some wine, vodka and frozen vegetables.

After snagging a shady spot in the vast parking lot, I was welcomed by stacks of watermelon and charcoal bags through the automatic gates of air-conditioned heaven. Baby, I was home!

Straight to the produce section, I stood in front of the bins and bins full of tomatoes- "Field of Tomatoes", my mind wandered: vine ripened, plum, roma, yellow, green, large, medium, small, x-tra small, minuscule, baby, grand, beefsteak,... How can tomatoes have salmonella? I reached for the Baby Romas- lined up so perfectly against the vine, tightly held up together, reminding me of contestants at a beauty pageant. So perfectly huddled together.

I held up the container in my hand, checking out the expiration date, if such things really existed. How can tomatoes expire, I questioned, when they get mushy, you make sauce out of them. I guess- though- everything in today's world have expiry dates- even we do! We first expire from a being a child, then expire from being a teenager, then expire from the ID-check at bars, then expire from motherhood, expire from work, sometimes expire from favor, and expire from wrinkle-freedom, expire from old age, and expire from the world... And we're conditioned to think this is just reality- whose I don't know- but I refuse. We don't have expiry dates just as tomatoes shouldn't.

I brought the container close to my nose- yes, I smell my tomatoes- as I do with all other fruits and vegetables before I buy them. These smelled of the 5-year-old me, picking out my very own tomatoes from my grandparent's veggie garden- barefooted, with braids in my hair, matching hair clips, a Mothercare sundress... Without the complications of SPF 15, SPF 30, SPF 45, zinc oxide, lather, reapply, wait, re-apply,... Pure, unaware, happy me. Picking up ripened tomatoes, bringing them close to my nose, inhaling the heady perfume of summer. Intoxicated by complete smell of tomatoes. Nothing else. The end of a hose nearby, washing and eating tomatoes. No salt, no basil, no buffalo mozzarella, no fresh cracked pepper, no olive oil, no balsamic vinegar needed. Uncomplicated tomatoes, uncomplicated me.

These are good tomatoes I said as my nose's job was done. Container still in my hand, my eyes wandered over to where I found them- I wondered if I should pick another container. Would they be better? I mean these were good, but would the others be more perfect? Was I getting the "best" batch of tomatoes available this morning? "C'mon, get over yourself," I thought to myself. Since when did you become a perfectionist? "Oh yeah," another voice rebelled in my head, "You always want the best of possible choices: best hairdresser, best nail salon, best technician, best pizza, best moisturizer, best this, best that! Who are you kidding?" That was right. Who was I kidding? Why would I ever settle for less than the best tomatoes?

Closer examination. I read the label: "Hydroponically grown." Huh? Since when did they start growing tomatoes in water? Not the least bit ashamed of my ignorance. Don't tomatoes get their earthly goodness from... ummm, earth? I chuckled to myself imagining of having this conversation at a high-tea gathering in a fancy southern colonial house with kids running around in country-club-perfect outfits: "Oh, dear, I only buy hydroponically grown tomatoes. The ones that come from earth, uh, so passe! They key is in the hydroponics of it!" A small high-pitched laugh. All the others around me joining me in my laughter, clicking their tea cups, staring at the symmetrically cut cucumber sandwiches. In a Oompa-Loompa fashion, "We've been buying hydroponic tomatoes for-EVER!" they say.

Where did that come from- I really cannot tell- but I should definitely be expired before such a day comes!

Hydroponic, schmydroponic, who cares?! They looked like tomatoes should, smelled the way they should- and hopefully, tasted like they should. I placed the tomato container in my shopping cart, and moved over to the eggs.

Here we go again...

Color, color, everywhere!

Just as we thought grey was the "new black" or that black was back being the "new black," color enveloped us all over!

Those of us who have seen "Sex and the City" can tell that screaming yellows, navel oranges, bluer-than-the-sky blues and bright-hello-there Kelly greens are back! I think I lost count of the number of yellow shoes and belts worn by the actresses! Needless to say, I was wearing my snake-skin yellow pumps to the premier... A girl must have her colors!!

Just as I was about to block black out of my summer wardrobe, I looked through my own make-up bag to see what kinds of colors I have to compliment my new ambitious move. Hmm, not much in there other than many shades of gold & bronze & silver (all- of, course- to compliment my usual all-black attire). So, I have been in the mood thinking about adding some color to my orange make-up bag.

Hey, this is no challenge to me! I reached out to my personal DIVA, owner of Thevi Cosmetics, a brand new venture combining beauty and diversity, and guess what? Yes, it's all about color! Celebrating the launch of its brand-new website, Thevi brings us options to wear color without looking like we're in line waiting to audition for Bozo-the-Clown for Barnum & Bailey! (OK- not that there's anything wrong with Mr. Bozo, it's just not my career path...)

Here's how the owner, Thevaki Thambirajah, describes her line: "This has been a passion and dream for the past 3 years. Through my own journey growing up in the United States, I found the market needed a beauty brand that would celebrate women who balance both modern lifestyles and the ethnic traditions. I've created this modern line of cosmetics, which women can easily find colors to match their skin-tone and express their love of color in their everyday lives."

Two-thumbs up for Thevi! So, if you embrace color in food, fashion, home, spirituality, nature,..., check out this new brand of cosmetics that celebrates color in our lifestyles and traditions.

In Search of a Decent Pie

Friday nights are ours; it's our date night. Hubby and I order a pie, grab a Netflix movie, sit back and relax... At times, we change our routine and venture out to outside venues to enjoy our pizza (and sometimes, the pizza turns out to be an "Eastchester" at Piper's Kilt or an order of extra-hot wings at Candlelight Inn, but that's another story...) and lately, we've been dare-devilish!

So, I've hit the guides- Zagat's, Westchester Magazine, New York Times reviews- to locate a cozy pizza spot that delivers thin (and dry- we later learn!) crust, good sauce (not too-sweet or too-salty), tasty cheese (no, rubber is not acceptable), and for toppings, hubby's favorite pepperoni crisp but not dried and/or burnt. Not too much to ask, you'd think, right? Oh, well...

For home delivery, we reached out to our neighborhood joint, the Venetian Delight Pizza off Central Park Avenue. They've been quite consistent with the quality of their ingredients but often times, either the pepperoni is undercooked, or the crust soggy, or the pie suffers from a mishap of shape shifting on route to our home. We've accepted it for the convenience. With that said, the very last time, as it turned out to be, we paid $17.00 for a small pie with half-pepperoni, half-plain small pie, hubby and I rioted! We couldn't help but wonder if the pie was being imported from our favorite Brooklyn spot, Grimaldi's... No mas!

So, we decided to try out "Red Barn Pizza" located in a cute Dutch colonial off Central Park Avenue. Hubby insisted that we "test-drive" it with a slice first, and then commit to a full pie. So, we stopped off on our way from the train station home on a rainy Friday night. The "pizza guys" were very nice- even offered some garlic knots along with our slices. Hoping that this would be the answer to our search, we dug into our slices. And, that's where the fairy tale ended. The sauce was too sweet, the garlic in the sauce too crunchy, and I'll just stop here and say that we headed to Sherwood’s for some ribs.

The next time, we turned to Muzzarella, a small spot on Hartsdale Avenue. We've never been inside the place (my gourmand friend warns that their experience of dining-in was not pleasant) but we pass by it frequently enough to add to our repertoire. We called in for a small plain pie. It arrived cold. So, I had to turn the oven on, wait for it to warm up, and then put the pie in, and 30 minutes later, we were finally eating. The whole process took such a long time that I chalked this experience off- our visions were blurred, stomachs yearning for some food, I think we would've eaten anything at this point. So, we smartened up! The next time, we placed our order and turned our oven at the same time. The crust was thin, not soggy, the sauce flavored, and the cheese tasted quite like, ummm, cheese. We liked it, but did not love it.

We then headed to a stand-alone pizzeria on Brook St., Mezzaluna. Its name reminded me of an amazing Italian restaurant in Istanbul that I used to frequent with my friends when I was in college. Having some similar expectations, we landed at Mezzaluna on a busy Friday evening. We were seated promptly in its tiny, little dining room, a little bit in the way of the wait staff. Our pizza was ok, not really distinctive. Quite frankly, I cannot remember any part of it that stood out in memory or on my tongue; yes, the crust was thin, the sauce decent, but nothing really called us to visit this place again. Perhaps, my expectations were set higher just based on my association with the restaurant that I loved, in any case, I wouldn't encourage or discourage anyone from trying this place out.

Exhausted by our search, I wanted to give Totonno's in Yonkers a try. The radio jingle reminds us that "only God creates better pizza" so I asked hubby to get off Bronxville so we can get there fast! Off Tuckahoe road, we drove up the hill on which Totonno's is perched inside the Ramada Inn. Before I go on further, I need to admit that I have this preconceived aversion to hotel restaurants. No matter what the reviewers say, or how good a restaurant can be (and, indeed there are many AMAZING restaurants housed in hotels across the globe, so I apologize if I offend any), there's something gimmick-y about hotel restaurants that I cannot even explain.

Well. Back to Totonno's. The atmosphere. There was an older gentleman at a keyboard playing and singing along to some golden oldies. This reminded me of "gazino"s (a restaurant/ entertainment venue, usually outdoors) that my grandparents used to take me as a child- one would go to the "gazino" for the entertainment- usually a popular singer, entertainer- and food was always secondary, or even tertiary to the opportunity of spending an evening with a company of friends and family. The clientele at Totonno's also reminded me of New Year's Eve's that I spent with my family as a child- ladies in outfits adorned by paillets, men in jackets, kids in their best dresses. Only, this time, it was hubby and I who were the youngest of the bunch. We ducked into a window spot overlooking at the lights of Yonkers. Was that the infamous seminary we saw? We couldn't tell. Back to the pizza. We got a plain pie. The crust was thin but soggy. Fresh mozzarella. Some basil leaves. Decent sauce. We ate. Apologized to God on behalf of the commercial jingles. We left. The older folks were polka dancing. We're never going back. Not unless we're taking our great-grandchildren...

The following Friday, we headed back to our dependable, what-you-see-is-what-you-get place, Pizza & Brew. Always with long lines, it has two locations: one in Scarsdale, another in Greenburgh off of Saw Mill River Road. We've never had a bad experience at this restaurant, but I would not claim that its pizza was one of the best that I've ever had. Although, at this rate, it was looking pretty good! With decent pies, it's the fast-food version of a restaurant experience. Fresh ingredients. Thin-nish crust, gooey cheese, and decent pepperoni. It's a nice fall-back location. And you always get what you expect.

I am inclined to classify A'Mangiare in the same category as Pizza & Brew but only with much better pizza. And perhaps, the best sauce out of all the ones we've tried. There's a number A'Mangiare's in the area: Bronxville, Pleasantville, Elmsford, and White Plains. We went to the movies at the Saw Mill movie complex so the Elmsford location was the closest. It's on Main Avenue (which is the same as Route 119), with ample parking in the back. Nice atmosphere. Thin crust- definitely very crispy. Not too-sweet, nor too-salty sauce. The same sauce is also used in the mini-pizzas in their baskets. Definitely worth a try. The pepperonis were spicy and crisp- not overwhelming the pie. Another perk- they have Captain Lawrence Brewery Company Ale on tap. Nice to sample local ale with good pizza. We left the place all happy and full. We'll see them- maybe at another location- soon!

In our search of a decent pie, we also sampled the deep dish at Pizzeria Uno's, both at its Yonkers and White Plains locations. Another what-you-see-is-what-you-get place, only at times, the results can be inconsistent. We've sent back pizzas for either being undercooked or overcooked. The inconsistency, especially to hubby, is a big drawback. The bar scene and the beers on tap are a plus.

There are more pizzerias that we sampled: Planet Pizza- way too-doughy, very like Domino's; although, much better red sauce. Sal's in Mamaroneck, a great slice joint with long lines.

Our quest is not completed, perhaps it never will. Unless we find our Grimaldi's or John's or Lombardi's here in Westchester...

Getting to Know Mickey Drexler and Madewell

OK- I never knew that J.Crew had an offshoot called Madewell just like the Gap has its Old Navy!?!? What's the secrecy?

Just as I admire Tory Burch (see my previous post), I absolutely love and admire how J.Crew turned itself around from being a college-kid catalogue retailer with 20+ plaid designs to what it's perceived today: well-designed up-to-date clothes made with fine fabrics and fine craftsmanship. I've watched the the company "grow up" from the catalogues, online and the stores I've seen popping up (unlike the Gaps or the Duane Reades, definitely more selectively) in places like the Westchester. I cannot resist the stores- I am partial to the ones in SoHo, near GCT, and obviously- at the Westchester.

As I got up this morning, sipping my divinely delicious and thick Mastro Lorenzo Crema from my Tassimo, I picked up the NYTimes and started browsing through the sections. In the Business Day section, I met Mickey Drexler. Perhaps, it was the tone of the journalist, Joe Nocera, that made me feel closer to Mr. Drexler, and embrace him just as I do Tom Brady (the archenemy of my beloved Jets), or maybe it was Mr. Drexler's motto of being close to his customer in the age of increasingly rotten customer service (oh- I can start a blog on this one!!!), I cannot tell, but I was glued to the article.

Mr. Drexler apparently developed his love for the women's retail from his father who was a button-maker. Growing up in the industry, he started working in big department stores. At this point in the article, to quote him, Mr. Drexel says, " they look funny when you show too much passion" referring to big department stores. How true is this for big anything! He then moved onto Ann Taylor- turned it from the fuddy-duddy to store of choice for working women. He found his next home at the Gap- turned the company into a retail giant- perhaps, much bigger than he anticipated. There, he was initially the President, where the role allowed him to be close to the customer, and then the CEO, where he "lost his touch" with us, the consumers. He was dealing with numbers than the real people- and that's when he was asked to leave. He said he learned a valuable lesson- at this point of the article, I am embracing his reflective side.

You know how they say one man's leftover is another man's treasure- and that's what happened at J.Crew. He turned the company into how we know it today. And he reiterates that he's successful at his job because he remains close to his clients, the consumers. He apparently reads his emails, responds to inquiries, and visits his stores consistently.

Three hoorays to you, Mr. Drexel! Or can I call you Mickey? I will forgive you for not telling me about Madewell sooner, but I guess, it's OK after all...

Yogurt on My Back, Yogurt in My Tummy, Yogurt on My Face!

Whenever we got sunburnt under the Aegean sun, my grandmother would run to the fridge and bring out the yogurt- she'd smear the white goodness all over the burnt spots, which was usually cheeks, shoulders and back in my case. I'd feel like a goddess under the cool touch of the yogurt, and often pretend, I was a character from Dallas and Lucy was my best friend, summering with me...

My grandmother made the yogurt herself- from the fresh milk delivered to us by a short, stocky woman in flowery shalwars and brown slippers. She'd first boil the milk- her way of pasteurizing it- and then separate the creamy goodness (mixed in with honey and pecans/walnuts/almonds, the buttermilk would taste divine!), and then put aside some to be converted into her thick, creamy yogurts. Her yogurt was always the center of our meals- complementing the fried eggplant, or as a sauce on our manti, or in form of refreshing cacik or cold ayran, or mixed in with homemade sour cherry jam as breakfast or dessert...

Today, I am delighted to be able to find yogurt of similar consistency at my local A&P. My favorites are the thick and gooey Fage Total 0% or the Oikos brand's creamy version. Whenever I end up at Trader Joe's (and I seem to do so often!), I reach out for their own brand- it is equally de-lish. For a quick pick-me-up, I drizzle a little honey and sprinkle toasted pecan maple syrup granola, also from Trader Joe's. It's an all-time fave.

I have been reading a lot about yogurt and its earthly goodness, so I decided to mimic what my grandmother used to do- put it on my face! About a couple of months ago, I did some research on available products out in the market, and decided to try out the Korres brand. For my combination sensitive skin (oily t-zone, dry cheeks, hormonally-imbalanced chin), I had picked up their yoghurt velvety moisturising cream and yoghurt mask- both for normal and combination skin. The moment I spread the luscious goodness on my face, it took me back to our summer house with our olive tree whooshing against the salty breeze, the almost fluorescent pink and purple bougainvilleas draped against its white walls and my grandmother humming to a fasil on the AM radio...

The whole product line at Korres reminds me of the homemade remedies that I saw my grandparents use- my grandfather used to boil a similar concoction to Korres's cough syrup made with honey, fennel, aniseed and thyme. I am also enamoured with their White Tea fluid gel- a light cleanser that does not leave the face dry or with film. Usually very finicky, my skin is loving all of these products. Recently, I tried to switch to my previous face regimen- just because-, my skin cried out in red blotches and asked for the yogurt back!

Oh, I noticed that they have a yoghurt cooling gel for sun ailments- I think I might pick it up for this summer...

Girls Who Love to Treat, Lunch and Dine

It's complete Winter Wonderland outside! For some reason, I did not get enough sleep last night, but unexpectedly, and to my surprise, woke up with such gusto, just in time to drop hubby off at the 7:30 train.

Driving on all four-wheels, we passed by sleepy passengers waiting for various BeeLine buses along the main road. I have to tell you, there is something in the air, I could not stop smiling all the way to and from the train station. In honor of my mood, hubby got a luxurious drop-off spot, to everyone's envy, without getting a single flake in his hair. He was smiling, too!

Having the entire week off to myself, I called my girlfriends with whom I had not really had the chance to spend one-on-one time lately, and put lunch dates on our calendars. In preparation to my pampered week, I headed over to my favorite hair salon in Westchester, Salon Topaz in Dobbs Ferry, and submitted my hair to Lisa's creative shears. This was my second visit to this lovely place, and I left triumphant once again!

My first lunch spot was the New Leaf Cafe in Fort Tyron Park, in what's now called "Hudson Heights," (previously known as "Washington Heights" to those of us locals who knew the area before the real estate brokers capitalized on its gorgeous views of the Hudson River) a gentrifying neighborhood of professional moms and dads who work in nearby colleges and hospitals. The cafe is by the 190th Street stop on the A-train as you enter the park. It's a spacious cafe- with clean lines and tasteful minimal decoration.

My friend started with French Onion soup- looked less cheesier than its counterparts- while I sipped my Côtes du Rhône wine by the glass. My entrée arrived promptly- Mediterranean Salad with lemon-parsley grilled chicken and goat cheese. The dish was composed of simple and distinct flavors that blended in nicely with the rest of the plate. I am always afraid of the overpowering prowess of the goat cheese- but not here, not in this salad. (I think I might be able to replicate the grill chicken's flavor using a marinade like Emeril's Lemon Rosemary Gaaahlic at home) My girlfriend got the Crabcake Sandwich which was accompanied by architecturally designed potato chips and red cabbage cole slaw. She loved it and we both licked our plates clean!

The portions were not too big or small- just the right size that allowed us to venture into the land of desserts. And I'm glad we did! I usually have a weakness for warm tarts and tartelets filled with pecans and walnuts, and that's what the daily special was! Bingo for the tummy! My warm walnut tartelet arrived with a scoop of dulce de leche ice cream craftfully placed in a tulle of pastry. I was in heaven! My friend ordered the three-flavor ice cream and happily indulged in it. I was equally happy with our waiter who noticed that this was an occasion for two girls having lunch & talk, so he left us respectfully alone, only coming in to fill our glasses with ice water.

The same day, I met with another girlfriend for mani and pedis in Union Square. We went to my local fave spot, Jeniette, that I've been frequenting since about 1999 when I worked in the neighborhood. Jenny was not there; nonetheless, we had great service and lovely time getting pampered. And at a decent Manhattan price! From there, we headed over to Filene's Basement where I bought myself a pair of cashmere-lined dark brown leather gloves at a bargain price. The day was getting better!

Starved at this point, we went to the nearby unassuming but always crowded Spice and indulged in delicious Thai food. My girlfriend got my absolutely fave Drunk Man Noodles- spicy broad rice noodles, eggs, sweet basil, chili with chicken, shrimp & squid, and I got the Japanese Eggplant with Sweet Basil- sauteed eggplant with garlic, basil & chili sauce with chicken. We also indulged in Mango Martinis and Malbecs. Tummies absolutely full, we headed over to the Coffee Shop for caipirinhas and facetime. We got our end of the bargain AND a nice viewing of the total lunar eclipse. What a treat and a half!

My next lunch spot was a stone throw's away from home, at the Red Hat in Irvington. I had not been to it since it moved from its Main Street location to the waterfront in a converted warehouse. Oh- I have to mention, I went into the nearby One, thinking that it was the Red Hat, and found myself swiftly out the door when I did not see Red Hat's trademark lady in the red hat logo! By the way, my very food-savvy friend swears by One, and recommends it highly for those special occasion dinners. I also noticed that they have my fave appetizer: Caramelized Vidalia Onion and Goat Cheese Tart with peppered walnuts, roasted figs, acacia dressed baby lettuces on their lunch & dinner menu- perhaps, the next destination?

In any case, going back to Red Hat, the ladies welcomed us at the front door. There was a tad bit of confusion as to which one would take our coats, but alas, the coats off our arms, we headed upstairs to the dining room. What commanding views of the Hudson! We took our seats at a corner red banquette and started off with mini sourdough breads and glasses of iced water. The lunch menu looked simply divine- I could've had everything on it!

Upon my friend's recommendation (she'd been here a number of times), I ordered the Classic Salad Nicoise with seared yellowfin tuna, fingerlings, haricots verts, tomato, hard cooked egg, and lemon vinaigrette. I am often disappointed in the heaviness of such an intently light dish, and Red Hat did not disappoint me. The tuna was perfectly quickly seared, the lettuce lightly flavored with the lemon vinaigrette, and the haricot verts crisp to the bite. Again, I was in food heaven. My girlfriend was craving for something "egg-y" so she ordered the Warm Wild Mushroom Salad with toasted pine nuts, fried farm egg, shoestrings, and pinenut vinaigrette. De-lish! Both my girlfriend and I got lost in our food and conversation, we did not even notice that we spent about 2.5 hours- and not a single waiter bothered us! Now, that's a complete treat!

So, today's plan was to head over to Columbus Bakery in UWS with another girlfriend and indulge in their infamous tuna salad- a mix of tuna fish, green apples, cranberries in what they insist is yogurt, but I'd like to differ & think that it's more mayo-based. We used to have it at least once a week when I worked in the WFC 2. And I was thinking of, afterwards, heading over to Levain Bakery for their to-die-for chocolate chip walnut cookie...

Alas, mother nature is asking me to take a culinary break. So, as I am sipping my Mastro Lorenzo Crema that my Tassimo so diligently produces, I cannot help but think about what I will be having for lunch... I wonder if the roads to the Whole Foods will be cleaned by lunchtime to get fresh sushi... Hmmm...

Mini Ski Trip

What a glorious week this has been! One of the best perks of being a teacher is getting a week off here and there without having to put in a request for vacation. Since hubby was in the midst of business reviews and preparing for his business trip next week, we decided to take a mini ski trip and stay locally during the week.

Having lived in New York for such a long time, I was wondering why I have never been to Hunter Mountain. I have some wild theories- limited snow, limited trails, driving the extra hour to hit Vermont slopes,... In any case, I had such an amazing time, now I cannot wait to go back (perhaps- next year?) for a two/three-day excursion!

We left our home in lower-Westchester and reached Hunter in a matter of two hours. The drive was painless- although, I was a just a happy passenger on the front seat, munching on my sinfully delicious toasted whole wheat bagel with butter & honey and sipping my skinny latte. I cannot ignore to mention: Starbucks did it again- what marketing geniuses! The skinny latte tastes similar to my usual tall skim latte but has a nutty flavor. I just found out that I could've gotten it in many flavors, including my all-time faves vanilla and hazelnut, but also cinnamon dolce and mocha. Yumm!

After a nice windy drive over the Kaatskills, debating how "Plattekill" should be pronounced in a phonetically correct way, hubby and I reached the town of Tannersville at a reasonable morning hour, and headed straight over to a rental shop to get my equipment. I've been a renter for a long time- have ski equipment commitment issues- and I was quite surprised to rent boots, skis and poles under $30! What a bargain! While I was trying to squeeze my feet into the boots (the most comfortable ones I've rented by FAR), hubby went right across the street over to the Forester Lodge, where we decided to stay, to get our discount passes for the day.

We hit the slopes before lunchtime and decided to go our own ways on the trails- no double-diamonds for me, thank you. I skied on the "Hunter One" side of the mountain, and I was pleasantly surprised how well-groomed the trails were. With that said, I don't know if I can say the same about the fellow skiers- no, I don't mean they were not well-groomed or anything, but a little more reckless than I had anticipated. I had some funny moments and some scary ones- I think the man who decided to take his skis off while waiting for the lift topped my list! Who really does that, I don't know, but I was among the unhappy skiers behind him. Quite frankly, the lines are already long enough, you really don't want to wait the extra time for something as silly as this one!

I think the best part of Hunter came after the slopes closed: The Happy Hour. When we reached the main lodge by 4:30 PM, there were many happy skiers who looked like they spent a happy hour or two already! I felt that we were late (such novices)- and not quite fashionably, either. With our hat-hair and red noses, we joined in the crowd singing along to the band du-jour and stomping in our ski boots. The Heineken Girls were among us pouring drinks left and right- and usually very mindful of beer calories, I did not mind the calories from my Amstel Light the least bit. After all, I earned them!

After the band's final set, we left for our room at the Forester Lodge to get ready for the evening. Nothing too fancy (or, anything related to fancy, for that matter), our room had a very utilitarian setting, but AMAZING views of the mountain! We toasted to the fireworks from our very front-row seats by our porch. Glorious!

Scouring the local papers, we located O'Neill's Public House as our evening destination. Being responsible adults, we took a cab (driven by a very bitter driver) and reached the restaurant/bar. The food was really nothing to write home- or here- about but what's worth mentioning is the after-dinner entertainment. We secured pretty decent spots at the bar and waited for that evening's band- the Amish Outlaws. And what a wild surprise! I don't know when it's the last time I heard a band cover Bell Biv DeVoe's "That Girl is Poison" and Johnny Cash's "Walk The Line"!!! What a treat! I hear they're going to be at Rambling House in Woodlawn a day before St. Patrick's, on March 16th- I cannot wait to see them there!

We wrapped up our evening by early Sunday morning, headed back to our humble room at Forester in the same exact cab with the same exact cab driver who seemed happier this time. Needless to say, we did not hit the slopes until mid-morning after a hearty (and free!) breakfast of eggs and toast...

Now I realize why Hunter is so popular- it's a quick ride from points around New York City and has a pretty decent apres-ski activities. I would do it all over again, but maybe this time, a little less novice in my ways...