Banana Bread, Revised

I have tried the gluten-free & sugar-free recipe from Babycakes' cookbook; wasn't too impressed with the results. The bread was semi-dry, and had a bit of an off-taste. Although it required 6 bananas, the taste was lost somewhere among the other ingredients.

So, yesterday, when I noticed that I had some bananas entering their mature phase, I thought I'd bake them into a bread. Instead of following the Babycakes Banana Bread directions, I took my all-time fave banana bread recipe, and inspired by the Babycakes ingredients, revised it a bit. And the results... one of the most delicious banana breads I've ever made!

Here's my all gluten-free, sugar-free, vegan Banana Bread:

Ingredients:
6 ripe bananas
4 ounces of coconut oil
4 ounces of canola oil
1/2 cup of brown rice sugar
1/2 cup of agave nectar
1 tsp of baking soda
1 tbs of vanilla
pinch of salt
2.5 cups of gluten-free flour
1 tsp of xantam gum
optional- nuts or vegan chocolate chips, about 1/2 cup

Directions:
Mix all the ingredients together, and put into a loaf pan for 1 hour at 350 degrees. Test it with a toothpick or a knife until it comes out clean.

It's that simple!

Turkish Cuisine Westchester in White Plains

Inspired by the sun and mild temperatures, Hubby and I gathered our fleeces, and headed over to Sunset Cove in Tarrytown to watch the sun set lazily behind the mountains. Life seemed to stop and take a back seat...

But our stomachs didn't.

Another one of Hubby's clippings- this time from the Westchester Magazine-, we visited the Turkish Cuisine Westchester in White Plains. Not knowing what to expect- I find that most Turkish food, just like any ethnic food, is altered to the local tastes- I was pleasantly surprised.

It reminded me of the earlier version of Ali Baba on 33rd Street- only on a much smaller scale. There are about six tables (seating 2-4 at each) in the back, and a take-out counter space with 4-5 stools for solo eaters. This is not a place for elaborate dining- for that, you may head over to Mamaroneck to Turkish Meze, the same owners as this joint.

The menu is diverse- no side dishes- and the kitchen is flexible if you crave for anything that may not be on the menu. For me, it was the "ayran"- a savory yogurt drink that goes fancily with traditional Turkish meat dishes. I loved my Skewered Ground Meat (complemented by a side of green chili sauce- also on request) that was served with a heaping salad and rice (made in bay leaf broth). Hubby opted for the Grilled Lamb Chops- unfortunately, they were out- and then chose to have Meatballs. Turkish Cuisine does not have a liquor license, but they welcome if you decide to bring any with you. Both dishes were delicious, and the serving sizes were just-right.

There is so much on the menu that I'd like to sample, so I'll be going back for some more.

Turkish Cuisine Westchester
116 Mamaroneck Ave
White Plains, NY 10601
(914) 683 6111
Mon to Wed 11 am–9 pm
Thurs to Sat 11:30 am–3 am
Sun 11:30 am–9 pm

Emma's Ale House

Last Sunday, on our way back from house-hunting, we made a turn onto Gedney Way to stop by Emma's Ale House, a new bar/restaurant in White Plains. Hubby had read about in the NYTimes, clipped the review and strategically placed it by the Tassimo for my reading pleasure.

Familiar with the watering holes in White Plains, I had mixed feelings going into the place- one time, when we had stopped by the Black Bear for a quick wings & beer during the football season, I had felt terribly "old" in my long-sleeved shirt and jeans. Looking around at the females who were in their "Sunday best"- faces fully made-up in revealing slinky (flimsy?) shirts-, I felt like I was as pristine as a nun. Thank goodness, Hubby never said a word, or he was perhaps enjoying the 'company' around us that he did not even notice my discomfort!!

From the moment you walk into Emma's, you're surrounded in dark & rich mahogany colors of old-school bars. To the left of the entrance, there's a large dining room- and on that Sunday, there were plenty of families dining with their little ones. We chose to stay to the right- a rather spacious area- where a long bar welcomed us. Hubby instantly commented on the beers on tap- happy to see the Captain's Reserve Imperial IPA from the local brewery, Captain Lawrence. We recognized the bartender- he was transferred from the Black Bear who share the same owners.

As we were watching the NCAA game on the flat-screen, I surveyed the clientele- a group of what seemed to be golf/sailing buddies with their wives, several young(er) couples enjoying the homemade chips on the bar, a few singletons, and groups of men and women cheering for their favorite college team...

Food was quite decent and prices reasonable- especially loved the soft pretzel sticks that preceded our dinner. Later, when I looked up their website, I noticed that Emma's is a Certified Green Restaurant by the Green Restaurant Association. Good news.

Making our way out of Emma's, I made a mental-note to come back.

Emma's Ale House
68 Gedney Way
White Plains, New York 10605
Phone: 914-683-EMMA
Fax: 914-683-6627
View Map & Directions

Musing in the 'burbs...

Looking out at the tarmac, I feel the tears welling in my eyes. No matter how many times I promise myself, it’s always the same.

One moment I am settling in my seat, checking to see I am buckled up, making sure to have enough reading materials in the mesh bag they always have- regardless of airline- in front of you, and then the next moment, the tears are forcing out of my eyes. Some uncontrollable force inside those tear sockets, as I call them since I’ve never been good at biology to name exact body parts, they have a thing about exerting their energy to push those tears out. I sense the energy behind my eyelids trying to push them back in, but they’re forceful. I know that. I just release the tears; let them slalom through my rounded cheeks. I feel the full heat from the release; I invisibly track the trace of the salty lines on my cheeks. As hot as they come out, the colder they get from the air pressure valves that are above my head in the overhead cabin. I reach slowly over to the rounded knob of the air vent, and turn it counter clockwise to shut it off. I always wonder why anyone would like forced air hit their face violently like that. It’s so uncool.

I push my head in the soft pillow of the seat. The coolness of the gray leather seatback touches the skin on the back of my neck, and I shift to cover my neck with enough of my hair to shield it from getting goose bumps. Although I usually love the contact of fresh, cool leather with my bare skin, this is not one of those times. I cringe at the thought of numerous human skins that made contact with the same seatback as I have. Pushing back these thoughts in a small, irrelevant compartment in my brain, I carve out a small indent, small enough to fit my head into the crook; I bury my head right into it. I notice that this particular seatback is not as worn, perhaps we’re on a newer plane, and I feel annoyed. This means a long flight of uneasy rest, constant shifting of my head to find the right spot to get some resemblance of sleep or rest.

I shift my body a little in my seat to accommodate my now twisted position, I think to myself if I’m going to have to leave this place with a major backache. I almost yearn for my bed, for my pillows. I think of those little kids who bring their pillow with them onboard, and for a second I envy them. That had never been my thing. And those neck pillows keep your head up so artificially that when you take them off, your head always bobbles like a newborn’s, the muscles forget their jobs, leaving you in a discombobulated state. And I don’t like that.

I settle in a spot that makes me semi-comfortable and I close my eyes. With the closing of my lids, the tears get an expected push down my cheeks. Not again. I try to make a picture of happy times, although this is one of them, and I cringe at the thought that I cannot visualize any. My eyes search through the images in my head, almost like going through an entire playlist to locate your favorite song. It’s frustrating. Almost involuntarily, I shake my head left and right, as if that’s going to be any help, to find that one comfortable moment of time that will help me dry up- or at least calm- my tears. I know it’s going to get worse. Just wait until the plane starts moving.

I focus on my breathing. One, two, three, exhale. One, two, three, exhale. I try to echo the words of the yoga instructor in my head- find you chi. I inhale once more, absorbing all the fake air into my lungs. The fakeness is unbearable, so unnatural. My nose twists, all crinkly and uncomfortable. There’s almost a metallic taste lining my mouth, I roll my tongue around my teeth, feeling the discomfort. This air is also surrounding my lungs, something that cannot be good for me or for anyone for that matter. I exhale quickly, now taking short breaths. I come back to the chi. I twist my stomach on the inside to feel the very tip of my ribs. I think they’re my ribs, I cannot tell. What I find there is not surprising. A sudden twinge of pain returns when I think of years of unforgotten unfairness, a deep desire to belong, and an even deeper yearning to be an unconditional part of something. Someplace. Someone.

Valentine's Day. Remembered.

Some time in late-1990s. Somewhere in New York. February 14.

I waited.

First came the bouquet of pink roses. Mom. Never missing an occasion, never hesitant to show her affection, she's always good like that. Then a medley of wildflowers. The ones my roommate and I sent to each other. In case we did not receive any. Followed by a dozen of white roses. Peace offering from an old boyfriend. Remembrance? Where's the rosemary, I'd like to ask. He's somewhere in the depths of Facebook.

I waited.

A bear with a bow-tie and box of chocolates. From "it's-never-going-to-happen-let's-stay-as-friends" guy. Good choice. Still very good friends.

I waited.

An email with an attachment. Very excited- maybe there's some surprise embedded in there, maybe an "I'm right around the corner, look out your window" kind? Maybe, an "I skipped school and drove all night just to see you" kind. I didn't (and still don't) think it was too much to ask.

So, I opened the email with the attachment. A clip art of roses.

Let me bring this in perspective: Year circa late-1990s, my old IBM Thinkpad, black & white monitor. I'm surrounded by a mini-garden in my bedroom, and staring at a black & white (funeral?) image of roses. One line of sentiments: "Happy Valentine's." That's it.

The end. To him. To long-distance relationships.

Suburban Spirit

On the way from the gym last night, I felt brave. I was in touch with my emotions, secure with the progress of my new year's resolutions, and overall, comfortable with the recent decisions my hubby and I have been making. Emotionally, I was on solid grounds. With this courage, I declared to hubby that I wanted to see Revolutionary Road.

See, I have been afraid of seeing that movie, primarily because I kept thinking it'd bring out the "city" in me, the desire to leave everything behind, run with hubby, and move back to what's been our home. The push-and-pull between the city and the suburbs has been an emotional roller-coaster ride, one that brought hubby and I closer together, one that has enabled us to grow together. Or, maybe, just me.

A friend who recently saw the movie commented that it surfaced some 'commitment' issues. Some others thought it was a 'dark' and 'bleak' look into relationships in general. A recent New York Times article in the "Westchester" section while admitting that the movie is "affecting," denies the stereotyping of the 'burbs with a heart-warming story of a Pelham family. (And I have to admit that I've seen, first-hand, a community come together in the face of multiple tragedies- there's definitely something to say about that.)

So on the way from the gym last night, after confirming to myself that I am on solid emotional grounds and can handle movie, I heard my hubby respond, "I'd rather see Gran Torino."

Typical. So typical...

Orgasm. In Multiple. Thank you, Secret Santa.

Back to the daily grind finally.

Finally? Yeah, I think I missed my "working-self." I was surprised to find myself looking forward to the dreaded early morning, the mid-day lunch break, and the anticipated end of the workday. I definitely LOVE what I do for living, although as with anything you love, my work does have its challenges. Maybe it's the challenges that I crave for? I don't know.

Now, here's what I know for sure. I am a girl who takes pleasure in simple things. I love minimizing complications. Maximizing pleasures. Multitasking is a key vocabulary word for me.

Enter simplifying, uncomplicated, multitasking products. Ah- now, you got me!

I'd like to introduce you to my new addition to my morning-routine: NARS Multiple in Orgasm. I think I first met this stick either in a Space.NK or Sephora catalogue. It's a miracle tube wrapped in a chic little black tube (looks suspiciously like a pocket rocket- not that there's anything wrong with that- just an observation). Acts as a subtle gloss-on blush, eye shadow, and with a little help of some lip balm, a lip gloss. I absolutely love it. And I have my Secret Santa to thank for it.

Apparently, there's a whole story behind the "Multiple"- which makes it a little more charming:

" In 1996 Harper's Bazaar did a story featuring six of the top makeup artists of the time. The direction for each was to pick their favorite model, pick their favorite look and the magazine would credit every product used.

Carolyn Murphy was the choice of François Nars. François was inspired to showcase beautiful, translucent looking skin - a departure from the heavily matted skin in fashion at the time. François choose to use a single lipstick on eyes, cheeks and lips to add a touch of color and a healthy glow. Nothing else was added.
NARS was credited with exactly the one product. The caption read: “NARS Brown Out - Tangier Lipstick on eyes, face and lips”

Soon customers started buying lipstick for eyes, face and lips to re-create the beautiful skin they'd seen in Harper's Bazaar, but we all know that lipstick is not the best for face and eyes. This led François to create a universal texture - The Multiple was born. A revolutionary stick for the entire face in a cream-to-powder formula that was oil-free.

The single image which transformed an industry."

From NARS website: http://www.narscosmetics.com/the_multiple.htm

Sweet.

Seems like the whole beauty industry is on the "multitasker" bandwagon. The New York Times reviewed several, what they called "Beauty Care’s Swiss Army Knives," products that save money, time and energy, just this past Sunday. Even the ever-so-high-and-mighty Vogue spent some web bytes on Winter 2008 beauty bargains, under "splurge OR SAVE." Recommended reads if you're thinking of replacing your old products with new, more pocket-efficient ones.

Simplify. Now there's a new year's resolution I can keep...

Resolution, Schemezolution,..., I'm Determined! And, This is Personal.

Hubby is right to laugh at me (note: not "with" me) when I declare to him my 2009 resolutions. It stings a bit; yet, we go through the same motions every beginning of a new year. There's a pattern, I cannot blame him.

Well, not this year. This year, I am determined.

According to studies, "40 to 45% of adults in the United States will make New Year's resolutions" and "40 to 46% of New Year's resolvers will be successful at six months." Heck. I want to be among the 40 t0 46% this year. And I will.

According to Dr. Norcross from University of Scranton, the resolutions need to be:

1. Realistic, hence attainable,
2. Part of an action plan,
3. Backed up with your own confidence, and
4. Declared publicly.

I'd like to believe I've checked off the first three requirements, and this entry is my public declaration. Here are my 2009 resolutions:

1. Body: Beyond just the body image and my perception of my physical self, I don't believe I've taken utmost care of my body. So, as part of my action plan this year, I'll be more conscious of what I put in it (declared a war on mono sodium glutamate and hydrogenated corn oil), complete a 21-day detox in January (already planned what I need!), and work out at least 3 times a week. I also would like to pick up on my running- I had a fairly good stamina- so, I want it back. Nothing like a runner's high!

2. Soul: Reading and writing are food for my soul. Although I am a verbal person and never shy to express my thoughts, I often find comfort in writing when my thoughts reflect my deeper feelings. Same goes for reading- I tend to read books that usually match my mood du-jour, seek for those moments where a book can provide some answers to what's going on in my life at that time. Both reading and writing to me are very closely related to listening to music, and a variety of it- minus some Folk, some Honky-tonk, Jug band, alcohol-infused Texan Country Music. I get my inspiration from music- lyrical and non-lyrical alike. So, this year, my resolution for my soul is to read, write and listen as much as I can! Part of my action plan includes writing on a daily basis, and taking little steps towards completing my story. I've already rejoined my trusted circle of writing friends; we start in February. Renewed my library card. Of course, I will put that iTunes gift card to use!

3. Mind: I admit, I cheated a bit on this one. This is not a new resolution per say, but rather one that I had made, pursued, and achieved, not yet accomplished. More explicitly, I had applied to a master's program at a school of my choice, and got admitted for this summer start. I am thrilled at this opportunity, one that I'd like to think that I worked very hard at achieving. At the same time, I don't feel that I am ready to celebrate this as an achievement, but rather take it in as a means to getting where I see myself going. This will be my resolution for my mind.

There. I've declared them all. Quite frankly, this does feel pretty good!

Give it a try yourself.

Love Affair with a Piece of (New) History

I am so sorry PETA, but I love my vintage three-quarter length fur coat. I do.

See, the thing is that 'my' coat is not only vintage, but it's also been custom-made to my mother's specifications. You can see it in the stitching, the quality of the lining, the details on the metal hooks, and the seamless connection of the fur pieces. In addition, it's a gift from her.

My personality gets crushed under the coat- without asking for permission, it gives you a whole another persona. Maybe a woman of means, a lady of leisure? Or, maybe one that meets her secret lover at French bistros across town? One that wears make-up to bed?

The coat begs for expensive high-heels. Also, something frail and lithe underneath. Or maybe, just a simple black cashmere turtleneck. Better yet, just a little piece from La Perla?

My imagination runs wild as I stare at my mind's 'new' self in the mirror. I can be anything, anyone.

Only underneath, I am supporting my worn-down blue pajamas, pink fluffy socks. Hair is sticking out from the makeshift bun on my nape. Manicure-less fingernails. Face too tired from previous days' indulgence. I notice my cheeks a little chubbier than usual, my face a little rounder. A pale yellow, splotchy face.

I close my eyes. Cringe that the reality does not match the imagination.

This time, I am not angry. More determined. More reflective. I am quick to think about my priorities, my goals. What matters, what does not. Isn't this part of 'growing up', I wonder.

I love my vintage three-quarter length fur coat. I really do.

So, It's a New Year's Eve... Again...

I think I have a love-hate relationship with new year eves.

As a little girl, I'd look forward to watching the festivities in our apartment- running around from the living room to the dining room back to the kitchen, just following the clatter of wine glasses, passed hors d'oeuvres in a smokey haze of 'adults' talking with louder voices, exploding with unexpected laughter, bare arms flirtatiously touching each other, and more laughter... I thought this was the best time of the year- ever... I'd get to sip from my parents' glasses, eat off of passing trays of food before they even left the kitchen. Guests patting my head, admiring how much I've grown, how pretty I looked in my outfit,...

Sometimes other kids would be involved- we would put together little plays for each other, try to display our knowledge of 'adult' topics (after all, this was the era of Dallas and Falcon's Crest), and maybe, play a board game or two until one of the 'older' kids would decide to break free and mingle with the adults. We thought he was 'cool'.

Then there were those new year eves, where I'd sit with my grandparents, watch the festivities on the television, speculate about the outfits of the singers, and nibble on food. I'd read from some of the old magazines stacked on shelves, make small conversation with their guests, and drink a glass of something bubbly at 12 midnight. The phone call from my parents would follow to say happy new year's, and perhaps, to check up on me. I wouldn't see them until the next afternoon.

In my teenage years and early 20s, tagged along with Mom, I would go from one store to another, looking for that perfect outfit, perfect shoes, and even more perfect accessories. We would go to the hairdresser's on that day, and based on the year, we would ask him to make our hair wavy or blow dry straight, or give that little trim that would prepare for the new year's eve. All throughout these activities, I would anticipate who I would kiss first: my boyfriend, if I had one that year, or maybe a new boy who would become one, at least for the night... I'd try to think where it would be... Would we be standing on the balcony overlooking the Bosphorus, or would we be amongst the huge crowd of people at the night venue with confetti showering over our heads?

I remember a particular new year's eve: Breaking out of our families' party (no one wanted to hang out with adults anymore!) and ditching her younger sister, a childhood friend and I went out to a 'hip' spot with a birds eye view of the city. Transported in her little Beetle, she gave me heads up on which guy we were meeting was her intended 'boyfriend'; and of course, he had a 'friend' that I might like. He already knew about me. Over the years, I really tried to block out this evening from memory- just the sight of that guy makes me queasy; the only part I kept with me is the (short) time I got to spend with my girlfriend, giggling like we always did when together... She passed away about five years after that new year's eve.

I have been recounting all these priceless memories of new year's eves: From a 'boyfriend' who called his mother before kissing me at midnight, the one who hugged it out with his guy friends before even finding me on the balcony, the one who was documented kissing another girl while I was waiting for him at another party, the one who called at midnight to be forgiven, the one who never forgave me for kissing his friend...

So, over the past years, I've managed to tone down my expectations and learned not to anticipate any drama to happen. And as 2008 turned into 2009, I was at peace with new year's eve: A sip of cold Prosecco and a delightful kiss at midnight.

Happy 2009.

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...