I am 25 years of age, and unfortunately too old to go out on Halloween and beg a gigantic stash of candy from the neighbors any longer.
Darnit.
But I remember getting a serious haul of treats every year when I was a kid...my brother and I (followed closely by our devoted parents, of course) would venture out into the chilled October evening, fighting our way through synthetic spider webs and "scary" lawn decorations, meticulously covering each street in several different areas of our town. We persevered through cold, wind, fog, rain, and mobs of shrieking children with colored wigs and runny face makeup...those other little brats were no match for us, a candy-getting pair undeterred by any bloodsucking 4-year-old. Outta the way kid! It's 8:30! People are closing up shop soon! Just...one...more...MILKY WAY!
We were: Trick-Or-Treating Professionals.
Upon returning to our lair, when the gathering was done, we spewed our heavy bags to gaze upon the night's collection. A veritable waterfall of treats filled two large bowls, and we rejoiced devilishly in the smell and sight of the mounds of shiny candy. The reds were so red, the yellows so yellow! Ahhh...we ran our fingers through the little packets, lifting them, tossing them as a greedy cartoon man might do with a pile of cartoon coins. Our mother allowed us to consume as much as we liked on Halloween night, but then she stored the bowls away in an inconvenient location and would ration us one piece per day until the supply ran out. Yes, we ate Halloween candy well past Christmas.
The last time I ate a piece of Halloween candy after Christmas was many years ago. My costumes have all been sold at summer yard sales, and these days a younger generation takes to the streets on October 31st. I guess I'm a grownup now. But every year, when the wolves are howling and the mist covers the moon and the grocery store is selling treats by the 5lb bag, I remember all the loot of Halloweens past--plus all the fun I had with my family whilst procuring it--and the child in me still craves a handful of candy corn like nobody's business.
Happy Halloween.
TOP FIVE BEST HALLOWEEN CANDIES
5. Skittles
4. Milky Ways
3. Kit Kats
2. Reese's Peanut Butter Cups
1. Twix
TOP FIVE WORST HALLOWEEN CANDIES
5. Crunch bars (sorry, the chocolate is so waxy!)
4. raisins (come on...who do you think you're fooling?)
3. Bottle Caps (unless you like to eat sour chalk)
2. Mary Jane Peanut Butter Kisses (the mystery meat of sweets)
1. Smarties (it's a love 'em or hate 'em thing...well, I hate 'em)
10.31.2010
10.24.2010
10.21.2010
10.19.2010
DIET COKE, 12:33 AM
I like Diet Coke.
I don't really drink it at restaurants, and I don't really buy it for home. But every once in awhile, it hits me--that I just NEED ONE.
Normally these moments involve the presence of pizza. But late the other night, as I was stumbling through that long passageway from the A train to the N/Q line at the Times Square station, on my way home, a little bleary from the day, the feeling struck. No pizza necessary. And it struck hard...all of a sudden I felt the exasperated dehydration of a thousand days in the desert, desperately parched: O late-night subway snack kiosk, where were you??
Ah. You were actually just around the corner and under a large staircase.
Thank goodness.
I zeroed in on the kiosk drink cooler as a hawk eyes its prey from above. The cans and bottles were haphazardly strewn about the racks, as if lots of other thirsty people had recently descended upon the little fridge and ransacked its contents; a line of purple Gatorades had toppled on their sides, a once-perfect row of green Sprite bottles had been broken up and intermingled with Sierra Mist...what was going on here? I started to search for the color red...because where there was Coke, there was Diet Coke. I found red, and then silver. Victory! I grabbed a can and strutted to the register.
I put the can on the counter, and glanced down into my bag to fish out a dollar. When I looked back up with dollar in hand, I saw the shopkeeper wiping off--or rather polishing, with a special sort of care--the top of the can. He then smiled courteously and took my money, wrapped a fresh white paper napkin around the can, and handed it to me with a straw. I thanked him, and began to walk away.
That's when things started to get silly in my mind. I was about to pop the can open, but hesitated when I looked down and really took stock of what I held in my hand...was I actually about to drink a Diet Coke in this busy public space with a napkin and (even worse) a straw?
Who does that? 70-year-old wives on Golden Anniversary cruises to Acapulco do that, but do 20-something New York transplants such as myself do that? After midnight, on a subway train to Queens for crying out loud? The napkin suggested such propriety, and the straw--such occasion!! Certainly a Diet Coke on a subway ride to Queens is no cause for celebration. Cans of carbonated beverage are gulped and discarded, not enjoyed.
But as I was about to toss the straw and napkin in the garbage can, I had a change of heart.
I wrapped the napkin back in place around the can, and plunked the straw down into the brown aspartame-y water. Nope, I was going to enjoy this one.
I felt primmest of the prim on the ride home, and imagined other scenarios where women might be drinking Diet Cokes with straw and napkin...maybe at the Kentucky Derby if they were tired of mint juleps. Maybe in an upscale nursing home somewhere, over a game of Scrabble. Places where there was a touch of old-world luxury, where the situation was being savored on Sunday afternoons or Tuesday mornings. A little smile curled over my face, and suddenly I felt like a pioneer! Savoring something on the subway! A snooty strawberry blonde with an ipod gave me strange looks as I sipped, probably wondering, as I had only moments before--who does that?--but I just kept on sipping. Yeah, the subway is a place where everything is fast and faceless and frazzled...but for those few little moments I actually, and truly,
enjoyed it.
I don't really drink it at restaurants, and I don't really buy it for home. But every once in awhile, it hits me--that I just NEED ONE.
Normally these moments involve the presence of pizza. But late the other night, as I was stumbling through that long passageway from the A train to the N/Q line at the Times Square station, on my way home, a little bleary from the day, the feeling struck. No pizza necessary. And it struck hard...all of a sudden I felt the exasperated dehydration of a thousand days in the desert, desperately parched: O late-night subway snack kiosk, where were you??
Ah. You were actually just around the corner and under a large staircase.
Thank goodness.
I zeroed in on the kiosk drink cooler as a hawk eyes its prey from above. The cans and bottles were haphazardly strewn about the racks, as if lots of other thirsty people had recently descended upon the little fridge and ransacked its contents; a line of purple Gatorades had toppled on their sides, a once-perfect row of green Sprite bottles had been broken up and intermingled with Sierra Mist...what was going on here? I started to search for the color red...because where there was Coke, there was Diet Coke. I found red, and then silver. Victory! I grabbed a can and strutted to the register.
I put the can on the counter, and glanced down into my bag to fish out a dollar. When I looked back up with dollar in hand, I saw the shopkeeper wiping off--or rather polishing, with a special sort of care--the top of the can. He then smiled courteously and took my money, wrapped a fresh white paper napkin around the can, and handed it to me with a straw. I thanked him, and began to walk away.
That's when things started to get silly in my mind. I was about to pop the can open, but hesitated when I looked down and really took stock of what I held in my hand...was I actually about to drink a Diet Coke in this busy public space with a napkin and (even worse) a straw?
Who does that? 70-year-old wives on Golden Anniversary cruises to Acapulco do that, but do 20-something New York transplants such as myself do that? After midnight, on a subway train to Queens for crying out loud? The napkin suggested such propriety, and the straw--such occasion!! Certainly a Diet Coke on a subway ride to Queens is no cause for celebration. Cans of carbonated beverage are gulped and discarded, not enjoyed.
But as I was about to toss the straw and napkin in the garbage can, I had a change of heart.
I wrapped the napkin back in place around the can, and plunked the straw down into the brown aspartame-y water. Nope, I was going to enjoy this one.
I felt primmest of the prim on the ride home, and imagined other scenarios where women might be drinking Diet Cokes with straw and napkin...maybe at the Kentucky Derby if they were tired of mint juleps. Maybe in an upscale nursing home somewhere, over a game of Scrabble. Places where there was a touch of old-world luxury, where the situation was being savored on Sunday afternoons or Tuesday mornings. A little smile curled over my face, and suddenly I felt like a pioneer! Savoring something on the subway! A snooty strawberry blonde with an ipod gave me strange looks as I sipped, probably wondering, as I had only moments before--who does that?--but I just kept on sipping. Yeah, the subway is a place where everything is fast and faceless and frazzled...but for those few little moments I actually, and truly,
enjoyed it.
10.13.2010
PROSPERITY DUMPLING
New Yorkers do NOT play around when it comes to dumplings.
Oh sure, they love their bagels and their cheesecake, and they're wholly devoted to their pizza...but their love of dumplings is a curious thing. They want them authentic, fast, and above all else, cheap. That's really the kicker. I recently overheard a bitter dispute in the street: "Your dumpling place is six for three bucks? Pfff, yeah well mine is four for a dollar!!"
The Dumpling Wars. Each New Yorker claims to know of the very best spot. But the truth is, folks, that there are dozens of great spots and all it takes to find one is a little Googling.
In your search, you will undoubtedly stumble upon the name Prosperity Dumpling, at 46 Eldridge Street in Chinatown.
Oh it's dirty. It's cramped. There are items on the menu scratched out in Sharpie. And yes, that "Open" sign is upside down. But you better believe you are going to get a good dumpling here.
I will now state, with the same pride and hostility of the aforementioned street quarreler, that I got eight--eight!!--vegetable dumplings for $2.00.
And wait a minute...if you're really looking to indulge, you may want to pick up one of these sesame pancakes filled with carrot sticks and cilantro for a whopping $1.25.
And there you have it: a grand total of $3.25. Hey, big spender.
Oh sure, they love their bagels and their cheesecake, and they're wholly devoted to their pizza...but their love of dumplings is a curious thing. They want them authentic, fast, and above all else, cheap. That's really the kicker. I recently overheard a bitter dispute in the street: "Your dumpling place is six for three bucks? Pfff, yeah well mine is four for a dollar!!"
The Dumpling Wars. Each New Yorker claims to know of the very best spot. But the truth is, folks, that there are dozens of great spots and all it takes to find one is a little Googling.
In your search, you will undoubtedly stumble upon the name Prosperity Dumpling, at 46 Eldridge Street in Chinatown.
Oh it's dirty. It's cramped. There are items on the menu scratched out in Sharpie. And yes, that "Open" sign is upside down. But you better believe you are going to get a good dumpling here.
I will now state, with the same pride and hostility of the aforementioned street quarreler, that I got eight--eight!!--vegetable dumplings for $2.00.
And wait a minute...if you're really looking to indulge, you may want to pick up one of these sesame pancakes filled with carrot sticks and cilantro for a whopping $1.25.
And there you have it: a grand total of $3.25. Hey, big spender.
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