 zucchini marinated in cumin, lime, and sea salt; cilantro-lime quinoa; mango salsa; taco with avocado, sautéed bell peppers and onions, chopped heirloom tomatoes, mexican-spiced shrimp with lime.
The scene in Lower Manhattan as of 3 PM on Saturday:
Don’t worry, we got the last loaf of bread.
So, some lady named Irene decided to swoop in last weekend and bring the lives of everyone residing on the East Coast to a standstill. As a New Yorker, I don’t often feel the effects of life interruptions such as this: even in a blizzard, restaurants are always ready to serve, grocery stores and Duane Reades keep their late night hours, piles of snow get vaporized into nothing, and the subway runs all night and all day.
Well, that used to be the case.
Last weekend is one I will likely never forget. I spent it drinking, eating, and slumber-partying, which shouldn’t be especially noteworthy. But I’ll remember this one, because for the first time ever, we New Yorkers were without public transportation. As the city screeched to a sudden halt on Saturday afternoon, my companions and I couldn’t shake the sense that we were experiencing a piece of history firsthand. Many of us had been skeptical about the intensity of this storm, but once I saw the New York Times tweet about the subway shutdown – well, hysteria may have set in.
I made the decision to weather the impending storm at my sister’s apartment, accepting that I would be stuck indoors for an indefinite length of time. It seemed like a sane idea to leave behind my Brooklyn digs and spend the weekend at hers, which are located exactly one block from an area that was evacuated. Two of her friends thought so too, and so the four of us had a hurricane sleepover in the financial district, just steps from the soon-to-be-flooded Battery Park.
After I traveled on the second to last 2/3 train to Manhattan, the four of us stocked up our food supply – vegetables, fresh herbs, berries, chocolate with sea salt, Greek yogurt, and seven bottles of wine [the essentials] – and took a photo-taking stroll around the neighborhood to fight off cabin fever before it hit.
At 4:30 PM, we uncorked bottle number one of wine. And that is how I spent the most relaxing weekend I’ve had in months: drinking glasses that never seemed to empty, cooking a Mexican feast and an indoor brunch, watching a movie, reading a book, playing Scattergories, refilling a tub that kept draining its water, giggling. Even in Maine, 10 days that defined calm, I was still out and about, moving from the beach to dinner to ice cream to family activities. But this weekend, thanks to Irene and the shuttered MTA, I stayed put.
It wasn’t the weekend I had planned, but it was every bit as satisfying. In the end, we in the five boroughs were spared any harm, and I was out meandering by late Sunday afternoon. I consider myself one of the few lucky ones; while those in the suburbs are suffering from lack of power, lack of running water, and flood damage, I can actually thank Irene for her presence. She helped me slow down.
 strawberry ricotta ice cream with pickled strawberries.
Growing up, I was a voracious reader. I would get into a book, and I wouldn’t come up for air until I saw the back cover. I loved to lay there on my unmade twin bed, forgetting to eat, resisting sleep, absorbed in whatever work of young adult literature I had selected from the public library shelves.
In school, I would ignore the instructions of my reading teachers, who cautioned us not to read beyond the chapter that had been assigned for that evening. I always skipped ahead. When a book is good, you can’t help but continue turning its pages, and as the quietest participant in class, I never had to worry about accidentally giving away the ending.
This past Monday, with my alarm set for 6 AM, I stayed awake until 1. It wasn’t because I was out [though I did enjoy dinner at my favorite restaurant earlier that evening], but because I couldn’t fathom sleep without reaching the end of my most recent novel. Laying atop the rumpled sheets of my double bed, I felt like a kid again, sacrificing shuteye as I thumbed through pages by lamplight.
These days, I do a lot of my reading on the subway, which is both a product of my self-induced go-go-go lifestyle and the quantity of time we New Yorkers devote to the MTA. Between waiting for and riding the trains, I get at least an hour a day to tune out the city sounds, ignore the rats on the subway tracks, and pour over a book.
I wonder how my childhood self would have reacted to this new reading locale. Perhaps without surprise – I envisioned myself as a New Yorker from a very young age – but I doubt Leslie circa 1995 could truly comprehend that life as an adult doesn’t leave much time to lounge on comfy purple sheets with an open book. And so nostalgia wrapped me up as I ignored the waning hours on Monday. I didn’t sleep enough, but that was ok. It was nice to be reminded of my behavior as a kid.
I think it’s important to give in to those adolescent impulses from time to time. I had done it the Saturday prior, drinking too much sangria and dancing in a friend’s living room until 3:30 AM. And the following afternoon, I made my childhood self particularly proud, licking a sizable quantity of ice cream from miniature cones at the New Amsterdam Market‘s second annual Ice Cream Sunday.
I attended this fabulous event last year and loved every minute, but the market really outdid itself this time. Instead of six tastes, we got eight, and instead of six ice cream shops, there were 10. Each shop had anywhere from two to seven flavors, so you can imagine the intense decision-making that had to occur.
I’m relatively sure that ice cream was the first food I ever loved. Whether it’s classic chocolate with sprinkles or gourmet sweet corn with caramel, I am always a child when I lick an ice cream cone. Ice Cream Sunday let me do what I could never do at the age of 10: eat ice cream for lunch.
Here in back-to-school season, I suppose nostalgia is inevitable. From novels to artisan cones, it’s been nice feeling its presence this week.
♦♦♦
Here is a recap of my Ice Cream Sunday tastes:
I also sampled:
Plus some licks of my friends’ tastes. You may notice that I had nine samples. When one of the vendors didn’t take my ticket, I let gluttony get the best of me and held onto it. I feel no shame.
 pizza with mozzarella, artichokes, and rosemary from olio pizza e piu.
 mud pie ice cream and chocolate ice cream with rainbow sprinkles [guess which is mine] from emack and bolio’s.
I always associate the return from vacation with a new start. I think it’s the timing; no matter how many years past academia I may be, the dog days of August still feel like back-to-school season. As a kid, I always ransacked the pile of mail that greeted us post-vacation immediately upon returning home, hunting for the Trumbull Public School System envelope that would inform me of my teacher for the upcoming year. I would leave for Maine a fourth grader, and two weeks later, I would return to Connecticut one year older.
I may not have a new teacher’s name to ponder or a book list to buy this year, but I still can’t shake the feeling that in the coming weeks, I am at the beginning. Oh what exactly, I haven’t quite figured out.
Last week, my first week back to post-vacation reality, felt different. The peace of the beach stayed with me, and I seemed to be seeing life through wonderfully fresh eyes. I took things easy. Got enough sleep. Nearly finished my third book of the month. Cooked some lovely farm fresh food. Saw an indie movie, bought a bunch of theater tickets, and signed up for a writing seminar.
Wednesday, then, felt almost novel. After work, I attended an event that began at the new Athleta store on the Upper West Side: a group run in Central Park. The leaders were rather disorganized, and so a few of us [that would be Sofia, Shayne, Sarah, Steff, Ashley, and I] broke off from the crowd to run on our own. It was my first time running in Central Park and my first time running with these friends, and I truly enjoyed myself.
Post-run, gift bags in hand, Sofia and I took our sweaty selves downtown for dinner at Olio Pizza e Più, where we ate a late [free!] meal outside on the West Village street: two so-so pizzas and a carafe of house red. We sat and talked long after our plates had been cleared, until finally meandering further south for ice cream at Emack and Bolio’s. I made it home close to 12:30 AM and slept for a short six hours.
Yes, this is typical Leslie. Food. Friends. Sweat. Drinks. Long nights, early wake-ups. Rinse and repeat.
Except, this was the only night I did this last week. My other nights were full, but in very different ways.
Sometimes I think I get overly caught up in the whole foodie/healthy living thing. I realize pizza and ice cream are not exactly salad and kombucha, but I do feel guilty of too often letting my other passions fall to the wayside in favor of sweat sessions and foodventures. And while I love [love!] those two things, I care about a great many others as well. I could wear a lot of other hats if I’d only remember to put them on.
My memory of those other pursuits has come alive again, and I suppose that is why I feel back at the beginning. I’ll happily keep eating and drinking and sweating and socializing, but I’ll be giving everything else that makes me “me” a lot more attention too. If it means a bit less exercise-eat-repeat, I’m ok with that. The fresh start feels good so far.
 roasted corn on the cob; cucumbers braised in butter; homemade “falafel” burger with hummus.
Whenever I see people at the farmers market buying sweet potatoes this time of year, I always want to yell at them. “There’s corn, you crazy people! Corn on the cob! It’s fresh! It’s sweet! It’s local! Eat your potatoes later! We barely get corn for eight weeks of the year!”
I am very passionate about this issue.
Project Relax-A-Little has combined with Post-Vacation-Need-To-Eat-In, and the mix produced some lovely cooking from my Brooklyn kitchen earlier this week. With my many dining adventures of late, I had almost forgotten how much I adore spending a night with a glass of wine and my stovetop.
After a first uneventful day back in the office, I stopped by the Union Square farmers market, hoping a stall or two would stick around past closing time. I was in luck, as several farmers were still happily peddling their goods at 6:45 PM. I scooped up August’s finest: heirloom tomatoes, okra, cucumbers, eggplant, zucchini, peaches, raspberries, blueberries. And corn, of course.
Last summer, I discovered my very favorite way to eat these summer ears: roasted in the oven. Thanks to my friend Megan, I recently learned that they don’t even need to be shucked before going into the heat. Who says cooking is hard?
I served my roasted ear with another seasonal delight, braised cucumbers, courtesy of Julia Child. These take ten minutes to prepare and taste incredible. Butter. Cucumber. Salt. Make them. Trust me.
There was also a mediocre falafel-inspired veggie burger in this particular dinner, which I smothered in hummus because the recipe needs work. The cucumber and corn were my favorite part. Vegetables at the height of their season always are.
 fresh boiled lobster with drawn butter at the ogunquit lobster pound.
 lobster yin and yang, with chinese “squirrel” sauce [a carrot-ginger-soy sauce] and an asian sabayon at arrows restaurant.
 lobster bruschetta at the vine café.
 lobster pizza with spinach, caramelized onions, and ricotta at caffé prego.
 lobster benedict with fresh fruit at the wild blueberry café.
 chilled lobster with a mung bean crepe, vegetable slaw, garden herbs, and sweet and hot sauce at mc perkins cove.
When in Maine, well…
There are many elements of our annual vacation that feel quintessentially “Ogunquit.” Ice cream cones the size of my head. Seafood. Naps on the sand. Dips in 59 degree waters without complaint. Attempts at real golf games and perhaps a round of miniature golf. Long walks and short runs along the ocean. A summer musical seen at the playhouse and a movie seen at the one-room cinema in town. Hours spent reading in the sun. Blueberry pancakes from the Maine Diner. Chocolate from the candy store. The breathtaking view of the Ogunquit River flowing into the Atlantic Ocean.
Also, lobster. And most importantly: total, complete, utter relaxation.
I think the standout moment this year – though there were, of course, many standout moments – came on our final full day. My dad and I had waded into the river, a balmy 63 degrees, and kicked up our feet to float on our backs. As the tide goes out on this special beach, the current of the river will carry you all the way out into the ocean. With the sun beaming down, I closed my eyes. My ears sank beneath the water’s surface, and I heard nothing. I was still. Peaceful. Calm.
Later, as I fought the strong current back to the sand, I thought, “I should feel this more often.”
I love my busy life. My do-everything schedule suits my city surroundings and my overachieving personality. But I can’t shake how foreign the sense of peace that came over me in the water felt. That sensation shouldn’t come only once every year. Could it be that, on occasion, I need to just…relax?
As I settle back into life in New York, I see my August calendar slowly filling. It feels natural, easy, normal to make plans and buy tickets and book up my mornings and nights and weekends. Ironic that relaxing should be the thing to feel so alien.
I think it might be worth my while to get a bit more familiar with this relaxation concept.
And well, if I still get too caught up in the city spirit: my sister and I have decided to make a return trip to Ogunquit this October. It won’t be beach weather, but it will still feel like heaven.
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about. thank you for visiting the whole plate! i'm leslie, and this blog is my way of navigating twentysomething life one meal at a time. i usually require a glass of wine alongside.
questions? comments? email me: thewholeplateblog@gmail.com
you can also check out some more of my food photography over on tumblr.
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zucchini marinated in cumin, lime, and sea salt; cilantro-lime quinoa; mango salsa; taco with avocado, sautéed bell peppers and onions, chopped heirloom tomatoes, mexican-spiced shrimp with lime.
