APPLES
I will never forget the one year I tried to have a nice Valentine’s Day. I will also never forget to never try it again.
A few years ago, my fiance had a Valentine’s Day gig at the Rainbow Room and I was able to get on the guest list (don’t be fooled - I am nowhere near as cool as that may sound). Since we had only been dating for a year or so at that point, my plan was to get all dressed up, show him how killer I was and that he should whisk me to City Hall ASAP.
But New York had other plans.
I spent two hours last night writing and re-writing this post.
Writer’s block — it happens more often than we care to admit. Usually, I can defeat it by just sitting down, shifting into “writing mode” and typing out whatever story comes to mind. Last night, however, that was not working. I wanted to tell you guys a funny story that started with a friend setting off a smoke alarm at midnight while cooking chicken and ended with me bragging about how I’m my father (the homebuilder)’s most handy child.
When my fiancé and I started dating, something we loved to talk about was our similar backgrounds. Upon first glance, it might seem like our backgrounds have zero in common: I grew up in a Jewish family in the Michigan suburbs, and he grew up in a non-religious family in “Chicken Village” in Austria. The more we got to know each other, though, the more we realized how much we had in common.
Which is, like, why we’re getting married, I guess.
But anyway.
Sometimes my job is cool.
One day, Rina and I will publish a heartwarming cookbook and entertain you with our kitchen mishaps, yummy recipes and music recommendations full time. Until then, we’ll be side-hustling away while our main hustle brings provides us with money, health insurance and 401K.
New York is a serendipitous place, isn't it? I'm pretty sure there's some god-awful 90's rom-com about just that, but isn't there always some kind of truth even in the cheesiest of things?
After nearly two years of living mere blocks apart and never running into each other, an old friend and I have bumped into each other two weeks in a row - same time, same place. Living in New York, the hustle and bustle certainly gets to you and we so rarely take a breath and slow things down. Running into him and stopping to chat was almost like taking a deep breath of fresh air in this overcrowded city. It gave me the chance to stop and think, clear my head and remind myself how sometimes life bumps you in weird directions with, what seems like a bullying attitude, but really is just a friendly nudge.
And that's exactly what sangria does. Slows you down (in more ways than one, might I add.)
Like dry wine, stuffing is an acquired taste.
To tell you the truth, I wasn't always a fan of stuffing. In fact, until we made this recipe, Rina wasn't much of a fan either. I get it - there's something bizarre about a bread casserole with fruit in it. But once you dig your fork in and take a bite, I'm willing to bet you'll become a believer.
After a certain point, living in New York becomes almost natural. I say almost because mysterious subway stenches will never be considered natural, but after a bit of adjustment, the big city mellows enough to make any transplant feel at home. Or at least, said transplant finds the mellow among the chaos.
I've been here for over three years now, and while I've never considered myself a New Yorker, I feel I have the city down pretty well. I know how to outsmart the closing doors, maneuver reckless bikers and eat delectably while on a budget. Despite this, I still find myself surprised by the small things this city quietly offers. Like the tiny corner farmers market just outside Morningside Park. Rina and I went with the intention of meeting Susie's Senior Dogs (more on that, later, we promise), and left with a bottle of the most understated alcohol I've ever encountered: apple brandy.
Ah, fall. The changing colors of the leaves, the infamous PSL, the crisp sweater weather, the flannel.
And if you're in the Jewish community, a fuck ton of holidays.
Every single year, without fail, I end up having a conversation that goes in one of two ways:
“Oh my god, I cannot believe how early the high holidays are this year!”
OR
“Oh my god, I cannot believe how late the high holidays are this year!”
They never seem to be on time, do they? I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone say, “Wow, Rosh Hashana is just spot on this year. Perfect timing!” They always feel unexpected, even though they have happened literally every single year for like, thousands of years.