Showing posts with label dallas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dallas. Show all posts

Friday, February 14, 2014

Feel.


寧為太平犬,不做亂世人

For my non- Mandarin- speaking friends, this supposedly translates to "It is better to be a peaceful dog than a chaotic man," which is considered the basis for what we call "The Chinese Curse": 
May you live in interesting times. 

Anyone who really knows me, meaning that they've taken the time to do so, knows it's been one hell of a year in the life of Jayne. I don't really have any boring years in my adult life past, but this one could certainly win the proverbial cake. 

I married the man of my dreams. I now live in a city that I not only love, but that has welcomed me in a way that has been quite frankly overwhelming. My daughter is at the perfect age of 5, when we can have brilliant conversations but she still wants to crawl into my lap with her blankie. I have been allowed to use my creative personality to support the causes that I love, and I feel more appreciated and intellectually stimulated than ever before. Most importantly, my husband and his family have been so supportive and loving that it scares me more often than I usually admit. But...


...there has been what I would call a tragedy trifecta over the last six months. People who know me personally are probably aware of one. Some know of two. A select few know of all three. Suffice it to say, each one was truly and without exaggeration traumatic. Each one knocked me down hard, without having fully stood up again from the last blow. I keep getting permission from loved ones, acquaintances, complete strangers, and professionals to grieve; to mourn the losses that are very real, the ones hoped for, and the ones felt so deep in the soul they feel real. 


I have. I have mourned. I have mourned more in the last six months of my life than I had in the entire thirty-five years prior. I am pushing through, but with every few steps forward there's another step back. Another reminder: a song, a memory, a speech, an email... which inevitably lead to a complete meltdown of my composure. I sob on my knees on the kitchen floor. I sob while sleeping, and only realize it when I awake to a wet pillow under my head. I sob in the car on the way to a meeting, and in the bathroom while brushing my teeth. And I am so fucking sick of being sad. 


I'm told it's good. I'm told it's healthy. I'm told it's necessary. My sweet husband, my angel, keeps telling me I need to face it and let it out and that it's ok to cry. He encourages it and holds me and gets the tissues when the tears start flowing. He makes me feel loved even through the ugly cries. There are a lot of ugly cries. But I feel guilty, because I know I have so much to be happy about, and despite my outward appearance I really am aware of how blessed I am. Which makes it worse! It does, because I know how happy I should be, and to waste my time crying feels incredibly selfish and self-absorbed, which of course makes me cry more.


But despite all of this, which I suppose was somewhat expected given what has happened, there has been an unforeseen side effect: I also break down at beauty. I break down at joy. I break down at anything that topples my already-at-capacity emotions and I feel. everything. to it's fullest, even the really great things. It's odd, because it is such a thin line between joy and sorrow that sometimes I can't tell the difference. Frustration and overwhelming emotion all feel the same; it just needs to burst out of me. But the part that makes me feel better is that I feel hope when I cry for beautiful reasons. 


I cried a few nights ago while cooking dinner, watching my husband carry my daughter around the living room as they played "Olympics" (it was the luge, you see).  I cried when I looked around the table at a benefit that hit really close to home yesterday, realizing that the people around me were the most beautiful human beings, inside and out, who contribute to their communities and to each other in a way that is unsurpassed, and who love me and each other like family. I wasn't exactly happy, in the traditional sense, but I was hopeful.  


I cried tonight, witnessing what I could only describe as "magic," as a brilliant author and a team of brilliant theater professionals described how they took a novel and turned it into a musical that is sure to bring so much to so many in the coming months and years. That creative energy, the possibilities, and the emotions that will come out of the work that they are doing is so much bigger than anyone realizes. My heart was bursting. How could it not? 

The world is full of so much beauty, and we have so much to be happy about and to appreciate. We are growing as a species; we are developing beautiful works of art every day. I wouldn't wish my tragedies on my enemies if I had them, but I will own what I do have like I own my short stature and my less-than-voluptuous backside. They are mine, and they make me me. 

My tragedies have shaped me, and based on the surge of emotions that consume me fairly often these days, they will continue to shape me. Would I let go of all of this beauty in order to lessen the pain of the awfulness? Probably. Because it really hurts. But while I work through it I will let that painful joy consume me as well, and hope that in the end, it will be victorious. 






Monday, December 31, 2012

Auld Lang Syne.


Last night I, along with my Texan, walked off of an American Airlines flight into Dallas Fort Worth International, returning from John Wayne in Orange County. He and I turned in different directions, he to get the car and me to retrieve the luggage. We kissed briefly and he reminded me that we'd said goodbye to each other in that exact same spot before, almost three years ago exactly. Only then I had walked away to my connecting flight home to New York instead.

Aware of our mutual affection but completely uncertain of what the future would hold, we parted ways that time after a blissful week eerily similar to the one we just had, filled with hikes in the canyons, dinners with friends and alone, sunset cocktails, walks on the beach and reading by the fire in his little Laguna beach cottage. But then, both of us were dealing with messy and complicated endings to our previous relationships, as well as professional and geographical hurdles to being together. Knowing all of this led to a tearful and painful goodbye, walking in different directions each filled with a confusing emotional mix of despair and hope.

And now, having removed the hurdles and worked with each other in a way that only the deep love that we have for one another allows, we are living here in Dallas together and planning our wedding. With professional, legal, financial, and familial obstacles recently lifted or at least managed to a point of little importance, we are finally free to celebrate fully what we knew in our hearts three years ago, that we are meant to spend our lives together and have chosen to do so. Now, for the first time in this process, I feel free to plan this celebration marking our legal and spiritual union, and I am entering this phase with pure joy.

As I waited outside the luggage claim with our bags from California last night, and watched his car turn around the corner and his lights flash at me in greeting, an uncontrollable smile spread across my face and my heart started beating rapidly. He pulled up and got out to help me, and I laughed. I had spent every minute of the last ten days with this man, and I was as excited to see him when he came around that corner as I was every time we'd met up at an airport over the two years we were dating long-distance. In three years so much has changed, but that feeling has only gotten stronger. How blessed we are.

Happy and Blessed 2013 to you all.

Friday, December 14, 2012

Company


Foodie is not a word that I enjoy or use to call myself. I do like food, a lot, and after years of working in hospitality and with a healthy dose of curiosity, I know quite a bit about it. I even cook it. But really I'm just a very passionate and sensual person, enjoying all senses with equal vigour. A great meal in my book satisfies all of them; it's beautifully presented, obviously it smells and tastes good, and it's enjoyed while surrounded with good company.


Who you dine with makes just as much of an impact on your experience as the person preparing the food, the decor, the music, the seat, the view, the service and the choice of wine. The balance has to be right. If any of these are not quite right, it will negatively affect the dining experience whether you realize it consciously or not. I recently enjoyed some great food at a beautiful restaurant with some incredible women. But the acoustics were off and I had to struggle to understand my friends, and because of this I have no desire to return. A few weeks ago I ate at one of the "Best New Restaurants" in New York City and although the food, decor, and wine were all as great as promised in the reviews, and my dining companions were expertly curated I must say, the server's attitude made us close out early and continue our evening elsewhere. I wanted great food but my limited time with my friends was more important.

Some of the best meals of my life come with really great stories. There is a Spanish tapas restaurant in Greenwich Village called Alta that I read about in a travel magazine years ago as a place where top chefs go when they go out, always a good sign. I chose it for my birthday celebration with my fabulous  group of friends, and I still smile when I think about that dinner and will recommend the restaurant without hesitation. I have no idea how many stars that place has, or what any of the critics had to say about it. I know that we had a Bacchanalian feast for the record books and laughed harder and left with bellies and hearts full. Everything was perfect. I remember running into Calvin Klein and John Leguizamo, and the cougar hitting on my friend at the bar. I remember friends from different parts of my life meeting each other for the first time and it makes me so happy to see that they are still friends. I remember the sounds of the kitchen and the music and the laughter, the taste of the bacon-wrapped dates and white anchovies and the Cava, the love I felt surrounded by so many wonderful friends and the man sitting next to me who would ask me to marry him a month later. 

I remember every beautiful moment of a dinner in Paris, laughing at the intimidation we felt looking at the triple-phonebook-sized wine list and welcoming course after course of food far more rich than we were used to eating, but enjoying the rare gluttonous indulgence with friends from around the world. I remember being with some of those same people in Cancun clinking the biggest margarita glasses I've ever seen. I remember Sex and the City-like conversations on sidewalk tables in New York with my girlfriends with mimosas, a business dinner on Central Park South with a table full of South Americans, and another one in East Berlin where we laughed so hard with a group of Austrians that beer came out our noses. And I remember everything being absolutely perfect at that first date dinner with my Texan at WD-50 in the Lower East Side when he came to visit me in New York one autumn evening three years ago.

The first "epic dinner" I experienced was on a beach sixteen years ago. I was in Greece as an exchange student, eating with my host family and their friends at tables under white lights and stars on the edge of the calm and warm Aegean Sea. On my plate was a whole grilled fish, something I'd never seen before, but I followed the lead of everyone around me and I can still taste and hear everything from that dinner if I close my eyes and think back. I have no idea what that restaurant was called, or what most of the people around me were talking about in Greek, but it's not important. What was important was what I sensed, what I experienced, and who I was with. That dinner started the evolution of this "foodie," shaping me to appreciate the beauty of these multi-sensory experiences around a table.

But this all works the other way, too. I have been fortunate to dine at some of the best and most critically-acclaimed  restaurants in the world, but sometimes, unfortunately, with people I didn't love or enjoy. Pained conversations, lack of any kind of intellectual or (in the case of a date) sexual chemistry, uncomfortable situations, and quite simply a bad day physically or emotionally have ruined their share of meals for me and I would imagine for most of you. Some of the restaurants I have no desire to return to because the memory is just too bad, boring, or even worse, so completely forgettable that I committed little to nothing to memory.

While on a run on the Katy Trail here in Dallas earlier this year, I spotted a restaurant that looked like my favorite little bistros in Manhattan and Paris. The doors were all opened up to the warm air, the wicker chairs were the French cafe standard issue; t was exactly what I missed since moving to Dallas. I wanted to call up some friends to grab a table, order a couple bottles of wine and S. Pellegrino, and eat and drink and talk for hours until we were kicked out.  How did I not know it was there? Why haven't I been there before? Until I realized... I had.

During one of my first visits to Dallas, I sat at one of those charming little tables for a brunch with some people I was meeting for the first time. Suffice it to say there is a reason I blocked it out. The food was fine, standard French-American bistro brunch fare, the service was sufficient, and as mentioned the decor was charming. But the conversation was so forced, unenlightening and uncomfortable that it dominated the entire experience for me. Usually I can find something to talk to anyone about; it's always been my strength. Whether with newly-immigrated busboys who barely speak English, with an international billionaire CEO, a shy spouse of a business colleague, or with a Prime Minister backstage before a big speech, I can always find something of interest for us to talk about and to make them comfortable and open. But this was beyond my reach. When a person can't talk about anything but Real Housewives, Twilight, or eyelash extensions, announces that "pretty girls don't have to work," refers to my hometown as "um... interesting" and has no idea who Malcolm Gladwell is... I honestly had no words. I couldn't rescue it and I didn't want to. I was powerless and passionless and couldn't wait for the meal to be over. The conversation may actually win the unofficial award of the most vapid of my life, and I do remember that part when I force myself to. But how in the world could I be expected to notice the food when I was concentrating on not jamming a fork into my temple to relieve the pain?

The point of this silly little story is that a good or bad restaurant experience depends on so much more than the food. I've returned to Toulouse since and I have loved it despite my miserable first experience. Thankfully it got that opportunity. I know it wasn't the restaurant's fault, but bad company will make or break an experience faster than anything else. It doesn't matter how it rates on every other factor. And that brings me back to why I am so grateful for those amazing epic dinners where the conversation flows as easily as the wine, and you leave knowing more and loving more than you did when you arrived. Sharing plates, sharing stories, opening yourself to new experiences and new senses... that's what a truly great dinner is all about.

Last night I had another one of these good experiences, and I woke up with a smile, knowing that I felt more at  home here in Dallas more than ever before because of it. A group of the most interesting, funny, talented, smart, and kind people that this city has to offer all sat around a table at Marquee Grille in Highland Park Village and toasted to Christmas and every other winter holiday we could think of. We laughed, we shared, we ate and we drank. The Chef dropped by a few times to say hello, and white twinkle lights glittered outside of the windows. I was in love, with my betrothed sitting next to me, with the ambiance, with my pork belly and tuna tartar, and with my friends.

Maybe I am a foodie, but I think I'm more of an experience junkie. Bring on the epic dinners of food, laughter and intellectual conversation, and let's not waste any more time with people who aren't lifting us higher and heightening our senses. Because in the end it's always about the company.


Monday, July 23, 2012

Drive.


It is a long story as to why I didn't get my first driver's license until 2 weeks prior to my thirty-third birthday. While I did live in New York City for most of my adult life and certainly didn't need to drive during that time, I'm not actually from NY so that's not really an excuse. Mostly I was just too damn busy. I spent the summers of my teen years living in a small beach town where I could walk or bike everywhere, and during the rest of the year I was so involved in school and local theater that I couldn't be bothered to find the time to learn to drive. We weren't allowed to have cars on campus at my small university in Pennsylvania anyway, and then I high-tailed it up to the big bad Big Apple as soon as I could. I lived in walkable South Beach while in Miami, and while in west midtown in Atlanta for a few months I really never needed to drive as my jobs and social life were all in a small easy radius of my loft. The more time that went by, the more I learned to live without driving a car, and to be honest the more the idea of it frightened me. When you're older you have had the chance to see the damage that driving can cause, and you've probably lost a friend or two in accidents. I was in no hurry to take on that level of responsibility, thank you very much.

But it was always understood that when I moved here to Dallas I would need a car, and a license to drive it. It was usually one of the first remarks made when I brought up the subject of moving; "I guess you're going to have to learn how to drive then!" I accepted this reality and knew I would have to get over my fear. Friends in NYC graciously offered to watch my daughter while I took a few lessons from the local driving school, but driving in Queens is nothing like driving on Texas highways. Nothing. And my Texan's shiny black Audi A5 is a little different than the driving school Toyota Corollas. So taking "lessons" from him when I arrived here was like starting over completely. Not knowing my way around didn't help. I couldn't have found Dallas on a map before a year ago.


Luckily, living in West Village has been really wonderful, with multiple boutiques, salons, a Starbucks, yoga studio, grocery store, and restaurants within walking distance, as well as my daughter's school. It's been a lot like back home, only cleaner and quieter. The free Uptown Trolley takes us down to the Arts District and everywhere in between, and cabs, my Texan and his family have been sufficient for the rest until now. I'm sure I've been quite the sight around here, walking between Albertson's and the bank and our townhouse carrying groceries and drycleaning in my reusable canvas shopping bags, with the other hand holding a cup of coffee and phone, just like I did in New York. That aside, it has been nice to get out and learn my neighborhood and I like to think I may have inspired a few other people to leave their cars behind when running local errands.


But with the approaching summer and the beginning of my job search, we knew that it was only a matter of time before a car was a necessity. My Texan has been an incredibly patient instructor over the last eight months, whenever we had the time for him to teach me, which wasn't often. With every work trip I went weeks without getting behind the wheel, delaying my progress considerably. Still, he would insist that I drive during our weekend pilgrimages up to Allen, giving me the highway experience that I had lacked. I was scared to death, with you people in your big SUVs and trucks speeding down 75 and my daughter singing or sleeping in the back seat. But he coached me and encouraged me, teaching me everything I needed to learn for my test and also the more practical lessons about Texan drivers and roads.


Finally I felt somewhat ready and realized that I wanted to get this thing before my first birthday in Texas. I filled out the necessary paperwork, stood in multiple lines at the DL office in Cedar Hill, and made the soonest possible appointment for the driving test, 2 days before my birthday. If I didn't pass I wouldn't make my goal, making me even more determined. The day arrived and, with the loving encouragement from my fiance and little girl, I got in the car with the stoic man who would decide my fate. I bombed parallel parking (I'm blaming nerves) but aced the rest. I parked the car and he said "you passed," and a few tears came to my eyes and I couldn't wipe the grin from my face. I waited twice as long as most Americans for this milestone and that made it so much more thrilling. And a relief. My birthday was a celebratory occasion for so many reasons this year, but this was the biggest.



***



Bread Winners was one of the first places I went to in Dallas for brunch. I'd forgotten about that until returning the other evening. My Texan told me even before I moved here that it was a top brunch spot for Dallasites, and after experiencing it I understood why. There were (and are) always lines of people waiting for tables weekend mornings, and deservedly so. But last week, I was invited to a lovely event at the Inwood Village location highlighting their sexy new cocktail menu. As a new girl in town, I am so appreciative the invites that come my way and I was excited to see some of my favorite new people there, and of course any opportunity to sample new cocktails is always welcome. I mean, really.


But attending this event meant driving all by my lonesome for my first driving night out. I would need those cocktails when I arrived as it was. But the day before, while cramming into the back seat of the 2-door car to replace a freshly laundered car seat lining, I heard a thump in the front and turned around in horror to find my 4-year old daughter holding the rear-view mirror, the wires still attached to the windshield. My Texan handled it surprisingly well, and he and I spent the next half hour trying to re-affix the mirror, to no avail. It was clear that we needed professional help but there would be no opportunity for a few days. The more experienced driver of us was fine of course, but I was not happy about this at all. Not one bit.


Determined to make it to the event at Bread Winners out of appreciation for their hospitality and a need to get out of the house (working from home is not always ideal), I kissed my loves goodbye and set out for Inwood Village. With a brand new license, 5-inch heels, and a useless rear-view mirror dangling from the windshield, I made it to Bread Winners and was rewarded generously with good friends, new friends, and their mulitple new cocktails. I couldn't drink too many of those, being far too nervous about my ride home, but I sampled quite a few and they are not too shabby. This ain't just brunch-land anymore.


But all of the sampling aside, it was wonderful to catch up with some friends in the light and airy atmosphere and make some new friends too. I am sure most of the people there had no idea what a monumental evening that was for me. I delayed my exit for a bit because of my nerves, chatting up all of the other fabulous attendees as long as I could, but eventually is was time to get back in the saddle, so to speak. And so I did. I grabbed my bag of Bread Winners cookies and walked solo across the parking lot towards that beautiful shiny black car with the dangling rear-view mirror, opened the door, sat in the driver's seat and smiled.



***

I made it home sans incident that night, despite the availability of so many beautiful cocktails. The mirror was fixed the next day. This weekend I had my first opportunity to drive around a borrowed Cadillac Escalade monster to escort my visiting family around town and was reluctant with that too at first but didn't do too badly. My driver's license card came in the mail this week and although a few friends tried to bribe me to NOT drive in their neighborhoods for a few months, I am really looking forward to the next invitation and solo night out. And of course the next big step of buying my first car. I will still be walking around my neighborhood a lot regardless; it's convenient, it's healthy, and above all I like to do it and it reminds me of my old life. But I admit that it will be so nice, for the first time in my life, to have the option to get in my car and drive.








Thursday, May 10, 2012

Spirit.


I come from a family of geniuses. My joke has always been that if I'm good they let me set the table pretty. I am the oldest of four children, born to parents who are still, 33 years later, happily married (and sometimes disgustingly so).

One of the many differences between me and the rest of my family is that I seem to be the only one who did not get the running gene. I briefly gave it a half-hearted shot in junior high, but I was much more interested in aesthetics; always content with music, dance, food, and decorating the world in various ways.


My father is a cross country coach and a past president of his local running club in Pennsylvania. He has been running for forty years, including 22 marathons (7 Bostons) and several 100-mile ultra marathons (including something ominously called the Canadian Death Race just last year). My mother has also been running for most of her life, often alongside my father, and ran her first marathon- the Marine Corps in DC- when she was 48. One brother ran the Dublin marathon and the other has run two 50K trail races. My sister has run seven marathons, including the Marine Corps, New York, and Cape Cod.


I will be running my very first 5K tonight on the Katy Trail in Dallas, Texas.


When my Texan and I first started dating seriously and I flew to Dallas to visit, he took me to Luke's Locker to get a real pair of running shoes, my first pair since college. We went for a short run on the Katy Trail and although my body was in a bit of shock, it was nice to get out of New York City and breathe in some fresh air. Back home I only ran when trying to catch a train or a cab and that was wearing 4-inch heels. But after my Dallas visit I starting running through the streets of Astoria, Queens whenever I got the chance, which wasn't often, and when I did I loved it. I started to think that maybe I did have that gene after all. When nightly talks with my Texan got to the point where we were discussing a life we would have together in Dallas, runs and walks on the Katy Trail were often mentioned.


The weather since I moved here last November has been perfect for running (I know this will change soon), and with my constant traveling and drastic lifestyle changes since leaving New York it has been necessary to get outside and get some exercise. It has been good for my body and also my mind as I've worked through so many of these changes in my head while on the trail. I have been grateful for the West Village entrance only a few blocks from my new home and have used it at least several times a week over the last few months. We recently signed up to be Friends of the Katy Trail in appreciation of the park, and of course the Ice House is one of my favorite places in the the city to meet up with friends.


The rest of my family signed up to run a marathon in Florida together in 2014. When I mentioned tonight's 5K to my dad he informed me that if I increased my running by one mile a month, I would be ready to join them by then. I am not optimistic about that one, but who knows? Tonight you can watch me crawling towards the finish line in a desperate attempt to finish my first race. I will be number 614.


For all runners, I share some words of wisdom from my father, Coach Chobot in Reading, Pennsylvania:  


"Just remember; the challenge of distance running stems from the inner conflict between mind, body, and spirit. Whenever the spirit (or soul or heart or whatever you want to call it) prevails, the runner has succeeded regardless of caliber of runner or difficulty of race. Running is the purest form of the celebration of the human spirit."


I'll see you on the trail.



Sunday, April 29, 2012

Momentum, Part II.


I love my job. I learn and grow with every project I do, with every interaction I have. It has allowed me to have some amazing experiences that I may not have had without it. When I leave my company this September, I will have traveled around the world, spoken one-on-one with world leaders, played with schoolchildren in Cape Town, toured a chocolate factory in Vancouver, danced at a gala in Prague, and biked through Montmartre just hours the after the Dallas Mavericks won the 2011 NBA Championship. I even met my soon-to-be husband through my company, 3 years ago this month. I have the pleasure to work for over a hundred top executives around the world, the smartest and most successful in their industry. My job requires me to function well in high-stress situations, to be diplomatic, organized and self-motivated, and to work collaboratively with a wide variety of people from many different cultures and backgrounds. 


Whenever I end up explaining exactly what it is that I do, which is quite often, the next question I am almost always asked is "what kind of background do you have to get a job like that"?"

I always smile and simply tell them that I worked in hospitality.

Of course sweating over a fryer in the hot kitchen of the seaside pizzeria that I worked in when I was fourteen, I never would have imagined that restaurant work could lead me here. But it did, and this wasn't even my goal. At the time I just needed a job and working where the hot lifeguards of Fenwick Island hung out didn't seem like a bad option. It was hard manual work, it was really hot, and we would have all rather been on the beach. But without realizing it we were learning skills that would carry over into all areas of our lives. With lines of impatient sandy tourists out the door all needing special attention, a rowdy group of teenagers who hailed from four plus states came together and got it done. Sometimes singing and dancing while we worked, teasing each other in a language only we spoke, we worked our stations and sometimes the ones next to us if needed, and every customer left fed and, if we had any control over it, happy. It gave us a paycheck and a sense of purpose, and it was a lot of fun.

And this is why I went on to work in many other restaurants in the next few years, through college and beyond, in both little towns and major cities, with various cuisines, clientele, and ownership, and in various positions. And at each one I learned more. Between the customers, the kitchen staff, the bar staff, the floor staff, the managers, the owners, and the venders, you need to be able to communicate with people from every stage on the socio-economic spread, from celebrities to illegal immigrants. I worked with people speaking at least ten different language, none of which I speak fluently. But you learn how to communicate regardless. You learn how to negotiate and you learn how to problem solve and you learn how to do it quickly. Blaming an error on someone else isn't going to cut it; if the person next to you doesn't pull their weight then you pull theirs along with your own to get through the service. There are no excuses. And sometimes the customer is wrong but you figure out a way to make everyone happy while maintaining your dignity (a very useful skill I've found). Sometimes the dishwasher has to seat a guest and sometimes the manager has to wash dishes. Sometimes you are working an 18-hour day because you are needed, and you don't take sick days. In the kitchens especially are some of the hardest working people I know. 

Eric Ripert, Executive Chef of what is known to be one of the best restaurants in the world, Le Bernardin in New York City, recently posted on his Facebook page: "In my 1st year cooking, my arms had burns & scars; my hands had many cuts but year later I would achieve the same tasks in the kitchen without a scratch. My lesson? Master the craft; be organized & proactive. Stop finding excuses and reasons."

I really loved that world, long before I realized it could turn into a career for me. I was in my teens and 20's, moving around like a gypsy with a bounty on my head, having a great time just trying to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up. But as I grew over the years I was given more responsibility in the restaurants, and towards the end of my time in the industry I was marketing and selling the spaces for events that I would then coordinate and manage. And I still spent a lot of time on the floor and had come to know my midtown Manhattan clientele as well as my staff, making important connections that I still maintain today. One of these clients ended up offering me the job that I have now, a job I didn't realize I wanted or could do. But it turns out that I did and I could, and I am so fortunate to have had the opportunities to get here.

Mine is not a rare story. People that I worked with in the restaurants, some of which had started out with no ambition whatsoever, have gone on to work in healthcare, foreign affairs, education, entertainment, journalism, and sciences, and I am certain that they are the hardest working people in their offices. Other friends have stayed in hospitality and have gone on to work directly for Laurent Tourondel, Jean-George Vongerichten, Mario Batali, Vikram Chatwal, Andre Balazs, and Jose Andres, and some have started their own successful restaurants and catering companies, in New York and across the country.

The point is, training in the restaurant world is hardly a dead-end. 


At a dinner last month, Chad Houser, Executive Chef at Parigi and co-founder of a non-profit social enterprise in Dallas called Café Momentum, asked the fifty or so distinguished-looking attendees to raise their hands if they had ever worked in a restaurant. Roughly 90% indicated that they had. When asked who still worked in the industry, I saw about four. Which of course goes to show that although there are amazing jobs to be had in restaurants, the skills can be carried far beyond.  


Café Momentum takes disadvantaged youth ages 14-17 in Dallas, teaches them culinary and service skills, gives them the opportunity to work alongside the best local chefs and restaurant professionals, and eventually leads to paid positions within the industry. These kids, deemed "throwaways" by our courts after entering the juvenile justice system for committing non-violent crimes, are welcomed into an environment where they learn respect and discipline while finding a sense of purpose. They have first completed a culinary training program at their juvenile justice facility, and then these young men enter the internship-style program and are nurtured and inspired and given opportunities they may not otherwise have had. Graduates leave the program with a list of professionals that they can go to for references or employment.


But training for work in hospitality is not just about working in a restaurant. Danny Meyer, the revered New York restauranteur responsible for Union Square Cafe, Gramercy Tavern, The Modern, and Shake Shack, among others,  wrote his book "Setting the Table" about using the power of hospitality in any business you are in. I have quoted from it often; "Within moments of being born, most babies find themselves receiving the first four gifts of life: eye contact, a smile, a hug, and some food. We receive many other gifts in a lifetime, but few can ever surpass those first four." Knowing how to make someone feel welcome in your space, whether it be your home, your business, your cubicle, your park bench... it is invaluable. It makes you a better person. Give someone a seat, some food, a smile, and you can change their life, even if only for that hour. When you learn that, it opens a world of possibilities. 


"To succeed in the hospitality business you must succeed in making other people feel good," said Ben Pollinger, Executive Chef of Manhattan's Oceana, a restaurant I used to frequent and do business with before moving to Dallas. I recently asked him his thoughts on the Café Momentum program. "You must minimize your self-importance and must make others the center of your attention. That’s a pretty radical concept for some people, especially if you’ve come up in a challenged or disadvantaged upbringing where you’ve needed to focus on yourself to survive.

"Long term success in the hospitality business is realized over the years, but the short term results are immediate and can reinforce and support a young person’s efforts. You can know that someone enjoyed your food, you can see it when you take care of a table. You begin to feel appreciated and good about yourself for what you do," Pollinger continued. 

However, as many of my Chef friends were quick to point out and Chef Pollinger specifically remarked "This is all dependent upon positive and strong leadership. All the things that can help a young person, or any person, become a better individual can also drive someone into some dark places without proper guidance and leadership. You need to learn that it’s OK to make honest mistakes and to learn from them. You need to be steered from many of the distractions in this business." 


Café Momentum, an organization founded only last year, puts disadvantaged youth in a positive atmosphere with that strong leadership that is so essential. These young men are given role models who are not only gifted and respected professionals in their industries, but who have become celebrities in today's foodie-obsessed pop culture. This provides inspiration for people who may have otherwise given up on life, or who have had too many people give up on them.

If my Yankee liberal rant about the good you they are doing for these young men doesn't tug at your heartstrings, then maybe this will: The disadvantaged Texan youth in these facilities have a recidivism rate of 50%. Because of a lack of support, positive role models, education or skills, half of these young men will end up re-incarcerated. Each of which costs taxpayers $100-$300 per day. For every one youth who successfully completes the Cafe Momentum program and goes one to be a law-abiding self-sufficient individual, $1.7 million to $2.3 million in lifetime costs to taxpayers and victims is avoided.

Believers and supporters are coming fast. Their next pop-up dinner, being held tonight at Tiffany Derry's Private Social, sold out in three hours. Even I, who waited eagerly for the opportunity to attend another dinner, missed the window to purchase tickets this time but I couldn't be happier for them. But there is so much more to do. Cafe Momentum will become a full service restaurant, with the staff being rotating graduates of the program. 165 young men have already graduated from the program, and 116 have received their ServSafe Food Handler's license and identification, making them more eligible for employment than most. It is a fantastic and impressive start.


The Cafe Momentum concept is sustainable and replicable. More and more "disadvantaged youth" could get their chance through this program. As Chef Pollinger concluded, "In the right venue, a job in the hospitality business can be a powerful force in positive change for a person’s life." 

And who knows where it could lead? 



Related:

Momentum. (Part 1) 
Dee Lincoln's Bubble Bar Celebrates Cafe Momentum

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Home.


I have spent my day running around like a madwoman in preparations for the next two weeks of constant travel. This is nothing new. I am very fortunate to have a job that requires me to go to some really great places and I do get a thrill from running through airports and getting those stamps in my passport. But a strange and foreign feeling came over me today: I don't want to leave.

It has nothing to do with where I'm going or why. While true that much of it will be spent working, that doesn't bother me. In fact I like that quite a bit because it gives me a sense of purpose and allows me to experience cultures in ways different from the tourists. I am traveling most of the time with the love of my life and am absolutely thrilled to get some time with him away from other stresses in our lives. I will be going places I've never been before, which is always a plus; for even if the travels are bad, I still get to cross a few more cities and countries off of my lists and there will always be stories to tell.


The sinking feeling came because I'm finally feeling like my new home is actually home. Every day somebody asks me how I'm liking Dallas and a smile always comes instantly and I can honestly say that I love it. I have family here, and a support system that I've never had before in my life. I am meeting some really amazing people, making real friends, and having a great time in the process. I am trying new things and discovering new things about myself every day. There is a sense of community here that, although at times off-putting because of the lack of anonymity, is actually really nice. Who knew this cold-hearted New Yorker could like this?


So although I look at my schedule for the next three months and the gypsy spirit part of me is thrilled to be hopping around the world again, there is part of me that wants to throw a 3-year old tantrum, stomp my feet and cry out "but I just got here"! I know I will regret saying this in a few months if I end up finding a job that doesn't have me traveling at all and I am begging for a reason to go somewhere, but right now an extra few weeks in my own bed would be so welcome. 


I suppose I will take it as a blessing that I am sad to leave my new home. Because that means that it is in fact my home. And I know that at the end of my next set of adventures, instead of being sad that they're over I will be happy about what I'm returning to. And that is another brand new experience for me.


I am so grateful. 

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Balance.

I have gained ten pounds, give or take, since moving to Dallas in November. This has several causing factors, including a 20-fold increase (at least) of my annual consumption of Tex-Mex cuisine, a decrease in the necessity for running for a train in 3-inch heels several times a day, a Texas-sized refrigerator right upstairs form my work-at-home office, and an overall lessening of hourly stress (like trying to dodge tourists around Rockefeller Center). Thankfully, as my Texan so eloquently puts it, the weight "is in all the right places," supposedly. Still, when you're used to feeling lighter on your feet, the extra pounds can inspire you to make a few changes.

The last time I was in a gym was 2004. But in my ongoing quest to relax and get both my body and mind healthier now that I've left the big bad big apple, I decided to take a mere two block stroll from my new house and try yoga for the first time in my life. I always had real excuses not to try yoga before: no time, no money, the logistics of getting to a studio using public transportation, too much work to do, and a simple lack of necessity in my logical mind. But like everything else in relation to my move down here, the obstacles all moved aside in one cohesive sweep and a path was cleared for my next step in my journey of new Texan self-discovery.

It feels good. I stretch and challenge muscles I was never aware of before. It is a warm - literally- and welcome environment, as peaceful and full of positive energy as I've come to expect after years of pop culture exposure to the practice. The instructors at Gaia Flow Yoga are amazingly patient, making sure that even the most novice of their students (me) is learning and growing at their (my) level of ability. What I am learning goes so much further than the physical, however. I am learning to relax, I am learning to take time for myself, and I am learning to balance, in all areas of my life.

~

This past Friday was much like some of my favorite spring evenings in Manhattan. On Oak Lawn Avenue we enjoyed an early and light dinner at the utterly charming Parigi, a restaurant owned by one of my new favorite people in Dallas, Chef Chad Houser, and his lovely partner Janice Provost, who as luck would have it was behind the bar that night. As it was early, we only dined on a few chef-recommended appetizers, but they were all perfect. Janice helped us to pair wines with our meal and we thoroughly enjoyed the company of staff and fellow patrons immensely. Unfortunately we had to move on, but for good reason. We had, courtesy of a dear friend, tickets to the TITAS Command Performance La Fête du Ballet. Sitting in the orchestra of the beautiful Winspear Opera House later that evening, we sat in awe as some of the world's most celebrated and accomplished dancers performed. The classical pieces were gorgeous, but MOMIX's Millennium Skiva impressed even my Texan, and TUU featuring Steven Ezra Marshall and Rebecca Rasmussen moved me to tears. The entire evening was pure elegance. We gasped and applauded in distinguished appreciation and amazement.

On Saturday I drove (which, as an ex-New Yorker I am still learning how to do) north to Allen for another dinner and another show. And it could not have been more of a contrast. It was raining, so we parked and ducked into the first restaurant that would have us, the adorable Cotton Patch Cafe. My 3-year old daughter colored her place mat and drank her chocolate milk while I contemplated the amount of butter in the basket of bread placed on our table. It wasn't exactly a Manhattan crowd, to say the least, and it certainly wasn't a meal that will help me lose that extra Texas weight, but it was warm and it was cozy and the server was sweet. After dinner we crossed the street and spent the next two hours watching the Allen Americans hockey team defeat the Missouri Mavericks 4-3 at the Allen Event Center with family and old friends. Hockey players fought on the ice. Young local girls danced during halftime with the Ice Angels. The mascot Biscuit and Ronald McDonald posed for photos with little (and big) fans. We clapped, we cheered, we rang cowbells. It was fun.

It was the poignant juxtaposition of the two evenings that I found fascinating. Friday was black satin and a low chignon, champagne and single malt scotch. Saturday was cotton denim and a ponytail, popcorn and domestic beer out of a can.

Both evenings were wonderful. Both were needed. Both were Dallas.

~

It is less and less surprising to me how relaxed I find people here to be. Relaxed and healthy. And I realize that it is due to the balance that you (we) have here. We can get all of the extremes that we want but if we look for it, running down the center, through our core, is a beautiful balanced life of art and comfort, elegance and fun, culture and family, work and play.

Namaste.

Monday, February 20, 2012

Oak.

photo borrowed from OakDallas.com
Uptown, I see your inventive menu, impeccable service, and warm ambiance at Private Social, and I raise you a chic multimedia interior, classy and diverse clientele, and a champagne bucket of elegance at Oak in the Design District.

Fittingly, the space feels like a gallery where an artist has decided to do an installation piece in the design of a pop-up restaurant. It feels temporary, which is very unique and, (please forgive my lack of eloquence here) really cool. We were in on a secret location, having a special one-night-only dinner, and as soon as the night was over, all of the set pieces would be whisked away to make room for the next exhibit. And to take the analogy a step further- the design and service are so much about you, the guest, that the space feels like the canvas and you are the art- a revolving group of people in and out of the door that the designers chose specifically for their purpose. There was no rowdy and anxious crowd building up at the reception stand; everyone was accommodated perfectly as they arrived and yet every table was full. There were no groups of giggly girls snapping phone photos of themselves in mini-dresses getting in the way of cocktail servers and ruining the mise-en-scène - it was all perfectly executed class, right down to every guest.

But the food and cocktails were art in their own rights. First ordering off of the Imbibe menu, I made an easy choice in the LOLita, an elixir of Hendricks Gin, St. Germaine Elderflower liqueur (thanks to dear friend and occasional barmaid Shannon, who introduced me to this last summer), English cucumber and bitters, just about every one of my favorite cocktail ingredients in one glass. My handsome companion chose The Mighty Oak, with Eagle Rare Bourbon, mint, ginger lemon, and soda, and then moved on to the Hamilton Dark & Stormy with Gosling’s Black Seal Rum, Gosling’s Ginger Beer, and lime. It was difficult to change drinks after our first round but we were determined to try more options from Abraham Bebell's cocktail menu. What a relief to see a list heavy on gin and whiskey! It is always a joy to go back to the classics after years of the overdone craft cocktails.

Our lovely server Z came by and answered all of our questions about the menu aptly, and patiently waited for our selections. I went with a bird-centric dinner with the foie gras torchon appetizer and roasted duck breast entree. My Texan turned to the sea and started with diver scallops before his main course of Mediterranean bronzino. I wanted to inelegantly scrape my first plate clean of the foie gras, candied kumquat and black pepper gastrique. It was that good. And the duck! I ordered it Chef's recommendation and received it cooked to pink perfection, served with puy lentil, crispy brussels sprouts and burgundy foie gras jus. It was heavenly. With our server's assistance I paired it with a glass of Louis Jadot Macon Chardonnay. The bronzino was a lighter dish but no less perfect. The server brought the charming Mr. Bebell to our table to create a new cocktail based on my fiance's tastes to pair with his dinner, another special touch to our evening. If only we could have tried more but we had reached our breaking point.

Not ready to leave, we moved to the bar to experience the space from another angle. Barkeeps in suspenders and dark rimmed glasses kept busy but never flustered, managing every sitting and standing patron with professionalism, energy, and ease. Instead of my usual single malt scotch dessert, I decided on the appropriately named Distinguished District Man with Johnny Walker Black Label, Cinzano Bianco, clover honey, and bitters, and enjoyed distinguished district conversation with men on both sides of the bar, an eclectic group light on Dallas natives. Suddenly realizing the toll of the generously poured liquor, we sadly called it a night but vowed to return soon.

Kudos to owners Tommy DeAlano and Richard Ellman, the Plan B designers, the previously mentioned Mr. Abraham Bebell, and Executive Chef Jason Maddy. I'm new to Dallas but your reputations preceded my experience at Oak. Thank you for a wonderful restaurant in my new home city.

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Gourmand.


"There are no foreign lands. It is the traveler only who is foreign.” 
~ Robert Louis Stevenson

Moving to a new city, region, or even neighborhood is overwhelming for many reasons and of course most of it is logistical. But I knew that one way to feel at home was to immediately get my taste buds on the pulse of the food scene in Dallas the way I had in New York, and that has become a personal mission since arriving. I have been a Texan for twelve weeks, during six of which I was not actually in Texas, so I'm doing the best that I can. Although I've rarely ventured outside of Uptown, and I have plenty still on my 'to do' list, I have already found some shining stars.

Favorite Food Experience

Private Social: By far this is the best restaurant I have been to in Dallas. The food is inventive yet comfortable, the service is perfect but not stuffy, and the decor is elegant yet fun. We had the most wonderful Saturday night dinner here and I can't wait to go back. Chef Tiffany Derry (Top Chef) leads guests through her kitchen, welcoming each warmly and inviting them to take photos. I know this because we were lucky enough to get a table right next to the window into the kitchen, and it was a joy to watch. Every staff member was warm and beyond hospitable, and a lot of fun to talk to. Favorite foods sampled included the Kumamoto oysters (a special for Valentine's Day, but I hope they will stay on the menu), The Top Chef Pork Buns (rivaling David Chang's in my memory), and Pastrami Cured Hiramasa. I let the server (shout out to Justin) choose our wine and cocktails and wasn't disappointed.

Notable Neighborhood Gems in West Village:

These places get bonus points because I can walk to them- a luxury in my new city.

For Bar & Atmosphere:

 Overview: If I want a swanky martini lounge (and I often do), nobody tops what Manhattan does in that department. What I've enjoyed in Texas thus far are laid back places like these: 

Katy Trail Ice House - There is no place like this in New York. (Except maybe Astoria Beer Garden, but this place is better.) I'm told it's typical of Austin, which makes me want to take the drive down there as soon as possible. Sit outside at picnic tables right off of the Katy Trail, under trees and twinkling lights, order from the list of 50 beers on tap (quite a few of them rare locals) and listen to great music. The crowd is unpretentious young professionals, and dogs are welcome. FTW.

The Union Bear - This place is pure Brooklyn. That's a good thing. We went opening night and I felt right at home. It rocked an atmosphere of a gastropub with the cuisine of my beloved gourmet food trucks (I miss you Rickshaw Dumplings!) Like the KTIH, the service and crowd are unpretentious and fun. I sincerely hope this is a new trend in Dallas, a city that is getting far too much press for it's "Real Housewives" and "Most Eligible" scene.

Cru Wine Bar in West Village- Rumor has it that "nobody goes there anymore." But they should. And here's why: the atmosphere is intimate, elegant and romantic, the wine list is impressive, the food is great and meant for sharing, and the service is delightful. It reminded me of some of my favorite Manhattan wine bars. Maybe the Dallas scene-sters have moved on but I loved it and plan to return often.

For Food:

The Fish - The sushi is above passable and at times quite creative, the service is friendly and good, the bar is above par, the decor is beautiful, and I can walk to it from my house. But they did something wrong- the layout of the restaurant doesn't work. It's not cozy or inviting and not quite sexy either. Like a lot of places in Texas, it's just too open and exposed. Of course for a town of people who love to be seen, maybe that's what they were going for.

Baboush- Simply adorable. The menu was authentic, the service and food were outstanding, the presentation was perfect. It's small and intimate but, like The Fish, very exposed because of a big window wall facing the street. A lower ceiling and more cushy couches around small tables meant for sharing plates would make this place perfect. I want to bring a big group of friends, order everything on the menu, and end the night with mint tea and hookah.

Mi Cocina - This is where I had my first Tex-Mex meal in Dallas. The sexy bar area is hopping at night and the tables are full for lunch and dinner. I am not an expert in this cuisine yet but I've enjoyed every bite and sip here thus far. And Taco Diner - A more casual version of Mi Cocina right across the street. I want to give everyone who works here a hug. Fun and energetic atmosphere, great margaritas, exposed kitchen, friendly waitstaff, and good food. My 3-year old loves the quesadillas and the staff loves her.

Crimson Asian Cuisine- It's amazing that it made it on to my list as it's BYOB. But I checked it out for lunch and was pleasantly surprised with the pho, which I am thrilled to find a block away from my house. Everyone dining there looks like they know they're in on the secret- the food is great.


This place gets it's own paragraph because it was thoroughly frustrating. Having passed many happy hours at Del Frisco's in Manhattan (as it was one elevator ride from my office), I was expecting at least some of the old-world elegance. Instead I got a sports bar that happened to serve good steaks and comfort food (both easy to find in Texas) and have wine racks for walls, as if that was to give it class. The decor was a mesh of contemporary and classic, but not in a good way. It was like a Broadway show with too many producers who all wanted a different story (see: the first version of Spiderman: Turn Off the Dark) and just agreed to disagree. Of course this is perfect for the group of friends who can't all agree on one type of restaurant (the not-so-secret to success outside of the Five Boroughs). The food and wine list were good of course, and yes- I understand it's supposed to be less formal as the 'grille' concept. But it did not work for me and I was as much distracted by this mishmash of concepts as at the difference between the classy Mad Men types seen at my NY haunt and this 'Look At My Striped Shirt' and 5-inch heels 30K millionaire Uptown crowd. It made my stomach turn and the "Cheesesteak Eggrolls" (as a native Pennsylvanian, these hurt my heart a little) harder to digest.

The "Club Deuce Award" Nomination

For places that you gravitate towards after a night of drinking elsewhere, which I've named after the bar on South Beach that I often 'ended up at' in my early 20's:

The Loon - The drinks are really strong, the music is really loud, the decor is non-existent, and it's located in a shopping strip in a big lit parking lot. And yet, everyone flocks to it. Supposedly the food is good but because of the tendency to end up rather than start there, I can't give this an accurate review yet. And I don't think I want to. Because the important part is, everyone is having a great time, which is exactly what you want in a neighborhood dive.

Digestif

Generally the same qualities I miss in people, I miss in restaurants: edgy, adventurous, and authentic. I want the people I spend time with, and the places I spend time at, to be smarter than me, to teach me something new, to expand my proverbial horizons. I'm frequently told that I should leave the Uptown neighborhood (see: Del Frisco's Grille paragraph) to find more of what I'm looking for. I will. Thankfully, there are so many more restaurants to try here, and that excites me. Hopefully once more of life's chaos subsides (fingers crossed) and the weather warms (guaranteed), I will experience and re-experience more of what this cosmopolitan southern city has to offer its gourmand residents.

“If you reject the food, ignore the customs, fear the religion and avoid the people, you might better stay at home.” ~  James Michener

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Limbo.



“The city. So many lights you can actually pretend one of ‘em’s shining on you.” *

New York is a city that is beautiful in its wickedness. By living here you are automatically subject to a dysfunctional abusive relationship. It mistreats you, ignores you, beats you up daily. And you keep coming back for more.

In general, New Yorkers are unbelievably resilient. We drink too much, sleep too little, work far too hard and stress about absolutely everything. We get knocked down daily and it doesn’t phase us in the least. In fact it’s expected. We pay too much for our lives and rarely if ever take a break. We have to keep moving- it’s our collective coping mechanism. If we stop, we may have to catch a breath, clear our heads and be in the moment, and nothing terrifies us more. There’s always more, better, and to stop means to lose our chance at attaining the unattainable. So we push and push and push until our bodies or our minds reach their breaking point. When we’re forced to acknowledge and accept the reality of our abusive relationship and consider doing something about it. We see the dark circles under our eyes and recognize that our overstimulated lives are killing us. And it’s time to make a choice. Do I stay or do I go?

“Small town girl she comes to town. Tin of rouge and strapless gown. Dies a lot before she gets to die… but with a smile she’ll say, “that’s the low-down down.”*

We are not unaware of the dysfunction. That’s half the reason many of us came here. It’s hard to focus on the little intimate moments of our silly lives when we’re just focused on survival. And we don’t want to focus on the moments. We answer emails at two in the morning, apply our make-up in rattling subway cars or jolting taxi cabs, eat on the run (if at all) and get the heels of our shoes replaced monthly after beating them down on the city concrete and grates. Just. Keep. Running.

“You swim with sharks in shallow pools. You get bit and them’s the rules. I got bit and almost eaten whole. But I liked it.”*

I consider myself one of the lucky ones. New York didn’t chew me up and spit me out the way it does others. There were many rough times but more beautiful moments. Inspiring, awe-filled moments. And I’m leaving on a high note, and not because I have to. 

I was lucky because I met someone who helped me learn how to slow down. On a cool and rainy December day in California almost two years ago, this someone suggested that we take a nap. It seemed like the perfect thing to do. But I had wi-fi withdrawal anxiety and my head was spinning with a to-do list and thoughts about anything and everything. And I made it clear that I. Don’t. Nap. Ever.

But I laid down with him on the big soft couch and read my book, (my third time through The Great Gatsby). I closed my eyes and woke up an hour later- I had actually relaxed enough to fall asleep, even though I hadn’t worked myself to the point of exhaustion. It was a revelation; I know that something changed then. It’s only once you really experience life outside again that you realize how much your city life is destroying you. 

About a year after that initial moment of self-discovery, I made the decision to leave New York. I didn’t know yet where I would go, but I accepted that it was the best choice for me and my daughter. I had a few options in the works and it all just depended on which way the winds would blow. 

"Passion is not so much an emotion as a destiny. What choice have I in the face of this wind but to put up my sail and rest my oars?" ~ j. winterson

In this entry I’ve been referring to New Yorkers as ‘we’. But this is no longer accurate. Early this morning I packed up the last of my things, turned out the lights of my little Queens apartment and locked the door for the last time. At this moment that I am writing this, I’m in limbo. Most of my things are in a storage unit until the moving company can transport them to my new abode. Right now, at this very moment, I am between homes. But in a few more hours, I will start a new life in a new city.

Maybe I’ll start with a nap.


“People like us… lost… and found…”*


* song lyrics from the Broadway musical “The Wild Party”