The Wander List

a daily guide to wanderlust in the city

Skip Celebrity Apprentice May 14, 2009

Speaking of fossils, the day after I visited the dinosaurs at the American Museum of Natural History, Joan Rivers showed up to win The Celebrity Apprentice finale.

 

<cymbal crash>

 

I can’t think of any other reason producers saw this lovely venue as a good fit for a reality TV show starring spoiled B-listers and a megalomaniac tycoon.

 

Not sure how much it cost NBC to broadcast the overindulgent, three-hour finale live from the museum Sunday. But TV trucks and event planners parked out front and worked every day for a week in preparation. At first, I guessed it was some blockbuster movie until a crew member said otherwise.

 

After the taping, black limos parked on side streets and the party let out for cocktails in the back foyer. Beneath a giant poster about climate change, the Donald set up a table with hundreds of copies of his latest book, Think Like a Champion: An Informal Education In Business and Life. An odd pairing indeed.

 
Maybe next season, the contestants will battle over the best way to stop Arctic ice melt?

 

Beware: Squid, Whale Seeing Other People May 14, 2009

Artist rendering of Inky and Old Blue together.

Artists have long been in love with the American Museum of Natural History.

 

Remember how Holden Caulfield takes comfort in the way the museum never changes? And how young Margot and Richie run away to live there in The Royal Tenenbaums? An entire movie was named after the squid and the whale exhibit. In the parting scene, the hero stares at the two titans locked in a terrible embrace and comes to the conclusion that life kinda sucks – but in a pretty and metaphorical way.

 

I understand the fascination, what with the building’s myriad windows, passageways and vaults, a repository for all earthly knowledge. While apartment hunting, I ignored the low square footage and incessant construction next-door because the museum is perfectly framed in my window. After a dutiful courtship, this weekend I bought a ticket to see what all the inspiration was about.

 

The Tenenbaum kids spend a night in the museum.

The Tenenbaum kids spend a night in the museum.

First, I checked out a series of ancient dioramas, featuring animals who were hunted in distant lands, dragged across the ocean, stuffed and posed in lifelike scenarios a century ago. “It’s like a zoo for lazy people,” Chris mused while standing beneath the elephant’s motionless trunk. A spooky, taxidermy zoo.

 

We soldiered on to the dinosaur exhibits, the most impressive. Real fossils and life-size casts bring to life all the dinos we learned about in school: Tyrannosaurus, Brontosaurus, Stegosaurus, Triceratops. I loved reading about the archaeologist superstars who hunted these old bones. I’m told that in the belly and attic of the museum, secret rooms house more fossils. There’s an entire room for whale bone storage.

 

The whale swims alone.

The whale swims alone.

We saved the star for last, heading to the Milstein Hall of Ocean Life to admire the giant squid and whale, and ponder the metaphor of two fake sea creatures doing battle, forever suspended above whiny kids and French tourists.

 

I was disappointed to realize that the life-size replicas of Inky and Old Blue hang in different rooms while the “clash of the titans” diorama is a separate, smaller artist’s rendering. Why not take a cue from the artist and string the squid up beside the 94-foot whale — the largest replica in the world?

 

It was such a puzzle that I later called the museum staff to inquire, and after a lengthy discussion amongst themselves, they concluded it was an issue of mechanics.

 

Apparently, the whale needs space. The usual story.

 

Wait for the Moroccan Pie May 14, 2009

I’ve eaten out a lot since moving to New York, but no restaurant has charmed like Epices du Traiteur, a cozy Moroccan enclave hiding behind a red door on a little side street in my neighborhood.

 

Locals fill 15 tiny tables every evening for intimate conversation and the sweetly subtle “caterer’s spices” for which this Upper West Side eatery is named. The glossed red-brick walls showcase a collection of small mirrors and whimsical portraits of vegetables, while the tables sport pristine white tablecloths and gleaming red candles. Black-clad waiters sweep into the dining room through a red curtain that successfully hides the bustling kitchen.

 

The young wait staff is inexperienced – they may consult the chef before describing a dish or fail to display a bottle of wine before serving it – but they are eager and attentive. With one waiter to every two tables, water glasses are filled to the brim and dishes arrive promptly.

 

The menu is a veritable taste journey through northern Africa, where myriad cultures have blended for centuries to create modern-day Moroccan cuisine. You’ll find touches of Arab, Moorish, Middle Eastern, Mediterranean, African and Jewish influences here, giving new meaning to fusion fare. Owners have made this grab bag accessible to New Yorkers by leaving out some traditions (eating without utensils — no amount of Purell could make that a good idea here) and employing others (beginning every meal with warm bread).

 

Pasta and risotto are made fresh daily and paired with surprising ingredients such as mussels, chickpeas and saffron. Spices pack a punch in the Portobello and Sundried Tomato Risotto but fall flat in the Tunisian Gemelli, laced with chicken, chickpeas and not enough cumin. The real stars are the house specialties, ranging from a roasted half chicken, marinated in cilantro and lemon and sided with julienned vegetables and mashed potatoes, to B’stilla, a savory pie layered with phylo, chicken, almonds and vegetables and dusted with sweet cinnamon and cardamom. B’stilla my heart; it’s worth the 25-minute wait.

 

Do like the Moroccans do and top off your exotic meal with sweet mint tea while savoring the intriguing conversations around you. (Intimate? Yes. Private? No.) Epices is the spice of life.

  

Pronunciation: (eh-piece)

Location: 103 W. 70th Street at Columbus, New York, NY

Hours: 5:30-10:30 p.m. daily

Entree prices: $11.95-$24.95

 

Get the Kefi Mac & Cheese May 8, 2009

It doesn’t make sense to be a journalist and a foodie. It’s kind of like living under a bench outside the 72nd Street subway station and having a taste for haute couture. Most days, you’re lucky to have a flannel shirt.

 

That’s why I was so excited to try Kefi, a Greek restaurant at 84th Street and Columbus. On a Thursday evening, five journalists and an engineer sat down for dinner and got our hard-earned money’s worth.

 

It’s nearly impossible to find a bad restaurant in New York City. But it can be equally challenging to discover a mind-blowing one because of the vast selection and exclusive prices. This drives New Yorkers to carry around Zagat guides like Bibles, pore over New York Times reviews and pump friends for dining advice. Finding the standouts can be a full-time job.

 

Kefi is not new, but the location is. The restaurant once operated out of a cave down the street without credit card machines and routinely turned guests away: no room at the inn. The new location is expansive and well lit, managing to be cozy but not crowded. Still, you’d be wise to make a reservation because by 7 p.m., the waitlist has begun.

 

There is room for improvement here. The waiters are direct and opinionated (ask what to order and they won’t hesitate to tell you) and the wine list is lacking (no Rieslings or Pinot Grigios). But the food is a revelation. I’m something of a mac & cheese connoisseur (broke journalist, remember?), and I swear on my mom’s Betty Crocker cookbook that this is the best mac I’ve ever tasted — even better than at Chelsea’s Kitchen in Phoenix, and I promise this is saying something.

Kefi, Greek goodness on the UWS.

Kefi, Greek goodness on the UWS.

 

The homemade noodles were perfectly cooked, smothered with white cheeses, mixed with spinach, and dashed with nutmeg, the secret ingredient. Each bite was sweet-savory goodness. A green-been salad tossed with warm fingerling potatoes, feta and golden breadcrumbs starts the meal off right. Vegetarians will enjoy the chickpea and eggplant pita, while more adventurous diners should try the rabbit.

 

The best part? A bill for six people came to $160, including appetizers, main courses, drinks and tax. Finally, a restaurant for the frugal foodies.

 

Check out New York magazine’s rare four-star review here. The restaurant’s website promises to be up and running soon.

 

Celebrate Poetry Month in Style May 5, 2009

There are cheaper ways to celebrate National Poetry Month, but the best way is to pay a group of talented artists and celebrities to read to you.

Joan Baez adds poet to her storied resume.

Joan Baez adds "poet" to her storied resume.

 

On April 1, my friends and I headed to Lincoln Center with $25 tickets to hear a menagerie of notable poets, musicians and actresses read famous works. The Academy of American Poets hosts the Poetry & The Creative Mind event each year to raise money and kick off National Poetry Month. 

 

In a large auditorium constructed for elaborate plays and concerts, 10 performers sat in a row of folding chairs with white printer paper in hand and half-empty water bottles at their feet. At first the simplicity seemed awkward. But soon we settled in for a form of entertainment that required no HDTV or digital sound system.

 

It’s easy to forget, as an adult, how nice it is to be read to. Books like The Secret Garden and A Wrinkle in Time came alive when my mom read them to me as a kid. And even in high school, we’d lay our heads on desktops while listening to Ms. Peplinski read the Great Gatsby. I still remember the way she cried about Daisy’s silk scarves.

 

Each celebrity reader selected a few of their favorite poems, which is why Chip Kidd cracked the house up by reading Dr. Seuss’s If I Ran The Zoo. Kidd, an imaginative art director at Knopf, says he sent the book to President Obama as an inauguration gift.

 

Musician Joan Baez introduced herself as a novice poet and read her own work, including an amusing poem about low-low impact yoga for senior citizens with an instructor who had a “head full of rustling leaves.” She then whipped out a guitar and improvised a song with jazz trumpet player Wynton Marsalis.

 

The Dark Knight actress Maggie Gyllenhaal took a more serious approach, reading a haunting poem by Russian poet Anna Akhmatova. Anna found success in the early 1900s even though her father warned her not to become a “decadent poetess.” (Love that.) Gyllenhaal got a B.A. in English from Columbia University, and her mom is an award-winning scriptwriter, so perhaps she has a feel for captivating language. Her selection stayed with me for days:

Maggie Gyllenhaal
Maggie Gyllenhaal has handsome brother, digs Russian poetry.

 

I Wrung My Hands

by Anna Akhmatova

I wrung my hands under my dark veil. . .
“Why are you pale, what makes you reckless?”
– Because I have made my loved one drunk
with an astringent sadness.

 

I’ll never forget. He went out, reeling;
his mouth was twisted, desolate. . .
I ran downstairs, not touching the banisters,
and followed him as far as the gate.

 

And shouted, choking: “I meant it all
in fun. Don’t leave me, or I’ll die of pain.”
He smiled at me — oh so calmly, terribly –
and said: “Why don’t you get out of the rain?”

Chip Kidd read

Leave it to Chip Kidd to make poetry accessable.

 

 

 

If you’re in the NYC area, look for this event in 2010. It’s worth the price of admission, with new readers every year.

 

 
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