Located on 32 East 21st Street off Park Avenue, Gravy is a Southern style restaurant with a metropolitan flair. Featuring the “best grits in New York City”, you can have them three ways- Honey, Cheesy and Porky. Be sure to try Gravy’s delicious Louisiana Crawfish Gumbo Fritters and Corn Flake Crusted Chicken for a truly decadent treat that will keep you coming back for more. Also, ask the bartender to make you a Debutante, the establishment’s alcoholic and fruity spin on the Arnold Palmer. Gravy’s lounge is open at 5pm weekdays for dinner with brunch being served from 11:30-2:30pm on weekends, but feel free to stop in for libation’s in their chic lounge at 4pm daily.
When describing her own childhood, its amazing how my mother can make you desperately want to live in a time gone by. I don’t mean in the traditional sense, that is, in the Stepford, Pleasantville or Mad Men way. No, my mother doesn’t glamorize the sixties and seventies as a simpler place in time. In fact, her depictions of growing up in New Mexico are often melancholic and broadly laced with grit.
I was about eleven during one of our frequent drives from Belen to Socorro when she told me. “You know, when I was your age we didn’t have an indoor bathroom.” I looked over to see my mother display a mischievous grin that let me know a story was coming.
” Really?” I realized that didn’t know much at all about how my mom and her nine older siblings grew up. It also struck me as odd that the house they grew up in wasn’t always the way I knew it.
“I was so embarrassed that we had an outhouse,” said my mother, almost proudly juxtaposing her former disdain for her childhood home. “I didn’t even want my friends to come over- so I came up with a plan.”
“What did you do Mom?” I didn’t know whether to be excited or frightened by what I was about to hear, but my mother’s stories always completely captivated me.
“My cousin Frances…” my mom started laughing when she trailed off. “We would get in to so much trouble when she came to visit from Arizona! I feel so bad, because my mom would give us money for the collection at church, and instead there we’d go to the Hilton Pharmacy to buy ice cream.” Mom was referring to one of the many businesses in Socorro, New Mexico that used to carry the Hilton name. Long before Paris and Nicky Hilton lived in Manhattan’s Waldorf Astoria, their great-grandfather Conrad Hilton was working at his father’s general store in Socorro- hence the former plethora of stores and events carrying the Hilton name in my parents’ hometown.
“So what happened ?”
“For some reason I thought if Frances and I burned the outhouse down, nobody would have to know that…”
“Mom!” I interrupted “you didn’t.”
“Oh yes we did.” She started laughing again “…and that smoke plumed for days to where every single person in town knew that it was OUR OUTHOUSE.”
“Did you get in trouble Mom?” I don’t know why this was my first question for her after sharing a story with me that I had, until then only thought you would catch Dennis The Menace conceiving in a fictionalized script.
“Nope,” she answered proudly “they thought it was your uncle Phillip smoking in the outhouse, and boy did he get in trouble.”
“When did they find out it was you?”
“Not until just before your grandpa died mijo… and boy was PT (my family’s name for uncle Phillip) mad. ‘I knew it was YOU!” yelled my mom imitating her older brother. I have to admit that I was more than a little impressed by both my mother’s antics as well as her ability to keep a secret for over twenty years. As we pulled in to town, the story was quickly filled with comments like “don’t you ever try anything like that” and “if I ever catch you skipping school or church”, but I was ultimately grateful that my mom shared this story with me. She continued describing things I shouldn’t do as we pulled up to my Auntie Annie’s house, the home my grandparents raised ten children in.
We walked in the front door looking for my aunt with no success. “Hello!” yelled my mom, “is anybody home?” She was answered with a flush of the toilet. Mom turned to me an simply said “oh.”
Located at 307 East 53rd Street in Manhattan,Copia serves up a deliciously wide range of food, drink and entertainment. Why go out to dinner before hitting the club when you can enjoy your favorite foods right at your favorite hot spot?
sliders, fries, chicken and beer... who could ask for anything more?
Copia’s food menuserves up a familiar array of all your favorite standards… and the scene? Copia boasts some of the best people watching I’ve ever experienced in the city.
One of Copia's many bar areas
Besides serving up some great food, cocktails (be sure to try the club’s specialty cocktail Love Lychee), the service was impeccable. Upon discovering we were celebrating my dear friend Rachel Hall’s last evening in New York City before leaving to Shreveport Opera, the club’s owner, Junior Santiago graciously ushered us to a private VIP section and treated us to a round of Patron and cocktails- truly a gracious host.
So the next time you’re looking for a place where you can eat, drink, dance, play beer pong, or even guest bar tend… check out East 53rd St’s Copia, you’ll be glad you did.
Delivering a fierce “Tour de Nice”, Chef Andy D’amico offers to the Upper West Side of Manhattan a delicious culinary excursion to Nice, France as well as a full gluten-free menu for those patrons with celiac disease or general health concerns. While famous for their Croque Madames et Monsieurs, I prefer the Poached Eggs Provencal at brunch time. The dish features ratatouille in a crisp puff pastry with a delicious tomato cream sauce. For dinner, it is my humble opinion that no one does Grilled Salmon better, at least in this neighborhood. Add to your entree the best escargot in town for a truly French experience. Remember, salmon is quite possibly wine’s friendliest fish, so choose anything from a Champagne to cleanse the fat from your palate or a medium-wieght pinot that would pair just as well. Be sure to try this “tour de force” on your next “tour de France.”
I woke up this morning to the pleasant smell of my roommates James and Rebecca making a baby. Hey now, get your mind out of the gutter! What I mean by that is, they were making a Dutch Baby.
“What the hell is a Dutch Baby?” You might ask. Well, it’s sort of like a giant pancake that you bake. Think of a Dutch Baby as the Germanic cousin to the French crepe and the obese neglected sister of Yorkshire Pudding.
To make a Dutch Baby, all you need are the following:
A 4 1/2- 5 quart pan
1/2 c. butter 6 eggs 1 1/2 c. milk 1 1/2 c. flour
Put the butter in the pan and set it into a 425 degree oven after first dusting the pan with nutmeg, then mix batter quickly while butter melts. Put eggs in blender container and whirl at high speed for 1 minute. With motor running, gradually pour in milk, then slowly add flour; continue whirling for 30 seconds.(With a rotary beater, beat eggs until light and lemon colored; gradually beat in milk, then flour.)Remove pan from oven with the butter melted and pour batter into the hot melted butter. Return the pan to the oven and bake until puffy and well browned, 20 to 25 minutes.Your Dutch Baby should come out in a nice big fluff that will gradually deflate.We had our Dutch Baby with fresh squeezed lemon juice, powdered sugar and a mixture of raspberries and blackberries- a truly wonderful treat.
jacoboheme 