Happy 4th

Celebrated the 4th of July this weekend, New York style. Started out with a terrace party at my sublet. Chi-Town hot dogs with cold bean salad, potato salad, and ratatouille. Gazed out over the Hudson and Riverside Park, and chatted with a former reporter from the Daily News who put in forty years in the biz.

Then caught a crowded F train out to Park Slope, to a roof party hosted by Michelle (flick above with her former roomie) from Audible Treats. Don't know who took either photo, but thanks to Gavin for sharing flicks on Snapfish.

The view from her spot at dusk was nothing short of spectacular: a tangerine sun slipping down over miles of Brooklyn rooftops, brownstones, church steeples, and lush trees; the Manhattan skyline glowing feverishly in the distance. Was pleased to meet a posse of foodies there (shout-out to Buddha from Fat Beats) and trade various kitchen secrets. Ate a lovely piece of cheesecake with vanilla wafer crust, vibed to Foreign Exchange’s Connected, and watched the fireworks explode into the warm, mauve summer sky.

Other than that, it’s been BBQ spareribs at Saigon Grill, pineapple smoothies at Jamba Juice, and blintzes with strawberry rhubarb sauce at Zabars. And lots and lots of long walks in an attempt to offset such indulgences.

Whoever started the rumor that New York is a cold, rude city is wrong, wrong, wrong. I have never been anywhere more friendly. It’s amazing to me how much New Yorkers talk to each other. My stepmother is from the States and I remember her saying when she moved to Canada fifteen years ago that she had to train herself not to talk to strangers. She would be in the grocery, or in a coffee shop, and turn to the person next to her in line and say something. They would look at her like she was an alien (we don’t chat like that in Canada). Now I understand what she meant. People make random comments all day long here. The other day I was walking out of a nail salon, obsessively inspecting my French mani. This guy leaned over my shoulder in mock exasperation and scolded: “They’re fine!” Also had nice conversations with a woman at my local deli (Gristedes at 96th and Broadway; would you believe they make kick-ass turkey samis?), a woman at the film fest I went to, and lots of others. Someone I was talking to last night at the party described that phenomenon as the tenderness of New York—the heart and soul of the city.