yesterday was one of my most amazing days. i have just walked more than 75 blocks. i have just been to the dominican republic without leaving manhattan.
my private tour began at 157th (about 45 minutes on the train)... a brilliant blue and sunny day. snow gleaming in the bright light. we hiked through the trinity cemetery, through the hispanic society of america, and then up along ft. washington park. wandered through scenic, residential streets with imposing and stately buildings that followed curves and were painted brightly. along sidewalks that someone had had the foresight and creativity to make flower, tree, wind: imprints into the sidewalk-- giving the concrete the feel of country. past such calm one almost forgot we were in the city. you could have heard a pin drop as we walked along and pondered who lived on the inside.
and then washington heights. this is a neighborhood that exists in its own space and time. the signs are in spanish, the people are speaking in spanish, the gente are hanging out on street corners-- seeing and being seen. the dominican empanadas filled with cheeses and meats and piping hot. one dollar. past shops who hang their clothes in the street, hawking their wares with large, hand-written signs: "2 skirts, $10"; "any bra 99 cents"; "dresses $5." mannequins that were modeled after women with flat stomachs and big, curvy, beautiful butts and legs. bodegas with meats hanging in the windows, peppers in jars, fresh dominican coffee. posters galore letting us know when the next big dance would be taking place, who would be playing the bachata, the merengue, the salsa. music coming from jam-packed barber shops-- social gathering places
where folks go to just be, to have a beer and feed the gossip-mill. although one such locale made it clear that if you weren't getting your hair cut, you had 15 minutes to do your platicando and then get out.
i bought two of the biggest avocados i have ever seen. one dollar. not one person in the tiny grocery spoke english, the receipt made reference to dominican culture. the salami section was gigantic, the dominican sweets in abundance... as was the helpfulness and curiosity (why is this gringa here?) of the folks working there. more street food-- habichuelas con dulce. small paper cups of pure joy-- sweet, cinnamon-y, but something nutty from the beans. small crackers. two dollars. served only during the lenten season in the d.r. i am told it's usually made in gigantic batches and served in homes. but here the community comes out to share in this heavy, dreamy concoction. i'm told it's not easy to make...
we walked from the harlem river to the hudson river, spanning the tip of manhattan to the east and the west. and out onto the dykman pier, on the edge of the tiny neighborhood of inwood-- an
extension of the dominican world of washington heights. we found a small gathering-- cooking up something that smelled wonderful, sipping cerveza out of paper bags, no women in sight. a small "in memory" nailed to a tree (2/17/08 por willy) and a small altar overflowing with budweiser cans and votive candles. men communing with men and the dead, listening to music from home here on the edge of the craziness. a small boy playing in the snow at the end of the pier while his father fished and yelled at his son to be careful ("ven para aca, papi! cuidate!") beautiful views of the shoreline and the imposing george washington bridge. everything bright white and dark brown. i will have to remember this place when it warms and the small, rustic looking "bar" opens to the "public."
next on the agenda was a real meal. but en route, why not hike around the cloisters and watch the cross-country skiers, and listen to the silence-- just blocks from the sounds of reggaeton and cars racing each other down deserted street sides.
food. so so so many choices spanning so so so many blocks. la casa del mofongo. 29 kinds of mofongo. beautiful, loud, move-your-body music. dominican carnival on the television (en vivo, because they have gotten away from the underlying religious connections. for los dominicanos, it has more to do with the month of february and dominican independence 2/27). big masks representing the spirit of the devil who was thrown out of hell to walk his days on earth. parties reminiscent of new orleans. i got a lesson in how to drink beer a la dominicano-- VERY cold, no foam, poured without touching the lip of the bottle to the rim of the cup. if these things don't happen, the beer is taken away and another is brought. so here we sat-- on a very chilly sunday afternoon-- feeling like we were on an island. eating the best chicharrones i have had in ages. inhaling mofongo with different meats (no goat for me this time). about 99% of the folks were dominican, so i got to practice my spanish all afternoon. i got lessons in how to tell the difference between a bachata, a merengue, a salsa. what to listen for and how to dance to them-- when to move your hips slow and low. and why they were different based on where they originated on the island-- in poor communities? in regions with more african influence? all ages and sizes and shades of brown. families. lots of kids. men checking out the women. women checking out the men. a line that wound around the brilliant table we had lucked into, smack in the center of it all. dancing, eating, drinking, history lessons, feeling like time and place has somehow altered itself. gone was the urgency of the city. people waiting in the long lines, patient, enjoying the process. taking that time to play with their kids or talk to the men who sat at the bar and drank all afternoon. children laughing and playing openly with no one telling them to be quiet or sit down.
we had every intention of moving on. but the music was calling. the ice cold beers were flowing. and the people were laughing, so we stayed all afternoon, into the evening. passing the time without worry or hurry. truly feeling like we had made it to an island and were finally relaxing into the carribean mode of tranquilo. without ever leaving this amazing little island of our own.
my private tour began at 157th (about 45 minutes on the train)... a brilliant blue and sunny day. snow gleaming in the bright light. we hiked through the trinity cemetery, through the hispanic society of america, and then up along ft. washington park. wandered through scenic, residential streets with imposing and stately buildings that followed curves and were painted brightly. along sidewalks that someone had had the foresight and creativity to make flower, tree, wind: imprints into the sidewalk-- giving the concrete the feel of country. past such calm one almost forgot we were in the city. you could have heard a pin drop as we walked along and pondered who lived on the inside.
and then washington heights. this is a neighborhood that exists in its own space and time. the signs are in spanish, the people are speaking in spanish, the gente are hanging out on street corners-- seeing and being seen. the dominican empanadas filled with cheeses and meats and piping hot. one dollar. past shops who hang their clothes in the street, hawking their wares with large, hand-written signs: "2 skirts, $10"; "any bra 99 cents"; "dresses $5." mannequins that were modeled after women with flat stomachs and big, curvy, beautiful butts and legs. bodegas with meats hanging in the windows, peppers in jars, fresh dominican coffee. posters galore letting us know when the next big dance would be taking place, who would be playing the bachata, the merengue, the salsa. music coming from jam-packed barber shops-- social gathering places
where folks go to just be, to have a beer and feed the gossip-mill. although one such locale made it clear that if you weren't getting your hair cut, you had 15 minutes to do your platicando and then get out.i bought two of the biggest avocados i have ever seen. one dollar. not one person in the tiny grocery spoke english, the receipt made reference to dominican culture. the salami section was gigantic, the dominican sweets in abundance... as was the helpfulness and curiosity (why is this gringa here?) of the folks working there. more street food-- habichuelas con dulce. small paper cups of pure joy-- sweet, cinnamon-y, but something nutty from the beans. small crackers. two dollars. served only during the lenten season in the d.r. i am told it's usually made in gigantic batches and served in homes. but here the community comes out to share in this heavy, dreamy concoction. i'm told it's not easy to make...
we walked from the harlem river to the hudson river, spanning the tip of manhattan to the east and the west. and out onto the dykman pier, on the edge of the tiny neighborhood of inwood-- an
extension of the dominican world of washington heights. we found a small gathering-- cooking up something that smelled wonderful, sipping cerveza out of paper bags, no women in sight. a small "in memory" nailed to a tree (2/17/08 por willy) and a small altar overflowing with budweiser cans and votive candles. men communing with men and the dead, listening to music from home here on the edge of the craziness. a small boy playing in the snow at the end of the pier while his father fished and yelled at his son to be careful ("ven para aca, papi! cuidate!") beautiful views of the shoreline and the imposing george washington bridge. everything bright white and dark brown. i will have to remember this place when it warms and the small, rustic looking "bar" opens to the "public."next on the agenda was a real meal. but en route, why not hike around the cloisters and watch the cross-country skiers, and listen to the silence-- just blocks from the sounds of reggaeton and cars racing each other down deserted street sides.
food. so so so many choices spanning so so so many blocks. la casa del mofongo. 29 kinds of mofongo. beautiful, loud, move-your-body music. dominican carnival on the television (en vivo, because they have gotten away from the underlying religious connections. for los dominicanos, it has more to do with the month of february and dominican independence 2/27). big masks representing the spirit of the devil who was thrown out of hell to walk his days on earth. parties reminiscent of new orleans. i got a lesson in how to drink beer a la dominicano-- VERY cold, no foam, poured without touching the lip of the bottle to the rim of the cup. if these things don't happen, the beer is taken away and another is brought. so here we sat-- on a very chilly sunday afternoon-- feeling like we were on an island. eating the best chicharrones i have had in ages. inhaling mofongo with different meats (no goat for me this time). about 99% of the folks were dominican, so i got to practice my spanish all afternoon. i got lessons in how to tell the difference between a bachata, a merengue, a salsa. what to listen for and how to dance to them-- when to move your hips slow and low. and why they were different based on where they originated on the island-- in poor communities? in regions with more african influence? all ages and sizes and shades of brown. families. lots of kids. men checking out the women. women checking out the men. a line that wound around the brilliant table we had lucked into, smack in the center of it all. dancing, eating, drinking, history lessons, feeling like time and place has somehow altered itself. gone was the urgency of the city. people waiting in the long lines, patient, enjoying the process. taking that time to play with their kids or talk to the men who sat at the bar and drank all afternoon. children laughing and playing openly with no one telling them to be quiet or sit down.
we had every intention of moving on. but the music was calling. the ice cold beers were flowing. and the people were laughing, so we stayed all afternoon, into the evening. passing the time without worry or hurry. truly feeling like we had made it to an island and were finally relaxing into the carribean mode of tranquilo. without ever leaving this amazing little island of our own.
Habichuelas con Dulce
(gracias a cesar)
Ingredientes:
1 Libra de Habichuelas rojas blandas con
1 Libra de Habichuelas rojas blandas con
1 astilla de canela.
2 Latas grandes de Leche Evaporada Carnation.
1 Lata de Leche de Coco.
1 Lata grande de Leche condensada La Lechera.
1 Taza de azúcar.
1 Taza de azúcar.
3 Astillas de canela.
8 Clavos dulces.
½ Cdta. de nuez moscada.
½ Taza de pasas.
1 Libra de Batata cortada en dados y hervida con sal.
1 Cda. de vainilla.
¼ Cdta. de sal.
2 Cdtas. de Mantequilla.
Galletitas de Leche para ponerla al servir
Modo de Preparacion: Licué las habichuelas con su líquido y cuélelas, agregue la Leche Evaporada Carnation y la leche de coco. Vierta la mezcla en una olla y lleve al fuego, incorpore el azúcar, la Leche Condensada La Lechera y las especias, cocine a fuego medio por 15 minutos, agregue la batata, las pasas, sal, mantequilla y vainilla. Cocine a fuego lento por 15 minutos más o hasta obtener la consistencia deseada. Retire del fuego y sirva fría o caliente.
note to readers: battery issues; too few pics
Like the Korean gentleman who got onto the 2 train on Thursday, carrying his own chair. Not a collapsible camping-type chair, mind you, but an honest-to-goodness kitchen table chair. Missing part of an arm, but completely functional. He placed is against the center p
