VittlesVamp

Coffee Talk

While Mike Myers' SNL coffee klatsch character Linda Richman has a special place in my heart, there is a real world version that gets my entire neighborhood verklempt - or at the very least, gets Brooklyn Heights' intelligensia to line up.

There is a slip of a coffee shop in the Clark Street 2/3 subway arcade that is attracting coffee lovers who are also seeking some mental stimulation. The tiny stand - a branch of Drip - is often manned by a barista named Andrew (pictured above) who seems to spark the cerebral in locals, whether he is making a pour-over or pulling an espresso shot.

I recently stopped by for a latte, just as Andrew was wrapping up a discussion about Hegel with a customer who is getting a PhD in Philosophy. Didn't need to glom onto the chat about Hegel, but I did have a hankering to learn about how these types of conversations start in the moments between placing an order and getting your morning or afternoon brew. I asked him about some of his most interesting chats behind the bar - the coffee bar that is.

The most interesting?

Well, there was the fascinating Bangladeshi Jewish Zionist who shared thoughts on Central Asia and Middle Eastern politics, Afghanistan, Palestine, and more. Then there was the local celebrity that kicked off a deep discussion about self-actualization. And, there was the fintech executive that debated the merits of digital currencies.

Let's not forget about all of the neighbors who notice that Andrew has squirreled away a paperback at the back of the stall for when it gets slow - one of Robert Caro's tomes on LBJ - and then want to talk U.S. history and the lore of Camelot - or simply go down a bookworm rabbithole while sipping on a cortado.

Andrew says that knowing a little about a lot has been a big help in propelling highly-engaged discussion. While his college years were focused on biology and microbiology, he sees himself as a generalist: "I think Gladwell talks about this 'being general' stuff as being quite beneficial as a society, because then you can talk about several different things and people [admire that you have a level of] competency."

He recognizes that intellectual conversation can been seen as a valuable commodity these days, especially in a world where "most people want to talk about the Kardashians."

Moreover, he is genuinely delighted to have these sorts of exchanges - dialogue that is reminiscent of the rhetoric that we all imagined we'd have at that perfect coffee shop just off of the college green.

Well, the Clark Street subway stop isn't anywhere near a college green, but there is educational housing located right above. And, between the dorm, the aroma of espresso, and Andrew, I may be able to make out a bit of college green in the not-too-far-off distance.

Dude-ssert

The other night I saw a few friends. We had a few drinks. And, I have no memory of how we ended down this particular line of discussion -- but at one point they dared me to compare men to desserts. Seriously. Align different men I had dated with different baked goods and confections in my repertoire.

Ummmm...?

First off, who's to say that all of them would qualify as sweet? I mean once in a while a gal likes a bit of salt in her gent. Well, then maybe they would be salty black licorice, like the kind favored in Scandinavia?

Hmmmm...!

Maybe I can do this after all!

That Argentinian gentleman I dated a while back could most certainly have qualified as "sweet buns."

Wait. That's way too juvenile. Let's try this again...

Nope. This one has me stumped. I either go for obvious, sophomoric humor - potentially involving eclairs - or I give up.

Frankly, I think giving up is the best option here. Better I find a good man -- or a good dessert. The two together might be a bit too much blue skying. But, heck, let's aim for a bright, glorious blue sky on the horizon!

Drumroll Please...

And, the kitchen renovation is done! Let the summer series of dinner parties commence!

Deviled Eggs Are My Culinary Kryptonite

A little over a year ago I wrote about fear of rice. Admittedly it's hard to get it right on the stovetop. From time to time I've mustered some small success with basmati rice. Even so, it took buying a rice cooker for rice to start making regular guest appearances at dinnertime.

Sadly, there is no device or advice that has yet to help me when it comes to another staple -- one that has proven to be a formidable frenemy. I'm talking about Satan's favorite high-cholesterol snack, the Deviled Egg.

Some downright gorgeous specimens from The Long Island Bar & Restaurant are pictured above. Delicious.

Would I like to replicate these beauties for a Southern-style dinner party opener (someday, when we can have dinner parties again)? Yes! But, alas, all my attempts at hard-boiling and peeling eggs has come up short. I am never able to peel away the shell clean. I am always ending up with whites with major pockmarks. Not a pretty sight. And Deviled Eggs must be pretty. That's in the Deviled Egg bylaws. It's pretty strict about the need for Deviled Eggs to be pretty.

I have tried many methods. All have failed. I have officially given up and I will leave the "Deviling" to those more capable. I think we'll all be better for it. I know the eggs will be better for it for sure.

Missing My Kitchen

The kitchen renovation is in the homestretch. Or at least I hope it is.

The walls had accidentally been painted a dark shade of green - the color meant for the trim - but now they've been reprimed and repainted. The cabinetry has been delivered and partially assembled. After going through a monthlong frenzy of ordering sample tile for the backsplash, I finally settled on one and placed an order. It just arrived, as did the grout.

I never wanted to do this kitchen overhaul in the first place, but once the structural damage was uncovered there was no turning back. It's been a bit of a nerve-wracking enterprise, but I do recognize that I am very lucky. Needing to redo a kitchen in the middle of a pandemic is a hassle - but it is decidedly a first world problem.

Just keeping my fingers crossed that it turns out okay. Please let it turn out okay. Please let it turn out okay. Please let it turn out okay.

Maybe I should cross my eyes and toes for good measure.

Chalkboard Sign Speaks True

When wisdom is paired with caffeine, it can be a powerful tool for truth, justice, and the Cuban-American way (at least in Brooklyn Heights).

Tati Is In Town

Those in the know have primed their livers accordingly.

My pal Tati has descended upon New York, intent on drinking in every last gulp of good times this city has to offer. I am excited to see her in the morning - ready to take on a veritable whirligig of executive chefs, pastry chefs, sous chefs, bartenders, somms, ice cream makers, cheesemongers, butchers, sandwich makers, wine merchants, and more.

Not sure how to categorize my friend Peter, who owns Shelsky's, but I know she's planning on a stop there to get her fill of herring. Lots of herring. Copious amounts of herring.

Tati is one of the most gregarious gals I know - and dang if, in addition to making "all gone" with a school of herring, she can't polish off a bottle of pink champagne like a pro. Haling from Russia, she has a way around a bottle of vodka too. It's impressive. She's impressive.

I wish I could live up to her revelries, but I always fall short - needing to down glasses of water instead of a cocktail or vino, when she is imbibing. And, let me be perfectly clear, my friend stays perfectly sober. Well, maybe a buzz...

Still, she's a marvel.

In the past, unbeknownst to Miss Tati, I would bribe bartenders to give me soda water instead of another drink, garnishing it just so, as not to give up the charade that I was matching her drink for drink.

Now, I know better. And, I am coming clean.

I may admire Tati's stamina and her unbridled joy - but I am a cheaper date. That has to count for something, right?

At the very least, it should leave us a bit more moolah to hit a few of New York's hot spots this weekend. I can't wait!

Welcoming Loretta To My Kitchen

Death reached my doorstep last week. My refrigerator died in an untimely fashion in the height of summer.

Aargh!

You don't know how good you have it until it's gone. And, my fridge and freezer was most certainly a goner. Hundreds of dollars of food needed to be tossed.

It was a sad day in my kitchen.

But, there was little time to mourn. As we all well-know from "The Lion King," the circle of life persists. A new refrigerator would be had.

I sought counsel from Consumer Reports and then placed an order for a LG French door unit that arrived late Friday. And, as the delivery team gently put the new refrigerator into place, I had an epiphany.

I had failed my previous fridge. It was a warhorse in my home, and yet I hadn't given it the love and admiration it deserved.

Things had been so different with another major kitchen appliance: my trusty dishwasher. Within moments of it entering my home, I was besotted and immediately decided that a name was called for. What name? Sven. Seriously. I like thinking that Sven is my buff manservant, at-the-ready, with dish cleaning expertise. Five course dinner party for six? Clean-up isn't a worry. "Make it all clean for me, Sven!," I cry out. And, he does.

It's a great relationship - and one, I suddenly realized, that had been going for about a decade.

Now, I need to make the same kind of commitment to the newest appliance in my home. So, please meet Loretta. She is beautiful and tough - and can be cold as ice when she needs to be (which is always).

She is going to fit in around here just fine!

The Truth Is...

You're looking at this table filled to overflowing with barbecue goodness at Brooklyn's Morgan's BBQ, and you're thinking I'll regale you with tales of Papa Vamp introducing me to my first-ever taste of slow smoked brisket. Well, the truth is that I don't think Dad and I've ever gone out for real deal 'cue together.

But, it is Father's Day, so I felt that a meaty spread was a necessity in order to capture your attention. And, while my father didn't teach me about the beauty of Texas-style smoked meats, I do have one particular Papa Vamp food memory that makes me smile - his Sunday morning "Bagel Supreme" ritual. When I was a kid, every couple of Sundays or so, he'd come back from the local deli and sit at the kitchen table, cutting a sesame bagel in half, scooping out the innards, slathering cream cheese on both sides, layering each with belly lox, adding sliced tomato and lettuce before merging the two halves together to make a whole.

This was Papa Vamp's specialty.

And on this Father's Day, while I think I might need to take him out for some proper barbecue the next time we get together, I'm also hoping that we can share a "Bagel Supreme" at Sunday brunch.

Must Keep Breathing Through My Kitchen Renovation

I don't live in a big apartment. So, when I decided to renovate my kitchen -- re-Vamp it, if you will -- I knew it'd be a bit chaotic. I just didn't realize that overhauling my kitchen meant dispersing its contents throughout my whole place.

At present, my dining table is brimming with pots, pans, strainers, silver and ramekins piled high. Groceries are plopped around the place in a variety of Bloomingdale's, Aerosoles and I Love NY bags. The coffee maker has claimed its own chair, as has my collection of cutting boards. Dishes, flatware and bowls are shoved into the armoire. Spices, bakeware, glasses, bowls aplenty and more are taking shelter in my clothes closet.

In other words: I'm hanging by a thread.

The work is coming along nicely. Scratch that -- beautifully. I know I don't want a slap-dash job, but right now my home is feeling rather slappy and dashy.

I should only have a week or so to go. I'm breathing deep. Trying to remain calm. But, from the trivets and salt and pepper shaker sitting on the window sill to the whisk, spatula and potato masher being kept on my nightstand, it's hard not to be worn down.

Wait! Never mind. That last one might end up being a good thing after all. And, my contractor is awfully cute...