vip in the city, page 10

It felt much longer due to the non-stop coverage, but in reality it was only two days after the news of the scandal first came out before New York got a new governor.

The New York Times broke out the full 12-inch banner headline: “Spitzer Resigns.” The Post, ever classy, added “And don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

I felt deeply sad as I listened to Spitzer’s resignation on the radio in my office, though below on Wall Street, where the man had few friends, there were some cheers. New York magazine offered a rather comprehensive package analyzing the week’s events.

And of course, The Daily Show weighed in with their own snarky commentary on the resignation. Correspondent John Oliver on the Spitzer legacy: “A seven-diamond governor… He said he’d clean up the government, and by leaving, he’s done just that.”

When I read that My Fair Lady was going to be playing at the MoMA as part of “Rex Harrison: A Centenary Tribute” (March 5–24, 2008), I knew I would find the time to go. The 1964 film is one of my all-time favorites – one of three musicals to which I can sing along to just about every song. (The others are The Sound of Music and West Side Story.)

Roger Ebert called My Fair Lady “the best and most unlikely of musicals…The songs are literate and beloved; some romantic, some comic, some nonsense, some surprisingly philosophical, every single one wonderful.”

Controversy surrounded the casting of Audrey Hepburn instead of Julie Andrews for the part of Eliza Doolittle; Andrews had originated the role on stage to great acclaim, but producer and Warner Bros. Studio head Jack L. Warner chose established movie actress Hepburn for her greater box-office appeal. My Fair Lady went on to be nominated for twelve Oscars, winning eight (including best picture, actor and director). Hepburn, whose songs were (in)famously dubbed by Marni Nixon, was not nominated for Best Actress that year; ironically, Andrews was nominated… and won for Mary Poppins. In his Academy Award acceptance speech, Rex Harrison, the man who had played Professor Henry Higgins opposite them both, thanked “two fair ladies.”

The MoMA theater was packed tonight with fellow devotees of Hepburn and Harrison’s repartee, Lerner & Loewe’s classic songs and photographer Cecil Beaton’s delightful costumes.

The My Fair Lady DVD has a dual soundtrack, which features two songs with Hepburn’s original singing voice so listeners can judge for themselves how inadequate it was. (Contrast the scene with Nixon’s final cut here.) Interestingly, Harrison himself, despite extensive vocal training, was unable to sing his role either, which resulted in his signature quasi-speaking song delivery throughout the film. Sexy Rexy‘s deliciously patrician tones reportedly inspired the voice of Stewie Griffin on “Family Guy”.

What a day.

When news of the scandal first broke on The New York Times website (via the Metro Desk) shortly after 2PM yesterday afternoon, the details were scant. (“Spitzer Is Linked to Prostitution Ring“? How maddeningly vague!) Like most New Yorkers, I was caught up in this story, not just because the coverage was relentless and unavoidable, but because the unfolding sordid tale was just so shocking and incomprehensible.

The headline writers at the New York City tabloids live for times like these, and over the course of the day there was much speculation (and off-color suggestions) over what would be emblazoned on the front pages around the city. For sure, The Post could be counted upon to rise — or sink — to the occasion; these were the people that brought us “Axis of Weasel” in January 2003, after all.

That night, David Letterman listed the “Top Ten Messages Left on Eliot Spitzer’s Answering Machine” (#7: “Hi, I’m calling from the ‘New York Post.‘ Would you rather be known as ‘Disgraced Governor Perv’ or ‘Humiliated Whore Fiend’?)

After the initial shock of Monday afternoon wore off, I was left with a feeling of deep disappointment that extended well beyond the personal failings of one man. HYB reminded me of a passage from Douglas Adams‘s The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, which I last read over two decades ago:

To summarize: it is a well-known fact that those people who most want to rule people are, ipso facto, those least suited to do it.
To summarize the summary: anyone who is capable of getting themselves made President should on no account be allowed to do the job.
To summarize the summary of the summary: people are a problem.

Our film tonight was Patricia Riggen’s feature debut, Under the Same Moon (La Misma Luna)… it’s unclear to me why the English title adds the preposition. The press materials prominently note that the film premiered at the 2007 Sundance Film Festival where it received a standing ovation. On the strength of that audience buzz, Fox Searchlight and The Weinstein Company purchased the rights for $5 million, making it the second largest sale at the festival that year.

Under the Same Moon is the story of a young boy (Adrian Alonso) making a perilous journey across the U.S./Mexico border to be reunited with his mother (Kate del Castillo), who is working as a maid in Los Angeles. The film also features brief cameos by America Ferrara of ABC’s Ugly Betty and Grammy Award-winning Mexican band Los Tigres del Norte.

I was reminded of another film set against the thorny backdrop of illegal immigration: Gregory Nava’s excellent El Norte, which I first watched in Sra. Slavin’s sophomore Spanish class. There, it was a brother and sister fleeing war-torn Guatemala for a “better” life in California (“Take me! I’m a strong pair of arms!”); Under the Same Moon broadcasts similar messages about the plight of undocumented Mexican workers struggling to survive in the United States.

The main focus, though, is about the love between mother and son. Despite an all-too-predictable trajectory and deliberately heart-tugging melodrama, this film managed a few surprisingly effective emotional moments, thanks in large part to Alonso’s performance as Carlitos. The 14-year old Mexico City-born actor (who plays a 9-year old, believably) is familiar to American movie goers for his role as Antonio Banderas’ precocious son in 2005’s The Legend of Zorro.

Reviews have been mixed: The New York Times dismissed the film for its mawkishness and lazy caricatures (“It has bad white people, hard-working brown people and morally ambivalent people of mixed race.“); The Washington Post praised the film for its “affecting story, indelible characters, urgent topical relevance and superbly calibrated sentimentality.”

The post-screening discussion was with William Wolf (left, in the photo above), author and former film critic for Canada’s Cue Magazine, New York magazine, Gannet newspapers and the New York Observer, and current member of New York Film Critics Online, an organization of 26 Internet film critics based in New York City. Wolf was charmed by Under the Same Moon… and though I’m probably one of those he describes who “rebel against manipulation,” darned if I didn’t get a little misty-eyed at the ending, too.

Spring forward! It felt strange meeting MLF and LW for dinner with the sun still shining brightly overhead, but our respective evening commitments pushed the early dinner even earlier. In their case: a sexy cooking class. (Please direct all follow-up queries about the class particulars to them, thank you.)

No matter, I can eat at any time. I can also sleep at any time, in just about any place — ambient noise and lack of bed, notwithstanding: an ability honed through sleep-deprived years of riding the subway to and from school. But I digress. When in her old ‘hood, MLF likes to visit Mexicana Mama, so we were all looking forward to settling in for some salsa and margaritas on a lazy Sunday.

But alas, it was not to be.

And that is how we ended up at Fatty Crab, farther up on Hudson.

At that early hour, we easily scored a table at the popular MePa spot. The pungent, delicious smells assaulted us as soon we stepped inside — that signature fishy funk American chef Zak Pelaccio came to crave during his time in Kuala Lumpur. Pelaccio is a proponent of Asian flavors in general, and his menu reflects that. Critics and diners alike have embraced his low-key, but sophisticated take on Malaysian cuisine.

“Fatty Duck,” Jalan Alor Chicken Wings, Heritage Foods Pork Ribs…. it all sounded divine. I don’t think I’ve been sadder to be off of meat than I was this evening. The Watermelon Pickle and Crispy Pork salad was tempting; Robert Sietsema recently revealed it to be one of his favorite foods. I settled instead for a glass of watermelon lime juice, which was bright and refreshing, but not the same.

MLF’s Short Rib Rendang, however, nearly did me in; fellow vegetarian LW and I hovered over the platter, taking in the heady perfume of meat, kaffir lime, coconut and chili. (The dish made an appearance at the Village Voice’s Choice Eats event at the Puck Building a couple days later.)

The three of us split an order of Lent-approved Veggie Steamed Buns and the Malay Fish Fry (finger-sized fillets of tumeric tempura, crab curry, green chili, tamaki) over shrimp-scented sticky rice.

The dishes emerged from the kitchen as they were ready (we were forewarned), and half an hour later, the pièce de résistance: the Chili Crab, a whole imposing Dungeness crab, served in a deep bowl of murky, red chili sauce. Mmm… dungeness crab. Framing the edge were points of smoky white toast, grilled over hardwood charcoal — all the better to sop up the run-off of chili crab juices pooled at the bottom. It is not a delicate affair, but entirely worth the mess.

Can’t wait for the UWS spinoff…

The arduous, detour-ridden trip up to Washington Heights almost derailed the entire evening, bringing our coterie through Herald Square, into the wine store inside Penn Station, onto the A, windblown along 168th Street, aboard an MTA shuttle bus and finally, finally to the Hudson View Gardens.

We lost one member of our party long the way, but the hardy four that made it to JD’s birthday celebration were rewarded with a spirited party among Kiwis and medical researchers, and slices of astoundingly decadent birthday cake.

David Glass‘s aptly named “Ultimate Chocolate Truffle Cake” truly is like a giant bourbon-infused truffle in cake form: richly dense, it manages to pack in more dark chocolate flavor per bite than just about anything I’ve ever tasted. Locally, the cake is available at Zabar’s — by the slice, too — but for non-locals, the Bloomfield, CT factory ships nationwide. Fine Living named it among the ten best desserts available by mail order.

There’s also an “Incredible Delicious All-Natural Reduced Fat Chocolate Truffle Cake” with 77% less fat than the original version… but tonight’s was not that cake. A slim, fat-packed wedge was all we could manage before the swift, but strange cab ride home.

For lunch at Marco Polo Noodle Shop this afternoon, I ordered the Buddha’s Delight. (Somehow, it seems we’ve become regulars at this restaurant on Baxter.) The version served here is very different from the dish at Amazing 66 — less a stew than a thrown together assortment of sliced vegetables and canned items over fresh noodles: bamboo shoots, baby corn and fried gluten, sometimes seen in Asian markets as “vegetarian duck,” “vegetarian chicken” or seitan.

SYB, of course, ordered his usual: Noodles with Peking Sauce. During the post-lunch chat with our waiter, it came up that this Northern Chinese dish is a favorite among Koreans for its similarity to “Ja Jyang Myeon.” That Korean dish derives its name from the phonetic translation of the Chinese “Zha Jiang Mian” (literally, “fried sauce noodles”). The Korean version of Peking Noodles is darker, pastier, more vinegary, and according to my friend, made with shredded zucchini.

In Korea, Ja Jang Myeon is traditionally eaten on “Black Day.” On April 14, one of a whole slew of love-related 14th day celebrations, those without significant others gather around bowls of comforting dark-sauced noodles to wallow in their singledom… which I suppose makes it the Korean equivalent of Ben & Jerry’s.

Well, it wasn’t quite effortless, but in the end I made it onto the list for tonight’s Project Runway finale viewing party at the Tribeca Grand Hotel. Most who know me know that I’m a huge Project Runway junkie, so this was a big night for which I have SC to thank — both for putting the plans into motion and for rallying to the adventure, despite battling a 103 degree fever.

When would we have this opportunity again, after all?

Contestants from all four seasons of the Bravo reality series were on hand for the broadcast, which took place in the hotel’s subterranean screening room. But before the airing, there were cocktails, champagne, passed hors d’oevres, and lots of people watching. Among the constantly popping flashbulbs, I very quickly overcame my initial reluctance to snap copious photos of the festivities. It seemed that at every turn was someone I recognized from television: Ted Allen of Queer Eye and Top Chef fame, Kara Janx (Season 2), Malan Breton (Season 3), Alison Kelly (Season 3), random models scattered throughout — instantly identifiable for towering head and shoulders above everyone else…

And at the center of it all, in the press area, was tiny 21-year old finalist (and fan favorite) Christian Siriano. Hmm, interesting…

Now at that point in the evening the finale had yet to air, so the season’s winner was not publicly known. We had our strong suspicions, but although several in attendance clearly had inside information, they were sworn to secrecy. SC and I had no luck wheedling the information in advance out of the The Weinstein Company producer we met at the coat check.

Tim Gunn was one of the most popular guests at the party, chatting with everyone (designers, reporters and lay people alike), and being generally charming.

Finalist Rami Kashou (below) arrived about an hour before the show, all smiles, followed last of all by Jillian Lewis, petite and beautiful in her strapless, lacy metallic minidress, and escorted by her boyfriend/business partner Lewaa Abdulkhalek.

Victorya Hong, whose new line na•be — nah-BEE, Korean for “butterfly”– launches in Fall 2008, was accompanied by her tall, bespectacled husband, and smiling more than she ever had on the show. Tim gave a dishy, refreshingly candid post-show interview in which he confirmed what a “sourpuss, a crabby apple… a sour pill” Victorya was throughout the entire PR run. (Me-ow!) Christian was considerably less harsh in his characterization of her… but he may not be the most impartial judge as we all know how he feels about Asians, generally.

[Update: Oh, snap! Victorya responds to Tim’s comments via Blogging Project Runway!]

Chris March in animal print (of course!) and a dry-eyed Ricky Lizalde in red patent cap (ditto!), with Andy Cohen, Bravo’s senior VP of Programming:

I was pleasantly surprised to run into KC seated with another editor on a banquette outside the theatre. We spent a brief time catching up, and before we knew it, the 10PM hour drew nigh, and the guests were herded inside for the finale broadcast.

By the time Heidi Klum announced “This… is Project Runway!“, almost every seat in the theatre was taken: Tim, the three finalists, a couple of their models and assorted VIPs were seated on couches in the front row, facing the hovering cameras, while several of Season 4’s contestants clustered in a row near the rear. CS and I were relegated to perching on the steps along the side — total fire hazard, but at least we were in good company with PR stylist Nathaniel Hawkins behind us and, for a while, the Project RunGay Boys.

Kathleen “Sweet P” Vaughn, Jack Mackenroth (his boyfriend, Top Chef Season 3 runner-up Dale Levitski was not in attendance), Victorya, her model Jacqueline and Carmen Webber (seated):

Last year’s PR winner Jeffrey Sebelia, Santino Rice (Season 2) and Kit Pistol (Season 4) watched the broadcast with fans in Los Angeles.

Here in New York City, the screening was rather lively, with much cheering from the audience for all three designers. Commercial breaks were muted, and offered everyone a good opportunity to speculate amongst themselves and to dash to the bar for refills.

The Bryant Park collections drew lots of appreciative oohs and ahhs for Christian’s, Rami’s and Jillian’s work. (Not aired: Sweet P’s and Chris’s showings before guest judge Posh at Fashion Week in early February — decoy collections which predated the broadcast of their subsequent elimination episodes.)

I will say that Bravo did a reasonable job maintaining suspense when most (including judge Michael Kors) seemed to have the winner of this contest pegged early on. And though I’d found Christian’s preening — dare I say: bitchy — affectations throughout the season pretty off-putting at times, it was rather endearing to see him humbled at the end — clearly wanting the win so much, but extremely nervous that it would slip away.

It didn’t, of course. Christian Siriano wins Project Runway Season 4! (“Hello, did you have a doubt? Come on, what up?“) Later that night when Christian was presented with that comically giant $100,000 check in front of his competitors, they seemed as a whole thrilled for him, which suggested to me that his antics didn’t generate too much ill will, and were probably exaggerated for good television.

Post-show, Tim with Kevin Christiana (whom I startled on the way into the party by inadvertently squealing his name… forgetting for a moment that this wasn’t my living room and that the contestants could, you know, hear me) and Sweet P, pretty in purple.

When we congratulated Christian’s runway model Lisa for winning the spread in Elle magazine, she thanked us sweetly and beamed in her new outfit — a one-shouldered dark blue ruffled mini-dress, created by you-know-who the night before, just for this occasion.

Season 1‘s winner Jay McCarroll, whose “homelessness” as reported in a New York magazine feature on the post-show difficulties faced by Bravo reality stars turned out to be greatly exaggerated. With Nora Caliguri (Season 1) and her sister.

The party continued late into the night at Marquee, but CS and I headed home with our TRESemmé gift bags, having had our fill of fierceness and fabulosity for one evening.

At the powerHouse Arena in DUMBO tonight to attend “Read & Drink Night,” a literary fundraiser to benefit the library of Brooklyn’s P.S. 107. Edible Brooklyn‘s editor Gabrielle Langholtz hosted the readings and discussion by three Brooklyn-based authors of recently published books on food and drink.

It’s been years since I attended a bona-fide school bake sale; this one was organized by P.S. 107’s Parent Teacher Association. To accompany our (very good) slices of homemade banana bread, a server ladled out from a large, orange plastic paint bucket, cups of a lethal Cognac/10 Cane Rum/tea punch — mixed to 1690s Bombay government regulations by featured cocktail historian David Wondrich, who knows well of which he writes.

First up: Phoebe Damrosch, whose memoir Service Included: Four-Star Secrets of an Eavesdropping Waiter was released in September 2007. Damrosch read from portions of her book documenting her time as a server for Thomas Keller’s Per Se; her extensive months-long training involved memorizing wine pairings, receiving intricate movement instruction from an 18th-century dance specialist, and learning the provenance of menu ingredients down to “the names of the cows that produced the milk from which our butter was made.” The most entertaining bits were the gossipy snapshots of diners passing through the rarified restaurant; one priceless anecdote involved Damrosch gleefully bonding with one suburban banker over their mutual love of “pot”… before realizing that he in fact expressed a fondness for “pie.” (Uh, whoops.)

Kara Zuaro’s book I Like Food, Food Tastes Good: In the Kitchen with Your Favorite Bands is a collection of recipes gathered from touring rock musicians. Zuaro read from the book’s introduction, and from one of the stories that precede each band’s recipe. I was impressed by the breadth and high profile of her musical subjects: recipes ranged from simple sandwiches (Death Cab for Cutie’s vegan sausage and peanut butter creation) to a wild boar ragù from The Violent Femmes’ bass player Brian Ritchie. (Surprisingly, however, not a single pot brownie in the bunch.)

Finally, former Classics professor, current contributing editor Esquire Wondrich read from Imbibe!, his biography of 19th-century mixologist Jerry Thomas, author of the first known bartending guide, How to Mix Drinks or The Bon Vivant’s Companion (1862). Wondrich made an amusing argument about how the cocktail was America’s first great export, and the country’s introductory contribution to world gastronomic culture.

The audience Q&A was mercifully brief, and spawned a brief discussion over the use of the term “foodie” vs. “foodist” to describe a certain type of food-obsessed individual. Afterwards, the authors (Zuaro and Damrosch pictured below) made themselves available for book-signings:

When in DUMBO, pizza at Grimaldi’s is always a solid choice. And sometimes, you can pick up a nice couple along the way.

Back in the second tier boxes for the third and final of the Boston Symphony Orchestra’s concerts at Carnegie Hall this season. The BSO’s current music director James Levine is dear to New Yorkers for his relationship with the Metropolitan Opera, where he has led the orchestra since 1971.

The program at Stern Auditorium was to include two works by Franz Schubert and the New York debut of William Bolcom‘s Eighth Symphony for Chorus and Orchestra on William Blake’s Prophetic Books. That piece, which was commissioned by Levine for the BSO’s 125th Anniversary, had its world premiere the week before, in Boston.

German bass-baritone Thomas Quastoff had been scheduled to perform a series of five songs by Schubert, but like SC, he was derailed by illness and could not appear. (In SC’s stead, JG valiantly stepped in to accompany me to this evening’s concert.) Quasthoff is most visibly recognizable for his physical disability; he has a full-size torso, but shortened, malformed arms and stands at just under four feet tall as a result of his mother’s Thalidomide use during pregnancy. (His life story has inspired a movie.) Quasthoff has won three Grammys for his Deutsche Grammophon recordings, and last month won a fourth with EMI Classics for “Best Choral Performance” in Brahms: “Ein Deutsches Requiem”, conducted by Simon Rattle.

So instead, we were presented with Brahms’s violin-less Serenade No. 2 after Schubert’s “Tragic” Symphony No. 4.

After intermission, the stage filled to near-overflowing for the Bolcom piece, which called for full strings and winds, extensive percussion and keyboards, and the Tanglewood Festival Chorus. (The Times and The Sun weigh in, positively.)

Bolcom’s best-known composition is another Blake inspiration, “Songs of Innocence and of Experience,” for which he won three 2006 Grammys, including “Best Classical Contemporary Composition.” The same year, the University of Michigan Professor of Composition was awarded the National Medal of Arts.

His Eighth Symphony began with a literal bang — jarring audience members in their seats — eventually settling into near musical rhythms. I was impressed that the chorus performed the whispering, wailing four-movement piece entirely from memory.