18~Friendship and a Side of Food (Generally Not French Fries)

This blog is particularly for my sister and all my foodie friends (which is actually most of my pals). I know that Steph is interested in the food that I have been consuming. I have to say much of it has been amazing and needs to be shared (physically by the sheer portion size- wish my buddies were here to halve the calories with me- but also by verbal description and some photographs). Fellow Sunday Clubbers, our premise for our club was food and friends- essential things for happiness (mine at least), and together wonderfully symbiotic.  

Sunday Club back home was based around home cooked food. My cooking here in the U.S so far not so much amazing, although there have been some decent porridge concoctions; a great spelt pasta, cauliflower, leek and chickpea bake (very popular with the mouse who evidently savoured the remnants from the worktop); roasted cauliflower popular; aubergine marinated in chilli, coriander, soy and ginger that was bbq-ed in Prospect Park and a pretty great frittata (heavy on the olives and feta for taste). Sabir enjoyed the meal I cooked, saying it was the best vegetarian cooking he had tasted. I was obviously flattered but also defensive- I can do better, I promise!

Dinner Jess style (compromised by NYC supermarket produce!)

But should a cook blame their ingredients? I think in NYC I can. This is the city where it can be so reasonable to eat out, so accommodating to your every whim and dietary need and so blooming delicious that it just makes sense to have someone do it for you. With slogans plastered around the city like: 'Eat local, and by local, we mean your couch.' And: 'Calling restaurants is like slow walking behind tourists.' SO apps for food on demand, no talking necessary. You can also buzz the delivery dudes in, so you really do hardly have to move. You can see why ordering in is a temptation, positively encouraged here. As well, you don’t create a potential banquet for a mouse by using your kitchen. Conclusion about the NYC produce in supermarkets is that they are lacking in flavour; the displays, piled high, create a spectacle, but it is a mirage because the reality is that the produce is lacklustre. Even our organic cinnamon was lacking- we poured over half of the container into our porridge mix until it was an unsightly brown shade, because that was when we knew we would be able to taste it. Lyd and I have had to manoeuvre, try and test, to get it (almost) right. I message Lyd from Boston where I have made porridge, saying that the strawberries and mango atop of my tailored oats, quinoa, bulghar, sunflower seed mix with a snifter of cinnamon literally was like heaven in a bowl. That’s New England supermarket produce for you, she said. I miss my princess porridge shared with a friend! First Eve gone and now Lyd. Lucky I can app her a picture and it feels like we are eating together.

Homemade salads mixed with AMAZING spinach dumplings
from Xian Noodle Place down the road

Anna A has said during my stay in New York how happy it has made her; a friendship network with some established roots. A circle of loved ones does take the edge off and make life sweeter.

Anna A and I catch up; pre-dinner (of course) at a BBC launch

Lyd and I discuss the prevalence of Americans in therapy. So many people she knows are in the depths of it and it is part of their life, health care package- it is just commonplace. The idea of therapy stresses us both out and we both know we would be at a loss what to say, panic before we go in and then feel a failure in the session. We sit with a cup of tea, sharing a cookie and we delve into a gritty topic about former loves. She burst out, ‘See, we talk more in 5 minutes than we would to a stranger, and feel SO much better!’

I bought this for Lydia to pop our NY photos in

Sharing food is always comforting, probably a side of french fries (my sister's preference) or a bag of cookies (my preference) is a problem halved. I know one of my favourite recipes for a Chocolate Fudge Cake by Nigella, says serves 8, or 1 with a broken heart. Unfortunately, my dear sister, I actually don’t like fries that much (chip shop chips drenched in vinegar, yes). But I would share them with you in a heartbeat if you needed to absolve the french fry guilt or talk something out. I know you, Steph, like a little side of fries with everything. My only french fry story is a portion of awesome sweet potato fries in Philadelphia at ‘Hip City Veg’ but other than that, none to speak of, although there is time yet. AMAZINGLY delish food has been had daily. It has been enjoyed often alone but has been enjoyed much more when it is shared. Breaking bread together with friends makes for a happy princess.

So back to New York and an account of some of the culinary delights. You know about 'The Hungarian Pastry Shop' and that cake, awarded to Lyd for her first run of the year. Hmmmmm, others sampled from there, let me see. Well in reflection, not many by myself-  I did enforce a sugar ban on myself for awhile. Lydia had a few other delights, I did nibble some. A crazy style cheesecake slice and something heavenly with almonds. My sweet love is a good old chocolate chip cookie. Now I am in dangerous territory because there are cookies on every corner, even possibilities to order them till 4:00am. (I watched someone eating one on the subway, this morning in Boston, it looked soooooo good that I may well have drooled.) So I had quite a few of these from 'Silver Moon Bakery', conveniently and temptingly situated on the corner of Broadway and 105th. And considering how much I love the silver moon, it would have been rude not to partake in some bakery action from this gem. Lydia and I sat outside on my last day and both had a cookie; sharing my little habit made me feel not so much a junkie (Lyd bailed on her Pilates class when I mentioned I was going to head to Silver Moon for one last treat, she just had to come).

Alone (with a children's book) and a damn good cookie-
I had to share this experience with Lydia

The Easter breads and baked goods were extremely beautiful too:

My Easter Sunday dinner could have been alone but Sabir, Anna and I opted for Thai food in Brooklyn. Maybe not so traditional but perfect for us waifs and strays:

Thai food, well a particular Thai restaurant is a but of a fixation for Lyd and I. It has altered plans; causing us to rearrange and formulate new strategies in order to get to out favourite restaurant. We   loved this restaurant on my first visit as documented in our 'The Princess and Hurricane' blog. We both are unsure about marriage but we both confess to loving the food so much, we would marry the papaya salad or possibly the chef (an elderly Thai woman) just at the chance of having it every day. More seriously though, Lyd is considering looking for an apartment right across from the restaurant (rent control is unlikely and the pain of moving would be extreme) or a long holiday to Thailand, purely on the basis of experiencing the papaya salad in the motherland. Seriously. Well, the latter option is more of a feasible possibility. We discover new things at our favourite restaurant. Realising they do an amazing lunch offer, we have only just ordered our dinner and are literally planning to bring Tosh the next day. Tricky. Lyd has a seminar and would have to leave Queens at 1:20 at the latest, Tosh has a flight back to Ireland which we hope to be from JFK and in the evening so our lunch plans can come to fruition. We have already decide on what the lunch will entail, and have taken Tosh’s order into our hands. Needless to say, we don’t make it. It would have been a disruptive morning. Instead we all head out for a run in Hudson River (second one for  Lyd!) and head back for a porridge and rye bread (with the most luscious Pennyslvania Raw Honey I picked up from the Health Food Store). Eating home cooked food together, at the table and chatting, just can’t be beaten (only by a Centre Point papaya salad, I might dump a friend for that).

Lyd did not want to postpone tucking in for the photo,
but she also understands the need for the blog

Lydia and I question how greedy we are? We are already ordering in our heads a second item before finishing the first, planning our days and exploration of the burroughs of NYC around food. We head downtown for an amazing coffee avocado smoothie:

We search for coffee that does not lack viscosity and taste diluted. Hallelujah, hail Anna A, a non-coffee drinking angel for taking me here Cafe Pedlar in Brooklyn: 

We discuss coffee with a fellow good coffee seeker in the magical 'Eataly'. We intended to eat at Penelope’s but there was a 2 hour wait, so we went walking and cam across 'Eataly', where Lydia and I both gasped and held onto each other, but for different reasons. I, for seeing the amazing .Flat Iron' Building and Lyd for realising 'Eataly' of course was opposite here and it housed great coffee.

This was quite the place. Cavernous with pockets of different places to eat: wealthy New Yorkers with fancy mini trolleys; queues at the gelato stand; coffee tasting area; stand up booths for brunching on 20 dollar scrambled eggs (they did look delicious); a restaurant-y type area; deli; bakery; patisserie; pasta making area; italian groceries. It was like Italy had thrown up in here. It was buzzy, very snazzy and kinda cool. We opted for a take out sandwich and sitting outside.

NYC is great for throwing seating into public spaces- you build it and they will come (or put some seating and they will come and sit). The sandwich was beautiful, intensely rich because of the heavy, quality ingredients. We supped our coffee and munched on the best tasting mango we had bought to date here. Both of us are in coffee ecstasy. We must have another one. We had only just finished our first. We headed straight back in, stopping for some photos in front of the 'Flat Iron' first.

The plan head been 'Penelope’s' and then 'Bed, Bath and Beyond'. We were on the tail end of the mouse situation and wanted to spruce up the apartment with a few items. Figuring we could treat 'Bed, Bath and Beyond' like a museum and enjoy our post Sunday brunch NY day. We did stop in 'Aveda' on the way and Lyd had a 10 minute facial.

We were blithering on to the sales assistant and left realising that real coffee with body has a totally different effect than diner style coffee we had been drinking. Combined with the richness of the sandwich, the mango and 'Bed, Bath and Beyond', we both felt so incredibly awful (I could have cried), we got on the subway and went home! Serves these little princesses right! No amount of cups of hot water could right the wrongs. ICK! We may have learnt our lesson because the following week we finally made it to 'Penelope’s'. We had attempted to get there during Hurricane Sandy, then last week too. Thwarted. My last Saturday in NYC we were determined to make it happen. Post yoga I would walk like a maniac there, put our names down for a table, head to Eataly for a coffee (JUST ONE) and await Lyd, who would be off the back of pilates and with luggage as she was heading to New England for 2 nights. From 'Penelope’s' she would be closer to Penn Station and I would do a bit more exploring in this area and then head uptown for a Saturday evening of blogging on Broadway. It all worked out. Lyd said that the waffles were some of the best she had. Perfect texture, citrus butter divine and the blueberries with maple syrup, the blueberries… The ones we had bought from the supermarket had tasted like water. These blueberries were so scrumptious, if one had rolled on to the floorI would have picked it up and popped it back on my plate, or straight into my mouth! My eggs and home fries were uber tasty and we went half and half on our meals to experience the best of both worlds. Now, I am embarrassed to say, we did debate ordering a third dish to share. We even discussed it with the waiter. It had all been soooooo good that we did not want it to end. Nutella french toast and strawberries. We discussed it at length. Lydia tells me that miserable looking couple, who had spent their brunch on iPhones, were giving us disgusted looks. It could have been for gluttony or for the fact we were having conversation. We remembered last week and we stopped ourselves.

More brunching was had. Lyd says if she answers a Skype call from her sister on a weekend, her sister’s reaction is, ‘Why are you not at brunch?’ It definitely is what this city does. So we had lovely 'Miriam's', an Israeli style brunch with Miss Anna A:

My favourite cafe pre and post yoga in Chelsea was ‘Cafe Champignon’. Lyd had recommended it for the wifi and baked goods. I managed to steer clear of these until the last week where recognising that my days were numbered, I caved and bought the yoghurt cinnamon muffin (allegedly low fat). It wasn’t all that actually. Not a patch on my ‘Silver Moon’ cookie. Damn. If only I had one sooner, I would not have lusted so longingly after it. The healthy egg white wrap was a go to for taste and virtue. I question the health because on (about) wrap 5 I noticed dripping, greasy looking cheese dotted throughout. I certainly must have tasted it but was perhaps in denial. The smoothie was a great discovery. Blueberry, banana, peanut butter and almond milk was a fave medley.

My time in the Big Apple had come to an end. My last week was punctuated with the same sadness as when I had left my Amsterdam home. So a last week full of NYC lasts.  Mexican food in De Mole, Queens:

This Mexican meal was supposed to be a brunch, but often we had got distracted and didn’t really feel like brunching, even when we set out to. I did come across a blog called ‘Bitches Who Brunch’, intended to act upon their advice in Boston but just didn’t quite feel like eating that type of food.

A brunch at our local diner, Metro (first day in NYC):

Mexican food in Blue Chip, Queens (they make their own tortilla chips and immediately bring these out complimentary on your arrival, and you can ask for more!):

Japanese with Anna A, the girl who knows her sushi and we went shoeless on low tables and we cooked our own food: 

Saber brings us coffee and cake in the park:

There is food absolutely everywhere. My thrill on one of my first days here was seeing a business man, briefcase in hand and hot dog in the other. Wish I could have snapped that one. I wonder if the dogs realise the irony as they wait in hope at the hot dog stand:

We share popcorn and m&ms at a show on Broadway. Lydia blames Adam for wanting to buy theatre treats. I tell her about the time that us Wolff children took Mama Wolff to see Wicked and Adam had fell off his training/health kick wagon. He fell hard. He was so looking forward to the big bag of Maltesers he would buy for the show. He managed, though we were almost late, to grab me a water, him a bag of Starburst and Revels (sadly no Maltesers) and Steph and Mama Wolff a glass of wine. (Steph, already tipsy from a boozy dinner and luncheon in London did not need this thoughtful treat. She fell asleep with her feet up on the chair, after calling one of the characters a bitch; hysterically laughing for about 5 minutes at an inappropriate moment; spilling wine on the seat in front and her final act: proceeding to snore. Adam who is a musical lover- Lyd thinks this ought to encourage her beau, as Adam is a real man and Maltesers would surely take the edge off the cheesiness of a show- said he would never sit next to Steph again and he would be making sure he purchased his Maltesers first).

All of these food treats have been made all the more merry with a band of friends to share it with. How lucky we are to be able to enjoy such wonderful tastes and in abundance. So I am learning to frequently dine alone; attempting to avoid over eating, although this is much harder without your friends to share and chatter to distract. I write, read and observe and ask for doggie bags. But to be honest, sometimes the food would serve 3 people and many more than that in a country not so fortunate. I really notice this in Boston. It makes me feel uncomfortable (not just in the tightness of my pants, but generally about the world). I thinks about it more because I am alone again. No friends, tempting to order a side of fries or cookies. Just to fill the hole. Food just tastes different with friends. 

I am more accustomed to dining alone as time goes on and I get older. I remember Eve in Kantiang Bay, Koh Lanta, our magical cove where our friendship was formed, being called selfish by a waiter. She did not want to move tables for a group of four that had arrived at the restaurant. She was on her own, sat on a table for four but there were plenty of other options for the group, maybe just not such a nice view. She didn’t want to. It is hard enough travelling alone, eating alone. I know what she means. As I sat, one, on a table for two, plonked at the back of ‘WonderSpice’. I scanned my environment. Near the exit, toilets and staff access, I was in the least desirable part of the restaurant. I felt forgotten and out of the loop. A few evenings before I had come here for thai food because I LOVE it and had moved from a table for four as it busied up. I volunteered the move because I could see the waitress struggling to seat arriving customers. So I was sandwiched between two couples on their date nights.

So while it can be lovely to have a big bag of popcorn to yourself (Steph; Moy, Fee and I blame you for the popcorn addiction we all suffered- only realising it was an issue when we all confirmed that we stood stuffing fistfuls into our mouths and grabbing the next handful before the first fistful was even finished), but sharing a bag with Anna A at the movies on a Sunday night was so much more pleasant. Don’t get me wrong, we still shovelled it in. Maybe slightly more moderately than other popcorn indulgences and Anna perhaps not as much as me- she snacked on sushi while I devoured the first part of the bag. Made me think of Adam again. He had gone to the cinema with his buddy, James. James expressed concern that Adam being his date, as opposed to his girlfriend, meant no handbag in which to sneak in cinema snacks. Adam opened up his winter coat like a dodgy pimp/street watch salesman. No worries, James. Check out my pocket areas in my North Face. Turned out Adam’s coat was far better than James’ girlfriends handbag; he expected it to traffic Maltesers and sweets, but James’ cinema snackage opened a whole new world to Adam. Cheeseburgers. McDonald’s Cheeseburgers. James had three, Adam two. These are big boys. (James changed from his gym t-shirt into his work gear in front of Steph and I and we both found it difficult to avert our eyes from his ripped body and both raised our eyebrows in appreciation as he left the room.)  Friendship with a side of cheeseburgers. Not for everyone but works for these beasts.

So, friends, I miss you all but am happily ever after, here in Montreal. I am supping a coffee and typing away. The song that I always hear when I miss my sister, Adele’s ‘Hometown’, is playing in the cafe and I am emotional (Steph told me of when she was working at Glastonbury and she was there before all the festival goers had arrived; she watched the sunset over the fields and as they sound checked with that Adele song, her heart could have burst with the magic of the moment- alone, intoxicated with bliss) .I am alone but feeling elated. Morning run and some strawberries and oats for brekkie, made in my cosy air bnb. Stronger from Boston and the beauty of crossing the U.S/Canadian border over a spellbinding sunset, drenched in significance for me. I will have Portugese for dinner. Portugal holds a special place in my heart; special spiritual times with my sis. This city, Montreal, is her birthplace, so when I walked to my digs in the moonlight last night and smelt the grilled fish at the top of the road, it all just fell into place. My heart soars with happiness and thoughts of sister, family and friends. I am never eating alone because they are always there, on the side. Friendship with a side of food temporarily flipped to food with a side of friendship. My angels on my shoulder, travelling worldwide and keeping me company when I am dining alone. 

Boston (strong): salad and sunshine

17~A New York Fairytale: I SLEPT WITH A MOUSE

Once upon a time there were two princesses and an unwelcome mouse. These princesses wanted to be like Snow White and Gisele in 'Enchanted'; princesses who loved and lived harmoniously with all creatures. But the mouse in this story is not a creature to sing to, nor does he help with the household chores. He is, in fact, a bold, bold villain...

Where to start? I think I will set the scene from which I write this strange little NY fairytale:

Lyd and I are sat in the Hungarian Pastry Shop. It is 8:30 in the evening there is an encroaching darkness as night settles in. We have just shared the most sublime piece of cake: dark chocolate, cardamom and orange (a surprise biscuit base that delighted!). We felt the need to get out of the house, though not because of the mouse. Lyd hated her computer because it was contaminated with duty, needed cake (firstly), a place to read or write and a change of scenery. The walk here was lovely. A setting sun, thinly spread clouds draped across the disappearing blanket of blue sky, cherry blossom in lovely shapes amidst the skyscrapers and New York. Lyd, I say as we cross 110th, you live in New York. Yes, I live in New York. I grin. It is pretty awesome living in New York and we can go out for cake at any hour because we are in fact grown ups (contrary to how we may be perceived or feel) and New York is the city that does not sleep. We both feel a little odd but our Hungarian Pastry Cafe shop plan is keeping us moving. The strategy is pretty much to go there: work and eat a cake. Cake (on its own merit) may just be the motivating force. This ramshackle cafe is opposite a beautiful cathedral (it featured in the book Stephanie was reading and she was pretty thrilled to visit it) and is busy but there are tables. It is open from 7:30 until 11 at night. Should you come for a sweet treat to find the cafe closed and your hopes dashed, Insomnia Cookies is just two doors down and is open all night. This cafe is amazingly popular- Lyd likes it not only because of the delectable cake, but they never kick you out so you can work for hours. It is a great atmosphere. People are arriving and leaving. Reading; typing on laptops; quiet; chattering. Alone and with friends. Eating cake. Drinking tea. Supping coffee.

Shame we snaffled the cake so quickly, I failed to photograph that!

The cake is such a necessity for Lyd as she went for her first run in about 5 months today. We went earlier in Hudson River Park to capitalise on the sun and to propel Lyd out of her running slump. My running is temporarily (I hope) a struggle. I can not even seem to break 5k and the more I try, the more I seem to fail. We split up in the park and agree to meet at the magnolia trees at 101st. We high five as we pass somewhere near the dog run- Lyd is looking strong. I find her near the magnolias ten minutes later saying that after running 20 minutes and walking for 5, she basically wants to go to bed for the rest of her life. She does look rather flushed and not in a healthy, rejuvenated way. She would like to eat first though as she is ravenous, thinking only about the carrots, humous and guacamole she will tuck into (but she specifies she will just stand in front of the fridge pre collapse) as soon as we get home. She also thinks cake later will be a good idea, although if she is in bed then this may be difficult (crumbs are not allowed in the bedroom because of the mouse and also we have no cake in the house because I would just eat it; although there is always the NY option of Insomnia Cookies, which we have debated before, because they deliver fresh baked batches until 4 in the morning). I am very proud of her. (At the same time incredibly jealous of her metabolism which is much like Baroness Eve’s.) I wonder what exactly it was that made her decide to run today. I think it could be one, of the very few, positives that the bloody mouse has brought about. Our huge tidy up meant our trainers were side by side. She noted that hers looked unused, positively pristine, but shamefully they are in fact older than mine. Then there was Saturday night when I app-ed her from the bedroom, where I hid from a squeaking I heard coming from the kitchen. She was in fact on her way home and she app-ed: 5 minutes, Princess! I am running! I appreciated her princess support but app-ed back: Have you seen your trainers? Please do not run, I don’t want you to collapse on the streets of NY! She must really have been running because this message remained unseen while I waited with baited breath.. Her adrenaline because of the mouse related intel must have sustained her, she arrived breathless but ready to investigate. What exactly did you hear? She is poised in a ready to attack position, her hands out, legs bent and torch on her phone. Wow, Lyd, from the girl screams and cartoonish jumping up onto furniture reactions, you have really turned around! Support in numbers meant I could leave bedroom where I had retreated and described in detail to the investigating Lydia the distressed squeaking I had heard. The noise was very unlike that first squeak we heard 2 weeks back. Two six foot princesses against a six centimetre creature. So in terms of running, her blast on the NY streets because of the mouse had reminded her that her legs could run and why should the mouse dictate when she runs? He has already dictated much of our life over the past weeks. 

I think that going back in time and telling the mouse events sequentially is important for you all to understand the trauma/s we have suffered. It seems I intended to write a fairytale mouse story but became distracted by cake…

A couple weeks ago, Lyd and I were sat at our tables, homework club fashion. Lydia has never ending emails, ongoing research and reading that she is always juggling, I am often trying to knuckle down and blog because it always takes longer then I think- possibly some might say it is much too wordy prose. It was after dinner, which with rubbish supermarket ingredients, I had managed to make tasty with salty olives. Not really a cooking trick that I want to have in my repertoire. From the kitchen came a rustle of a paper bag and then a very clear, quite loud squeak. We looked at each other and were both evidently in denial as it was indisputable. Mice don't squeak like that, we both said. Lydia had a right nasty job of sorting this apartment when she got it some months back. The owner had/has a lot of crap and there was evidence of mice so it was possible that they may come back but Carlos (the super) had down a thorough job of blocking up holes. So the super helped to sort, as did her friends (Sabir the main hero here) and she had made a lovely home. Rent controlled apartments in the Upper West Side just aren't to be sniffed at, snaffled up, in fact. It is quite apparent that the landlady was/is a hoarder and there is a Narnia cupboard crammed full of the crap, dismantled furniture and boxes of god knows what. (Well some I do know because I helped Lyd get some of it sorted: medical supplies- bandages and plasters that were out of date in 2011; LOTS of plastic cutlery; LOTS of pens- mostly not working; extension leads- old and grotty; a plethora of rubbish pots and pans; humongous mugs and I could go on and on...)

From here, we began to be vigilant with our cleaning and crumb control. This surreptitious creature kept us at bay for some days. Biding his time, we feel ,for a proclamation. It was the night Lydia was out, liaising with The Sri Lankan Ambassador and networking. I had been out, it was raining and I was rushing from the subway, desperately needing the restroom after many cups of hot tea. I raced in the door, dropped my stuff and made a beeline for the bathroom. Simultaneously I peeled off my wet tights. Ick. Headed straight into the kitchen, barefoot, to put the kettle on. Rookie error in the the world of living with a mouse. It scurried INTO and then OVER my foot and under the cooker. Dumbfounded, I stood frozen. Vulnerable, bare foot, in my knickers, in the kitchen with the mouse. Lyd and I agree that one of things that freaks us out about mice is the speed at which they move. How you see the darting out of the corner of your eye and they seem to collapse themselves to squeeze through the smallest of gaps. It appears to us that these creatures have a duplicitous nature but we know in reality this is our fear that creates that belief. I do know that I startled it and that is why it performed the heinous crime of scampering over my foot. Well, it startled me more. This mouse is disingenuous; I am sure he moved with uncharacteristic nonchalance and deliberation. Not quite a swagger, but you know, not darting. Needless to say, I put on my most protective shoes I had and sweated out the rest of the evening in my Uggs. After I washed my foot.

More terribly awful things happened over the following week. Another sighting by Lyd and her mama (Lyd and her mum fashioned a blockade from the kitchen to the living room so Lyd would not sleep in fear while camping on the couch) ; mouse poo on the cooker daily (remnants of porridge must be to this little beast's taste), mouse poo on the drainer for the dishes (he was sauntering and snaffling across the work top); the super came twice to block up holes and to get rid of a mouse poo covered bit of plastic furniture that the landlady had in the corner of the kitchen; Lyd obsessively hoovering; Lyd scanning the floor and picking up bits, asking me if I thought they might be mouse poo and generally there was a lot of mouse talk! Stephanie was very sympathetic to our plight and felt we ought to head over to the apartment in Queens. Basically hand over our Upper West Side digs to the mouse. Carlos, the super, would not be able to do anything until the following week, he did not think.

The barrier: Mama Wilson comes through with fortification

Things went from bad to worse when the night before the Wilson parents were leaving, Lydia was tucking her covers into the cushions on the couch and she let out a scream. THE MOUSE JUMPED OVER HER SHOULDER. She was quite hysterical but quite adamant she had seen it and watched it scatter under her desk. Yep. Mouse poo on the couch. That night I dreamt of a pistachio under my air bed. In my dream I was concerned that the mouse would collapse itself under the mattress in an attempt to rob me of my pistachio. There you have it, my very own (warped) NY fairytale: The Princess and The Pistachio (and mouse?). When I got up in the night to go to the bathroom, Lyd's mum was propped up in bed, reading, the door ajar and light on. She reminded me of a soldier on guard, keeping vigil. I was comforted by it and had no further mouse-y dreams. But things took a bigger turn for the worse.

Lyd was exhausted the next day, after our trip along the high line, huge diner brunch and palying hostess to her parents and a mouse. Stephanie and Peter were packing and Lyd would lie in the bed as they packed around her. I was on tea duty in the kitchen. Ear piercing scream. I am glad I was not in the room. Silence. I hear Stephanie's voice low and commanding, "Peter. Check it." Lydia had felt something she could only describe as vibrating and warm underneath the covers. This is Princess Smartypants after all, she does do field work in places such as Lebanon and her brain is super razor sharp, but this was strange. I wanted to believe her... A stalker mouse? Such a fan of Lyd (understandable) that it was trying to cosy up and preempt her sleeping locations? She had a headache, was fatigued, was mouse obsessed. It was like she had turned into a Austen character having to take to her bed, with her hand at her brow. Nobody liked to say she was seeing things but we did suggest it. After all, the bedroom was safe. No evidence (poo) and no food for nibbles.

Her parents left and we returned home to recover. This is when we discovered evidence in the bed. I knew it, I knew it. I'VE SLEPT WITH A MOUSE!!!!!!!!!! The whole of Broadway now knew which way Lyd swings. More importantly, she was not hallucinating. And for me also a shock: the horrible noises that had awoken me the night before Philadelphia, when I sat bolt upright and thought there is a mouse climbing up the bed, looks like was kind of true. A half nibbled almond was at the headboard, as was my toe separator that I had been looking for (this was a sentimental toe separator given to me by my yoga teacher- I guess the deviant mouse knew this and liked the coconut oil used for moisturising my feet that would have been absorbed into the foaminess ).

Days earlier Lydia had taken this photo of me and my toe separators

My dream a premonition, well a confirmation, wrong nut and I neglected to ascertain the toe separator but pretty damn close. So a Lydia fascination and a foot fetish. Double ick. What could we do? Our stunned realisations sent us into a flurry of purposeful activity. Right, he has to be in here. We got old towels and two small bins. We will move the bed and trap him! We looked at each other and gave each other admiring nods. We are brave! I am so impressed with us! Lyd said in a surprised way. Needless to say the mouse was long gone from the bedroom or well hidden somewhere. We will never know if our plan would have succeeded. Post capture there was nothing proposed so it most likely would have not been a happily ever after ending. We princess-ed up. Rubber gloves, sweats, disinfectant, laundry bags. While we are cleaning, Lyd calls out to me, 'Jess. Jess, I don't know if I am being crazy but can you check whether or not this is what I think it may be.' She has a piece of fluff on a bit of tissue and suspected it to be a mouse tail. We realise we need food and sit down to snack to muster energy for our marathon. Lyd tucks into a bag of potato chips and realises she is eating with fingers that just touched mouse poo. We called Carlos too. He came, bless him. We were frenetic- all wide eyed and in a cleaning hysteria, moving furniture. He had driven across New York because of our desperate message but was due for eye surgery in the morning. Oh. Now our mouse dilemma seemed a little trivial in comparison to surgery on an eye. Humbled, we told him not to worry, thanks so much for coming and just get back to us when you are better, hope it all goes well. We were really on our own. Alone with our mouse. Well, no. Because Sabir did come to our aid, but there was nothing to for him to do apart from take down some garbage. We actually had it under control and it felt empowering.

This mouse had taken over our lives. We went to Sabir's birthday picnic in Prospect Park and as we chatted and met new people, I honed into Lydia's voice over my shoulder and she was talking to a group about the mouse. I was blithering on the exact same topic to a separate group- telling them all about the toe dividers, the half nibbled nut, the mouse sleeping with Lyd. Turns out lots of people have mice stories and suggestions. One pal woke up with one in her hair. The dude in Starbucks says when he was a kid his dad was trying to clear the house of them but he had made friends with it and was feeding it in his bedroom! His dad caught him in the act and he was in BIG trouble! Ideas to banish the mouse: Talking nicely about him (we had been trying this). Saber told us that this or telling bad jokes would help. Someone else suggested something that sounded like witchcraft: boiling eggs and then getting acid from the pharmacy and soaking them in the acid for a few hours (this apparently also takes out all the cockroaches in an entire building and any nearby vermin). Humane traps, but set it free really far away or it will come straight back. Inhumane traps. They like peanut butter, chocolate (white or milk, not dark). They love overripe pears. Okay, enough. We had made the apartment as sterile as possible. The bedroom was now minimalistic and not an inch unturned. We lived in the bedroom and ate out to avoid the kitchen and the risk of leaving even a morsel of temptation for our furry fiend. I kept my feet covered constantly and Lyd had to sleep, but we did so with a towel stuffed under the gap in the door to prevent him sneaking in for a cuddle. Really we did not want pain for this little mouse but for him just to move on.

It had all gone quiet for a couple days. No evidence. We lived in the bedroom and carried on with NY life. I was in and I heard the noise and brave, brave Lydia came running to the rescue. His proclamation was unclear. But ever since that night, after we had BLATHERED on to absolutely anyone who would listen, the mouse was never seen, nor heard again. I wonder if the universe, or perhaps the mouse, was just sick to death of us jabbering on. Having a mouse is bad, but it could be worse, we reasoned. We did feel it was preferable to the cockroaches that Anna had dealt with at one NY place, where you would just have to step over them to go to the bathroom in the night.

We counted our lucky stars. We slowly began to live in the apartment. It felt palatial. No longer incarcerated. We were liberated. So our little Upper West Side Princess Fairytale does end happily ever after. Modern day princesses who dealt with a dastardly mouse. No fainting (bed to recover would not have been ideal), no relying on a Prince (what good could our Prince Carlos have done without vision to battle the mouse). I will always have the lasting memory, the words ringing in my ear, Lydia's irked voice bellowing: 'I SLEPT WITH A MOUSE!' A humdinger of a NY memory for my back pocket.

16~Worldwide With the Wilsons: Sri Lankan Henchmen and Much More

Lydia Wilson and I have known each other for 21 years and I have been lucky enough to be welcomed into the entire Wilson family from the off. Lyd has been a bit of a globetrotter in our 20's but has always gravitated back home for short and long periods of time. Often the premise of homesickness; holidays; study time, study breaks and study meltdowns (that PhD was a nasty one) have been the main magnets drawing her back to Hull. We cleared a drawer in my Princess Pad for her to keep a set of pajamas in. She would visit during her PhD and we would get a pot of Jasmine Green Tea and head to bed, in PJ's, to assist her recuperation process. Hull seems to provide that calm. A sanctuary for former permanent habitants; I know Steph and Adam feel much the same as Lyd about returning to their Hull family and setting. (They fight over the Princess room in Westbourne Ave and Steph says that a weekend back home is like Rehab, but with wine.)

So I have many fond memories from my teens, 20's and 30's of time spent at the Wilson household. Lyd does not have to be in Hull for Stephanie and Peter (her parents) to send out an invite for dinner. Stephanie Wilson is my favourite cook in the whole world (her only rival has been the lady who made me a papaya salad for 40p on a beach in Koh Samui) and having dinner with an array of guests is always a treat! Just 3 years ago I joined the entire Wilson gang for Boxing Day. It was Lyd's turn to rescue me- I had been dumped on Christmas Eve (though not realising I had; I was so festively plastered that I failed to clock the missing belongings and returned door key on the kitchen side). Lyd sipped a very early, very large Buck's Fizz with me on Christmas morning in true Princess support, watching Adam and I open our presents at Mama Wolff's, we discussed the night before, analysing the lead up to the dumping. The Wilsons wished to provide me with a welcome distraction and invited me for their Boxing Day affair. Adam was heading back to Bristol Boxing Day morning so I could not rely on his commiserations and comfort (admittedly he may be the one to call, girls, in moments of broken hearts he provides crap films; chocolate; wine; kind words; a big bear shoulder to cry on- this is not a one off either, he has had to deal with Steph and I on a number of occasions), it was our first Christmas without Steph as she had stayed down South and Richard and Mama Wolff had already done their fair share of waiting on me hand and foot, entertaining my misery and rejection. So Boxing Day at the Wilson's was perfect- it would get me out of the house too. It was such a snowy winter that year. Lyd and I walked around the block and the emotion of the day gone by seemed held in the air, frozen in time, in the inertia that the festive period can pertain.

The stillness and sad wintry spell was immediately broken by the bustling house full of Wilsons! A wonderfully delicious meal we had! Lyd and I perched on the ottoman, the hubbub of the kitchen aglow with Christmas. We were not quite relegated to the kitchen floor with Milo and Eddie (Lyd's nephews) but perched on our makeshift table, the kitchen ottoman. We had a great time, devouring food, having exchanges with the grown up table but more dialogue with the two boys on the floor. They ate like Roman kings and asked us to tickle their throats with a feather in order for them to be sick so they could start again feasting. Lyd is the youngest amongst her siblings and somehow we always become the silly teenagers once again when we are together. Stephanie will never let us wash up or do anything, sending us off "because young girls are meant to have frivolous fun!"At the recent poetry reading in New England, a colleague of PG was studying us intently. She was discussing the novel she had just written, the basis being two childhood girl friends. She then asked how long we knew had known each other for. She supposed 6. We burst out laughing and wondered, because of the way she had examined us, as if discovering the spirit of our connection and beginnings of our friendship, that we were acting this age!!! We thought that actually it was pretty possible and we may have to check ourselves as we were attending a civilised and intellectual event. So Lyd and I together, as the spoilt children, in the nest of the Wilson family, is entirely familiar and being in New York to share time was an extension, a new slant on times shared.

Lydia and I LOVING the Children's Book Exhibition in the NY Public Library- a bit too much?

White blooms against the dark branches with an NY skyline- beautiful 

Here are some of the things we enjoyed during Stephanie and Peter's time here: a meet in the Hungarian Pastry Shop where a good friend of Lyd's from Cambridge joined us (he happened to be here on a conference and decided to turn it into a bit of a jolly, Lyd says he is the cleverest person she knows- this is quite shocking as I didn't know people get smarter than her and this was exemplified by Steph's reaction on Skype: "That must be reaaaaaallllll smart..." ); Thai food in Queens; the blossom on the trees; the Children Exhibition in the Public Library; dinner with Sabir and Anna Alaszewski; a walk along the High Line; a night at the opera; homework club in the Bronx; a diner brunch; searching for cinnamon TicTacs and micro-fibre cloths (gifts Stephanie wanted to take back to England); noodles and spinach dumplings on Broadway; an afternoon at the United Nations; sitting around in PJ's, reading and chatting; Lyd and I on temporary beds; Lyd and I as the children and also the adults- our sleepover makeshift style in the living room and the parents in the bedroom and then also with some arm bending, we treated the parents to breakfast and a dinner and also acted as their guides around NYC. The only thing not enjoyed on all sides is to do with a mouse. A bold, bold villain in Stephanie's words. As much as I do not want to devote time and effort of the written word to the mouse, it is such a story, he will have to have a stand alone entry. Hell, Lyd slept with the him (I will never forget her incredulity and loud screech: "I SLEPT WITH A MOUSE!") and we gave him the whole run of her pretty spacious, rent controlled Upper West Side apartment, so why not write an ode to the little bugger?

View from the entrance of the U.N- a little ominous (befitting for the story)

Here is a little more on some of what we enjoyed (mouse free):

The U.N was quite an experience. Not at all what we had anticipated. Lyd had a meeting with the Sri Lankan Ambassador following an an alumni event a couple weeks back. The results of the dinner event was quite unexpected and interestingly fortuitous. She had been reading a book called "Lords of Poverty" and I had to interrupt her to see if she was okay because she looked so in pain while reading- turns out that this book highlights the corrupt nature of the United Nations. For example: Princess Smartypants went to this gathering, armed with her book in her handbag, not intending to use it as a weapon but as her read on the subway. Lyd said she somehow managed to insult people left right and centre. She wielded the book at one point, potentially insulted a founder of the Quartet (a conflict resolution group)  and supposed the Sri Lankan Ambassador to be the Ambassador of Bangladesh. But her princess-like demeanour, great humour and razor sharp intellect (you can see why everyone that meets her is immediately enamoured) managed to get her a lunch date with the Ambassador, a private spy (she thinks), and a new friend that lives across the road, who just happens to work for Google. This means a potential coffee at the Google canteen. Correction, not a canteen, a coffee lab. With its very own barista. Cooool. Coffee is one of the struggles here (it is generally not good but more about that another time). Lyd tells me that Google is notorious for its amazing attitude to employees; they are entrusted to work their own hours and have toys at the office because that’s how the Google bosses think people will have the most creative ideas. Opposite to the nature of education in Britain at the moment, where you feel under surveillance, patrolled. Which in turn does allow for that insidious paranoia of being incompetent, or at least never being good enough. Pretty rubbish really. But Google, that is pretty interesting and wow, that canteen sounds awesome! A hell of a lot better sounding than the U.N cafe that Peter, Stephanie and I experienced. (Lyd, mental note, get a lunch date with our Google neighbour, so I can tag along.)

We took our passports downtown, our only preparation for entering the U.N. Lyd's lunch was scheduled for 1:15 and for once we were early. Getting in the building was not what Lyd had predicted or recollected form her last trip here. She had a lovely visit; she had showed her passport, looked at the Chagall Window; drank coffee in the cafe which overlooked the River; visited the gift shop where she discovered the U.N had their very own stamps and postal service. I remember her telling me this a few years ago, how she sat down and went crazy writing cards because she was so very excited by it! So while she had a different agenda today, Stephanie, Peter and I intended to reenact her last trip here to the letter. No sweat.

This was not the case. There were hitches from the start. We were passed back and forth two security gates with contradictory information until Lyd bit the bullet and called the Ambassador. He would send someone to meet us. We waited, refugees, as U.N workers went on their lunch breaks, seamlessly through security. Anticipation plastered across our faces meant that everyone exiting was looking at us, almost like they wanted to be helpful. How would the people the Ambassador sent know it was Lydia? We were the only people stood looking denied, I guess. A man appeared from the lunchtime crowd and showed Lydia a post it with "Lydia" written on it, and a second beckoned her towards the security gate for cars. We all followed like sheep, Lyd with more purpose- it was her name after all on the paper. The suited men opened a fancy car door (do not ask me what make, but long, big and black) that stood at the opening security gate. "Lydia get in, I can get you in easier this way." The Ambassador apparently. The post it was the Golden Ticket and Lyd quite literally spirited away. We are left with the smiling, suited Sri Lankan henchmen and getting into the U.N continues to be quite the palava. We are eventually allowed through, escorted by the Ambassador's men, whose English is not terribly great so we do suffer some communication difficulties. They think that we are to be taken to the Ambassador for lunch and are on the phone to him. And that we are to be taken to Lydia. No, no! We try to explain our humble plan of wanting to go to the cafe and the gift shop to write postcards. Eventually, we accept these men as our escorts, fearing that we are wasting their time, because we have no other choice and we are here now. The henchmen take us to hand over our passports and we have temporary ID's printed out. We are starving and we head to the cafe, our escorts wait outside. The canteen is disappointing, we are hot and bothered and eat hot soup quickly. Not a good combo!  We are befuddled by the security necessity and we see one henchman entering the canteen and signalling to the other that he has found us. Devoting their time to babysit us and what now seems like an incredibly frivolous plan... it almost seems embarrassing! We manage to shake them by going to the end of the line: the gift shop.

I look relaxed but I the post box is perfect propping height!

Buying the stamps and postcards is even onerous. I guess the guy behind the till is new and I try to just be as zen as I can, but the gross taste of minestrone soup, the heat of it in my belly mixed with the movements of being shifted from pillar to post is not halcyon making. Stephanie and I wearily plonk ourselves down at a table to write. Immediately we are hounded by a volunteer that is trying to tell us about how we could get U.N stamps printed with our own faces on them. It only takes three minutes and our loved ones are sure to be thrilled. We both cut him dead. It is too much. We feel hassled, that we have been a hassle and that we need no further hassling!!!!!

What my stamp could have looked like...

We rebuild our strength. Then we remember Lyd. With that Jack Bauer exit we hope she will resurface. Of course she does, a whirlwind of energy and excitement- we are no longer so languid and perk up even more to see our girl. We all have a story to tell. (Although, firstly Lyd and I decide to address the U.N together with a policy entitled 'Princess Power'. Suddenly the personalised stamps seem to be a very good idea.)

Lyd guiltily described her delicious lunch, a top class affair snaffled around an interesting discussion and points on which she needs to ponder. Tell me more Lyd! She says everyone that served them at their table addressed The Ambassador as 'Your Excellency' and also that she had never had red snapper quite so excellent. We fail to see the window- the visitor's centre is actually being renovated and hence the very different memory that Lyd has about her visit. When we collect our passports we ask if we can retain our temporary IDs as a keepsake. The lady says not really but she is going to let us, that we are always welcome at the U.N, and of course to "Have a nice day!" Stephanie has to confess how lovely that is because we this very moment is the only instance that we have felt welcome and not like a potential security threat. Our experience was very much the opposite of serenity, peace and the general attitude we expected of unity (it is called the United Nations, after all).

Reunited as a group, however, we spirited ourselves back to the NY Public Library where we need more time at "The abc of it: why Children's books matter" exhibition. We walk past what I recognise as the Superman building. Lydia is sure that is where Anna works. It is. We app her and coerce her to leave her office and join us for a coffee. Lyd says that this is so un-NYC; that it never seems this neighbourly. That big city life where spontaneous meets and hang outs can be so precious because they are a rarity.

All offices should have a huge turning globe in the entrance

Our next stop for our evening entertainment is Roulette, a theatre in Brooklyn. Here we will meet Tosh and we will watch some American Modern Ensemble and Opera Projects. So although this event is scheduled and not impromptu, the feeling of worldwide friends and family brought together is unique and intimate. The connection is that Tarik O'Regan, Lyd and Tosh's pal from back at Cambridge, has composed 'The Wanton Sublime' (the first modern opera we will watch). I say connection because Tarik's involvement is what has brought us here; I do not believe that there is a strong love of modern opera amongst our group. In fact Tosh and I meet for food in Central Park a few days before and he tells me that he expects to hate every second of it.

'The Wanton Sublime' is actually pretty impressive and (thankfully for me who does not totally love it) only 30 minutes long. Lydia, who does have a musical background is massively impressed by the piece. Tarik has great credentials as I learn from the programme. Reading the synopsis also helps me to appreciate the meaning behind the piece. Tosh, who does not mince his words, say he feels like he has been crucified and Stephanie is impressed by the musical score but grateful for the subtitles. Tosh soon retracts his words, because the second half, a separate opera entirely is so offensive to both him and Lyd, that it makes him recognise the beauty and intelligence in 'The Wanton Sublime'. The second opera is called 'The Companion' and I am pretty shocked as I read out the plot summary to Stephanie. It seems rather a despicable plot/premise on which to compose an opera. I have to share the first part of it:"Maya is a single executive with a cozy house in the suburbs. Each day she comes home to Joe, her biomorphic android Companion. Joe looks, sounds and feels human- only better. They've been together six months. But Maya feels like she's not getting the best out of Joe: he's acting glitchy and distant. She wants an upgrade." Completely incongruous with opera, in my (very) humble and (very) ignorant opinion. Needless to say, our party could all agree that it seemed odd to hear the android character operatically singing about Maya's beautiful foot arches and moving on to robotically relaying his day: "The alarm went off at 7:45, we made love, position 34, 8:00 I did the dishes and vacuumed, you went to work, I dusted and made your favourite: vegetarian lasagna...". At points it does make Stephanie and Peter laugh out loud and I did twice but eventually I am too bewildered to even react. It is pretty ridiculous. There is an Oprah style Q&A session with the composers, directors and creators of both operas, and it leads Tosh to say that really 'The Companion' is a result of two dirty old men into Science Fiction. 'The Companion' is actually the second act of an opera triptych- the other two feature a dominatrix and a masquerade party for erotically adventurous couples. Hmmmmmmmmm. My highlight was that we were allowed to bring take out food in to the theatre. That is so NY. We were hungry (Lyd ashamed to admit it after her feast with the Ambassador) and we were running out of time to eat. Lyd and I grabbed middle eastern affair while the parents got the seats and we had a theatre picnic of falafel, tabolueh, salad and pitta pizza, much to the envy of other audience members. I feel that had there been a calorie crisis while watching this modern opera, it may have led to unseasonal theatre behaviour- it would have not been at all princess-like.

Lyd refers to me as 'The Princess' when she talks to her parents and I fall asleep on Stephanie and Peter's last night here. I can hear Lyd and her mama cleaning the fridge, I drift off on the airbed, Peter is typing at the table. They are discussing the schedule for the last day. Lyd: Well, the Princess may need to go to yoga. Stephanie: Well, I want to stay nearby. Shopping is the priority, Lydia. Cinnamon tictacs are continuing to elude me. I call out( muffled and sleepy): I don't have to go to yoga, I want to spend the last day with you guys. Stephanie: Oh, Jessica. That is very nice. Peter, have you got that lamp on? That is much too bright for poor Jessica! Peter: Oh yes, the poor princess. I am sorry. Lyd: Is this mouse poo?? I HATE THE MOUSE! It goes on and I fall asleep, I know with a little smile as I listen to the Wilsons and their midnight dialogue. Peter too calls me Princess, although once called me Lyd's 'noddle friend' and was then terribly apologetic because he is such a gent! I love the way Stephanie calls me Jessica. I love the endless conversations and flitting between subjects. 

We have a lovely last day. We walk along the high line:

WE finish off with a debrief of the New York adventures over a diner brunch:

When we get the bags onto Broadway and hail a cab, Stephanie and Peter are bundled in. Lyd is starting to cry. My eyes well up too and I hug my friend. My mum was crying, Lyd said. She doesn't like that I live here, that I live so far away. I feel like we are 6 years old. We walk back down the street, both a little deflated- it feels a wrench from the family nest. Lyd is fatigued and recovering from a headache and a little heartache now. I suggest she lies down and we take a some time. But, unfortunately our princess recovery time is not to be. This is when Lydia realises that she has, indeed, slept with a mouse. Time for action against this deviant... I guess he wanted in on the Worldwide with the Wilsons family time? And it was so awesome, so lovely and special, I guess I cannot really blame him.

From being escorted around the U.N by Sri Lankan Henchmen to sitting around in our pajamas reading and supping coffee, worldwide adventures with the Wilsons will hold a very special place in my worldwide tales. Being in the familiar family nest is just what I needed too, perfect to feel so homely before a nomadic, solitary trek (well greyhound and train- I am aware this sounds like I may be sledding and the such) across Canada in May and June. Summertime inVancouver will be back in the bosom of the Burritts. Snuggling into that nest is so special; immersed in nostalgia, childhood joy, friendship and love.

Thank goodness for all the lovely people we connect with in our lives; the never ending puzzle of friendship, family and beautiful times shared. One lucky princess I am. I feel privileged to have had my very own Worldwide Wilson experience.