Nolo Contendre

Monday, May 13, 2013
If you have Nook or Kindle, you are fortunate to have access to Susan Schneider’s new novel, "Fire in My Ears."

Before I even sat down in West New Malaysia Restaurant in the Chinatown Arcade, between Elizabeth Street and the Bowery, I ordered roti canai ($3.75) as a starter, that wonderful Indian pancake to be dipped into a small bowl of curried chicken and potato. Then, the waiter and I discussed what was to follow. He urged me to try choy kway teow ($7.50), listed under noodles without any explanation. It turned out to be an excellent choice, chow fun noodles, thin sliced beef, shrimp, egg, scallions, bean sprouts and flecks of hot red pepper. The portion was large, making the choice even more satisfying.

Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Steve Schneider came downtown for lunch to celebrate the publication of Susan Schneider’s new novel, "Fire in My Ears." Steve and Susan are somehow related by marriage. We went to the brand new Cafe Hong Kong (no accent), 51 Bayard Street. It is the third restaurant at that location I’ve visited in slightly more than 40 months, replacing most recently Pho 88, a better-than-average Vietnamese restaurant. The Cafe appears to be related to the Hong Kong Station, a few doors down, and its sister establishment on Division Street, with the same color scheme and similar exterior design elements. However, the inside is quite different, offering a large, diverse menu and table service, unlike the informal, noodle-centric fare at Hong Kong Station. It has two round tables, about 6 four-tops and 10 two-tops, with just about every seat taken while we were there.

In addition to 56 noodle and rice dishes, 57 entrées, soups, congee, and an extensive beverage service, the Cafe offered steaks with side dishes of spaghetti. I think that they may be overreaching. In any case, Steve and I ordered 3 things from the 41-item lunch special list, all at $6.95. We chose shrimp with lobster sauce, Szechuan beef and chicken with cashew nuts. Each came with a bowl of white rice, but, save tea, nothing else. Portions were medium-small, and all the dishes were carefully prepared with fresh-tasting ingredients, yet rather bland.

The on-line New York Times has this headline today: "What Is the Right Way to Come Out as Bisexual at Work?" There is none. Shut up. I’m trying to do my work. Also, I’m not interested in your deeply-felt opinion of asparagus, cowboys, turtles, Woodrow Wilson or saxophones. Keep it to yourself until I ask. Group therapy begins after 6 PM.

Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Four soft shell crabs at Wo Hop downstairs for $10.95, and I didn’t even think that I was hungry.

Thursday, May 16, 2013
With the news consumed by Benghazi (a Republican masturbatory fantasy), and the appearance of real abuses of power at the IRS and the Associated Press, I need the sports pages more than ever. Lunch was also a pleasant diversion as I spent the hour with Marty the Super Clerk at 71 Thomas Street where I was assigned to assist with case scheduling conferences in the afternoon. We went, as we typically do, to Pecan Café, 130 Franklin Street, which offers somewhat-imaginative sandwiches (cranberry chicken, salmon burger, sweet potato), soups, and salads. The large space combines old-timey touches, such as an exposed brick wall and a tin ceiling, with track lighting and exposed duct work. Most folks order the lunch special, soup, small salad or half a sandwich, a bag of chips, a cookie or a fruit, and a drink for about $12. Pecan also has a coffee menu and, throughout the day, computer-wielding people 1/3 my age occupy the long wooden tables. Pecan isn’t Asian, although I believe some Israelis are involved, so it doesn’t alter my count.

Friday, May 17, 2013
I could have sworn that I ate at Pho Viet Huong, 73 Mulberry Street, early in this (ad)venture. It sits a couple of doors above Bayard Street on a stretch that I pass several times each week. Yet, in doing some research on local Vietnamese restaurants, I could not match its name to my lunches. Besides these musings, I keep a list of restaurants visited fitting the mandated criteria, East Asian, greater Chinatown vicinity, lunch. However, the list is merely a word processing document, not a spreadsheet or database, so information retrieval and analysis is admittedly crude. I went there today and am sorry that I didn’t get there sooner.

Pho Viet Huong looks like a dump from the outside, which may be a partial explanation why I ignored it. However, it is large, airy and roomy inside, with between 2 and 3 dozen tables. The menu is also large, over 200 items based on most familiar creatures that move on land, in the air and through the seas. I ordered barbecued beef, fried egg on broken rice ($7.50). Sayeth WikiPedia: "Co’m tâm, or broken rice, is a Vietnamese dish made from rice with fractured rice grains." The grains did look small, but were not otherwise unusual. They were piled high next to several thin slices of nicely grilled beef, a fried egg sitting on top of a tomato slice, and a cucumber slice. As in almost all other Vietnamese restaurants, five or so different sauces sat on the tables at Pho Viet Huong. I squeezed some dark, sweet stuff on the rice for variety. Very good in all, although prices on many main courses were in the mid to high teens, a couple of bucks more than some of its competitors.

The revelation that I missed a restaurant right under my nose is overshadowed by the next tale. I’ve complained in the past about not being discovered by all the TV and movie crews that populate the neighborhood around the courthouse for days on end. Well, I was caught on camera recently, but not under the most flattering circumstances.

For years, I’ve been irked by the condition of a terrace on a low floor directly below Palazzo di Gotthelf. It’s heaped with odds and ends, empty flower posts, discarded outdoor furniture, bags of planting materials, offering an ugly sight for the hundreds of people passing by each day, including potential buyers of semi-expensive apartments. The condition is also a violation of our building’s house rules and possibly New York City’s building code as well. The items may also be a threat during a storm and pose a fire hazard as they sit and rot. I have to pass by this mess every day, one, two, three, four times according to events.

I’ve mentioned this condition to members of the co-op board and other owner-occupants to no avail. I know the owner-occupant of the offending property by sight, but I never approached him, for better or worse, because I don’t like the cut of his jib, as we ancient mariners say. But, I’ve stewed day after day, year after year. So a couple of weeks ago, I printed a few sheets of paper calling terse, but polite, attention to the situation by unit number, and I pasted them in the building’s mailroom and in a back hallway on a couple of days. It doesn’t compare with that guy standing in front of the tank in Tiananmen Square or Freedom Riders on Greyhound buses, but I had to take a stand.

Well, the other day I received an expensively-delivered letter from the building’s law firm calling upon me to cease and desist from violating house rules by posting notices on the premises without permission. It seems that Grandpa Alan photographs very well on the building’s video surveillance equipment. First thing Thursday morning, I called the attorney who signed the letter and informed him that I have reacquainted myself with the house rules and will comply with them henceforth. He accepted my promise without the need for any confession. He also listened to my complaint and suggested how I might convey my concerns more efficaciously without running afoul of the authorities. I forgot to ask him for a print of the film, however, for that time in the future when I will want to recall my days as a delinquent.

　

Retreat Back

Monday, May 6, 2013

The anarchic Jews of West End Synagogue had a delightful weekend in the country.  The weather was more than cooperative for our annual retreat.  Daytime temperatures approached 70, while nearing 40 overnight.  Our cabins were a step above rustic, with heating and plumbing that worked consistently, at least for most of us.  The cabins sat along a lovely lake, where mist floated in the early hours after sunrise.  The food was more or less classic Kosher, which, absent the loving touch of a European-accented grandmother, comes off pretty dull. Quantities were generally ample.  

 

Because of the lovely weather, many daytime sessions were held outdoors, which is where religion started, after all.  Mt. Sinai wasn’t in a mall, you know. 

 

Saigon Vietnamese Sandwich, 369 Broome Street, advertises the “Most Authentic Vietnamese Sandwich In Town.”  This is not quite the same as the boast of Banh Mi, Vietnamese Sandwich, 73 West Broadway, that it offers the “Best Vietnamese Sandwich” (April 25, 2013).  After having a curry chicken (dark meat) sandwich ($5.50) at Saigon today, I may have to acknowledge it as the best, even if I don’t know what would make it the most authentic.  It was slightly larger and a dollar cheaper than Banh Mi’s, which, in fact, is the Vietnamese term for bread and has come to mean the baguette sandwich generally.  My sandwich contained shredded carrots, cilantro, cucumber spears, chili peppers and hot sauce, upon request, atop the chicken, on a very fresh baguette.

 

Saigon had two short ledges in the front window with 4 stools, and a bench outside.  While you might not consider lingering in Saigon, it is a reasonable alternative for those of us who missed winning an all-expense trip to Vietnam a few decades ago.  

 

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

In making my lunchtime forays as recorded herein hereof, I’ve eaten on the Bowery dozens of times and traversed it probably hundreds.  I take it for granted that it is THE BOWERY.  How far is the Bowery from here? What’s the address on the Bowery?  With every visit to a new establishment, I take a menu and/or a business card in order to provide at least some correct information along with my skewed opinions.  Some places on the Bowery, list their address as Bowery Street, which I’ve chosen to ignore as an ESL oversight.  However, on the subway this morning, reading the latest issue of the New Yorker, I found a description of a new restaurant named Pearl & Ash, at “220 Bowery St.”  It might have been bad enough to read about “this glittering cave of haute hipster fine dining,” open for dinner only, with entrées from $23 to $28, located on the Bowery.  

 

You don’t have to be as old as me to remember when the only places to eat on the Bowery were soup kitchens. This was ironic because several blocks of the Bowery were, and still are, occupied by restaurant equipment suppliers, offering appliances, pots and pans, cutlery, dishes, serving pieces and the like to the trade.  But, once upon a time, you could not buy a meal on the Bowery, although you could buy a drink at many places.  [I expect Jon Silverberg to annotate this thought with specific citations to openings and closings in the distant past.]
 

But, I’m talking addresses, not menus.  The New Yorker has chosen to sound like the old lady in Dubuque, whom it famously eschewed at its inauguration.  WikiPedia notes that it is “commonly called ‘the Bowery’ and, less commonly, ‘Bowery Street.’”  WikiPedia continues, “Bowery is an anglicisation of the Dutch bouwerij, derived from an antiquated Dutch word for ‘farm.’”  Street does not belong here.  It feels like Richard Nixon wearing a belt and suspenders.  Is Broadway Avenue on the cartographic horizon?

 

As I examined the sidewalk fruit stands after lunch, I saw for the first time that I can recall “wax apples,” also labeled Vietnamese apples.  As you can see, they look like little pears with a strain of bell pepper mixed in.  

 

 

 

I was curious, but at $5 a pound I curbed my enthusiasm. However, my friendly little fruit lady on Mulberry Street (east side), just below Canal Street, offered me one.  She remembers me ever since I had MOHS surgery last year, which left me particularly fierce looking for a few days.  The wax apple, as is the case of several other unfamiliar Asian fruits that I’ve tried, looks far better than it tastes.   

 

Wednesday, May 8, 2013 

Wow!  Another good reason to move to sunny South Carolina.  

 

Today’s New York Law Journal reports a decision of the Appellate Division, First Department, affirming a lower court’s determination that the dismissal of a fifth-grade teacher was “shocking to one’s sense of fairness.”  The teacher, responding to a report of the drowning of a student at another school on a field trip, posted comments on Facebook about her students, such as, “After today, I am thinking the beach sounds like a wonderful idea for my 5th graders!  I HATE THEIR GUTS!  They are the devils spawns!” She subsequently falsely denied writing the comments, and then implicated a friend.  After several hearings, the Department of Education terminated her employment.  The lower court judge overruled the department and suspended the teacher for two years without pay.  The appellate court accepted this ruling under the following dubious rationale:

 

“Although the comments were clearly inappropriate, it is apparent that petitioner’s purpose was to vent her frustration only to her online friends after a difficult day with her own students.  None of her students or their parents were part of her network of friends and, thus, the comments were not published to them, nor to the public at large, and petitioner deleted the comments three days later.”  

 

This story brought back the memory of an incident in my past when I found myself in a miserable teaching job in a miserable school, the worst imitation of a fancy-schmancy prep school imaginable.  Not only did I teach English, social studies and gym (which wasn’t so hard considering that the school had no gym and we – the young scholars and I – spent the time smoking in the parking lot), I lived in this joint.  One night, as I was getting the little angels ready for bed, John D. (yes, I still remember his full name) was particularly uncooperative, so I threw a wet wash cloth in his face and called him a jerk, or something similar.  When called to account by the faux headmaster, I explained that the early adolescent years were a time of finding one’s identity and I was contributing to the process in John D.’s case.

Michael Ratner, fresh from a bicycling trip in the Netherlands, came to lunch, armed with many stories, but no tulips. We ate at New Yeah Shanghai Deluxe, 50 Mott Street, a comfortable, attractive restaurant, that also has good food at very reasonable prices at lunch.  We started with a scallion pancake ($2.25) and then ordered three lunch specials for the two of us.  We each got a bowl of hot and sour soup as part of the special, without asking for the third bowl for absent friends.  Then, we shared beef with scallions ($5.75), diced chicken with black bean sauce ($4.95) and shrimp with lobster sauce ($5.95), a bowl of white rice alongside each.  While the portions of the entrées were modest, the quality was high and, taken together we had a very good meal.  The best news, although I did not get empirical verification, is that Michael returned from 5 days on a bicycle without blisters on his tuchis.   

 

Thursday, May 9, 2013

Many folks have wondered why Grandpa Alan never became a professional athlete considering his formidable physique and his avid interest in sports.  That’s not an easy question to answer because of the many aspects of personality that it touches upon.  However, some insight is available from a story today about Vijay Singh, a very successful professional golfer, who is challenging a doping allegation.  When I went to Fairway the other day, I purchased chocolate chip cookies, Diet Coke, 3 everything bagels, and potato salad (the kind with the egg and mayonnaise, not the vinegar).  I did not pause for a moment in front of the deer antler spray.  I wouldn’t even know what to do with deer antler spray.  Is it like Turtle Wax?  Do you get it from or apply it to deer antlers?  I am no more likely to purchase deer antler spray than Foster Farms Honey Crunchy Flavor Corn Dogs, even though available also in mini and jumbo sizes.  Yet, Singh was recently disciplined for his admitted use of deer antler spray, which contains IGF-1, an insulin-like growth factor, believed to be a performance enhancer.  See, I had no idea that deer antler spray may have been the key to my thwarted athletic career.  It may be too late, but I think I’m going to put out some deer antler spray on our living room coffee table along with the M&Ms.  

Retreat Ahead

Monday, April 29, 2013
Usually, I go to Mets games with Gilbert Glotzer, attorney to the stars. Yesterday, however, my companion was David B., M.D. and I needed a doctor as the Mets catcher dropped a pop fly in foul territory with two men out and no one on base. The batter proceeded to get a hit with his extended life, followed by the next batter getting a hit, followed by the replacement of the Mets pitcher who had been cruising until then, followed by the offensive substitution of one of the best hitters in baseball, who hit a long double, scoring the two ahead of him, followed by the Mets forgetting that hitting the ball is an important part of the game. Now, David is a general practitioner which was adequate for the ordinary aches and pains that this loss caused. Had the Mets lost in more dramatic fashion, blowing a big lead in the last inning or some such, a cardiologist would have been required. Also, this was the first loss that I witnessed live in person after three games this young season, so it’s too early for a psychiatrist.

Today, at lunchtime, the weather was chilly and damp, drizzling just enough to justify opening the umbrella and not stopping into any of the three brand new dessert/beverage joints I passed as I returned materials to the library branch on East Broadway. Instead, I went to Great N.Y. Noodletown, 28 Bowery, which failed to impress me on two prior visits. However, just as Barry Manilow takes requests from the audience, I responded to the urging of Irene L., loyal reader, to give it another try. I ordered roast duck with E-foo noodles ($10.95). Of course, I had no idea what E-foo noodles were, but I was not disappointed. At first glance, you might mistake them for lo-mein, but closer examination shows that E-foo (E-fu in some venues) noodles are flat not round, with a slight twist to them if laid out. The large portion of noodles was surrounded by a halo of Chinese broccoli and contained shredded carrots, bean sprouts, lots of Walt Disney mushrooms and tasty chunks of duck (could have been more). It was a very good dish on the whole and my glass of tea was kept full and hot. So, thank you, Irene.

Tuesday, April 30, 2013
It’s not too soon to plan for Tuesday afternoon, May 14th, when Häagen-Dazs stores, including the one at the corner of Mott Street and Bayard Street in Chinatown, will be giving out free cones between the hours of 4 and 8 PM. Enjoy.

With some good real estate news and a hefty income tax refund, this bright, sunny day looked even better. Not quite in the mood to explore, I went to New Mandarin Court, 61 Mott Street, a favorite even when it wasn’t New. Unlike many other Chinatown restaurants at lunchtime, it offers dim sum and a menu of lunch specials. Only one cart was moving around with about 8 dim sum choices. I took shu mai and shrimp dumplings, 4 pieces to a plate at $3. Then, I ordered orange flavor chicken ($5.50) which came with white rice. Everything was good, and the price was right. Attendance was weak, though. Only about a dozen people were in the restaurant with me, possibly because construction right outside made it easy to skirt around the front door.

Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Mangez Avec Moi, 71 West Broadway, seems to be a deviation from this (ad)venture’s mission to focus on East Asian restaurants. However, lest we forget that Southeast Asia was colonized by the French for a century from the 1850s to the 1950s, Mangez Avec Moi advertises "authentic pan Asian cuisine." And I will never forget the phrase mangez avec moi, one of the few things that I retain from three years of studying French in high school. The room is a small box with high ceiling covered in pressed tin. The floor looks very old, made of hexagonal tiles. The walls are bare, although a note said that art is coming (a line I think I heard Nathan Lane utter in "The Nance"). There are about 20 small 2 top tables, moved around to accommodate groups of all sizes.

The menu leans toward Vietnamese and Thai food, with a large number of choices. There are 27 weekday lunch specials at $8.50, smaller and cheaper than at other times, with a choice of white or brown rice. I had Massaman peanut curry chicken with brown rice. Research tells me that Massaman is a Thai curry of Muslim origin. The word itself is thought to have derived from Mussulman, an archaic word for Muslim. The curry was good, spicy hot as the menu promised. A few pieces of potato supplemented the chicken, adding bulk to the dish and meeting my two starch with every meal requirement. A carafe of water with a slice of lemon floating in it came right away without asking, but hot tea doesn’t even appear on the menu.

I interrupted my four-block crosstown walk to Mangez Avec Moi by stopping at one of the two sidewalk stands selling men’s ties. One guy is located on Broadway between Reade Street and Chambers Street, the other on Reade Street, about 10 feet west of Broadway. The guy on Broadway sells his (predominantly silk) ties for $3, 2 for $5, displayed folded in boxes. The other guy sells his for $2, 3 for $5, stretched out in cellophane sleeves. I usually stop by one or the other on the way to the subway after work in nice weather, and the 150 or so ties in my closet show that I do more than pass the time of day with these gents. While you have to keep your eye out for stains or pulled threads (more likely in the folded but more expensive [!!] ties), the quality of the goods from either is remarkably high. You’ll find, if you look carefully, ties from Joseph Abboud, Tommy Hilfiger, Nautica, Jerry Garcia, the Metropolitan Museum of Art (being worn at this moment), Lands’ End, Brooks Brothers (verily), and my greatest score, Shakespeare on a medium-blue background from Josh Bach, normally $49, now discontinued. By the way, the labels are not randomly affixed to available merchandise, a practice that seemed to define shopping in Shanghai.  Having spent enough time, but as little money as possible, buying ties, I can recognize styles and designs from leading sources. Understand, you probably won’t find the same thing twice. I’ve never found another Josh Bach on either table – the three others that I own were gifts, two from wonderful step-children. So, I bought 3 ties for $5 on the way to lunch, although only one tie spoke to me from the same table yesterday. By the way, I got my Mets tie from the guy on Broadway, but my Rangers tie I found at a flea market upstate.

Friday, May 3, 2013
No work today because the anarchic Jews of West End Synagogue are holding their annual retreat, for which I have some responsibility.  We're heading for a campsite in Copake, NY, about 100 miles due north of New York City, a lot closer to where real Americans live.  For better or worse, we will remain insulated from the outside world because we will be the only occupants of the facility, which houses a children's camp as well as an adult camp during the summer.  In fact, we will be opening the season for them.  That might yield pleasure in newly-painted and refurbished quarters, or distress as the staff scurries around looking for  missing equipment and supplies.  I'll know the results in 48 hours, and, should they be less than satisfactory, I'll hear about it at least until 5775.

The Man Who Ate Too Much

Monday, April 22, 2013
From the New York Times: "Senator Charles E. Grassley of Iowa, the most senior Republican on the Senate Judiciary Committee, opened a hearing on immigration legislation by stressing that the issue was important ‘particularly in light of all that’s happening in Massachusetts right now and over the last week.’" Senator Grassley asked "How can we beef up security checks on people who wish to enter the U.S.?" Of course, Senator Grassley was among those who subverted the President’s modest effort to curb gun violence last week. In other words, watch out who gets into the country, but, once in, don’t you dare consider how and where and why and when they acquire lethal weapons. He also belongs to that principled group of legislators who seemingly wish to protect children from harm only until they are born. I guess the International Arrivals Building at JFK Airport is a lot like the maternity ward at Allen Hospital, Waterloo, Iowa, the nearest to Senator Grassley’s residence, in that regard. Once you get out the door, you’re on your own.

On the whole, NRA-type gun owners do not live in the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave. They fear leaving their home (their fort?) without the ability to kill other people. Yet, it is exactly the weaponry that they embrace that causes death and destruction for tens of thousands of us each year. These frightened people offer up a scarce few anecdotes about armed civilian good guys stopping armed bad guys that are years (decades) old while every day armed guys, good and bad, kill themselves, family members, neighbors and strangers in disproportionate numbers.

Yung Sun Seafood Restaurant, 47 East Broadway, is sort of a strange place. It seems brand new, with its street front entirely made of glass. There are 11 round tables inside, most with pink tablecloths, but a few with their plywood tops uncovered. It has four small round and one medium-sized round crystal chandeliers sparkling on the ceiling. The customary phoenix and dragon were on the back wall against a red background. The entire right hand wall was lined with a four-foot high mirror from front to back. Immediately upon entering, there are nine fish tanks stocked with lobsters, crabs and fleshy fish. And the joint was empty. When I arrived, there was another customer seated alone, but, it turns out, he wasn’t eating. He seemed to be a bill collector who promised to return next week. Later, a few Chinese men and women came in, but they were friends or relatives of restaurant workers come to chat. What I found particularly odd in light of the newness of the restaurant and its total lack of patronage was the condition of the menus. They were all beat up as if they had been open and closed thousands of times in the past.

In any case, I ordered moo shu chicken ($8.95) from the very extensive menu. It came with seven pancakes, although the menu promised six, and the pancakes were square not round. The portion itself was very large, but it wasn’t easy recognizing the chicken visually amid the similarly-pale shredded lettuce, cabbage and onion. The egg, carrot and scallion components were more easily spotted. Also easily spotted was my shirt as I tried to handle the stuffed, juicy, rolled-up pancake. The check seemed wrong at first until I noticed that a 15% tip was added by the waitress which I found acceptable considering the pot of hot tea and the dish of slightly-spicy peanuts to nibble on while waiting.

Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Thanks to Dean Alfange’s research, I may have met my match. David Chan, a Los Angeles lawyer, has allegedly eaten in 6,297 Chinese restaurants throughout the United States, as well as abroad. http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-chinese-eater-20130422-dto,0,6902048.htmlstory

He has documented his accomplishment on a spreadsheet, with the earliest entries going back to his childhood in Los Angeles in the 1950s. I give Mr. Chan full credit, but I must note that my (ad)venture encompassing almost 250 restaurants to date is confined by time and space to the lunch hour for the last 40 months in and around New York’s (Original) Chinatown. I can only imagine if I started recording my experiences at Wu Han, upstairs on Pitkin Avenue in Brownsville, before Mr. Chan was even born. So, let us not compare lychees and kumquats.

Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Over 150 court attorneys from all over New York City attended classes today at New York Law School. We were given name tags with clever plastic clips to attach to our shirts and blouses. Soon after I sat down in the lecture hall at a location that I thought would be crossword puzzle-friendly, I noticed that my name tag was gone. The room filled up soon, with many people in the rows behind me, thereby denying me the opportunity to enjoy the next several hours. At the first coffee break, I told one of the group leaders that I lost my badge. She asked if I recalled the number on my badge, which, of course, I did not. Then, she asked if I remembered what I had pre-ordered for lunch (which the forgotten number signified). The answer to that easy question came very quickly. "I’d sooner forget my name than what I want for lunch."

Thursday, April 25, 2013
Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia goes to church regularly. His legal opinions seem to combine a coherent legal theory with a realistic view of human behavior and its imperfections. Yet, I find him despicable because of his willful blindness to our history of racism. In the recent oral argument before the Supreme Court on the Voting Rights Law, he characterized the legislation, meant to redress decades of patent discrimination by whites against blacks attempting to participate in the political process, as "racial entitlement." He derided the surprisingly-strong congressional support for the legislation as political opportunism. "Even the name [of the statute] is wonderful," he mocked.

Maybe Scalia’s time on his knees in church might be better spent in a chair reading American history, such as this year’s Pulitzer Prize winner in general non-fiction, "Devil in the Grove: Thurgood Marshall, the Groveland Boys and the Dawn of a New America." This is an account of four black men falsely accused of raping a young white woman in Florida in 1947. According to the book review in the New York Times today: "One of the accused men never made it to a courtroom. He was hunted down and shot to death by a hastily organized posse. Two others were shot by the local sheriff, Willis McCall, while being transported from state prison to the local jail for a hearing after their convictions were overturned by the Supreme Court. One died on the side of the road. The other survived." That has been the real nature of racial entitlement for most of our history. Arguably, it continues in the efforts to curb minority voting in many parts of the country, although possibly rooted in concerns for preserving the Republican Party not just the white race. Scalia, who searches the annals of 18th century America in support of his views of the meaning of our Constitution, has proved eager to free corporate America from its regulatory shackles, while ignoring the plight of ordinary citizens (including women denied equal pay for equal work). Scalia, typical of so many contemporary conservatives, stayed away from the civil rights protests of the 60s, usually elevating freedom of association above other legal values. Okay. But, now, he and many of his compatriots long to turn back the clock to a simpler time, when the right race was entitled.

Banh Mi, Vietnamese Sandwich, 73 West Broadway, may well offer the best Vietnamese sandwich, as a sign inside proclaims. It is a very small space, with most of its business take-out. There are three small round metal tables, each with a low stool opposite a cushioned bench in the front left side of the restaurant. A park bench is outside for al fresco dining. More than half of the right wall is taken up by beverage coolers holding everything from Dr. Brown’s to cans of tea from the old country. Two of the walls were exposed brick and a large, ornate, unlit chandelier hung high up in the back left corner.

Ten sandwiches are offered, all on fresh baguettes. A majority cost $6.50, including the traditional ham and paté, lemongrass pork chop, vegetarian and the chicken saté that I chose. Salmon is the most expensive at $9. Every one contains pickled carrots, cucumber, cilantro, assorted greens, mayo and balsamic vinaigrette (which is not the way I spelled it originally). You can ask for four levels of spiciness. My sandwich was excellent, the chicken pieces plump and the tastes clearly defined.

Friday, April 26, 2013
I had lunch with Gilbert Glotzer, attorney to the stars, on this lovely day. We met in front of his office opposite City Hall Park, and crossed over in order to enjoy chicken, mystery meat combos over rice in the open air purchased from a fellow Semite (with whom we may have some doctrinal differences).  Gil and I had not seen each other for almost 40 hours since we went to the Mets-Dodgers game on Wednesday night.  You know the one with the grand slam at the bottom of the 10th inning.  There was much less excitement today, however, but we had nothing to eat at the ballgame, so the two events sort of balanced out.

Tied Up

Monday, April 15, 2013
I had already seen the menu for InDessert, 1 East Broadway, so I stopped into Wo Hop, 17 Mott Street, for a bowl of won ton soup and crispy noodles first. Tong sui, "sugar water," is a collective term for any sweet, warm soup or custard served as a dessert at the end of a meal in Cantonese cuisine, says WikiPedia. It is the focus of the menu at InDessert, in a space that has housed at least four different restaurants during my self-assigned mission. While this turnover was merited by the mediocre or worse operations conducted there, I recall how this address once housed really good Chinese restaurants, such as Goody’s when it moved from Rego Park, where my mother and I first came across it.

The premises have been completely renovated. The interior is paneled in wooden planks, painted white, hung horizontally. It gives a bright and open feel to the space. Along the right wall are 9 two-tops facing a long bench with either a white or orange metal chair opposite. The ceiling light fixtures alternate white and orange bulbs for a festive air. Another 9 two-tops with two chairs each are clustered in the front left of the restaurant. Further back on the left is the ordering and prep area manned (??) by a young woman who patiently explained some of the menu (muo muo cha cha anyone?) and offered me samples – I found black sesame paste soup not to be my cup of tea. Besides tong sui, InDessert serves smoothies, milkshakes, shaved ice, fruit bowls and French toast, but not today. I kept it simple and had mixed fruit shaved ice ($5) which contained blueberries, watermelon, pineapple, strawberries, honeydew and lychee (mostly diced into small pieces) in a sweet sauce. Although water-based, as the ice melted it seemed creamy.

In contrast to the many beverage places in Chinatown, usually holes in the wall, crevices even, focusing on tea drinks, hot or cold, InDessert serves no tea or coffee, concentrating on fruit instead. That’s fine, but it occupies the space of a regular restaurant, presumably at a hefty rent given its prime location on Confucius Square. May I add that I was the only customer in the 15-20 minutes I lingered there. Under these circumstances, I think I’ll be seeing still another new enterprise at 1 East Broadway in the near future.

Tuesday, April 16, 2013
We received notices this morning that the Vanity Fair/Tribeca Film Festival Reception will be held in the rotunda and on the portico of the courthouse this evening requiring staff to leave the building by side doors. This is adding up to another time when my career in show business will be frustrated. While I could probably do something to call attention to myself as, contrary to instructions, I waltz through the Hollywood crowd on my way home, but that would be contrary to the roles in which I think I would flourish – a combination of David Niven, Tommie Lee Jones and Gregory Peck. I really have to change agents.

Spring is still here and I found another new restaurant. Aux Epices, 121 Baxter Street, is about three-months old. Oh, are you poised to accuse me of losing focus by including a French restaurant? Well, Aux Epices is a Malaysian restaurant, although I failed to ask the chef-owner about the name when we chatted about the menu. The space is charming, very narrow, with a cushioned bench along the left exposed-brick wall. Eight two-tops are lined up in front of the bench with a rattan/bamboo chair at each table. The opposite wall is a pale flesh tone, that is if your flesh is toned like a northern or central European. Seven colorful photographs are displayed along the length of that wall. The floor is old-time white octagon tiles with black inserts; the ceiling is pressed tin.

I ordered two appetizers (called small plates, very small plates by me), a curry puff ($3.50) and a crispy anise duck roll ($5.50). The curry puff would be an empanada in any other setting. It was filled with potato and had little curry flavor. The duck roll was actually two cylinders, about 1" thick and 3" long, each cut in half. While nice and crispy, its flavors also were not distinctive.

The chef had a reasonable explanation for not serving roti canai, the common denominator of every other Malaysian restaurant I’ve been to. She felt that, in her very small kitchen, she could not prepare the pancake (roti) fresh to order. The rest of the menu, while not as extensive as the physically bigger restaurants, such as West New Malaysia, shows some imagination in offering chicken, shrimp, pork, salmon, seafood and noodles in varying arrangements. I’ll probably return, at least to try one of the full-size plates in a setting that I found particularly congenial.

Wednesday, April 17, 2013
The friendly group of Tom, Cousin Jerry, Jon, Ken, Stony Brook Steve and Michael met at Joe’s Ginger, 25 Pell Street, which allowed me, somewhat pedantically, to offer instructions on how to ingest a soup bun – nip, zzzup, bite and chew. Their soup buns ($4.95-6.95 for 8 based on contents) are exceptionally good, and we followed them with scallion pancakes ($3.25 each), which give grease a good name. For main courses we shared kung pao chicken ($11.95), beef with scallions ($12.95), eggplant with garlic sauce (meatless, $9.95), and spinach with chunks of garlic (not on the menu). We also had Shanghai fried rice ($5.95), no meat, just eggs and scallions. A few of my colleagues sampled the latest vintage of Diet Coke. All in all, a delightful lunch hour.

Thursday, April 18, 2013
This morning, for the second time this week, I started my day up in the Bronx getting unscheduled repairs to my new teeth. The fix was a bit complicated and I did not get to the courthouse until 1 PM, so I got a chicken platter from the Halal cart man and ate at my desk.

Tonight is my last of the very few Ranger games that I have been able to attend this season.

Friday, April 19, 2013
I’ve initiated the following automatic message this morning on another Internet site: "I’ve ceased using Yahoo. If you know me, you know how to reach me. Otherwise, please assist someone else trying to lose weight, or, trying to enlarge certain body parts."

My department, in order to welcome new members and celebrate promotions, held a pizza lunch ($10) in a large empty courtroom. I tried to get my money’s worth.

Last night, I went to my last Ranger game of the season and tonight I am going to my first Mets game of the season. Might you say A Man For All Seasons? On that note, have a peek at Grandpa Alan’s wardrobe.

New, Nu?

Monday, April 8, 2013
Judge Judy has been renewed through 2017, it was announced this morning. This giant of jurisprudence has been on the air since 1996, and now averages more than 9 million daily viewers, more than any other daytime show. She is reportedly paid $45 million annually. The system works.

When I entered Fei Tenc Restaurant, 68 East Broadway, I knew that I had been on the premises before, when it was New York Foo Chow Restaurant (May 24, 2010). I recollected that I had been disappointed, but I hoped that the new regime in this period of Spring renewal would produce different results. After I sat down at one of the 12 round tables, 6 others occupied by one or two people, I had a troubling vision. The takeout menus stuck under the glass tops covering the pink linen read New York Foo Chow Restaurant. However, and I was searching for reassurance, the heavy, bound menu said A1 Zhen Foo Chow Restaurant, so I sat back in my chair and ordered orange flavor beef ($9.95) exactly as I had almost three years ago without realizing it. Reading back my notes, I did not enjoy it any more this time, since the microwave had not made the dish uniformly hot. Rice was 75¢ extra.

Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Renewal is still the theme. I went to J & B Seafood Restaurant, 39-41 East Broadway, on May 12, 2010, and found it a respectable dim sum joint. Today, the establishment is called the Golden Sands Restaurant, but very little else has changed. The chairs were still draped in tangerine-colored brocade cloth. It was very crowded with 3 or 4 generations of Chinese people, who were being served by an almost endless stream of dim sum cart-wielders. The variety was very good and I tried some unfamiliar things including something very close to a matzoh ball and a ground fish patty on top of a 1/4 inch slice of lotus root, an aquatic plant with more holes than Swiss cheese. Food quality was high and service very good. I had no trouble communicating since my index finger was able to point in the right direction.

Wednesday, April 10, 2013
While the changes to Fei Tenc and Golden Sands seemed superficial, I could see that what had been Sushein, Kaiten Sushi Bar & Restaurant, 325 Broadway, the Kosher sushi restaurant, had really changed. Now called Siring Asian Grill, the conveyor belt carrying plates of sushi up and down the high ledge running down the center of the restaurant’s front room, was gone. The ledge remained, only separating the counter and stools on the left from the five booths on the right. The backroom, where the dishes were delivered on foot, stayed the same physically, but was closed off. The light gray walls of the main room were empty except for two flat-screen video monitors, one showing food items and the other turned to ESPN. It made for a discordant combination, especially in the otherwise austere setting.

Siring is no longer Kosher, and the menu is pan-Asian, including Vietnamese, Thai and Chinese elements. Not unlike The Hummus & Pita Co., which I visited last week, Siring relies on create-it-yourself cuisine, which is awkward when you encounter the menu for the first time. The first step is to choose between a bowl of rice, noodles or salad or a wrap, then "proteins," including tofu, followed by vegetables and sauces on top. This was too much work, so I chose Saigon turkey sliders from among a handful of set combinations ($8.27). I got three 1" round turkey meatballs, chopped lettuce, shaved carrots, onions, chopped peanuts, toasted shallots and vermicelli with a near-tasteless Vietnamese lime juice dressing. Not worth the money.

While only two women were ordering when I walked in, giving Siring a funereal air at the height of the lunch hour, another eight or so people came in eventually to liven the place up. As I was finishing, a young man in an attractive house T-shirt came over to me and asked how I enjoyed my lunch. Drawing upon my almost 40 months prowling the streets of Chinatown, I had to tell him the truth. I criticized the appearance of the joint, a contrast between cheap paper signs in the window and the minimalist lines and color scheme of the premises; the unnecessary video monitors. I told him how flavorless my dish was, how confusing the menu was, and how unfocussed the whole operation seemed.

This did not lead to a chopstick up my nose, but rather an honest discussion of his plans. He introduced himself as Smith, used as a first name replacing his Thai name (which must translate as "very ordinary Thai name"). He and his partner are MIT grads, who (probably sitting on multi-million dollar bio-genetic patents) set out to try something different. He admitted that the current operation is a bust, but he is working with experienced restaurant people to reposition his business. He plans to redo the interior which centered on the now-removed sushi conveyor belt, and rethink the menu. The physical site presents a problem, just above a stretch of fast-food joints, including a McDonald’s, and consisting of two long, narrow rectangles joined at a right angle. The conversation was friendly, I was honest but not cruel. Smith asked me to return when he implements the next iteration of his enterprise, and I will, in the hope that he can find the right formula in a very tough business.

Thursday, April 11, 2013
I put aside the new and renewed for a day and headed right to Wo Hop, 17 Mott Street, for duck chow fun ($6.50), a dish rarely found anywhere else and executed particularly well by this basement-dwelling crew.

I’m going to find a new agent. All week, large crews from The Ordained, Blue Bloods and Law & Order: SVU have been working throughout the area, often lined up next to each other on Duane Street or Baxter Street. Do you think I’ve been approached? Has anyone asked me for a headshot? Invited me for a reading? Isn’t there room in this hip-hop, Gen-Y, Bieberesque culture for a tall, white-haired gentleman of sober mien? I remain undiscovered and unhappy, and will remain unhappy throughout this evening because some diabolical force has scheduled both the Mets and the Rangers to sit idle this evening.  And, sitting idle is one thing I don't do well.

Friday, April 12, 2013
I was all set to end this week of the new and renewed by going to InDessert, 1 East Broadway, which appeared to be the most radical departure among the new restaurants I’ve recently visited. I passed it earlier in the week and took a menu, conveniently printed on a 3" x 6" card. However, when I got there, it was closed which might be a harbinger of things to come since that location has housed at least 4 different eating establishments in the 3+ years that I have been exploring metropolitan Chinatown. I’ll find out more next week when I try to get in again. Maybe I’ll eat in advance, just to make sure I don’t go hungry.

The death of Jonathan Winters at 87 was just announced.  I urge those of you under the age of 50 to seek out his work.  There must be videos of him floating out there in the cloud and he produced some great comic recordings in the 1960s.  It's fair to compare him to Robin Williams as a brilliant improviser, maybe more mentally manic, but less a physical presence. Winters never had a starring movie role like Good Morning, Vietnam or The Birdcage where he could make three meals out of the screen.  However, he and we were fortunate that he never found himself afloat in sentimental goop disguised as philosophical insights and lessons to live by. 

L'Dor V'Dor

Monday, April 1, 2013
Truth in Advertising is usually no more than a punch line, but I was provoked by a full-page public service advertisement in the Sunday New York Times magazine. Since the cause promoted is a good one, I will not identify it. More likely the ad copy came from Madison Avenue than a medical laboratory. It said, in relevant part, "Odds of becoming a top ranked NASCAR driver: 1 in 125 billion." This got me thinking. How many people on Earth? My guess as I walked from the subway was 6 billion. Looking on-line, I found that the U.S. Census Bureau said 7,017,543,964 on July 1, 2012. Then, although not a follower of motor sports, I quickly named Jeff Gordon, Jimmie Johnson, Dale Earnhardt, Jr., a guy named Stewart (I think Tony Stewart) and Danica Patrick as top ranked NASCAR drivers. That makes 5 in 7 billion, or 1 in 1.4 billion, by my crude reckoning. No doubt any white Protestant male reading this commentary can do better than that. So, leave it at 1 in 1,400,000,000, that’s awesome enough.

Tuesday, April 2, 2013
May I propose the 50-Mile Marriage Rule? If you want the Upper West Side’s Power Couple to attend your wedding, please hold it within 50 miles of the Palazzo di Gotthelf. I assure you that this will evoke a very generous gift considering the expense that you spared us. I’m not even speaking of one of those absurd destination weddings where you have to consort in forced joviality mostly with folks you have never met before and will never meet again at a place with too much noise and not enough shade. Case in point is the upcoming wedding of a very pleasant young relative who is marrying an equally pleasant person who grew up in the continental United States, but not near here. So far, the hotel reservation for the weekend is $670 without resort to the mini-bar, and the airfare is $770 if you don’t check any luggage. Add in at least $100 in cab fares at both ends and we’ve spent $1,540. All else is equal, the gift, a new dress for America’s Favorite Epidemiologist. I’m not promising to give you $1,500 if you get married in the East Midwood Jewish Center, but I’ll be much happier and try to make you happier too.

Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Spring is here, although someone forgot to switch off the winter weather here in New York. Yet, Spring is the time of renewal and several signs of budding enterprise have come up in my Lunch Zone. Today, I went to CM Malaysian Restaurant, 21 Division Street, which opened since I made my sweep of Malaysian restaurants during the week of November 26, 2012. It is a medium-sized restaurant, with a long counter along the left wall containing the cash register, coffee urns and a soda machine. There were two round tables and about 20 two-tops arranged in different patterns. They were about 1/3 occupied.

I started with roti canai ($3.50), the Indian pancake with curry dipping sauce, a favorite of mine. I also ordered one of their $5.95 lunch specials, Combination Triple Over Rice, consisting of curry chicken, beef and achat (pickled vegetables), with a free fountain soda. The food was OK, not quite as good as West New Malaysia Restaurant in the Bowery arcade, which only rises to B level itself. However, I lingered long after my food was gone, admittedly never a long stretch after it is served, because of the entertainment. There were two flat-screen video monitors on the restaurant’s back wall, one about six feet closer to me than the other because a bathroom takes a notch out of the floor space in the back right corner. Different musical variety shows were on each screen, but I concentrated on the closer screen. It starred a Chinese/Korean/Japanese/Vietnamese/Malaysian (East Asian, in brief) female singer attempting to channel the sultry intensity of Diana Ross before a large, adoring audience. There was the expected quotient of glitter and pyrotechnics, but the design and execution of the back-up choreography fell far short of Motown standards. At least some of the songs were in English, requiring subtitles in two Asian languages.  The whole show was wonderfully mediocre. 

Thursday, April 4, 2013
Virtue may not be its only reward. Last night, during prime television viewing hours, I attended an important synagogue committee meeting (aren’t they all?). I came home to find that the Rangers, Mets, and Knicks were all winning big even without me shouting back at the television set.

There’s East and then there’s East. My tally of restaurants is limited to Far Eastern food in the metropolitan Chinatown vicinity. That means Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Vietnamese, Indonesian and Malaysian, so far. I’ve not found any Cambodian or Singaporean restaurants downtown yet, although a few exist in Manhattan. In any case, a brand new Middle Eastern restaurant opened on Monday, a part of the Spring initiative, The Hummus & Pita Co., 79 Chambers Street, which I will describe without incrementing my count.

It’s in a very long, narrow space. The front third is occupied by 4 high tables and three ledges with tall stools, which held members of Gen X and Gen Y, as observed by this member of Gen F. The rest of the space is taken by the ordering/prep area on your left and the long line of customers moving down on your right. One of the six or so men behind the counter ask for your order, which, at least on an initial visit, is not so easy to provide because of the restaurant's sort of build-it-yourself approach. The menu has sections labelled Start It, Make It, Fill It, Top It, Sauce It. I kept it more or less simple, falafel on pita (choice of white or whole wheat) topped with Israeli salad (chopped cucumbers and tomatoes) and tahina ($4.95), but I made it a combo, bad French fries and a large fountain soda for $3 more. The falafel itself was very good. They also offer gyros (that mysterious hunk of meat roasting on a vertical spit), chicken and steak shawarma on pita, in a wrap, in a bowl or on a platter, each step up allowing room for more salad, rice, vegetables to be heaped on for another buck or two.

The Hummus & Pita Co.’s initial success made eating in uncomfortable, not just in finding a stool, but working your way back from deep in the store, squeezing by all the people on line while balancing a tray. Not surprisingly, most customers were carrying out their orders in neat little shopping bags.

Friday, April 5, 2013
Tujague’s Restaurant, 823 Decatur Street, is New Orleans second oldest restaurant. While it is well outside the ordinary geographical limits of this (ad)venture, I have to take note of it because of the unexpected death of Steven Latter, its owner-operator. Steven’s grandfather Zamwel (Samuel) Latter was an older brother of my grandmother Ita (Yetta) Latter Gotthelf. When America’s Favorite Epidemiologist and I went to New Orleans in September 2011 to celebrate the 30th anniversary of Cindy& David McMullen, we all went to Tujague’s for dinner and met Steven for the first and last time. Now, because Steven’s son has inherited the restaurant, but not the land underneath, its future is uncertain. http://dinersjournal.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/04/01/rescue-effort-for-tujaques-a-new-orleans-mainstay/

I can’t say that I ever dreamed of owning a restaurant, but I have imagined it at times over the decades. But my personal recollection of the problems associated with owning and operating several regular businesses combined with the prospect of keeping fussy restaurant patrons happy has kept me strictly in the role of customer. Steven, as I learned, went into Tujague’s cold, without any background in the restaurant business, taking over a local institution and kept it thriving. Maybe it’s extended family pride, but I hope his son is successful going forward.

Closer to home, but still in the family, I was delighted to learn that Lainie Goldenberg Roth, my cousin Michael’s oldest daughter, has just named her second daughter Adina Rochel Roth. Adina means delicate or refined in Hebrew and, in Lainie’s words, "Rochel - Adina’s middle name was chosen with her great, great Aunt Ruthie (Chaya Rochel Goldenberg [Gotthelf]) in mind. Aunt Ruthie lived a long, full life and passed away this year at the age of 102. She was a strong, beautiful Jewish woman and we hope that Adina will inherit some of her admirable traits."