Saturday, July 11, 2026
My niece Susan was visiting her father in New Jersey from Shanghai along with her older son Tomas from California and her daughter Emma from Minnesota. We were, of course, drawn to this multigenerational assemblage. The gathering inevitably occurred at Seasons 52, 217 Lafayette Avenue, Edison, New Jersey, which should not surprise regular readers. This location, very close to my brother’s home, is one of over 40 nationally. Maybe the others stink, but this one consistently satisfies us. The tables are well spread out, service is attentive, the food is good and they have Coke Zero on tap.
I started with a bowl of lobster bisque, garnished with fresh lobster and roasted corn relish, topped with a splash of sherry and chives ($11.50). It seemed a little thicker than necessary. For a main course, I chose “Wood-grilled shrimp that are caramelized and served over stone-ground grits with tomatoes, savory bacon and chorizo” ($25). This is the second time ever that I had shrimp and grits, the first in Charlotte, North Carolina. Again, I was disappointed. I don’t fault the kitchen; the dish just isn’t very interesting. It’s less than the sum of its parts.
On the other hand, the desserts are always interesting. They sound familiar, but they are deconstructed and served in tall shot glasses in an attempt to keep the calorie count down. All are $5. I had a raspberry chocolate chip mini cannoli, the shell kept separate from the filling. Yes, it was very good, as were the blueberry and lemon, the turtle cheesecake, and the chocolate peanut butter concoctions.
Sunday, July 12, 2026
I know at least one very nice Karen; I don’t know any Chads. Without any other information, those names supposedly carry the most negative connotations, “with Donald, John, and Damien appearing frequently among the names most likely to trigger a negative reaction when heard for the first time.”
. . .
There’s no place like home, it was once said. However, starting in the middle of the last century, young adults (“roughly 20 to 35 years of age” https://dictionary.apa.
Here is a visualization of the situation.
Monday, July 13, 2026
We traveled to Kenya and Tanzania in 2018, spending most of our time observing animals. There were thrilling sights day after day. Giraffes might have been my favorite; there is simply nothing like them. There were also hundreds and hundreds of zebras, an impressive sight. I understand that every stripe pattern is unique, although I don’t know how you prove it.
There is a recent study of the value of stripes to a zebra. It has been established that zebras are less the target of flies than monotonic animals. Researchers in Japan painted stripes on cows and found that they too were less bothered by flies. The stripes did it, although exactly why remains uncertain. Presumably, they are waiting for flies to testify.
Gentleman Jerry and I had lunch at Simply Noodles, 267 Amsterdam Avenue, a small, efficient joint. Noodles, dumplings and some miscellaneous items are on the menu. We shared a thin, semi crispy scallion pancake ($8). I had a Rainbow Dumplings assortment, vegetable, pork, chicken, beef and shrimp pot stickers, in distinctive wrappers ($11). It was all very good, but not gut busting.
Wednesday, July 15, 2026
My hope for an England-France World Cup final will have to wait four years, although they compete Saturday afternoon for third place if anyone cares.
. . .
Today is Margie’s birthday and her sisters made it special. Betsy, younger, was the host (or is she still the hostess? [if not, what about Hostess Cupcakes?]) of a lovely dinner party. Betsy prepared an intricate DIY sushi meal. It was great fun, if not occasionally messy, wrapping seaweed around salmon, tuna, cucumber, sweet potato, panko, sesame seed, scallion, wasabi, soy sauce, rice and aioli.
Susan, older, baked a delicious chocolate birthday cake and, blessedly, there was enough left over to give me a piece to take home.
Thursday, July 16, 2026
It’s that time of year again, the New York City Department of Education announcing the results of the competitive process for admission to nine selective high schools. Eight rely solely on a written examination; one, devoted to the arts, use auditions and/or portfolios.
Stuyvesant High School, Alma Mater of my brother, Alan, Ariel, Arthur, Benjamin, Burt, Fred, Ghada, Hank, Jenny, Margarita, Mark, Marty, Melanie, Nicky, Pete, Ronnie, Samuel, Steve and me, as well as any number of departed friends and relatives, offers the most disturbing picture. Admission has been granted to 777 new students for the upcoming year, only three identified as Black. This is not an instance of white supremacy; 133 are identified as white. Asian students, predominantly Chinese, are the core group, 534.
With each year’s results, there are calls to abandon the test, including New York’s Democratic Socialist mayor, himself a graduate of the Bronx High School of Science, another elite institution. John McWhorter, Associate Professor of Linguistics at Columbia University, examines the issue and concludes that “[s]aying that the analytical reasoning required by standardized tests is incompatible with Blackness sounds a lot like saying Black people are less intelligent than others and should settle for excellence in sports and entertainment but not academia.”
For years, I have unsuccessfully been trying to find the quote by Arthur Ashe, the Black tennis star, to the effect that if kids applied themselves as intently to academics as they did to athletics, they might achieve comparable success. Even if he never expressed that directly, I believe it.
Friday, July 17, 2026
Urban Hawker, 135 West 50th Street, a pan-Asian food hall, populated by Singaporean vendors, is closing today. Pan-Asian meant Korean, Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, Thai, Indian and Malay cuisines. Good Neighbor Trent just returned from a visit to Singapore where, he told me, there were similar enterprises.
The building has changed ownership, effecting a change of plans for the space. I will miss it. The variety and quality were high. Prices were almost reasonable. Maybe I have to go to Singapore.
Friday, July 17, 2026
It was another date night, dinner and a show. We ate at Frena, 773 Tenth Avenue, a newish Middle Eastern restaurant. It’s fairly large, a dozen tables outside, a bar with 10 stools and about two dozen tables inside arrayed at a 90° angle. The decor is an attractive combination of off-white, beige and tan, the wooden furniture mahogany and wicker. It was empty when we walked in at 5:15 PM and full 45 minutes later.
We were only moderately hungry but enjoyed what we ordered and shared. We had a trio of dips, baba ganoush, roasted eggplant, tahini, lemon juice, and garlic; labne, creamy yogurt; and matbucha, red peppers, tomatoes, garlic and olive oil ($28), served with a freshly baked bread, brushed with olive oil, Maldon salt (sea salt harvested in Maldon, England), rosemary and sage. The bread was so good we had another loaf for $11. Then, we had wasabi and pepper crusted tuna, four slices, roughly 2" square, tasting very good, but overpriced. With this caveat, put this place on your list.
. . .
A good meal and a great parking space would have made for a successful night out even if the show was a dud. However, Birthright by Jonathan Spector, winner of a Tony last year for Eureka Day, earned very positive reviews from the New York Times and America's Favorite Epidemiologist. Of course, I quibbled, but you should not be deterred. The play deals with a group of young adult (see above) Jews weeks after they return from an all-expense paid trip to Israel on the Birthright program. In three acts with two intermissions (a rarity these days), their interrelations and their attitudes about Israel are tested. It would be a rare Jew outside ultra-Orthodox circles, however, who doesn't share their concerns.
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