Hawleyblog

The Pride Parade

I had a ball at the Pride parade yesterday. It was a long and exhausting day but a ton of fun. It was especially thrilling marching through the Village, which was so gay for the day, it made Provincetown seem like Provo.

Our group of bloggers met up on 54th Street between 5th and 6th avenues at 11:30. We didn't get moving down 5th Avenue until after 2:30, and we reached the end of the route at about 6:30. One thing that helped keep us moving was the music coming from the Club Atlantis float in front of us. Trouble was, the Peruvian GLBT group behind us, Primer Movimiento Peruano GLBT, was also playing music, so we sometimes had two competing songs coming at us, depending on how close our neighbors were.

We took turns holding our banner. At various points throughout the parade, an announcer would give the name of our group, and we'd cheer ourselves along with the spectators.

Not long after we turned onto 8th Street, a handsome Latino in the crowd motioned for me to come over toward him. He planted a big smooch on me and squeezed my right pec. Woot! And I hadn't even taken off my shirt yet, so he never got a glimpse of this prime beefcake. Hah!

I caught up with Gavin, an upstate blogger I met at GB5 in May 2008; hung out with some local guys I've known since GB5, such as Stash and Little David; and got acquainted with some new bloggers, including vlogger Brian, fellow Brooklynite Brenda, Beau, Wayne, and podcaster Tim.

And now, let's start my cavalcade of photos with Father Tony, who got us our spot in the parade, and his husband, Chris, who was marshall for our group. Thanks, guys!

Little David, Gavin, Beau, Stash, and Brenda

And speaking of David, here's his ass. ...

... and here he is dancing (using the actual choreography from the video) to "Single Ladies (Put a Ring On It)."

And speaking of gay Jews (how's that for a segue?), here's a guy I'm going to call Sweet Fancy Moses, who's clearly not wearing underwear. *stares below SFM's navel, then averts gaze, then looks back* The "tablet" in his left arm said "RIGHTS BILL." On the back of both tablets was "2009."

Toward the end of the parade, the Radical Faeries and Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence migrated ahead of us. I so wanted to migrate into the pants of the guy in the lavender tuxedo shirt and suspenders. Hot damn!

Tim, with Big Shirtless* Brian behind him. With his mouth open. Which is how I usually like big shirtless guys to be. ;-)

PMP GLBT, on Christopher Street

And finally, here's the Stonewall Inn, where the modern gay rights movement began 40 years ago yesterday.

Here are some of my fellow NYC Gay Bloggers & Digital Activists' accounts of the march:

Father Tony has a group photo in front of the Stonewall Inn here and a slideshow of photos, with a link to Flickr, here.

Stash's post includes a photo of me with one of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence.

Wayne's post has a photo of one of the cast members of Naked Boys Singing, who is sadly neither naked nor singing.

Joe of Joe. My. God. has a bunch of great photos, including crowd shots, here.

Chris of See My Briefs has a shot of a queerly dressed terrier here.

Here's Gavin's take.

And here's KnuckleCrack's Eric, who represented at the Dyke March too.

*I always thought it was Big Shirtless Rod. My second favorite Ya Hoo cast member name is probably Hip Diddler. And there's a Rudy too!

I'm All Set for the Pride Parade

Father Tony got a spot in Sunday's Pride parade for us New York City Gay Bloggers & Digital Activists. He wanted us all to dress the same so we could convey our groupness. He e-mailed us a logo to use

and instructions on how to customize a T-shirt from Cafe Press, putting the blogger name on the front and the blog name on the back.

I wanted to sport a picture of the woofers, one of my favorites that has Emme looking at the camera from the edge of my bed and Rudy sprawled out and sawing wood behind her. And you know, it shows my bed, so everyone will be able to see where all of the action happens. *wolf whistle*

Here's the front:

I went with Brooklyn Bill because just Bill seemed too short. And because I've got borough pride in addition to gay pride. Woo hoo!

And here's the back:

The cat is Mr. Peterson, one of Bob and Jen's pair of brother cats.

A Food and Drink Post With an Unusual Burger and an Effed-Up Cookie That Still Turned Out Delicious

Bufala di Vermont has started coming to the Union Square Greenmarket, which is excellent news for me because I love BDV's water buffalo yogurts. They're rich, thick, and delicious, like, um, Alec Baldwin. Today's Alec Baldwin, not 80AB. And they're flavored with raspberries, blueberries, or, my favorite, maple syrup.

This page from BDV's site shows nutritional comparisons for cow, goat, sheep, and water buffalo milks (as does the Wikipedia article I linked to above, at "water buffalo"). Water buffalo milk is twice as fattening as cow milk, but it's higher in protein and calcium.

This past Friday was the first day I noticed BDV selling meat. I asked the guy what it tasted like, and he said it was like veal in that it's lower in fat than beef. I got a pound to try, and I made burgers from it on Saturday and yesterday. (I'll probably eat the rest of it for dinner.) It is noticeably leaner than beef, though it has a pretty similar taste, with a tiny amount of "gaminess." I don't really want to call it that, since this water buffalo is a domesticated animal, but I don't know what other term I could use to note the subtle difference in flavor compared with beef. Maybe I should just say that it's slightly different and leave it at that.

Here's a chart from another water buffalo producer, Turkey Creek in Arkansas, that gives a comparison of the amounts of saturated fat and cholesterol found in different kinds of meat, using data from the U.S. Department of Agriculture. Water buffalo is the lowest in both of those things we need to keep an eye on.

And finally, here's a picture of my first water buffalo burger, served with a baked sweet potato (with butter and ground ginger) and some chopped bell pepper. I fried up a little spring garlic in with the burger; that's what's on top of it.

***

I've been sucking down Red Jacket Orchards juices all spring. My favorite of the moment is the Rhubarb Apple Juice. It's wonderfully astringent and just sweet enough.

***

I went to my usual Gamesters gathering a week ago yesterday. I decided to make Ginger Cherry Chocolate Chip Bars (holding the cherries) for my take-along treat. Not long after I put the pan in the oven, I noticed the egg sitting on my counter. I'd taken it out of the fridge to come to room temperature and forgot to put it in the batter. I pulled the pan from the oven and scraped the dough into the metal bowl for my KitchenAid mixer. I beat the egg in another bowl and blended it into the dough, which hadn't had a chance to start solidifying. The chocolate chips had pretty much all melted, though, so the cookies turned out to be chocolate-and-ginger-flavored, brown-colored bars. I dug 'em, and so did the fellows.

Our white-colored host Mark, as usual, insisted on having us guys pose for pictures. Here are three shots of Jack, Bill, and me, Cupcake, taken before some of the other regulars showed up. Whatever we're doing, it's because Mark told us to.

***

Will sent me the following e-mail last night with the subject "You have inspired Mauricio." He and Mao are going to be spending Christmas and New Year's with Mao's family. (See UPDATE from June 27 below.)

He's decided he's going to take photos of everything he eats on his trip to Colombia. He's eating his way through this trip. He said his mother is cooking him everything he hasn't eaten in 6 years. I told him he should do a book on Colombian food.

w

Will's follow-up e-mail—after I replied "Excellent" and told him that I was working on a flowers post and that I was due for food and current events posts—said: "How does tripe filled with rice and blood strike u? I think I'll be sitting that one out." Oh, yeah.

***

I haven't been able to eat enough mangos lately. My record is three in one day. I buy them from the fruit vendors near my office or the vendor around the corner from the 7th Avenue Q station here in the neighborhood. Or I get organic ones from Back to the Land or Whole Foods. When they're not too mushy or fibrous, they're heavenly, and I've gotten pretty good at figuring out what they'll be like on the inside by feeling them on the outside. And speaking of mangos and groping, here's a link to a post at Homer's World* that involves mango-pineapple upside-down cake and naked pool volleyball. Woo hoo!

***

Today for lunch, I made Carrot Pasta With Peas in Vegetable Broth. The pasta was Breezy Hill Orchard's Hudson Valley Farmhouse brand, the peas came from Maxwell Farm,** and the broth was organic, low salt, and store bought. Two weeks ago, for lunch or dinner on three different days, I cooked store-bought, chicken-and-cheese-filled ravioli in chicken broth with peas. And one time I threw in some sun-dried tomatoes too. That was awesome.

*Scroll down to May 24.

**I have a huge crush on one of the guys who works at this farmstand. He looks like Peter Sarsgaard if Peter Sarsgaard were smokin' hot instead of just very good looking.

UPDATE on June 23: I removed the picture of the pork burger (and the text about it) because I just noticed that I already ran it two food-and-drink posts ago.

UPDATE on June 27: It's true that W&M are going to Colombia at the end of the year, but Mao is also there now, and he's going to be doing the photographing and copious eating of his Mom's cooking on this trip. Though Will says they'll probably do more photographing come December. And certainly more eating.

A Flowers Post With More Tulip Tree Blooms and Some Stuff I'm Actually Growing Myself

The endless rain we've been having hasn't been good for the plants in my alleyway. The geranium Mitch and Jon gave me was looking like ass, and some of the leaves on the Sun Gold tomato plant I'm keeping an eye on for Abbe have been turning yellow.

When Jen took Abbe to Take Your Kids to Work Day a little while back, all of the kids who went to the taping of The Martha Stewart Show got a tomato plant. And it was the best kind of tomato plant possible: Sun Golds—those delicious, very sweet, orange, cherry-size tomatoes—are a favorite of both Jen's and mine. In fact, putting me in charge of the Sun Golds is like putting Republicans in charge of the pension fund. But I promise to try to hope to be good and not eat them all. ;-)

Today, I followed through on my bright idea to move the tomato plant under the part of the fire escape that's underneath the large mat in front of my door. And I hung up the geranium again. I'd taken it down a while back when we were supposed to get some strong winds. First, though, I plucked a lot of yellowed stems, gooey leaves, and dead flowers from it. Geranium stems come off real easy, as if they're segmented and meant to break away. Like the velcro-fastened pants I usually wear when I know Matthew is coming over.

Several weeks ago, I'd gotten red and yellow calibrachoas at the farmers market. The yellow one shriveled up, so I bought a new one at the farmers market yesterday and planted it with my red one in a different pot today. I seem to recall losing a plant last year to what I assumed was a fungus in the same pot where the yellow calibrachoa bit the dust. And it may very well have been a calibrachoa. Maybe I should discard that dirt.

I'm also growing some mimuluses, most of which are predominantly red. The ones with more yellow on them haven't thrived like the red ones—I see a pattern forming here—and the red ones have taken over. See, here are the yellow ones practically falling out of the pot.

Mimuluses are also known as monkey faces. Mine don't look especially like simians, but they've got neat patterns.

My daylilies, bucking the trend of yellow-tinged failures, came back nicely again this year.

***

This week's flowers from the market are gaillardias.

Last week, I got some hesperis, which is also known as Dame's Rocket, and some veronica, which is aka Speedwell. I thought they'd look nice together, and I had so many stems that I had to make two arrangements. I like the one in the smaller vase better because the veronica has a chance to assert itself.

And a couple of weeks ago, I bought some cornflowers at the Friday market in Union Square.

***

A couple weeks ago, I took some more photos of that tulip tree in Prospect Park, including a closeup of one of the fully opened blooms.

The color scheme of these flowers I saw in a yard on 9th Street is reminiscent of the tulip tree's. It was raining the day I took this photo too.

***

And now a hodgepodge of photos to wrap up the post:

A boatload of gerbera daisies at the market

A purty yard on 9th Street with an arched trellis

And in a neighbor's yard, pink buds open into white flowers with red stripes.

A Fantastic and Funny Visit From My Dad

Last Sunday, my Dad came up by himself to visit me, and he stayed over until Monday. Granny wasn't happy about being left behind. When I called her and Dad that Saturday, I heard her tell Dad, "Tell Bill to tell you to bring me." Which was both funny and sad. I felt bad for her—and I always like to see her and Jean—but I was also glad to spend some time with just Dad. As I wrote on my Facebook wall—and I'm going to recycle it here, because I can only come up with so many good lines—"Bill Hawley's father is coming to visit. And he's leaving the womenfolk behind. The Hawley men are going to paint Brooklyn red! Well, we'll probably put down some primer, come back to my place, take naps, and THEN paint Brooklyn red. Woo hoo!"

And that's pretty much how it happened. Dad got up here around 11:15. We went to La Villa and got our Siciliana pizza with a shared salad. We ate outside in their little, flower-filled backyard, which was very nice. Then we came back here and had some of my homemade Coffee Ice Cream. And then Dad said he was going to go lie down for a little bit, and I said I'd do the same, with the woofers in the bed. I had trouble falling asleep and probably slept for only 10 minutes tops, but then I was ready to hit Cobble Hill/Carroll Gardens for a litle shopping and dinner, which is what I'd told Dad we'd do once he said he wasn't going to bring Gran.

And just before we left, I went back on Facebook,* aka the Blog Killer, and wrote, "Bill Hawley and his Dad had their naps. We're off to Carroll Gardens for shopping and dinner. I don't expect he'll buy much, though. He called himself 'Cheap-Ass Bill Hawley From the Sticks.'" The context for Dad's quote was the following: He mentioned getting breakfast on Monday morning at "that Sweet place" or "that place where you get sweets" or something like that. "Sweet Melissa?" "Yeah." Then I told him there was one in Carroll Gardens**; in fact, that's where the original one was. He said we could get a coffee there before dinner but he wasn't going to buy a $30 cake—"not cheap-ass Bill Hawley from the sticks." I told him I should get that put on a T-shirt for him. And he joked that he'd wear it to the next church picnic. Hah!

I'd wanted to take Dad to dinner at The Grocery, and we looked over the menu online together while we were on the phone the week before his visit. Usually you have to book a table well in advance, but what with these financially challenging times, I thought we might get lucky and get a spot, especially if we ate fairly early. Plus, TG doesn't take reservations for its outside tables, so I figured we could always sit outside at the garden bar and wait for a table to open, and that might actually have been the best way to go. Dad wasn't too enthused about the menu (as I've noted on the blog before, he's mostly a meat-and-potatoes kinda guy and doesn't like anything too unusual), but he said he would eat the pork entrée I had when I went there last month with Bob and Jen. And he saw a riesling on the wine list, which made him happy. When I called to make reservations, the guy who answered said TG is closed on Sundays. It says that as big as life on the restaurant's main Web page, but I was focusing on the menu page. *sigh*

I looked around on the Web for some other options and came across Fragole, an Italian restaurant that got overwhelmingly positive reviews on Yelp and New York magazine's site. I typed the address on my iPhone note pad.

I also considered taking Dad to Union Smith Cafe, which always looks so inviting from the outside, but I read a lot of mediocre to negative reviews online—including one horror story on CitySearch from a vegetarian who was given bacon bits inside his poached eggs and who had to complain three times before the problem was even less-than-satisfactorily remedied—and I didn't want to chance having a crappy meal there. 

Dad and I took the F train three stops to Carroll Street. The area has changed a bit since I was going there for yoga classes at Jeffrey's former studio inside his apartment on Court Street. We walked down Smith Street over to Court and back toward Carroll. We looked in a few stores, including some that sold men's clothing and a new-and-used-books store, but I didn't find anything I needed/wanted and neither did CABHFTS. And we didn't go into Sweet Melissa after all because we didn't feel like we needed a coffee so close to dinner. We looked at the menu in Fragole's window (I'd forgotten to show it to Dad online earlier), and he said it looked good to him.

It was still early, so we walked back to Smith & Vine, a wine store we'd passed earlier that I told Dad I wanted to go in later. I knew I'd end up buying something there, and I figured I should wait until before dinner so I wouldn't be carrying around wine bottles all afternoon.

S&V was having a wine tasting, so we got to sip three selections while looking around the store. S&V has a $12-and-under table, so if you're feeling cheap ass, you can head right to it. I bought the 2007 Pago de Valdoneje Bierzo for $14. I tried a glass Thursday night, and Bob, Jen, and I finished it off Friday night with our pizza. I need to drink more to develop some more-concrete ideas about it, but we all enjoyed it. I got two bottles of 2006 Comte Jean-Baptiste de Monpezat from Cahors—one for me and one for Dad. B, J, and I tried and enjoyed that on Friday too. It was $10, and I'll be buying many more.

It was still pretty early, but we'd seen everything we wanted to see, so we went back to Fragole, which, as the Web site says, means "strawberry" in Spanish. The dining room is very inviting, and the menu says the food isn't meant to be fancy but rather "sensible, genuine, tasty, hearty Italian food."

I ordered the 2006 Juan Benegas Malbec. The label seemed vaguely familiar, but I haven't written about it on the blog, so maybe I've just seen it on a shelf. It was a fine Mendozan malbec, and Dad and I polished it off between the two of us.

The first course was disappointing. I got the Insalata Mista, which was supposed to be dressed with a basil-lemon vinaigrette, but I couldn't taste anything remotely lemony or basil-like. There was a little puddle of something that wasn't water in one of the pieces of endive, so I figured someone must have put vinaigrette on the salad. But the waiter had brought us oil and vinegar along with the salad, which confused me. I can only assume that patrons have complained about the amount of dressing before, so O&V are put on the table as a matter of course.

For my entrée, I ordered the Rigatoni alla Bolognese, and I thought it was fantastic. The homemade pasta was cooked perfectly, and the sauce was excellent. Dad got the Fettucine Rosmarino: In addition to a rosemary- and sage-spiked tomato sauce, the pasta came with crumbles of sweet Italian sausage. He liked the dish, but he fretted about getting the sauce on his white shirt while twirling the fettucine around his fork. I told him I wouldn't be offended if he cut it up. He wouldn't do that, and he got a couple of spots on his shirt. See, I told you we were going to paint Brooklyn something red!

Over dinner, Dad told me that he loved me no matter what and that he doesn't care that I'm gay. And he said that my being gay never bothered Pop in the least. I knew both of those things, but it was nice to hear Dad say them. I told Dad that I miss Pop so much and think about him all the time.

For dessert, we split a tiramisu, and I got a cappuccino. I think that was the best tiramisu I've ever had and Dad thought it was great too, so it was a winning way to end the meal.

And speaking of winners, back at home, we watched the Tonys. My guy Hunter didn't win for best book of a musical, and they didn't even show that award live so I could see them cut to him in the audience as his name was announced as a nominee. They managed to squeeze in performances by out-of-town casts of Jersey Boys and Mamma Mia! though. And by Broadway stalwarts Poison. *rolls eyes* Other than Neil Patrick Harris's wonderfully fun closing number, my favorite moment of the show was when Dad remarked about presenter Susan Sarandon: "I like her. Old gal with big tits." Dad had another good line earlier in the day when he remarked, "There are more good-looking women here per square inch than in Bridgeton per square mile." Park Slope: home of densely populated MILFs. (And by "I," I mean "Dad.")

The next morning, Dad bought us coffee and treats at Sweet Melissa. Then he replaced the ancient air-conditioners in my bedrooms with ones Bob and Jen gave me that they didn't need anymore because they'd gotten central air-conditioning put in, which was the main reason why Dad came back up here again so quickly. He was going to do that job for me last month, but he didn't have his drill with him.***

Dad got the task done very quickly, which prompted his to say, in appreciation of himself, "You old dog, Hawley, I swear."

I'd told Dad he should count on staying for lunch and said we should go to Miracle Grill so he could get the Pulled-Pork Sandwich, which I'd been meaning to have him try for a while now. Bob joined us for lunch, and he and I both got MG's terrific Chicken Quesadilla. Dad enjoyed the pork. Then he took off for Bridgeton, with some sweet Williams I bought at the farmers market for Granny.

*It's not going to last forever, though. Just ask this guy.

**It's really Cobble Hill. I've been a little hazy on where the dividing line is, but I've now come to the conclusion that most everything I thought was Carroll Gardens was actually Cobble Hill.

***I was thinking about putting in a joke here that "I bet Tim Robbins"—Susan Sarandon's longtime partner—"always has his drill handy." But I wasn't sure that was funny. So I made this footnote instead.

A Food and Drinks Post With Lots of Cupcake- and Ice Cream–Related Items

Two Sundays ago, I returned to The Gamesters group with Chocolate Cupcakes With Mint Frosting. The Sunday before that, I'd taken Mocha Shortbread, which didn't go over terribly well. As I mentioned in the linked post above, it's tasty but very dry and goes best with a mug of coffee or a tall glass of milk. (That's the double batch of dough pressed into my baking pans at right. After you bake the pans of cookies, you let them cool for 5 minutes and cut them into wedges. After they've cooled completely, you sprinkle them with powdered sugar.) Genial Gamesters host Mark said he liked the shortbread and found its texture to be "special" or "interesting" or something like that. But he coughed after taking the first bite of his second piece. You've really got to hydrate constantly while you're eating it. :-)

The following week, I was determined to floor everyone with my dessert. I'd just made Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream, but I thought that'd be too much of a pain in the ass to transport and, most of all, to serve at Mark's place. It would have had to be refrozen immediately after the subway ride to the Upper West Side, and I'd have had to dirty a lot of bowls and spoons. So I decided instead to give The Gamesters the experience of eating that ice cream in cupcake form.

I didn't mention in my previous all-food-and-drinks post, in which I first mentioned The Gamesters, that they'd given me the nickname Cupcake. Two other Bills are among the rotating gang of guys who come, so Mark started calling me Cupcake, after the chocolate-chippy treat I took the first week I joined the group. Jack asked me whether I minded the nickname. I said I didn't. Now, if they'd started referring to me as Douche Nozzle, that'd be bad. :-) The only problem I have with the name Cupcake is that it maybe puts a little pressure on me to keep producing cupcakes. :-)

Anyhow, I looked around for a good chocolate cupcake recipe, and I found it in Martha Stewart's Baking Handbook in the form of One-Bowl Chocolate Cupcakes. As its name tells you, you have to dirty only one bowl to make the batter. You sift your dry ingredients into your mixing bowl and then pour the liguid stuff on top before blending it all together. It looks like hell, but it turns out stupendous.

I noticed a recipe by the same exact name on marthastewart.com that called for buttermilk. I decided to go with the one in the book because it used regular milk instead and I didn't want to have to buy a carton of buttermilk, use only 3/4 of a cup of it, and dump the rest. Later, I realized that the recipes are almost identical except for the online one's insistence on buttermilk. That one also specifies safflower oil instead of the book's generic vegetable oil, and the amounts of all of the ingredients differ because the yields are different. So I'll feel free to use either recipe, depending on how many I want to make, and use milk instead of buttermilk. I can't imagine that using buttermilk could make these cupcakes noticeably better; their chocolate flavor and mouthfeel are outstanding.

Now for the frosting: I wanted to find a recipe that called for a good deal of cream because I wanted to be able to infuse it with mint flavor using fresh mint from the farmers market. So I googled "frosting and heavy cream" and found an orange frosting recipe at a gluten-free baking site that I figured I could adapt to my purposes. I doubled the amounts, left out the orange zest, and folded in the cream after I'd steeped a big bunch of mint in it, rechilled it, and whipped as much volume into it as I could. 

I wish I'd made the frosting a day ahead of time so it would have had time to thicken in the fridge. It was a bit runny, though it still looked purty and tasted very good. It also would have been better without the tang of the cream cheese that worked in opposition to the cool, refreshing mint.

The Gamesters enjoyed the cupcakes that Sunday, and I took a dozen more into work that Tuesday. Frank said it was the best cupcake he'd ever had. Woo hoo!

***

Last week, Jen gave me the hot-off-the-presses copy of Martha Stewart's Cupcakes she'd gotten at work. There's a Mint Buttercream recipe that's exactly what I'd been looking for the previous weekend, only it has you steeping mint in milk rather than cream. And you end up making an egg-yolky custard along the lines of what you make ice cream with, only lower in fat because the dairy part is all milk instead of half and half. To that, you add creamed butter and then meringue and finally a little peppermint extract, which seems like bet hedging. When I try it, and I'm certain I will eventually, I'll leave the extract out and use more fresh mint at the beginning of the process.

I'm eager to try the Peanut Butter–Filled Chocolate Cupcakes and the Chocolate Spice Cupcakes and Martha's Meyer Lemon Cupcakes. But the most tempting of all are the Tiramisu Cupcakes With Mascarpone Frosting. Mercy.

***

I didn't buy it, but when I saw this vegan cupcake book, I let out a little cry of joy over the authors' passion for their subject.

***

A few Saturdays ago, in mid-May, I went to the Brooklyn Flea with Jeff. I mainly wanted to check out the food offerings, including Kumquat Cupcakery, which had presumably already left by the time Mitchell, Jon, and I got there when we visited the Flea the first weekend in May. KC was there, selling mini cupcakes for a buck apiece. I ordered three to try, one of each available flavor.* They were quite good.

So was the mango-flavored, honey-sweetened Greek-style yogurt from Likitsakos. When I next hit the Flea, I'll have to try some more flavors. At $2.99, they're not exactly cheap, but you get a full 8 ounces, the size all mainstream yogurt brands used to be before most of them cheesed out and dropped to 6 ounces.

I kept going back and forth on whether I liked Fine & Raw's lucuma and vanilla chocolate bar enough to buy it again or try another flavor the next time I have a chance, either at the Flea or in a store. In the final analysis, the texture was too dry for me to really enjoy it. And I liked the idea of its being flavored with agave nectar more than I liked the actual taste; it wasn't quite sweet enough for my huge-ass sweet tooth.

I didn't buy anything at the Flea besides those things to eat, but I saw a favorite toy from my childhood that I could have snapped up for 20 bucks: a Noah's ark with a bag of little plastic animals.

***

A couple of Saturday mornings ago, I woke up with the idea in my head** that it'd be foolish to try to sell my ice cream at the Flea, like I said I wanted to do in the "Mitchell, Jon, and I"-linked post above. I'm committed to buying whatever equipment I'd need to keep my product frozen, but how would I schlep it to Fort Greene? I'd most likely have to rent a truck, and I'm not doing that every week. And I don't think flea market–goers are the best customers for my premium product, which I'm going to have to sell at a premium price if I want to continue making it with organic and/or free-trade ingredients sourced mostly from small and local producers. And I do.

I decided the best thing to do would be to get a small cart, maybe one I could pull behind or push in front of a bike, and sell my stuff locally, out on the sidewalk. This past Friday, I called the licensing office for the Department of Consumer Affairs to see about getting the necessary permits. I called at 2:30 and got a recording saying that the office was closed—even though it's supposed to be open from 9 to 5 on weekdays except for holidays. I called again in about 10 minutes to see whether I'd get the same message, and I did. I called again on Monday, and the woman who answered said the city isn't issuing any mobile food vending licenses for use on public property at this time. She said there was an auction of those licenses in 2007, and there may not be another one for seven or eight years. She said if I found someone who was willing to let me sell my ice cream on his or her private property, I could get an MFV license from the city for that purpose.

I thought my ice cream dream was ending before it'd begun—a huge disappointment, like waking up from a Jon Hamm sex dream before he's even gotten his pants off. But I've got a new plan that I hope will work out. I'll keep you, my six or eight loyal readers, posted. In the meantime, I've settled on a name: Huge Pooch Homemade Ice Cream Co., after my big ol' woofer Rudy. His handsome visage would go on the signage and other marketing materials. Because nothing sells ice cream like basset slobber!

***

The Van Leeuwen Artisan Ice Cream truck has indeed been appearing regularly on 7th Avenue here in the Slope. I've tried VL's coffee, chocolate, and hazelnut flavors on two subsequent visits, and I have to say, I like its coffee ice cream slightly better than mine.

***

This really shouldn't need much introduction: It's the Big Gay Ice Cream Truck! And it's going to be in Park Slope this Saturday! (Via Joe. My. God.)

***

And now, a couple of items unrelated to either cupcakes or ice cream:

I made some good Asparagus Soup a couple of weekends ago. It consisted of only a big bunch of asparagus; leeks, which I sautéed in some butter to begin the process; a few peeled and chopped potatoes, to add some heft; water; salt; and a little cream, which I added after pureeing the other, cooked ingredients. Simple and delicious. And better without the lemon thyme.

***

That Friday, for a pizza night with four charming guests at Bob and Jen's place, I'd made a Mango-Orange Dressing that I'll want to whip up again. I used the same proportions of fruit juice to oil, honey, and vinegar as in my usual Citrus Vinaigrette, but I made a double batch and, of course, used blended mango flesh and orange juice in place of the grapefruit and lemon juices. It was oh so good but maybe would be even better with a little touch of fresh ginger. 

*I didn't make a note of which kinds they were, but I'm pretty sure they were banana, chocolate, and red velvet.

**I love it when I manage to work out the solution to a problem or a better way of doing something in my sleep. Productivity!

A Music Post With Some Stuff That Was Recommended

There for a while, I was listening to two songs performed by Matthew Sweet & Susanna Hoffs over and over, almost to the point of ridiculousness: "Run to Me" and "Different Drum." They're from 2006's Under the Covers, Vol. 1—the so-far only compilation of covers by the two artists. I heard "Run to Me" in a wine store recently and knew I had to buy it. And I bought "Different Drum" after checking out the rest of the album on iTunes. I'm not sure why, but that song has a significantly higher popularity rating than all of the others. I didn't feel like I needed to buy anything else. (I thought I'd probably enjoy MS&SH's version of "Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere," but it couldn't possibly replace Dar's version in my heart.) But if you could create a groove in your iPod by playing the same songs over and over, mine would have one under the U albums.

Hoffs's voice is amazing. It can be childlike and soft or weighty and worldly. And it's always beautiful.

Here's a video of Hoffs and Sweet performing "DD" acoustically with another guitarist. Sweet had gotten rather heavy when this was recorded, which surprised me for some reason. And he was workin' the scruff and long hair under a baseball cap, which doesn't seem like him either. Ooh, and here's a track from Vol. 2, which is slated for release next month! It's Yes's "I've Seen All Good People/Your Move."

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Continuing my exploration of Ryan Adams's back catalog, I've been devouring the 2005 album Cold Roses, which he recorded with his band, The Cardinals, and special guest star Rachael Yamagata, who provides backing vocals and plays piano on certain tracks. It's another great collection of music. It's a double album, so it took me a while to get well-acquainted with all of the songs.

There's a definite rose theme that shows up in the names of other songs besides the title track: "Rosebud" and "Blossom." And also in the lyrics of still other songs: In "Cherry Lane," Adams sings, "Every night I read this novel about you holding roses in the pouring rain." And one of my favorites, "Life Is Beautiful," begins, "You plant a rose and if the rose comes up, you're thankful to God, and when it doesn't, you cuss him." And my favorite part of the song, the bridge, which has nothing to do with roses, goes, "Close my eyes, see the glorious sunset, through the windows of a store and I want it. Anyway, if I ever felt haunted, you were there for me. These angry people who are waiting to judge you have their own judgment that they'll have to live up to. Open your mouth and if nothing will come through, remember, you're the one that sings, and it's a gift. And life's a beautiful thing. Oh, don't waste it, doll" (and then there's a guitar solo).

And Adams has a dancing theme and a little bit of a bird theme, particularly bluebirds. Mostly, though, he's got some damn good songs, many of them not so happy, like "Meadowlake Street," "If I Am a Stranger," and "When Will You Come Back Home," whose chorus is almost sadness overload: "If I could find my way back home, where would I go? When everything about me I used to be shivers in the sheets and the blankets of snow, lost out in the woods, were you looking for me? When, when will you come back home? No one leaves the lights on in a house where nobody lives anymore." But the tunes for the sad songs are often upbeat, so you'll be tapping your foot as Adams sings, "If I am a stranger now to you, I will always be. I will always be." 

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Bob put a bunch of songs by Justin Townes Earle in my iTunes. Bob's favorite recording artist is JTE's father, Steve Earle, and he's become a big fan of Justin as well. My standout songs from JTE's two albums and one EP are "Hard Livin'," "South Georgia Sugar Babe," "What Do You Do When You're Lonesome," "Ain't Glad I'm Leaving," "Midnight at the Movies," "What I Mean to You," "Black Eyed Suzy," "Poor Fool," "Halfway to Jackson," "Someday I'll Be Forgiven for This," "The Ghost of Virginia," and a cover of The Replacements' "Can't Hardly Wait."

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Jen is a huge fan of U2, especially Bono. She said the band's latest album, No Line on the Horizon, isn't among its best, but she recommended six songs from it that were worth buying: the title song, "Magnificent," "Get on Your Boots," "Stand Up Comedy," "Fez: Being Born," and "Breathe." They're all good but, no, not stellar U2.

***

Greg, my friend on Facebook and a guy I played in the high school marching band with (he was about five times better a drummer than me), was raving about the new Seal album, so I checked it out. It's an album of R&B classics called Soul, and it's mostly very good. The production is top-notch, and Seal's voice is as wonderful as ever. I'd quibble with a few of the selections—did we really need another version of "Stand By Me" or "If You Don't Know Me By Now"?—but most of them are winners, especially "A Change Is Gonna Come," "Here I Am (Come and Take Me)," "It's Alright," and "People Get Ready."

A Woofer Post That's Short and Sweet. Like My Woofers

Yesterday evening, after I'd walked and fed the dogs, I was in my bedroom, checking e-mails and trying to get myself motivated to get my bicycle out of the basement, take it to the bike shop on Union Street to pump up the tires, and go for a ride* when I heard a crackling noise in the kitchen. I'd forgotten to put the woofers' food back up on top of the fridge and Emme had gotten into the little, plastic resealable bags of snacks that I keep in the same canvas bag as the bag of dogfood. She'd eaten all of what was left in one bag, which I think I'd left unsealed, and was trying to chew her way into the second one. It was mostly my fault for leading her into temptation, I suppose.

***

On Memorial Day, I took Rudy for a nice long walk in the park. There's a water fountain for dogs right next to a water fountain for humans about two-thirds of the way along one of our usual routes. Rudy doesn't seem to understand that he can drink from the little trickle of water that emerges when I step on the dog fountain's foot pedal, but I keep trying to get that concept through to him. As we approached the fountains, a biker who was getting a drink said, "That's one fat beagle." I wanted to tell him, "Fuck you, you know-nothing fuck." But I said, "He's a basset hound." Then he said, "He's colored like a beagle," to which I replied, "Yeah." And then I turned my back on the dude and pressed on the fountain's pedal.

A little bit farther along the path, a guy in an NYC Parks and Recreation Department truck pulled to a stop and said of Rudy, "Imagine all the smells he's picking up. You think he can smell back to Revolutionary times?" I said I doubted that and gave him a "whatchutalkin'boutWillis" look. But then it became clear he'd made that conversational gambit as a means of getting me to listen to his story about the courageous Maryland 400, who held off the British forces in Brooklyn until Washington's troops could regroup. And I didn't mind at all. It was very appropriate for the day. And he seemed like a good guy.

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Joyce and I were checking out this little guy on dailypuppy.com today. In some of these shots, he looks more like a rabbit or a kitten than a puppy. In the case of his breed's name, to "toll" is to "lure" or "entice." The Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever lures ducks into an area by retrieving a stick thrown by the hunter. Curious ducks come to see what's going on, and the hunter shoots them. It sounds rather odd to me, but I guess ducks can't resist watching a game of fetch.

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One of my favorite Rudy photos of all time:

He so looks like a walrus.

UPDATE on June 4: On our walk this morning, Emme had something in her mouth, as is often the case. I fished it out with my finger, and it turned out to be a small, flat pebble. I'm always threatening to get a muzzle for her so she won't be so obsessed with trying to find things to eat, and I need to just do it already. It's gotten to the point where "food"—and she's got a very broad definition—is almost the only thing she thinks about (she doesn't pay that much attention to people or other dogs anymore), and I think it'd be better for her mental health if I shut that obsession down.

*I did eventually do all of that. Woo hoo!