Apron Anxiety

So I had one of those magical moments recently where everything...

Sun, 19 Feb 2012 12:12:00 -0500

So I had one of those magical moments recently where everything in life kind-of clicked into place.

Growing up, the original “Forever Young” was our song. I’ll never be able to listen to it without tearing up. Mostly, it makes me happy, thinking about my friends from home. It makes me remember our youth, reminding me that life moves fast, too fucking fast. But it also makes my heart hurt thinking about my girlfriend who is gone now, and other small-town stories that haven’t been fair. That’s just how life goes.

Then last week, I had a photo shoot for the book at Milk Studios. In my black, strapless pant-suit and cherry-bomb YSL lipstick, I felt completely out of my league. The photographer told me to unclench my jaw, to “look like you have a secret,” to loosen my shoulders, fix my posture, and shift my face from bitchy to bold. Ahhh! The game is over, I told myself, I don’t belong here.

Then this song came on.

As a testament to how little free time I’ve had over the last year and a half, I hadn’t even heard it before. “Wait, how did Jay-Z get into Forever Young?!” I asked, instantly refueled by the beat. The photo-stylists smirked, but nicely. Yeah, yeah, it’s been out for a while, I learned.

Suddenly, the sound got in my bones. I started to have fun, be proud, feel light. But it was also incredibly powerful. Like I was channeling the seventeen-year old on Eunice Drive who would dream of her future, envisioning this EXACT moment, set to these EXACT words.

Now it’s all so unbelievably real. And as I lived it and loved it for a few minutes there, everything in life made perfect sense. Or at least it did…in that moment…to this song…at Milk Studios.

Listen to this song - I heard it on Californication, which I...

Sat, 18 Feb 2012 21:41:00 -0500

Listen to this song - I heard it on Californication, which I once loved but now think is so cheap and stupidly over-sexualized, however… the song is a beauty. Hold on tight. And obviously, don’t smoke. But do note the photography by: Miranda Lehman.

"I made peace with the cruel fact that I’d never be quite the same again, that losing John broke me..."

Sat, 11 Feb 2012 10:15:37 -0500

“I made peace with the cruel fact that I’d never be quite the same again, that losing John broke me in a way that couldn’t really be rebuilt. But I came to think of heartbreak as an impetus to becoming a wiser woman, sister, friend, and writer, and, in a way, I felt chosen to have had such a healthy dose of it. Strong women don’t just happen.”

- Alyssa Shelasky in her excellent forthcoming memoir Apron Anxiety: My Messy Affairs In and Out of the Kitchen (via rkb)

HaHa. Learned how to reblog just in...

Wed, 08 Feb 2012 15:11:35 -0500

HaHa. Learned how to reblog just in time.

fuckyournoguchicoffeetable: Fuck your Egg Chair.

Is everyone reading Pippa’s blog yet? You probably should....

Tue, 07 Feb 2012 19:25:39 -0500

Is everyone reading Pippa’s blog yet? You probably should. (via sousstyle.com)

All day long I only wanted junk food. Like, not success or world...

Tue, 07 Feb 2012 19:21:00 -0500

All day long I only wanted junk food. Like, not success or world peace, just junk. Pleased myself with French Fries from Sunrise Mart - it’s this Japanese Market near work and they have the best damn fries I’ve ever had. Thick-cut and freshly made, crispy on the outside, mashed on the inside, and sprinkled with tons of salt, and even more pepper. The pepper totally makes it. A bucket of those fries and a sparkling water may be my favorite meal in New York right now. Anyway, voila clementine-art above, just because I love the shot. And while I generally believe nothing tastes as good as a fresh piece of fruit exactly as is, those things must be sublime. PS- Winter makes me so freaking hungry.

thatluciegirl:

Chocolate-Dipped Clementines

Surreal. Intense. Ridiculous. Sat at Waverly Diner alone over a...

Thu, 02 Feb 2012 00:15:00 -0500

Surreal. Intense. Ridiculous.

Sat at Waverly Diner alone over a cup of tea and unwrapped the first almost-real copy of the book. Cried a little. Tried to read/enjoy as a normal, not an author. Found a typo! Had a heart attack. Got an email response that it’s an easy fix. Dunked a cheese danish into the tea. Told my old, Spanish waiter that I was reading my very own book! He patted my head and poured me more water. Wondered if it was painful or perfect that I was experiencing this moment all alone. Decided on perfect. Left ten bucks and got on the train. Rode the A four stops home, reading more. Pondered if anyone was thinking, “that looks good.” Maybe they did.

Now sleep.

Sweet dreams everybody - thanks for everything. (Totally stole...

Tue, 24 Jan 2012 22:52:17 -0500

Sweet dreams everybody - thanks for everything.

(Totally stole this picture.)

Moody Tuesdays

Tue, 24 Jan 2012 22:06:28 -0500

Tried to fit two days into one again. Didn’t work out so well. Lost it on a wretched saleswoman at Barneys who wouldn’t take back a couple untouched sweaters that I bought thirty-fucking-four days ago, instead of “thirty.” People who use the word “store policy” are the absolute worst. I’d out the girl, full name/description right here so everyone could join TeamAlyssa but I’m worried that tomorrow I’ll wake up less vindictive, she’ll be ruined and I’ll be sued. But F-U Barneys girl with the bangs!!! Oooh I really hated her. And oh brother, did she hate me right back! She couldn’t stand me from the second she saw me. That happens sometimes.

Long day. But it’s always this way before a big trip, isn’t it? Romantic Paris in 72-hours! A long, harrowing Tuesday will make high tea and higher thread counts all the better. And let’s be real: life’s really not so bad. It really isn’t. We’re planning book parties and press events and all sorts of am-I-dreaming (?) decisions. This sparkly story about me ran on Zooey Deschanel’s blog, and come on, just look at the top of the blog!! THANK YOU T.S., my butch Brad Goreski, who helps me sell books and not kick-box my computer. (Did I mention that I still can’t believe any of this is happening?!)

By the way, it should go unsaid that I went to another Barneys and got my way. Wouldn’t any of us?

Next up: Pareee!

Apron Anxiety is on pre-sale via Amazon and soon Barnes &...

Sun, 15 Jan 2012 10:58:00 -0500

Apron Anxiety is on pre-sale via Amazon and soon Barnes & Noble! Extremely happy with the outcome of the cover. I think it really shows the heart and soul of the book. Viva la anklet! I’m blown away by the all Facebook messages, tweets and emails so far, and to think, the book still has a few months before release? Can things possibly get more exciting? Can I handle it? The answer is: yes and yes. I mean, I’m psyched and scared, just hoping I stay relatively-sane until then. Working hard by day, moving into a new apartment soon, taking a quick trip to Paris, planning book parties, hoping and praying that life works itself out for everyone I love. Oh, and I’d like to recreate a “Nutella loaf” that I had at Joan’s on Third in LA. Then I can eat a jar of Nutella hiding inside a buttery cake - and feel less guilty about it. Logic, never my strength. Got anything?

A Two-Second Sunday Read

Sun, 18 Dec 2011 10:57:40 -0500

Here’s the “Best Meals of 2011” story I mentioned.

Photo by: Jen Gotch

sousstyle.com

Sat, 17 Dec 2011 09:58:00 -0500

sousstyle.com:

Have you started living, breathing ‘n dying for this new food/design/feel-good site yet? Prepare to cheat on me, and every other blog, once you get a taste of SousStyle. Pippa Lord is behind it - she’s like Sienna Miller with an Aussie accent, more heart and less baggage. Raging girl crush!

Question.

Sat, 10 Dec 2011 12:04:35 -0500

What was your best food memory this year? I have to answer that for a magazine article. First thing that comes mind (having nothing to do w/ the photo above/I just like it) is a fresh out-of-the-oven almond croissant from Almondine, with a café au lait, sitting alone by the water, after days of stress, sleep deprivation and a sad, empty stomach. But perhaps that’s too simple. Tell me yours…

This is one of the 10,000 pictures I sent to the publishers to...

Sat, 10 Dec 2011 10:34:00 -0500

This is one of the 10,000 pictures I sent to the publishers to inspire the cover of Apron Anxiety. Okayyy, it’s a little too provocative, but I’m just so scared that they’ll present me with a smiley-face sunflower or something. Not underestimating the talent over there - I’m in some seriously amazing hands, it has to be a fluke — but the book reads on a fine line between food lit and love tales, with a lot of friendship, family, fuck-ups, and inner-crazy in between. So, a still shot of pastel-yellow cookie batter just won’t do. Speaking of, I’m baking today! And just because nothing is ever easy, a certain somebody keeps requesting eclairs. UGH. C’est impossible, non?! xxAlyssa

How could I pass this by? Just imagine. And now, sleep.

Fri, 04 Nov 2011 22:49:00 -0400

How could I pass this by? Just imagine. And now, sleep.

Where I've Been.

Fri, 04 Nov 2011 22:12:00 -0400

Forgive my slackerly behavior…

The last few months have been the busiest, and I think maybe hardest, of my life! Honestly, the next time the universe shows its sharp edges, remind me that I survived July-October of 2011. But barely!

Finishing the book, combined with starting this torpedo-like job, plus the usual NYC warfare, was collectively so much more lethal than I ever imagined. Weeks of euphoria cut with sleeplessness, insecurity, ego trip, celebration, isolation, an overload of scintillating and scary new people all (justifiably) judging…

From the chefs to superstars to colleagues to friends to more than friends…some of whom I loved for hours or hated inexhaustibly; who shared strong words and stronger whiskey; who took my breath - and my judgement - and once, my trust - away. Thank god it all happened during Breaking Bad and raspberry season, otherwise I would not have survived.

I really do like my new job, even though I want to die every time I realize that I can’t visit the ocean without “getting approval” or spend Tuesdays at the movies just because my body says so. Outside the office: I love my shorter hair, my wonderful wench of a city, the fact that I get great tables at showoff restaurants, and empty seats on busy subways.

There are certainly days when I’m sure I’d be happier in a simpler silhouette than this. Get married/have babies/be normal. Or at least some scenario that involves an occasional good night’s sleep. But more often, I’m thinking that I actually want to live harder, faster, freakier. Run away/fuck the rules/find bliss. But that’s the inner-battle I’ve always had, and maybe, probably, you do too. Otherwise we wouldn’t be here…

Whatever! Who needs restaurant recommendations?

Wicked Game.

Sun, 18 Sep 2011 13:37:00 -0400

Autumn found us, work started, Irene came, 9/11 stung, edits ended, friends were made, romance was had. I’ve experienced extraordinary meals, sheer exhaustion, a disastrous flood, a naughty night out, a shit-ton of expensive oysters, dirt cheap (and crazy good) Cambodian num pang, and awkward encounters with Alec Baldwin and Owen Wilson. Love working at Grub Street, dream job, but my free time is precious like never before. It seems I have only a matter of minutes for non-work related pleasure. So I choose wisely.

On the tenth year anniversary of 9/11, a day that has forged my childhood friends together forever, because of the loss of one of us, I roamed around SoHo, avoiding the news and televised tributes. I appreciate it, but Bloomberg has nothing to do with my wounds. So, I grazed the streets, ate croissants, kept it light. At night, I had a press event at Prune. Everyone tweeted and gossiped, and the scene was pretty fab, even by my jaded standards. After the meal, I wanted to walk off dinner. These days, walking everywhere is my only hope for non-obesity.

Somehow, I ended up at Washington Square Park, lured by a large group of weirdos twirling in slow-motion to some music. Inside the circle was a straggly but intense jam session. I’m still not sure if the musicians were famous rockstars or local homeless. But the music. Oh! It was transformative. Especially on 9/11.

The first song I heard was Sittin’ on the doc of the bay. One of my favorites (and so nostalgic!). And then, Love is All You Need, and even some Lionel Richie, which was a trip. But when a gypsy-faced man, with a deep, heartsick voice, led us into Chris Isaak’s I wanna fall in love, I lost it. At three o’clock in the morning, I sang, sobbed and swayed alone, but not, in the park. Like a lunatic, a lost girl, and a New York City survivor, I let it all go…

The world was on fire; no one could save me but you…

The world was on fire

No one could save me but you.
Strange what desire will make foolish people do
I never dreamed that I’d meet somebody like you
And I never dreamed that I’d lose somebody like you

No, I don’t want to fall in love
[This love is only gonna break your heart]
No, I don’t want to fall in love
[This love is only gonna break your heart]
With you

What a wicked game you play
To make me feel this way
What a wicked thing to do
To let me dream of you
What a wicked thing to say
You never felt this way
What a wicked thing to do
To make me dream of you
And I don’t wanna fall in love
[This love is only gonna break your heart]
And I don’t want to fall in love
[This love is only gonna break your heart]

World was on fire
No one could save me but you
Strange what desire will make foolish people do
I never dreamed that I’d love somebody like you
I never dreamed that I’d lose somebody like you

No I don’t wanna fall in love
[This love is only gonna break your heart
No I don’t wanna fall in love
[This love is only gonna break your heart]
With you
With you

Nobody loves no one

A Celebration Over Sopressata and Shock

Sun, 14 Aug 2011 16:44:00 -0400

Last night, a friend took me to Lupa for a congratulatory dinner, celebrating my first week as the New York Editor for New York Magazine’s Grub Street. (Oh yeah, did you hear!?)

We shared sublime salads of summer corn and tomatoes, primis like peppery bavette and lemony linguine, secondis of whole fish and short-ribs, and gelato of melon and mint. The rosé flowed, the chef sent surprises, sexless couples stared us down, and my dark, handsome friend — who I should be so lucky to sit across from — insisted on the bill.

And all along, I was terrible company.

It’s not that the food wasn’t uplifting (oh it was!), but with everything going on, my inner-over-thinker just couldn’t sit down, slap a linen napkin on its lap, eat an olive, and enjoy the moment.

The new job is the coolest thing to happen to my professional livelihood, and there is no doubt whatosever that I can conquer it one lobster salad saga and suspected speakeasy at a time. But going back to the grind is nothing short of an electrical shock. I mean, I have to wear outfits now, and ask permission before fleeing the country, and try not to say inappropriate things in front of politically correct co-workers and eager, impressionable interns.

And the book, Apron Anxiety, is getting done, but it’s taking its toll. I was so happy to read Molly Wizenberg’s post on Orangette today about the two part recipe of ecstasy and anguish entailed in writing a memoir. It’s a dream, of course, but an isolating one.

To be totally honest, I’m not sure how much time I’ll have for home-cooking right now, as I adjust to a job that plunkers me deep into the heart of the NYC restaurant world. Hopefully, I’ll gravitate to my own culinary wonderland on the weekends, but we’ll have to see how the symphony plays out. It’s not like my adventures in food are slowing down in this never-sleeping, always-eating, pull-up-a-chair-mamasita city… that’s for sure.

So stick with me. It’s because of this blog that all these good things have come to life (or so I choose to believe). And even though I was an ungrateful little girl last night, I’m not going to be one here. xxAlyssa

Ireland.

Sun, 07 Aug 2011 14:37:00 -0400

I’m in Ireland, where skin is dewy, hair is horrific, and itchy wool sweaters are the flirty, flowery sundresses - even in August. It’s chilly, rainy and perfectly unglam here. The Irish are the nicest people I’ve ever met (growing up with the Egan family, I already knew this) and the potatoes, every which way imaginable, just don’t get old. When I’m back I have a wee bit of news for everyone, but until then… Cheers!

thatluciegirl: Roasted Blueberry Cupcakes with Chocolate Fudge...

Sun, 07 Aug 2011 14:20:15 -0400

thatluciegirl:

Roasted Blueberry Cupcakes with Chocolate Fudge Frosting