Zazoo's Mama: Skunked again or for a split second when I woke up this morning...

God, I hate doing this...

...negative reviews, that is. I lunched at Le Cirque during restaurant week recently. The new location is bright, airy with high ceilings and an open dining/bar area, separated by entry and reception. The staff couldn't have been nicer an more convivial. The manager shook my hand with some pleasantries that threw me off. "How nice it is too see you again, Mrs. Silverman." I was at the other location with Cuban husband. How many years ago? Oy.

Anyway, I can see why it's a "ladies who lunch" spot. There were a table of six old biddies off a farm with one with a poor face job leading the conversation a little too loudly. I had to overhear, "Arlene Dahl" a few times. For those of you who don't know, she's an ancient TV actress from the beginning days of TV in NY. Then were were a few ancient couples; one poor fellow in a motorized wheelchair. Two younger, poorly dressed suburban secretaries with their foreign bosses. Ok. I knew I was in the wrong place but I was really there for the food.

The waiter suggested a fruit cocktail which was a mixture of fruit juices.  Very nice for this sweltering day.

I ordered asparagus vinaigrette. Five large, I mean really large asparagus appeared with a shabby dullish-green complexion. Not steamed or grilled. Boiled? How sixties. Not appealing to the eye at all. Then, a lovely vinaigrette was spooned over them. They tasted good enough but just looked ghastly.  But they weren't terrific.  I love asparagus.  Not this way.

The main dishes were not to my liking for the most part because I don't eat fish or fowl. So I choose the only option which were sliders with fries.  There was no description.  I asked for medium RARE. They came out well done and with stewed onions.  And so hot in the middle I wondered if they were nuked.  At least the bun was nice and firm and lightly toasted. The fries were good. Presentation: lovely.

For dessert I ordered a ricotta mousse which I took home. No flavour at all.

In summation, I'd you would like to dine in a NYC landmark in a gorgeous space, with average food, visit le Cirque. Or better still, stop in for a drink instead!

Restaurant Week in NY...hits and misses so far

I'm getting thru the second week of Restaurant Week, yes, it's not weeks, which is where restaurants try to drum up new business by offering a prix fixe 3 course limited menu at a reasonable price. Usually $24 for lunch and $30 for dinner. The point of it is to serve delicious food with great ambiance so diners will spread the word and also return with all their colleagues, friends and family.

Here's my summary so far:

Ilili.I give it 5 stars. http://www.ililinyc.com/

Fabulous Middle Eastern fare. Lovely, modern decor. Attentive, helpful staff. it had to be close to 100 F last Monday when I exited a taxi and walked in to a cool, spacious entry as gentle Middle Eastern music wafted thru and made me feel at home immediately. The sweet waitress suggested a refresher: lemonade. Sure. It had a hint of mint and a spear of cucumber. Out of this world! I'm going back, if I can just have this.

Actually, I've dined here before and couldn't resist the special pricing and an excuse to to go to another spot on earth and in my soul.

I had a beautiful green bean salad topped with pickled baby onions and sprinkled with sesame seeds. Lovely with a hint of lemon and olive oil. Next was a lamb sip with au jus and pink horseradish sauce. Simply divine. Tender, shredded lamb piles high on a tasty bun. I spread the sauce then dipped each bit. This hit the spot. Funky, old world flavours eminated throughout the sandwich.


These were sublime. The mix of flavors lingered on my palette and was soothed by the magic lemonade.

A tiny bit of bird's nest baklava was the dessert. Typical and lovely.

I said I didn't have to go...

...far for material. But this time the material came to me! I'm still smiling about this one. Jewel, derived from Jew Al, Jew-al, hence: jewel, said he was stopping by to work on the lawn mover. Another project that has taken weeks. Not finished yet. So, I was at a meeting off the grounds and he picked me up and as we were coming toward the barn I saw 2 purple latrines, or port o sans, on a small trailer sitting in the driveway. If that's not bad enough, the police were circling. I counted three times within a half hour as I watered the plantings. I waved and smiled. I think a yenta neighbour called them, guess which one, to find out if we were doing demo/construction work without a permit or having a gypsy family reunion under the tent.

Then, to make it even sillier, Jewel said while he worked on the mower he had to relieve himself. He wouldn't venture into the house alone. A sissy boy is afraid of Zazoo. So he said he went to the studio above the barn. I said, "why didn't you use the facility in your little wagon?" "It smells," he said matter of factly. Sweet baby Jesus, this Wanker drives around all day with these things, move them around when they're full and scours them out with a hose. Smelly? Oy vey.

Zazzy's new sister, ilili, or how to kiss butt...

...and make new friends. We've recently had an addition to our small family! Her name is Ilili, which is Lebanese for "tell me". Apropos coz this baby Afghan Hound is quote vocal. She talks, whines and howls just like a baby Afghan usually does. And she screams...it sounds like she is being murdered slowly when she's placed in her crate and shits herself. Poor little thing.

So, if you know me, you know I couldn't have that, so I've been walking or dragging her along when I march Zazoo. It's comical because Zaz walks like such an elegant gentleman and then dragged behind us is this silly belligerent puppy. I hope no one calls SPCA about me.

She's lovely and just eight weeks now so she misses her mama and her litter-mates. She was happy to meet Zazoo and he reciprocated but she is a bit needy for his taste. The first night, she cuddled up to me to sleep but soon I found her nestled into Zazoo. Then I was able to get this shot as they lounged on the couch during a rainy afternoon.

It's official...

...We re driving around in the bloody "BLK HAWK". Oy vey ish mir. Mama, why did you do this? How long will it be until we get pulled over by New York's finest?

Only time will tell. I'll keep you posted.

My friend Al and I got pulled over the other night in my village coz he drove like a dick. Thank God he didn't act retarded or crack wise to the nice and forgiving African-American officer. No ticket either.

Here's a photo we took at the NY Botanical Gardens while we visited the Gardens of Alhambra Spain, which was lovely, btw. I told him I would wait for him to screw up and then publish said photo. Didn't take long at all.

Body count, to date...

No, it's not a count of hot men sightings in Orienta, fat chance, but an animal count of what dear, dear, always hungry Zazoo's body count.

Cardinal in the dead of Winter

I believe he had a baby bunny when we first spotted them outside the fence. Oy.

A black bird that also flew too low

A squirrel as of yesterday that either ran too slowly or flew too low. Squirrels DO fly. Remember Rocky & Bullwinkle?

When he's a good boy...

Two points if you can find his head.  Dom, my Father, calls him a bum.  Now, I can see why.  Couch Afghan?

Did I mention that I'm Martha Stewart's Illegitimate Daughter?

This arrangement was made with the carrot tops that I found that the former residents left in the garden. Oh, happy day.

The object of Zazoo's desire...

This bunny sat quietly while I took this shot.

A post from the road...

Not to be confused with the Post Rd. Well, I don't have to look too far for material for this blog. As I walked ZaZoo down the road, I've been observing the progress on a tear-down on a small corner parcel. A MWM (maganda with money) bought this never-refurbished 1950's split-level home and is tearing it down to build a two story faux colonial. Anthony, in his new top of the line Benz, has no clue, I realized when I talked to him. The property ponds after every rainfall and work has to be stopped coz they can't drive trucks and bulldozers in deep mud. Nor can they survey what they've done. Hence, the photo.

I wish I could have snapped it with Anthony and the project manager seated, but this is funny enough. Oh, and by the way, he paid 850k for this 50x100 lot with no view and self-regulating rain ponds.

A posting to the Afghan Hound family of Zazoo re: fences

Hi Shirley,

I have one of those "fancy hounds" now and had two others years ago.  They are obsessed with chasing prey as you know. The other two would storm the front doors when my Mom entered and she would yell, "the hounds have escaped, man the cars," and we would embarrassingly drive thru the hood yelling their names. I still cringe thinking about it.  They would either be at a neighbors visiting her Afghans or back at home panting after a good run like nothing happened. God loves these magnificent beasts. 

Now,  this new one, Zazoo Two, couldn't be trusted, so I have installed a double gate, like the types found in doggie parks.  Knock wood, it works, so far.  But....

... this little stinker slid under the fence netting coz he scented a bunny. And this was with me standing right next to him.  I grabbed him by the neck fur and dragged him back successfully, but he snuck under a few times until I bought wire border for flower beds to prevent this.  The nerve. 

The first time he snuck under, he ran thru the estate next door which is totally bulkheaded onto Long Island Sound.  As I ran parallel to him, I prayed that he wouldn't dive for a goose and land in the sea with the undertow.  Thank God he chased them off the grass and into the water and. He looked incredible as he trotted with his head held high. Then he scented a bunny which led him back across their lawns to my home where he cornered himself and I leashed him while praising him for standing still; not trying to run between my legs,.  He is too clever sometimes.

The damn bunnies slide under the fence so he learned this action from them.  

I don't think he knows he can jump the fence coz no one showed him. Let's pray he stays ignorant of this action.  My life will be better. 


Zazoos Mama

Sent from my iPad

How to get a container of personal belongings from NY to Ist or...

..how to get an ikamet without even trying.

So, I finally decided to move to Turkey after visiting a few times, then spending a summer, 90 days, which is the maximum on a tourist visa. I had a whole house put into a container & sent.  Sounds simple, right?  Well, it was painless until I got a call to come down to the port one summer day.

My friend Kaz who lived up my street, and, btw, lived up the street from my Mother in Rye when he was married to an Irish girl, now in the process of divorce, said he would gladly accompany as translator.

We went from one office to another, getting stamped, boom, boom, boom, paying money, more stamping, boom, boom, boom!  Then we walked to another building, in the heat of an Istanbul summer afternoon, up a steep set of interior stairs to a tiny attic room with a be-speckled older gent peeking behind a desk so over-crowded & piled high with ledgers and paperwork.  Kas introduced us as I sat there politely, thinking about all my "stuff" that I had missed.  Especially the Onkyo stereo and  Klipsh speakers that were as tall as I was.

I was snapped out of my stupor when I heard Kaz say something emphatically, then with a question, then the little man repeated the word.  Kaz said thank you and I took his lead and got up to leave.  I asked where do were go now but he said nothing and shook his head.

He waited until we got out side and said, "You have to get married," with a dumb look of almost embarrassment on his sweet round face.

"What???"  "Yeah, and you have 28 days or the Turkish government will confiscate everything."

"What do you mean?"

Well, it turned out since I was the recipient, and not a Turk, I couldn't accept the shipment.  I could either send it all back on another ship to another port, change ships and return it to Ist in the name of a Turk or simply marry a Turk when then I would have residency status and can accept the container.  Welcome to Turkey.

I was dumb-founded.  The long ride back to Bebek was a blur.  The next thing I remember is sitting  under a tree at the Bebek Tea House overlooking the pleasant view of the Bosporus with ships that sped by, small fisherman's boats that looked like they would capsize and the constant noise of the BCH loudly hummed in my ears & head.  What was I going to do?  I couldn't spend another 10 grand usd moving this stuff around.  I couldn't say "f it". I had to marry someone--and quickly.  So...I called my trusty "assistant".  That's what he called himself.  "Fixer" is more like it or "Abi," but that's another story altogether.

He couldn't do it.  Fiancee of the day would have a fit.  No shit, but I tried.  We were/are very close.  Never hurts to ask.  meanwhile, he told me recently that he kicks himslef in the butt everyday because he didn't take the offer and the US passaport that would accompany the deed.

That night I was at my friends club.  He asked me what was up.  I told him.  "Do you know a nice Turkish boy that would marry me to get my stuff through?"  He didn't skip a beat..."Me."

Well, well, well.  The hottest guy in Istanbul, at the time & in my limited, new-found circle, would do it.  "Sure, I did it before with a French girl But we never got me the passaport."

So we did.  At the mayor's office in the middle of town, on a hot summer's day with this motley crue of rockers & older lovely Turkish gentlemen friends.  What a bunch.  Then the rocker bunch had high tea at Kempinski Ciragan, overlooked the Bosporus as the best hotel in town. So elegant, so pretty.  We shot vid & photos just in case we needed it.  The film, "Green Card" loomed in the back of my mind.  Then we had a "honeymoon" at the Queen Ada, lovely 5* boutique hotel in Bodrum.  We had a free stay because I gave them a nice write-up.

The cargo came late at night a few days later.   Horray! Then I went to Aksaray for an ikamet.  That, too, is another story as well.  So, my dear friends, this is the way of Turkey.  God Bless Turkey!

My next Husband...

...but he doesn't know it yet. I met this really sweet guy when I was living in Istanbul a few years ago. I was with my assistant, another hottie named Volkan, when we walked into My Moon Cafe off Istaklal Caddesi one night. Volkan talked to this tall, almost dark & extremely handsome guy over the blasting, rocking music. He introduced me, we exchanged pleasantries, but I couldn't hear anything. I think I was just struck. Fucking dumb-struck. Like a retard or a groupie who just saw Jesus. Damn, was he gorgeous, and with such a beautiful smile. OY!

Afterward, when Volkan and I walked down the narrow street, I asked, "Who was that guy you introduced me to?" He said he was one of the Three Musketeers. They had once worked together: Volkan, Mustafa and Emre, another hottie.

I must have had a big dumb smirk on my face when I asked, "Is he married or does he have a girlfriend?" coz silly Volkan giggled then hooted, "Woo Hoo," or some Turkish equivalent coz he started chanting, "Madame Nicole likes Mustafa!"

I swatted him & told him to pipe down but he pulled out his phone & was working it with a fury like he had the scoop of the century.

"Who the hell are you calling at this hour?"

"Why, of course, Mustafa," he said so matter of factly.

Allah, Allah! I slammed the phone out of his nimble little hands while I shushed him.

He carried on for the rest of the night.

Just like playful Turks, Mustafa was everywhere we went the following night. Smiling coyly at me everytime i stole a glance.  Adonis anyone???

We did finally talk. And talk. Mustafa had a sleep-over one night, so Volkan and I turned up with our jammies. Volkan eventually went to sleep but Mustafa and I stayed up and talked 'till way past sunrise.  This happened a few times; his home, my home.  One late night/early morning he turned up.  Just rang the bell.  When I looked out the window, there he was--with a "cat-that-ate-the-canary" grin that I had to say, "Hos geldin" and open my door.  He was being noisy and silly and happy.  I told him to "sus bey", and he stage whispered, "Why Madame Nicole?  No one is here?"

"Yes, my pet, someone IS here."  I led him to the bedroom door and silently opened it.  There, peeking out of the covers was a mop of silky black curls.  It was my little college friend, Efe.  He broke up with his girlfriend and his Mama was at the beach so he asked if he could stay over.  Turks don't like being alone, apparently.

Another stage whisper from the Gorgeous Mustafa, "OK." And he went back to being his lively, lovely self.

It never went past this, I wasn't ready for a Tom Cat, but we flirted like teenagers. We still flirt; a million miles away from each other. He still makes me smile & I still make him hot. Allah, Allah! He makes me hot. Who the hell am I kidding?

He has a heart of gold, is down to earth, is a natural boy, has a great love of God and family. OY, what more could a girl ask for? He's looking pretty good as the next candidate. Will keep you posted.