My birthday, being so close to the middle of the calendar year, has always been a good check point to see what goals I’ve accomplished and evaluate my progress. This year, I can’t seem to remember the resolutions I ambitiously made just six short months ago. Each year seems to move faster than the last and I’m sure my handwritten goals are somewhere underneath a pile of last year’s Christmas cards.

In the spirit of productivity, I’ve made a new list of goals and hung it above my desk as a daunting reminder that I have work to do. In fact, I even found a brightly colored sticky pad with all the days of the week for smaller, more immediate “to-dos.” If that doesn’t keep me motivated, well, I’m sure I can think of something that will…

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Our first stop, per special request, was the Chelsea Market. Whenever I have a visitor, this place is usually on the itinerary. However, I had nothing to do with the decision this time as my brother had been there before. That’s the thing about New York (and people who find comfort in familiarity). You eat something you like and it becomes a staple in your food outings. It’s taken me a while but I now have several restaurants on rotation. And while I warned that the day would be full of savory food, we each ordered our own crêpe at Bar Suzette, a terrible/delicious mistake.

One of my favorite things about the Chelsea Market is the Lobster Place. They had even made some renovations to this fish market since my last visit to accommodate those of us who just like to pop in for oysters on the half shell. Side note: I accidentally ordered a clam in all the excitement. There’s a reason I’ve never ordered a clam before.

Upon realizing that some serious digesting needed to happen before consuming another bite, we walked around Greenwich Village enjoying the blooming trees and picking out future apartments. We stumbled upon the FRIENDS building and reminisced about a few memorable episodes. It’s days like these (days full of food, exercise, and tv building shots) I feel lucky to live in this city.

We headed over to Num Pang for some bánh mì and, although we were a few bites from falling over, we finished our sandwiches and headed down the street for some gelato to finish off our extended meal. The rum raisin and mascarpone were unlike anything I’ve ever tasted, well worth the $6 for such a small portion (not that we could have eaten more if we wanted to).

After overeating an appropriate amount, we arduously carried our full bellies down the stairs and into the subway. Once home, we stretched out just long enough to watch some tv while wondering what we’d be eating for dinner.

This year’s business resolutions have been looking a little grim. One of my biggest annoyances is relying on something or someone other than myself to get my work done. I’m holding computer software issues responsible for January’s shortcomings (curse you, Photoshop!). I fell short on my weekly goals and haven’t even begun to think of an excuse for not even attempting more long term ambitions. Although February is going to be a little busier, maybe the pressure of “resolutions” will have died down a bit. With any luck, I’ll continue to complete my weekly tasks in a timely manner and maybe tackle a long term to-do. Baby steps, internet.

One of my flaws, I’m sure my friends will agree, is my need to be in control at all times. I like to have my way (not a crime, by the way). I’m slowly accepting the inevitability of losing control while trying to run a business. However, it seems there are infinitely more opportunities to lose control in a business setting. It is the very nature of business to rely on an outside source.

My goal for February is to hold myself accountable for my responsibilities. Starting next week. I’m in Florida right now for Haley and Charles‘ wedding. I’ll be celebrating one of the most important days with one of my closest friends and also getting in some much needed family time. And maybe, if I have my way, I’ll make it to the beach.

I was a little hesitant to see Phantom of the Opera but The Lion King and Wicked were the first tickets to go. Apparently, Broadway Week is NOT a secret. I had loved the Phantom movie and had seen several versions of the play in the past and was afraid of a bad experience. There is not enough time in the day to get to the bottom of that irrational mentality. Still, this was the longest running play on Broadway and I was confident the cast wouldn’t disappoint. As the snow began to blanket the city, Ben and I made our way up to Times Square (a place we’ve been finding ourselves a lot lately). I’m always surprised at how quick the commute is from my apartment. I instinctively allow one hour to travel anywhere in Manhattan. Usually that’s pretty accurate but when I am granted a few extra minutes, I remind myself that I’m not running a marathon and slow down a bit (perpetually fast-walkers don’t like when people do this). Yet, if I kept my pace, I would have missed the meeting of the minds.

Ben pointed out that this was the first time we were seeing Times Square in the snow. He was right. Strangely, this is the second mild winter in NYC since my arrival. Some are pleased with mother nature’s stinginess. I am not.

The performance was phenomenal. Our seats, however, were in the second mezzanine, a little higher than usual. Wow, does it get rowdy up there! The narrow rows presented a few obstacles, specifically in reference to everything. While the space hardly allowed for sitting still, the abundance of coats and legs threatened everyone’s balance. For a brief moment, a tired man in the preceding row rested his head on Ben’s leg. Phones and cameras were going off behind us. During intermission, I waved from a distance to the camcorder naively scanning the audience (it was refreshing to see those haven’t become extinct).

The walk home was cold and beautiful. It was the kind of powdery snow you just want to roll around in. In fact, I did. I regretted it immediately but just long enough for the icy sting to numb my legs while I carelessly made snow angels and mischievously drew faces on the freshly covered cars.

 Since I’ve been a New Yorker, it hasn’t failed to snow on January 25th. This was my gift back to New York.

It has been so difficult to stick to a schedule this month. Part of my personal resolution is to go out more and have more fun (I’m pretty much an old lady). I failed to consider how that would effect my business. After all, I would need to be sacrificing something to clear up some time for all these new activities I have planned. At the moment, I am trying to have the best of both worlds and, as a result, I’m not fully committing to anything. There is just not enough time in the day to read a whole book, see a movie, redesign my business cards and contracts while simultaneously playing with Chandler! “I’ll just do yoga tomorrow” is becoming my catch phrase. I’ve never been a “seize the day” kind of person but lately I’ve been inclined to say yes to everything. This may also be an excuse to get out of my tiny charming apartment. Nevertheless, I’d like to consider these past two weeks a trial period. They didn’t really count…

Even so, I’m happy to say that things are, in fact, moving forward. After a year(!) of brainstorming and edits, I finally have a new logo. My graphic designer (AKA dad) and I exchanged countless emails before finally agreeing on the design below. I’m so relieved to be able to cross this off my list and move onto the next task.

So seize the crap out of 2013…and maybe prioritize, just in case.

This year, second Christmas fell on January 5th and was in the form of a brunch. I’m a big fan of brunch because there are no limitations on food. For example, it is perfectly acceptable to eat steak and potatoes alongside hunks of cheese and fruit tarts. You can see where this post is going. That’s right, second Christmas was inevitably about the menu.

The first course (to hold everyone over because brunch is confusing and sometimes people skip breakfast) was a fennel salad with lemon juice and olive oil served over a bed of smoked Alaskan salmon. The fennel was so refreshing and unexpected and the salmon was a bonus, hiding underneath the promise of an “eat healthier” resolution. This was so satisfying, I didn’t have a chance to take a photo before the plates were half empty. That’s going to be a tough act to follow…crap.

Next up: roasted asparagus, pear crostini and filler sausage and eggs (my guests are hungry people!). I made the asparagus as I usually do, marinated in lemon juice, salt and pepper, topped with grated parmesan. Except this time, I roasted them in the oven (only rarely do I engage in open flames in my tiny apartment). For the crostini, I toasted the bread and topped with pears that had been simmering in balsamic vinegar and finished it off with a dollop of goat cheese and cracked black pepper. Strangely, they were the perfect compliment to the asparagus and are the reason I’ve been dreaming of goat cheese.

I love pancakes and usually eat them for breakfast every weekend. They are so versatile and easy to experiment with. I have been looking for an excuse to serve my lavender pancakes and justified doing so by adding a third “dessert pancake” course to our brunch. Naturally, because I wanted to be fancy, I made mini pancakes topped with butter and brown sugar (smaller portions of good food are always fancier, it gives the impression that it’s in limited supply…and that’s just fancy). I think I’m going to start making mini pancakes on the weekends because they were just so darn cute and delicious! I only wish I had a set of miniature silverware. In all my excitement, I completely forgot to photograph the fanciness.

All in all, second Christmas was a success. I encourage everyone to celebrate second Christmas…and experiment with miniature food. And when you do, don’t forget to take a photo!

]]> http://francescacaputo.com/second-christmas/feed/ 3 http://francescacaputo.com/obligatory-goal-post/ http://francescacaputo.com/obligatory-goal-post/#comments Fri, 04 Jan 2013 00:24:54 +0000 Franki http://francescacaputo.com/?p=896 Continued]]>

New Year’s Eve has never been my favorite holiday. When I was younger, I appreciated the fancy hors d’oeuvres (i.e. pigs in a blanket) and the luxurious privilege of sipping from my parents’ champagne flutes. Even then, I had high hopes for future New Years, comforted with the perception that this was a “grown-up” holiday. So I waited. I made the obvious resolutions every year: stop biting my nails, stop hitting my little brother, the usual. Then finally, I became an adult. The time had come. I finally had the power to decide where I would be spending my holidays, what glamorous party I would attend, where I would be when the ball dropped. My perception of New Year’s Eve, and adulthood, was one long episode of Sex and the City.

Ironically, I now live in New York, just a subway away from Times Square. And I avoid it like the plague. The thought of standing outside for hours on end in the freezing weather only for the sheer satisfaction of saying, “I was there”? I’ll admit, from February 1st through December 30th, I romanticize it a bit. But the morning of New Year’s Eve? I’m busy deciding what movie I want to watch and how much hot chocolate I want to drink before switching to Times Square coverage for the last ten minutes of the year.

In the past few days, I’ve come to realize that my idea of an adult New Year’s celebration might be a little outdated. While the bringing in of the new year was a little lack luster, I had time to reflect on my accomplishments of 2012. For the first time, I set goals and followed through. For the first time, I actually had accomplishments to reflect on.

In an effort to make the most of 2013, I made two lists. Rather than bore you with my list of new goals, I’m going to share the second list.

TOP 5 THINGS TO NAME YOUR DOG:

1. Artichoke (Arti for short)

2. Mr. President

3. Leonardo DogVinci

4. JK Growling

5. Jeff

Here’s to a grown-up 2013!

These photos have been a long time coming. After my friend, Jessica, spent A YEAR planning their outfits, I finally got to meet these two adorable little faces! It was worth the wait and the weather was perfect for photos. I don’t know how I keep getting so lucky with overcast sessions but it’s spoiling me because it makes my job so much easier. Not to mention this warm December weather we’ve been having.

I just love a little man in a suit. So classy.

And then someone started to get a little restless, making for some funny/cute photos.

I think the photos took under 2 hours but by the end, we all wanted to ride the carousel and eat some ice cream. And naturally, after holding hands for a few minutes, I think Alyssa and I became new best friends. 

Two weeks ago I headed down to the Brooklyn Bridge to meet up with the Samuel family. Fortunately, it warmed up for a few hours and no one was encumbered by large coats. These four make a beautiful family and it was such a pleasure to spend the afternoon with them. This was my first autumn shoot (being the Florida girl that I am) and I was so excited to try something I had envied on other photography blogs. Plus the photos were full of glow-y light, which was a challenge at first (the lens flare was a bit intrusive) but I think the golden hue suited this family perfectly. Here are a few of my favorites…

My uncle is a published author :) After years of reading short stories and poems, I am extremely excited to dive into the first installment of the series, The Adventures of Jimmy Farrell. 

When did you know you wanted to be an author? 

In the fourth grade we had a class project, to write a story. The story had to be 500 words long and I wrote about 5000 words. My uncle edited it for me and I got an “A”. Then my teacher sent it into a publishing company and the anticipation of getting a letter back telling me they wanted to publish my book was all I needed to fall in love with the idea of being an author.

How did you come up with the idea for this book? 

Back in ’96 or ’97 I enrolled in a writing course and one of the assignments was to write a 1200 word fiction short story which became the idea that drove me to write The Adventures of Jimmy Farrell series.

Are you the type of writer to outline the entire story before filling in the details or do you write one chapter to the next? In other words, when you begin writing a story, do you already know the ending? 

As a matter of fact, I do know the ending before I write the first word. However, I also know some key points I want to touch on throughout the book. So what I do is write a sentence or two for each chapter, then expand on that until I come to the end I wanted.

Are any of the characters modeled after people in your life? 

No, Jimmy (the protagonist) is more of an idea of what children were like in a simpler time.

 What is the biggest obstacle you ran into while writing this book and how did you overcome it? 

To be quite honest, the story flowed very nicely. It was the editing that almost drove me insane. It wasn’t a matter of overcoming it, it was a matter of plowing through it.

What are some techniques or exercises that you do to overcome writer’s block? Or do you even get writer’s block at all? 

I believe every author is faced with writer’s block at one time or another. The way I get past it is to step away and return to writing after a little rest. If that doesn’t work, I just write past it by writing a few different outcomes for where I am in the story. By the time I almost decide which one to use, I get a moment of clarity and I am able to find what I want in that moment.

 What is your personal favorite book? 

A Wrinkle in Time, by Madeleine L’Engle. That book rocked my imagination.

 Who are some authors that have influenced your writing? 

Any author that inspires the imagination of children in a clean and fun way is my hero.

 Will there be future installments of Jimmy Farrell adventures? 

Yes, I have book two written already. I just have to go through the grueling task of editing it again.

 Can you give a little preview of what happens in book two? Is it a continuation of book one? 

Book two, “The Summer of Magic,” takes place the following summer as Aponi and her family are separated by chance. Jimmy and friends all work together to help Aponi. It is an adventure deep in Aponi’s world with a heightened risk of danger.

 What do you most want people to take away from this book? 

A smile, and the knowledge that anything is possible when we set our minds to it.

You can purchase his book through Barnes & Noble, Amazon or his website.

A couple weeks ago, I met up with my cousin Mike and we made our way to the northern coast of Long Island for Christine and Kellie’s beautiful backyard wedding. This was simultaneously the classiest and most casual wedding I had ever been to. They were such a pleasure to be around and were so welcoming, although I had only just met them that morning. I am so excited to share these photos because, not only are the two of them adorable and beautiful and all things love-y dove-y, but I feel confident that these photos represent me as a photographer from beginning to end. I am filled with happiness for Christine and Kellie and, as always, am grateful to have been invited to be Mike’s second shooter. You can see his photos from the day here.

As an Italian child, you become familiar with your family’s signature dishes. They become staples in your upbringing and you can’t imagine life without grandma’s Sunday sauce or dad’s turkey soup with acini di pepe. Yet, in high school, friends (familiar with my Italian background) began inquiring about things like gnocchi and rice balls. Um, what? Out of fear for embarrassing myself, I would either lie and say, “duh, who hasn’t heard of (insert unfamiliar food here)” or “…that’s not a thing.” I was not about to let someone put a scuff in my boot-shaped ego. I did, however, have curiosity about this “gnocchi” they spoke of. Once I accepted that I didn’t know all things Italian (which was a big first step), my world completely changed. As it turned out, there were tons of traditional Italian foods my family hadn’t incorporated into their kitchen routines. At this time, I decided that I would embrace the unknown and begin my own recipe traditions. Enter biscotti.

Last week, there wasn’t much to do except wait for the storm that was about to hit. In preparation for this storm, my apartment (read: large room with a kitchen) was near spotless. I am in love with the light that floods through the windows. It is generously diffused by the sheer curtains (from fabric that I purchased at Mood. Thank you, Mood!). This sight encourages me to bake because this light makes me happy and I associate happiness with baking.

This particular biscotti recipe is from my favorite cookbook, A Passion for Baking by Marcy Goldman. Her book includes the basic baking groups (i.e. bread, muffins, cakes, cookies, etc) but the recipes always have a little twist. Everything I’ve made from this book, with the exception of the strawberry tart (pastry dough and I have had our disagreements), has been amazing. And of course, the KitchenAid makes everything a little bit easier (and gets you to the eating part faster).

Until I master the art of French pastry, chopping seems to be my favorite part of being in the kitchen. So much so, that the chop-slap actually hurts my feelings a little bit. Because of this interest, my fridge is usually full of pre-chopped onions, parsley and tomatoes all holding “Occupy Fridge” signs.

Lately, I’ve really been attracted to mason jars. I know, I’m a few years late for the mason jar trend. They remind me of the country and I’ve become very aware of how much I miss the idea of country living in this big city. If I had my way, everyone would wear cowboy hats and call me “little lady” while opening doors for me.

When you eat these biscotti, they tease your sense of smell with the overwhelming pepper aroma and subtly sting your mouth with the saltiness of the parmesan. Their addictive flavors are responsible for the binge eating that’s transpired in my home this past week. Needless to say, there are none left.

And when my kid’s friends are asking her about Chianti and Parmesan Biscotti, she can honestly say, “duh, who hasn’t heard of Chianti and Parmesan Biscotti?”

Although my building had been declared Zone A for evacuation purposes, I stayed behind. Last year, due to the drafty nature of my building, my fourth floor apartment flooded thanks to Hurricane Irene. Despite my terror of living on the East River, there was no way I was going to let that happen again this year. No, sir. If my apartment was going to flood, I was going to be there (for moral support, if nothing else). While I waited for the inevitable, I passed the time baking, sleeping, playing with Chandler, etc. When the winds started to pick up, I was surprised to find that the water was actually seeping through the concrete where the window met the window sill. New York studio apartments are charming, aren’t they? Fortunately, the majority of the damage was done by 11pm and only two sheets and a few hand towels were harmed in the process. Meanwhile, I was able to get some sleep knowing the food in my fridge was safe. You see, somehow the storm danced over my building, leaving me with electricity and gratitude. Others were not so lucky.

The next morning, I walked around the neighborhood, assessing the damages. Signs were mercilessly ripped from the sidewalks, bricks were torn from sides of buildings and the pigeons were suspiciously clean. Yet, these damages were minimal considering parts of the city were still under water.

The leaves had only just begun to fall and among the debris were beautiful reds and yellows. I am completely drawn to physical contrast in photos, especially textural contrast. I couldn’t help but find these mildly devastating photos beautifully complimented by the reminder of Fall.

I couldn’t believe the number of bikes that were on the sidewalk. More so, I couldn’t believe that the majority of them remained untouched by the storm, given the fact that walls were literally torn from their structures.

The subways remained closed yesterday due to flooding and salt water damage to the tracks. As a result, people flooded the diners and bagel shops for some comfort food, including myself. Who wants to make lunch when there are photos to be taken and stories to be compared? I am, however, grateful to be stranded in my neighborhood for some much needed personal time away from the city.

I hope those still without power are able to find time to eat lots of candy for the sake of the holiday and are enjoying a break from mundane tasks requiring electricity.

I’ve been really excited to post these photos because Nurcan is one of my favorite people to photograph. I felt so honored that she and her new husband, Ayhan, invited me to be a part of their wedding day. My friends spoil me by giving me a VIP pass to the most important days of their lives and I do everything in my power to keep it together for the sake of the photos.

Nurcan and Ayhan had a city wedding on a cloudy Thursday in downtown Manhattan. Of course, Nurcan brought her usual stylish flare (with a dress she ordered from China!) and Ayhan was the perfect compliment.

These columns were so monumental. If time allowed, I would have spent much longer shooting in this gorgeous setting.

I swear these shoes were at least six inches tall. Just looking at them almost made me lose my balance!

Nurcan and Ayhan invited me to dinner after the ceremony and photos. A friend of theirs told the most adorable story: when Nurcan met Ayhan, she was wearing a ring…apparently it was laughable. Everyone was trying on the ring and when Ayhan tried it on, it broke. He promised he would buy her another ring. He kept his word. People, I can’t make this stuff up.

Just before dinner, a horse and buggy showed up and the couple had a few moments to themselves on a ride through the city, but not before a few more photos.

Once the sun had set, we all headed to Times Square for one last photo shoot. The girls had a blast covering Nurcan in glitter and she didn’t object.

Nurcan and Ayhan, thank you for being such a fun couple to photograph and agreeing to all the poses I had you two do. I hope you guys are having a blast in Turkey!

Last month I flew to Florida for a beautiful Thursday wedding. Yes, Thursday. This was my first time shooting a traditional Jewish wedding and I honestly had no idea what to expect (although I was comforted by the guidance of Wikipedia and Aish.com). The Heathrow Country Club was the perfect setting for this sunset wedding.

Ideally, a Jewish ceremony would begin while the sun is still in the sky and end underneath the stars. Of course, this meant I would have time for formal portraits beforehand. I was thrilled and Hank and Roz could not have been happier that this day had finally arrived.

I popped into the kitchen in time to see the Rabbi and chef sterilizing the utensils and equipment before preparing the kosher meal. I was fascinated by this process along with the fact that I managed to make it out of the kitchen without a single burn (I got pretty close).

Before the ceremony, the bride and groom signed the Ketubah, or marriage agreement, which is actually more important than the ceremony itself. This would explain the fancy embellishments as opposed to the modest marriage certificates I’m accustomed to seeing. During the signing, the Rabbi says a few words and imparts some wisdom on the new couple.

The ceremony was beautifully intimate. I felt so privileged to be a part of something they shared only with family and close friends.

The reception was a nonstop celebration. I was exhausted just from watching all the dancing.

Hank and Roz, congratulations on your wedding and thank you for allowing me to be a part of it!

September is one of my favorite months. While I don’t like its association with the beginning of the school year, as an adult (and ex-student), I can appreciate September’s more enjoyable features without the distraction of my freedom coming to a tragic end. After 12 years in a state with only two seasons, I almost forgot what Fall looked like, yet it maintained “favorite season” status. Here in NY, the crisp air is keeping the sidewalk smell at bay and I can finally wear sweaters again because let’s face it, some people should just stay covered up.

Every September, Little Italy hosts the Feast of San Gennaro. It’s mostly food venders (half of which are selling sausage and peppers) and a few novelty shops selling t-shirts that say “Fuggedaboutit” and “My cannoli is bigger than yours.” Clearly, this is how actual Italians speak…. At any rate, I was armed with a twenty and an empty stomach. Inappropriate baby clothes were the least of my interests. The first stop was food vender x.

Following my precarious jaunt down heart attack lane for the entire month of July, I became uncomfortably aware of my *tiny* obsession with fatty foods, specifically pork: pork belly, pork buns, pulled pork, and let’s not forget good ol’ reliable bacon. However, out of respect/concern for my arteries, I’ve been cutting back on this death meat. Yet when it was my turn to order, I opted for the braciole. Let me clarify: the pork braciole. Slow braised meat in all its fatty juices? Don’t mind if I do! Going forward, let’s replace the words “fatty juices” with the word “magic” lest my arteries have an anxiety attack. Three bites into my sandwich and my hands were covered in magic.

Once the euphoria of the food wore off, I noticed how crowded the streets were. And while I’ve come to terms with my vertical disability, I found myself wishing I was just a foot taller. Although, I doubt that would have kept hungry tourist heads from making cameos in my photos. So naturally, I was thrilled when the clouds began to rumble, releasing the most refreshing rainstorm. As expected, the crowd parted and I was left in the middle of the street with my trusty umbrella. I thought to myself, “what a perfect opportunity to enjoy some fried dough topped with powdered sugar.” Yes, I’m referring to zeppoli so satisfying and nostalgic, I briefly considered setting aside the entire next day to make my grandma’s recipe.

Before retiring to my apartment at the wee hour of 10:30pm, I indulged in a predictable cannoli and chamomile tea from Caffe Roma. I say “predictable” because this is my go-to dessert in the city regardless of its merit. When I was 14, I begged my uncle (a restaurant owner at the time) for a case of cannoli cream for my birthday. He refused, like any responsible adult. The moment it became “forbidden” I put this delicious, creamy luxury on a pedestal, eating it every chance I got. This particular cannoli did not disappoint.

Safely home underneath my down comforter, I wished I had brought some pastries home. The thought was short lived and I began counting chocolate covered biscotti before drifting off to sleep.

This past Monday at 2:30 in the morning, I woke up to a very sick pup. After panicking for what seemed like forever and kicking myself for not taking him just 8 hours earlier, we headed to the emergency vet across town. For those of you that don’t personally know Chandler, he likes to eat things off the ground and the streets of Brooklyn have a lot to offer (i.e. chicken bones, pizza slices, dirt…pills).

That’s right, he got a hold of a little orange pill. He was admitted to the hospital and aside from the terror that was racing through my brain, I couldn’t help but think how cute this little pet hospital was and how the doctors kept referring to him as the “patient.” I silently said goodbye to my new computer, my new lens, my new camera and handed my debit card to the receptionist.

You’ll be happy to know that Chandler is on his way to recovery and he totally rocked his leopard print bandage.

As always, Chandler is a welcomed distraction from editing. Here are a couple sneak peaks from the two weddings I shot earlier this month.

I hope everyone is finding time to enjoy this cool weather but, more importantly, that their pets are in good health.

I’ve been feeling overwhelmed lately. It’s not so much that I don’t have enough time to do what needs to be done, the time is there. It’s finding the right time to do it. This is absolutely an excuse. It’s this excuse I’ve been struggling with. For example, when is it the wrong time to file old papers or to flip through a magazine for some posing ideas? Procrastinating isn’t usually my “thing” but lately it’s been my best friend.

When I was younger, I was involved in community theater. I became accustomed to the infamous “I can’t, I have rehearsal” line. This became my mantra. Nothing was a higher priority than the Mommy Made Me Mash My M&Ms warm ups (I bet this is where my obsession with alliteration comes from). Following the final performance of West Side Story at Surfside Playhouse in 2005, my schedule completely cleared up. Well sure, there was college but “I can’t, I have a paper to write” just didn’t carry the same sense of urgency as its predecessor.

While my To Do list has taken on scroll form, there is no pressure to complete the majority of the tasks. Who would care if I didn’t make a chandelier for the bathroom or buy a new cheese grater? Yet, without fail, I have the ability to turn into a superhero once I am given deadlines. That “I’ll do it tomorrow” is replaced with the “It’s now or never!” mentality. I’ve been sitting around all summer waiting for deadlines. The next two months are going to be busier than Walmart on Black Friday. And finally, I’ll be able to work on my To Do list for 5 minutes.

Last week, I took a walk down to the water front just before sunset. The air hinted of smoke and barbeque sauce, just as the Friday before Labor Day should.

I don’t normally shoot into the sun but I saw an opportunity to experiment.

I made every effort to enjoy the warmth as I said goodbye to the summer sun. I have a feeling it’s going to be a colorful fall.

Last weekend was very productive. In addition to the familiar “catch up on sleep” and “make a big breakfast” that usually occupies my weekend To Do list, I put some finishing touches on my “office.” Staring at a dirty white wall with the remnants of my latest six-legged victim just didn’t scream “photographer.”

The wall is now a warm shade of beige. It is slightly pink in appearance, a cross between chilled faces in wintertime and fireclay in its plastic stage. Since when did I start liking pink? Perhaps it was when I realized I had an olive skin tone and was increasingly disappointed with my sickly appearance. I try to surround myself with pinks and purples for this very reason.

This color is the perfect compliment to the old pallet hanging above the desk and the canvas-like curtains just to the right. Suddenly, sitting at the computer for hours, only taking breaks from editing to undoubtedly eat, became not only bearable, but enjoyable. And it’s not just the rosy wall in my peripheral. I’ve even created a dry-erase calendar and indulged in a pack of wet-erase markers. These little containers of ink were responsible for almost every child’s desire to be a teacher when they grew up. There was something a little too appealing about writing on clear pieces of plastic and having it projected onto the wall. Apparently, they’ll let anyone buy these things! This is convenient because sometimes I have the memory span of a goldfish. Also, I like writing with markers.

And if I get bored with the markers, luckily Chandler is there to keep me entertained focused.

I’ve been getting restless during my lull of bridal portraits and have decided to use this time to hone in on my skills as a wedding photographer and really focus on another aspect of the wedding day that sometimes gets put on the back burner: the bouquet. Depending on the couple, the floral arrangements may not be important but that shouldn’t dictate how they’re photographed (unless, of course, they are so hideous that the bride is regretting not replacing them with bottles of wine or floating candles and would rather forget they ever existed). In any event, there is a story that has trickled down from aspiring photographer to aspiring photographer, something along the lines of “if you want to photograph the World Series, start photographing the little league games like they’re the World Series.” As of late, my bouquet photos have fallen short of “World Series” standards.

One of the cool things about the city, aside from the food trucks and public transportation, is the abundance of flower shops. This is not the case in my neighborhood. I popped into a tiny grocery store that was selling flowers and browsed the picked over selection of hydrangeas and chrysanthemums before spotting a fitting bouquet of pink roses with a single fern branch. This was a “no fluff, strictly business” bouquet for $7.99. After coming to terms with the few wilted petals, I handed my credit card to the cashier as he began peeling off the price sticker. He probably didn’t want my potential recipient to think I was cheap. Nice guy.

I delicately removed the less attractive petals, wrapped the roses in a grey headband and fastened it with some straight pins from my makeshift sewing kit. The first location was dimly lit so I bounced my flash off of the wall at an angle to light the front of the bouquet.

I was able to get a few shots with natural lighting in the second location, a stairwell. The windows were facing North-East so the light was nicely diffused and no flash was needed.

I loved the back lighting of the last location around sunset. The light was warm and while I wanted to properly expose the window in the background, it was a challenge to light the foreground. I had to bounce the flash again but I was in another stairwell and the light that didn’t escape had to travel roughly 40 feet back to the subject.

It wasn’t until the end of the shoot that I realized I was dehydrated and in need of a shower. I had no idea NY was such a hot state but it makes sense, all the dark pavement and metal structures. Sometimes my building is like a sauna. Once I took the last photo, I became immediately and uncomfortably aware of the temperature and moved myself to an air conditioned room.

I’m inclined to say this practice session was a success and really allowed for some thought process without the time pressure of the actual day. Your parents were right, folks. Practice makes perfect. If nothing else, I can successfully make a half-decent bouquet on a budget.  

I visited Bottle Beach, or Dead Horse Bay, after a friend mentioned this place to me in passing and have been holding onto these photos for quite a while. To be honest, I’m getting a little anxious waiting for my next wedding. I might be splitting hairs here, but photographing inanimate objects just isn’t as satisfying as photographing people. Nevertheless, I’ve been saving this post for a rainy day and today seems appropriate. Besides, I needed to give the food posts a break. After all, I do more than just eat (or do I).

The trip out was a little wearing. Google maps likes to play this game called “let’s pretend we don’t know the directions.” I saw no reason for Google Maps to lie so, instead of taking the bus, I called 3 different car services and finally found a driver that would oblige. In hindsight, he probably didn’t get the memo that this commute would take about an hour. For this, I tipped nicely.

One much appreciated nap and $45 later I had arrived at my destination and what a sight. I immediately nominated this beach, littered with its chemicals, broken glass, and chilling ambiance, as my new happy place. Don’t be fooled by the glistening water, though. This beach is a cesspool. Sometimes it’s just nice to look at pretty things. I kept my shoes on.

This find was a little ironic.

My favorite thing about this beach is its ability to take trash and turn it into something beautiful. Yet I’ll admit, some things still needed decomposing. I’ve omitted those things from my happy place until further notice.

Inevitably, the sun began to set just as I was topping off my memory card. When I did eventually head home after a little freak out involving high tide, I made my way back to the road only to spot a bus stop. You got me this time, Google Maps.

Last Friday was defining. Defining in the same way that a line in the sand separates supportive and excessive. I am both embarrassed and thrilled to say that I’ve eaten at Num Pang seven times in the month of July. How could I resist their seasonal Five Spice Glazed Pork Belly sandwich with pickled Asian pear and the most amazing chili mayo I had ever tasted? These sandwiches are so flavorful, they make a mockery of the unused Sriracha sauce sitting on the miniature tables overlooking 12th street.

I’ve eaten Cambodian food only once before Num Pang. It was at a farmer’s market in Ithaca, NY. I don’t remember much of the experience but I’m picturing a rich black hot sauce with a tar-like consistency. As I hesitantly tasted the hot sauce, I made a mental note to revisit Cambodian food. If it tasted anything like the black tar, I was in for a treat. Naturally, like most mental notes, this one ended up stuffed between “movies I want to see” and “things I need to buy.” Three or four years later, I found myself wandering Yelp like a lost child in an amusement park of food. I thought I had made the find of the year but apparently Num Pang is a landmark in the city.

I began to look forward to lunch again. Lunch can become a mundane task in this city, despite its melting pot qualities. It seems there are too many options to make an educated decision. I am perpetually terrified of choosing a mediocre restaurant and wasting a meal. As an ironic result, I often find myself in the familiar and safe environment of the corner deli. Num Pang, as far as I’m concerned, was a godsend.

On my fourth visit, I had a mini heart attack when, in response to my “One pork belly please!” I heard, “We’re out. Sorry.” That’s it. No condoling pats on the back or empathetic smiles. I knew this day would come. After all, it IS a seasonal sandwich. I took it for granted. After some delay, I cleared my throat and disappointingly ordered a pulled pork sandwich. When my order was up, I took a bite of my consolation prize, but not before bitterly stink eyeing it. Wow. Needless to say, I went back a fifth, sixth and seventh time and haven’t ordered the pork belly since visit 3.

It’s a small feat to have conquered but just a little over a month ago, I didn’t even know this place existed. It reminds me that there are so many things I haven’t tried and it pushes me to welcome new experiences. After Saturday. I can’t go another day without one of these babies.

It was time. I needed to face my fear of baking with blueberries. Again. Up until this point, everything I had baked with blueberries was a disaster. That’s just not like me; I usually do things right the first time. Yeah, I said it. I’d like to say that Mary Poppins strongly influenced me as a child but our “practically perfect in every way” attitudes are pure coincidence. Not only did I get this wrong the first time, but the second and third time were equally disappointing. “What am I doing wrong?!” became my catch phrase when blueberries were nearby. Yet, I put on my apron and braved the oven/blueberry combo once again in the form of a scone.

I should also mention that this would be my first attempt at scones. I had high expectations.

If you’re wondering, “does she always pour ingredients from a foot above the bowl?” The answer is yes.

I love the way freshly poured brown sugar moves around in the bowl like quicksand. This part happens so early on in the baking process that I sometimes indulge in a 2 minute break to observe and appreciate the phenomenon that is brown sugar.

So far, so good. This doesn’t say much because I hadn’t even added the blueberries. Yet, I think it’s important to take a few minutes every now and then to pat yourself on the back for not burning the apartment down. And by “pat yourself on the back,” I clearly mean “play with your food.”

The thing about blueberries: they are so juicy, they interfere with baking time. You can’t choose your blueberries as if you were going to eat them in handfuls. This is a common mistake. Instead, opt for smaller, less juicy blueberries. And let’s take a minute to appreciate the windows in my kitchen, allowing for such beautiful afternoon light to pour in like a waterfall.

Good luck, little guys!

The curse has been broken!

I was appropriately relieved to open the oven door and see something other than a puddle of blueberry soup. I’m sure that letting the blueberries sit a few days and dry up contributed to my success (next time I will do this part on purpose). To be honest, I’m not sure what I did right. I’m terrified of making blueberry scones again. Now that I’ve successfully baked blueberries, there’s no excuse for failure. No blaming the oven temperature or the incorrect measurements in the recipe. These scones were edible practically perfect.

The fourth of July fell on a Wednesday this year, which means I had the day off. More importantly, Wednesday is donation day at the Bronx Zoo. Seeing as tickets are regularly around $30, this seemed like a no-brainer. I visited this zoo when I was much younger and couldn’t wait to see what had changed and what had stayed true to my memory. In honor of the fourth, I wore my red and white striped shirt/dress (short girl problem). Actually, this was just a coincidence but once I made the connection, I didn’t object to being patriotic.

There was a lady selling water out of her trunk on the side of the road just near the entrance. As I passed, she said, “Waaater. One Dollllla. One Dolla here, three dolla insiiiide.” Man, I forgot how expensive the zoo is. That’s more than Disney World charges. I thought to myself, “Today is going to be a scorcher…I really don’t want to spend $3 on water unless there are little pieces of gold floating around…or at least a few bubbles.” It was as if Ben read my mind because, after consulting with me, he bought a water. For a dollar. That lady had worked her sales floor voodoo.

First stop, the Wild Asia Monorail.

It wasn’t even noon yet, and already I wanted to join this rhino in what appeared to be a heavenly puddle of all that is good.

Next stop, Jungle World. I think I had the most fun with my camera here.

What a bunch of hams!

We spent a bit of time with the Puffins, partly because they were adorable, mostly because the room was air conditioned.

By four o’clock, the sun was still in full force and the walk back to the entrance was long and painful. On the way we passed families having picnics on the grass. One family even had pizza delivered (I’m fuzzy on the logistics of it).

As I exited the zoo, my only regret was not buying one of those foam giraffe hats, but only for a moment. I was able to sleep on the train knowing my new giraffe imprinted penny was safely tucked away.

Last night, after no debate what-so-ever, I grabbed a terracotta pot, filled it with charcoal and lit a fire. Meanwhile, Ben secured our fire extinguisher access. An open flame in my 300± sq ft apartment? Yes. Relaaaax, I saw this on Pinterest (famous last words of the decade). But I came prepared. Marshmallows: check. Chocolate: check. Graham Crackers: check. Chopsticks: check. Wait, what? Sure, I didn’t use chopsticks on my last camping trip but I wouldn’t dare put a marshmallow on the branches hanging from the trees in this dirty lovely city.

I generally don’t eat s’mores but I was inclined to expand my knowledge on the subject. It was only fitting that Ace Venture, When Nature Calls provided the soundtrack of the evening, accompanied by the storm rolling in. Four s’mores and several lonely marshmallows later, we called it a night and logically, held the charcoals out the window while pouring water on them. It went swimmingly. And just like that, the impossible became obtainable.

Here’s to making s’mores in less than ideal circumstances.

]]> http://francescacaputo.com/marshmallows-and-impossibilities/feed/ 1 http://francescacaputo.com/christine-david-long-island-wedding/ http://francescacaputo.com/christine-david-long-island-wedding/#comments Thu, 12 Jul 2012 03:24:00 +0000 Franki http://francescacaputo.com/?p=332 Continued]]>  

In May, I second shot Christine and David’s wedding at Glen Cove Mansion with my cousin, Mike. I know, this post is a little late. This summer is just flying by! This was my first New York wedding and I couldn’t have had a better experience. I had just met this couple that morning and from the moment I walked into Christine’s living room, I was treated like a friend. I was so excited to be a part of their day and had a blast finally getting to work with Mike. To see some of his photos from Christine and David’s wedding, head over to his blog. I’m only sharing some of the portraits…and a prep photo because I’m a sucker for nice profiles.

Lindsey was one of the most relaxed brides I had ever seen. I was talking to Haley, one of the bridesmaids, about the dresses and was surprised to learn that Lindsey (for the most part) left the decision up to them. Lucky for her, they made an excellent choice.

Throughout the few days leading up to the wedding, Lindsey kept her cool and she wasn’t the only one. Ryan couldn’t have been more relaxed. They were so confident in themselves and in their marriage that the only thing left to do was to enjoy each other and the memorable day they had planned. I think deep down, they were just secretly waiting for the wedding to be over so they could enjoy their honeymoon in Hawaii!

Lindsey and Ryan decided to do a first look before the ceremony.

Lindsey’s grandfather was the minister who performed the services. The wedding was held in Indialantic, Florida and we were fortunate to get through the entire ceremony without a single drop of rain.

The day moved so quickly and, despite some serious camera glitches between the ceremony and the reception, everything ran quite smoothly. Duct tape played a very important role… Thank you, Ryan and Lindsey, for trusting me with such a huge responsibility on your wedding day and giving me a VIP pass to one of the most important days of your life together.

Hair and Makeup: Imperial Salon and Spa

Ceremony: Windemere Inn

Reception: Tortoise Island Clubhouse

When Haley first mentioned Charles, she made it clear, “We don’t want to put a label on our relationship,” and “We are definitely probably not getting married.” However, within months (I’m fuzzy on the exact time frame), they moved in together and became what you might call a “hardcore couple.” A few years later, and BOOM! they’re engaged. I totally called it (silently, to myself. You don’t just call that kind of thing).

The weatherman predicted thunderstorms all weekend so, naturally, it was a gorgeous sunny day. The waterfront in historic Cocoa Village was accommodating and pretty empty for a beautiful Sunday, allowing for two hours of uninterrupted shooting.

They brought props, including the scrabble letters below. Love them! This was a request of the bride-to-be.

Can you guess where these two met?

The photo below is my favorite of the day. And a big thank you to whoever this cute little boat belongs to.

These two were laughing the entire time and were so fun to shoot. I could have spent the entire day with them…they were so photogenic! Although, after two hours of hanging out with me, I’m sure they were looking forward to a break. I can’t wait for their wedding next February!

I had been debating for the last two weeks whether or not I had enough time, energy, skill or money to take on such a significant food challenge. And what would I make? Easter in my family consists of sausage pie, Easter bread, spaghetti pie, anchovy pie and Italian cheesecake. I was torn! I didn’t want to let this holiday pass by unacknowledged [in the kitchen] but it just snuck up on me this year. Yet I decided to spend what would be the next 7 hours “celebrating Easter” by making sausage pie. 

I mustered up the energy to get off the couch and begin this sacred process. As I gathered the ingredients for the dough, I came to terms with my decision. My abruptness and lack of planning meant I would need to hop on the J and pick up cheese and meat in Little Italy while the dough was rising.

Once inside Alleva Dairy, I perused the two aisles in search of ricotta and sausage. Ironically, they were placed in a cooler right next to…sausage pie! “No,” I said to myself. “I won’t cheat.” After all, it’s the making I enjoy, not the eating. Oh, who am I kidding? I love the eating.

I picked up 4 pounds of fresh ricotta at $5 a pound and I wondered if the cow this cheese came from was fed organic…or gold.

One hour and $50 later, I headed back to the apartment. I kneaded the dough and returned it to the bowl for a second round of rising. I had an hour to prepare the filling. Yes, it took the whole hour. Slicing, peeling and dicing the different meats took the majority of the time. I must have looked ridiculous peeling each little slice of sausage. Is this how grandma does it? I couldn’t remember… Only one thing to do. Take a break to play with the food (this is a regular occurrence in my kitchen). Yes, this must be how grandma does it.

The filling was ready to go. I rolled out the dough for the bottom of the pie. Due to my poor planning (which is strangely unlike me), I only made 2 pounds of dough, rather than the recommended 3. “We got this,” I said to the dough as I used all my strength to roll it out to the appropriate size.

Once the cheese and meat mixture was generously shoveled into the bed of dough, the top of the pie was rolled out and gracefully placed over the filling. I did it, almost there. All that remained was the egg-wash and baking. “Piece of pie…sausage pie,” I laughed before patting myself on the back for being so clever.

After 2 hours of waiting and a little panic attack (was this really supposed to bake for 2 HOURS?!), I peeked in the oven and was pleasantly surprised to find grandma’s sausage pie waiting for me. I sliced a piece, placed it on a plate and, after admiring it for what seemed like forever, I devoured it, thoroughly enjoying each bite of fluffy, salty goodness. Yeah, we got this.

A few weeks back, I met up with Karina to experiment with a new flash. Here are a few headshots while we were still in the company of ambient light. One Two of my favorite things about photographing Karina are her eyes and how they command your attention. Ten points if you can guess her celebrity doppelganger…

When I was a freshman in high school, I took a trip to Arizona with three of my best friends. At the time I was indifferent towards photography. It wasn’t until I had developed my disposable camera and saw a picture of one of my friends with the Grand Canyon in the background. Telling this story now doesn’t seem so profound but at the time, I thought, “This is a really good picture. I should be a photographer.” Fourteen year old me was so impressed with the composition of that photo. What’s composition? “Don’t know, but I nailed it.” Although, that photo really only sparked an interest.

On a trip to Key West with my dad, I fiddled around with his Canon 35mm, focusing on everything in the car (most memorably, the “safety hazard” label on the sun visor). I was already working in a restaurant and as soon as I had saved $300, I marched myself over to Walmart and purchased the same exact camera my dad had let me use on our trip. It was my first big purchase, and it pretty much validated my interest in photography. This was the beginning.

Fast forward to January, 2011. I moved to New York to pursue a career in fashion photography.  At the time, I was watching a lot of America’s Next Top Model. It was only natural that the next step, the step immediately after Top Model, was to become a fashion photographer. Inevitably, this did not happen. While I was interested in the field, it wasn’t “my thing.” It didn’t come naturally. It didn’t feel right. I didn’t have it in me to set up elaborate scenes and collaborate on makeup and wardrobe. The one thing that has been constant in my photography is my interest in capturing something real, something people can feel. Feelings other than, “Ooh, I want those shoes.”

So how could Katelyn’s workshop help me, specifically? I’ve studied photography in an educational setting. Like in most careers, it does not compare to hands on experience. I’ve learned more communicating and shooting with other photographers this past year than I have in my five and a half four years of college. Exhibit A: I shot my first wedding in April, 2008. This is the final edited image I gave to the bride:

I was not familiar with the equipment, having rented the flash and lens the day before. The venue was dark and unappealing. I was drawn to vibrant images with high contrast. And finally, I added that “cute little border” so my photos would “really pop.” Four years later, I was not satisfied with this photo. Sure, it was a great first attempt but I couldn’t use it in my portfolio, it just didn’t represent my current style. My photos should speak for themselves. I don’t need to frame them. I had struggled with this concept for a while but something just clicked. I needed to be confident that my work could stand alone. It was at this time that I decided to re-edit some old photos to reflect who I am as a photographer. For the first time, I feel sure about the way I want my photos to look.

The post production of my photos, I feel, is improving everyday but I want every aspect of my skill fine-tuned. Katelyn’s use of light and color makes her subject’s poses seem effortless. I want my photos to have that same quality. I want them to be beautiful in the same way that life is beautiful.

I can feel the potential that I have bubbling inside of me, waiting for something to release it. This workshop would push me so far in the right direction. I can only thank Katelyn James for sharing her passion and hope that she sees the something in me that I know is there, bubbling away.

Upon entering the rustic restaurant, Nicole and I quickly found an adequate table right near the kitchen window, but not before gathering up our third party member from the cozy bar. Together, Jonathan, Nicole and I settled into our seats and ordered drinks. The Pinot Noir was smooth and satisfying and a perfect compliment to our appetizer (which sat in the window long enough for our mouths to water and our stomachs to grumble).

It was unanimous, the assortment of cheese is always a safe bet. Who doesn’t love cheese? This particular platter consisted of what appeared to be a sweet raisin bread. I may be way off here but I feel confident in saying those were raisins. Next to the bread were delicately placed walnuts drizzled with walnut honey. Sounds intriguing, right? Maybe. At a lack of descriptive food adjectives, the honey tasted like mouthwash with a hint of ground up bees. Some people might find this appealing, a delicacy even. I was indifferent.

Quince paste was modestly resting in the center of the wooden cheese board. I had never been acquainted with quince paste until now. It comes from a fruit much like a pear or an apple but I’ve heard that some species of this fruit can only be eaten when cooked. It tasted delicate and exquisite but, unfortunately, I had not worked up the courage to try this new food until the majority of the cheese had been devoured. Perhaps you will be as fascinated as I was to stumble across this recipe and, on a particularly ambitious day, you might give it a go.

I almost forgot the cheese. There was a pecorino (safety cheese), a goat cheese, and a third stinky cheese that I have chosen to forget. If I had to guess, I would say the stinky cheese was most likely sheep. From my experience, their cheese has been the stinkiest. Although, I thoroughly enjoyed the rind.

The main event, the entree, had to be the Quinoa salad. On my first night in New York, I had the red lentil soup. Today was not a red lentil soup day. I’ve grown to love the alternative, despite its slightly altered taste from my first encounter. The firm bite of the Quinoa and wild rice, while a little bland, are quickly enveloped in the vinegary flavor of the grilled artichoke hearts and sporadic fava beans. When the combined flavors become overwhelmingly savory, the crisp granny smith apples and shaved parmesan (in their salty/sweet nature) add a refreshing lightness and your mouth is, once again, in its neutral state.

As the meal came to a close, I perused the dessert menu out of respect (for dessert). If only I had a little more self control, I would have been able to resist their cheesecake mind games. No, this cheesecake was not light and fluffy. It was heavy and decadent all the way down to its perfectly baked crust. At this point I had to force feed myself to fit the last few bites in.

I don’t waste dessert. Do I regret this? Never. My love handles? They don’t regret it either.

Most importantly, I have a working website (holler). Not only is this website functioning properly, but I think I’ve been doing a decent job keeping it updated for the five people that read my blog. Next year, if all goes according to plan, my two year blog post will say, “I still have a working website.” Fingers crossed.

Enough business talk. This past weekend, I had planned to photograph some places that stuck out to me when I first arrived in Williamsburg. I found it extremely fitting that it snowed for the first time this winter (not counting the fluke snow day in October). When I stepped foot off the plane on January 25th, 2011, I had stepped into a cold and tired New York from that winter’s brutal storms. Mounds of snow littered the sidewalks as a reminder of what had just passed. Although last Saturday’s storm was really more of a prolonged dusting, it was a nostalgic and appropriate snow.

The Central Market holds a special place in my…stomach. Although I am sometimes unwelcome there (this is a Hasidic market, you see), it is the first thing I see when I look out my window. I am impressed with the large piles of potatoes and so grateful that my dish soap actually “removes the sfats.” Look out, Palmolive! Of course, they are closed on Saturday. They don’t roll on Shabbos.

Fortunately, there are other establishments open on Saturdays.

There is something comforting about that local cafe/bar. While the coffee is never really that good, the barista knows you and there are a stack of boardgames on the shelf. What’s not to love? The art hanging on the wall changes every so often and the music of choice is always satisfying. My first two weeks were spent confined to the corner table near the radiator…until about 5 or 6pm when I was asked to move so that the tables could be pushed together for trivia night. Those were the days.

I have since branched out and have spent time further away from my apartment. It’s really a work in progress. It is definitely more difficult to be a homebody when your home consists of one room. I guess that’s the charm of this crazy little city. You’re not meant to spend your time indoors.

On a more serious note, what has actually changed this past year? I am taller I am more confident. I have a plan. I’m an adult (sort of). I am refining who I am as a person and in doing so, I am getting out the sfats.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art is swarming with tourists, which makes people watching particularly easy. As an avid “people watcher,” my favorite settings are museums. Art is both appreciated and ridiculed. Regardless, all art elicits some sort of reaction. The people in museums know what they’re getting themselves into. I just stand at the back of the room and wait for the magic to happen. And by magic, I mean photograph the backs of people’s heads. When I sense people are suspecting, I give the art some attention as well.

[Part of a Ceiling from the Tomb of Bakenrenef; 664-610 B.C.]

Photographing in museums is always such a treat, mainly because the subject is beautiful and the lighting is impeccable. It’s a weird fantasy of mine to schmooze my way to the top of the board and somehow charm them into giving me special guest access, maybe even a key. I’d certainly be willing to give the museum my apartment key. I think we’ve reached “that place” in our relationship. Upon receiving said key, I would sneak models in and photograph them all over the art. This is also my weird fantasy with aquariums.

[Right: Queen Victoria by Thomas Sully; oil on canvas, 1838]

[Asian jar with handle; date unknown]

Natural light was generously pouring into the European sculpture court. Scattered throughout the atrium, hidden between viewers, were artists with their sketchbooks and drawing easels. I cannot tell you how long they each must have been sitting there, studying 18th century sculpture. I can tell you that not one of them noticed I was “people watching.”

[Left: Ugolino and his Sons by Jean-Baptiste Carpeaux; 1865-67]

A more recent fascination of mine is the painting style of photorealism. These paintings, including the one below, blow my mind. Here I am, complaining about the cost of camera equipment when I could just pick up a paintbrush and paint my subjects like this guy.

[Mark by Chuck Close; acrylic on canvas, 1978-79]

[Autumn Rhythm (Number 30) by Jackson Pollock; enamel on canvas, 1950]

[Orpheus by Cristoforo Stati; 1600-01]

Incidentally, this museum is so large, it is nearly impossible to get through in one day. It is especially more difficult when you spend time looking at the patrons rather than the art. The museum’s not going anywhere, you can spend as many days as you like wandering the different galleries. That is the beautiful thing about this city. The only things really moving at such a high speed are the people (and some of the cars). Deserving places are appreciated but only for a few moments. At the end of the day, everyone still runs across the platform to catch the express train in hopes of getting home in under an hour. Lather, rinse, repeat.

I pulled out my cookbook, full of egg splatters and family recipes, and checked off the ingredients. It had been a few years since I personally made these cookies but was thrilled to have the opportunity to teach someone else how to make them. So, as with many recipes, we started with an empty bowl.

This year (having been visiting another branch of the family) I assumed the role of Grandma, supervising all honeyball productivity. Between me, my cousins, their children and my sister, we had our own sweatshop of bakers. At this point, 3lbs of flour needed to be added to the dough. I know, 3lbs is a lot. Too much, you might say. This was everyone’s concern since getting recipes from anyone in my family is like a game of telephone. However, the amount was confirmed and the troops carried on.

Very much like Grandma does, once I was sure everyone was cutting the dough into the correct size, I made my way to the kitchen to heat up a large pot of oil. Needless to say, I earned another battle scar to add to my collection. This is why Grandma is in charge of the oil…

Of course, the most important step of all, the namesake, honey is poured on top of the fried dough. It’s important to remember to be generous here. Months down the line, the extra honey will be appreciated.

Moral of the story? Give someone a batch of cookies, they’ll eat for a day. Teach someone to make struffoli, you’ll play “grandma” for the rest of your life.

I could have photographed Nurcan, Vildan and Cagri for hours. Not only were they extremely photogenic (as I’ve learned Turkish people are), but the sky was overcast all day. Now if only there was some way to avoid that inevitable race against the sun. Competing against time gives me anxiety. I can never win!

Nurcan was up first…

Vildan stepped in so Nurcan could change.

Then Cagri was up, sporting a very awesome scarf.

Cagri carried the bags while the girls took a break…

Back to business.

After a few outfit changes and a quick roll in the freshly fallen landscape, we headed to Marmaris, a Turkish seafood restaurant in Sheepshead Bay. Soon after our arrival, the table held three whole fish (head included). Nurcan ceremoniously covered one of the heads with a napkin, said a few thoughtful words, and we proceeded to devour him. Cagri was even kind enough to be a translator for a portion of the night. And for a brief moment, I had forgotten that we were still in Brooklyn.

The highlight of the night, however, was our visit to Masal Cafe where I had the most delicious dessert, tel kadayif. Don’t worry, I couldn’t pronounce it the first time either. I still can’t. When I find myself in a Turkish cafe by myself, I will point to what I want. FYI, this works in most places… I also had, for the first time, Turkish coffee. And off the record, I may or may not have consumed the coffee grounds at the bottom of the cup.

All in all, an educational and exciting day. Except for the fish, may they rest in peace.

The majority of my time on Pandora is spent with Bon Iver. Bon Iver Radio? One please. Beatles Radio is also common place for someone like myself. Although, that station hardly plays anything by other artists. Even a machine can acknowledge that there’s no one quite like the Beatles.

This may be a hasty statement but I owe my Indie (read:excellent) taste to The Music Genome Project. As of late, I’ve found it difficult to come across someone unwise to the musical stylings of artists such as Grizzly Bear and Andrew Bird. There was a time when people sat in cafes discussing obscure new artists, after 

which they would sip their soy chai lattes and bury their faces in the latest Kurt Vonnegut. Many attribute this widespread interest in Indie music to the “hipsters” but let’s give credit where credit is due. This whole process begins with just a single name.

Who is the musician responsible for the spider-web effect of my musical interests? I’m glad you asked! I’ve had the privilege of seeing John Mayer live (and in close proximity) in Atlanta and have been hoarding these photos, waiting for a platform to express my appreciation for the combination of music, emotion, and the art of photography.

Also, John Mayer.

Keep it classy.

I’d like to give a giant THANK YOU and a hug to my friend and web designer, Lindsey. The hug is for putting up with my indecisiveness and constant revisions. The thank you is for her level of awesomeness. In fact, it is because of her awesomeness that you are all sitting here indulging in my thoughts and critiquing my work. So stick around, I promise I won’t bore you.