When I picture what it must be like to have grown up in a more suburban or rural area, I get caught up on the whole transportation thing. Imagining my mom driving me to school is comical. Two things happen when my mom drives: 1) She starts singing along with the seat belt bell which is supposed to tell her that her seatbelt isn’t buckled. She will do this for minutes on end. 2) She drives at a snail’s pace and keeps about 5 car lengths of distance between her and the car ahead of her. She does this even if she’s going 30 mph. This is probably wise due to the fact that she wasn’t allowed to drive in New York City for many years or she would be arrested/fined.

Conversely, I’ve had people tell me they could never imagine riding the subway to school every day. I find the differences in peoples’ day-to-day lives and routines to be fascinating. What is normal and maybe even mundane for one person is completely novel to another. This is what my experience was like…

Elementary school was at a public school on the Upper West Side, across from the Museum of Natural History. We lived less than a mile from there so for the most part, we walked to school every day. In the early years, I would walk with my mom or Indra, my babysitter. We walked by Lincoln Center every day and my mom would always point out the murals hanging in the Met. She would try to help me remember who the artist was that painted them by saying “think of the city of Chicago, Chagall!” It’s a bit of a stretch, but it worked.


In the warmer months when I would walk home with Indra, I tried to convince her daily that I HAD to have an Icee from the Icee cart. One day I decided to go out of my comfort zone and get a coconut Icee. Indra warned me that I wouldn’t like it but I ignored her advice and followed my heart. My heart was wrong. On the walk back home after I had one taste I slowly and subtly (not subtly at all) turned the Icee upside down, spilling it all over the sidewalk and then whining that I needed another one. I went with tried-and-true Mango this time.


After elementary school, I went to a public middle school up on 107th street. This was when I really started moving up in the world because a) got a cell phone (a giant baby blue Nokia) and b) I started being allowed to ride the public bus on my own. My mom or Larry  would walk me to the bus stop every morning. When I got on the bus I would find a seat and watch through the window as my mom danced and sang for me on the sidewalk. At the time I found it extremely embarrassing, but nowadays I would probably just join in with her. To combat my embarrassment I would put on my walkman headphones and listen to the soundtrack to “Rent” all the way to school, thinking I was super cool and grown up.

One of my most vivid and traumatizing memories was from a bus ride home from middle school. My friend and I got on the bus like we did every day and walked to the very back to get a seat. When we sat down we noticed a teenage couple huddling over something. It was one of those moments when I instinctively knew I should look away but couldn’t. My friend and I watched as the young man helped his woman friend inject something into her arm. After a few minutes, their eyes started to sag a bit and they both became very drowsy. They started “necking”, clearly having no awareness that there was a bus full of people around them. My friend and I could not believe our eyes and went to the front of the bus to tell the bus driver what we saw. He stopped the bus and made an announcement over the PA system that the couple had to get off the bus. When they didn’t seem to hear or comprehend his command he came to the back of the bus to physically remove them. My friend and I took this opportunity to run off the bus as quickly as we could, thinking they would surely find us and get some kind of revenge. This is my favorite part of this story: traumatized and extremely frightened, my friend and I sat in a park and cried. As we dialed our mothers on our giant Nokia cell phones my friend let out a blood-curdling scream followed by the words “somebody help us”. I’m not sure what either of us thought we needed help with. I think we were both so upset by what we had witnessed and really just wanted to erase the images from our heads. I get a good laugh when I think of this experience now, mainly because of how we handled it, but for a few years, it really haunted me.

After middle school, I switched to an all-girls Catholic school on the Upper East Side. This meant a subway uptown and then a bus across town. I often met other west sider friends at the crosstown bus and we would ride through the park together. I went through a brief phase where I would use the time between walking from my apartment to the subway to smoke a cigarette (sorry Mimi). This was really badass of me because 1) smoking is bad for you, duh and 2) you weren’t ever supposed to smoke in uniform because someone might recognize you as a Sacred Heart girl and it would ruin the school’s reputation (priorities!). The fact that I tried to be cool by smoking a cigarette on the way to school is comical because I couldn’t really smoke cigarettes successfully. I would have one cigarette and then feel nauseous for the rest of the day. Regardless, I was a trooper and did what I could for the sake of “cool”.

On one occasion, I went down to the subway platform at Columbus Circle to wait for my train. I noticed there was an express train stopped in the center track and there was a lot of commotion. An MTA employee made an announcement that all trains were being delayed due to an incident at Columbus Circle. I asked a woman standing on the platform if she knew what was going on and she pointed to something underneath the train and said a passenger had jumped into the tracks. I was able to force myself to avert my eyes long enough to make the decision to find another way to school that day.

One of my favorite forms of transportation to and from school was on the back of my step-dad Larry’s red Vespa. If it was warm enough we would get on the Vespa and ride through Central Park to the upper east side. On days when we rode the Vespa I didn’t need to have my one daily cigarette cause my cool factor was already through the roof.

The view from the Vespa
The view from the Vespa


I include both the positive and the negative stories beause I think it’s important to see both sides and learn from it all. I’ve heard people say “I could never live in New York City”. If that’s your opinion that’s totally fair and valid (and better for me, the rent is already too high). However, I think there are unfortunate events and experiences no matter where you go. You just have to choose what is important to you and what negative things you are willing to put up with. As for me, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to leave this glorious city.


When writing my first of the “24 hours” series, I had a difficult time picking where to suggest that one should go to breakfast. The lovely problem about New York City is there’s probably 20 amazing restaurants within a 5 block radius of where you are at any given moment. So, if I were to give you my top 10 breakfast joints, this is what they would be in no particular order (and as soon as I type this I’ll think of 10 more that I forgot):

1) Floridita- This place is not charming by any means. It is big, brightly lit and kind of sterile, and the waitresses take some time to warm up to you. In fact, we often try to figure out whether our usual waitress is joyously telling her Spanish speaking colleagues that we are back or talking about how much she hates us. All of this plus Cuban music and smells wafting from Dinosaur BBQ is what gives Floridita it’s charm. First, you HAVE to get a “cafe con leche”. You will probably need more than one of these because it’s basically liquid gold. I would follow that with a breakfast sandwich and a side of Mangu (mashed plantains). Be sure to get the pickled onions with the Mangu. It’s a perfect balance of savory, sweet and sour. This place is a schlep to get to for anyone who doesn’t live in West Harlem, but it is worth it for the coffee alone and you can walk or bike down the Hudson river after and work of those Cuban calories!

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2) Cafe Cluny- This place is the tiniest bit snooty and overpriced, but still oh so wonderful. It’s an adorable little french bistro with perfect bright morning light that makes you feel like you want to sit and read the New York Times while sipping a coffee. You are pretty safe ordering anything on the menu though my favorites are the avocado toast with a poached egg and the grapefruit brûlée.


3) The Smile- If I were a restaurant, this is the restaurant I would be. Is that a thing? This hole-in-the-wall breakfast spot is somewhat inconspicuously located on Bond street between Lafayette and Bowery. I can’t mention The Smile without saying that my friend Cristina introduced me to it. She’d kill me otherwise (not literally but almost). The Smile has the perfect mix of rustic charm and hipster ruggedness. The wait staff is generally clad in some sort of vintage mom jeans or not-too-cool culottes with baby bangs and circle frame glasses that you get the feeling didn’t come from Warby Parker. I haven’t had anything on the menu that wasn’t good, but my most recent favorite was the scrambled eggs with sourdough toast and extra cheese and avocado.

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4) Absolute Bagels- Absolute Bagels is absolutely my favorite bagel place in New York City (see what I did there?). It isn’t fancy or chic and you won’t find a million variations on cream cheese, but it’s flipping good. All you need is a cinnamon raisin bagel toasted with butter which will be perfectly melted onto your bagel. There’s not a lot of room to sit and eat, and even if there were, you wouldn’t want to. Take your bagel across the street to the little park between avenues or walk to Riverside park.

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5) Veselka- I had never been here until I met my boo who lives two blocks from Veselka and is also a loud and proud Ukrainian (Dobri den Ro Ro. See? I’m practicing!). It has the charm and grit of a New York diner with an Eastern European twist. Get some potato pancakes, and pierogies with apple sauce and sour cream and you’ll be living on a carb cloud of happiness. If you ask me though, you can add dill to anything and it’ll be tasty, so they really can’t go wrong.

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6) Jack’s Wife Freda- Disclaimer: don’t try to go here during normal brunch hours. Either get there early on the weekend or during the week if you are able, otherwise, you’ll be waiting forever and when you do sit down you’ll be very squished at a tiny table. I prefer the Lafayette location but both are wonderful. All the food is great but my favorite things are grapefruit and yogurt with the toasted baguette on the side. I’ve also heard a lot about the rosewater waffles, and really what could be bad about something that has rosewater in it.


7) Juliette- I love this restaurant because I feel like I’m eating in a greenhouse, but also because the food is good. The Eggs Forestiere is one thing that I like a lot. I am also dying to try the banana stuffed french toast. The other great thing about Juliette is it has a rooftop area which is quaint and quiet due to it’s super hip Brooklyn location (is Williamsburg hip anymore?)

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8) Iris Cafe- This is sort of like the Brooklyn Heights version of The Smile. It is a tiny place on a quiet street with a homegrown vibe. I haven’t been here in a few years (that’s what happens when you break up with someone who lives in a different neighborhood), but I still dream of the avocado toast with poached eggs on top.

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9) Irving Farm- This is more of a coffee shop than a breakfast place but they do have really great food in addition to their coffee. I’m going to sound like a gross caricature when I say that the almond milk latte is pure heaven in a paper cup. The scrambled eggs with avocado and slow roasted tomatoes on a bagel are also delish. If you go in the warmer months you might be able to snag a seat on the front patio and watch all the crazy Upper West Siders.

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10) The Flame- it’s nearly impossible for me to pick a favorite diner in a city of amazing diners. Like you like your mother’s cooking, I like The Flame because it basically WAS my mother’s cooking. It’s diner food so you can’t expect a gourmet meal, but it never changes in a world where the only constant is change. As a kid, I would tell my mom I wanted “eggies in a bowl”, which she would translate into adult-speak for Pedro the waiter. One time I went to the flame with family friends who were babysitting me and I asked for “eggies in a bowl”. They didn’t know what that was and neither did Pedro as he had only ever heard my moms translated version of the order. It was a very distressing time for me but I’ve moved past it. The moral of the story is, don’t try to order “eggies in a bowl”. They are called poached eggs.

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Whew, that was a lot of pressure but I think I accurately reflected most of my favorite New York City breakfast spots. Where are your favorite places to go? Let me know in the comments below, or in a Facebook message, or in a text message, or take me there this weekend!



I’m diving right in with a controversial topic because, as I said, this is my honest account of growing up in NYC.

My mom was raised as a “Christian” in Cleveland, Ohio. She went to Baptist Bible camp in Wisconsin every summer and managed to corral all of her friends to come to church with her on Sundays. My grandparents used to joke that she had a whole aisle full of boys next to her in the pew at church because if they wanted to hang out with her on the weekends they had to come to church too. They were a religious family, but they were also extremely welcoming and accepting of all types of people. It’s unfortunate that my experience has been that this isn’t always the case. I’m told that after all the boys came to church, they would go back to my grandparents house, roll up the rugs and throw a party. My mom played piano while they had sing alongs and my grandma sat in the kitchen as the teens told her about their adolescent problems. My mom recalls the kids telling my grandma about their marijuana habits, and girl troubles.

This photo is unrelated but just so good.
This photo is unrelated but just so good.

When I was growing up, my mom tried to create the same type of church community and tradition for me. It didn’t prove to be very easy. We generally would find a church we liked the looks of and would attend services for anywhere between 1 Sunday to a few years. Without fail nearly every church would eventually make a statement on their disapproval of homosexuality. As soon as this topic came up and we realized their stance was less than accepting, we would move on to the next church. This went on for years.

Throughout this time, my mom simultaneously meditated and traveled to an Ashram in Switzerland to chant with a guru for 24 consecutive hours. She’s trained in Transcendental Meditation and was initiated into Parmahansa Yogananda’s Self Realization Fellowship. We had a meditation altar in our apartment and we each had special meditation mats which were meant to soak up our positive energy.


Though I also attended “Bible camp” every summer and went to Catholic  high school, it was a circuitous journey to my current spiritual state. I went through a religious rebellion for many years as teens often do, never to the extent where I denied the existence of a higher power altogether, but I wasn’t sure that praying to someone would help in anyway. Eventually in college I started attending church on my own volition as well as becoming a part of various religious groups. Here again I had trouble associating with groups who weren’t accepting of all types of people and was never able to fully commit to any one group or church. During this time I developed my own spiritual practices, frequently meditating and reading religious texts such as scripture and spiritually based “self- help” books.

In New York I’ve seen slow but steady progress towards all inclusive faith based communities. In recent years I’ve been going between two churches in Manhattan. Hillsong United is a mega-church which originated in Australia that attracts primarily young hipsters and celebrities. I like this church not only because I’ve seen Justin Beiber there, but also because 1) the music is incredible and 2) I think it’s important that young people have a place where they feel it’s safe and even “cool” to openly celebrate their faith.  Church is held in a night club and looks like a disco party. There’s 8 services in two locations in NYC every Sunday as well as various mid- week events.

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Hillsong United, NYC.

The Church of Saint Paul and Saint Andrew on the Upper West Side is an incredible place that states on the front of their program that they accept people of every gender, sexual orientation, race or religious belief. This is the kind of group I want to be a part of. Not only do they walk in the gay pride parade and marry homosexual couples, they also share their church with a Jewish temple. This is so central to my beliefs. I’m not sure how to make sense of this to people who question why I read the bible if I clearly disagree with major parts of it, but all I can say is it works for me. I identify as a Christian, but I don’t believe it’s the only way. I don’t believe only Christians go to heaven, I think everyone goes to heaven. I think one person’s practice of Islam or Hinduism is just as valid as my practice of Christianity. I think praying in bed at night is not so different than sitting under a tree and having gratitude for your surroundings.

I think everyone’s spiritual journey is personal and ever-evolving. This has been my experience thus far within the context of my history and my upbringing. I think it’s a fascinating topic and I always love to hear other people’s stories, whether they are similar to mine or completely opposing.

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Church of St. Paul and St. Andrew


There are so many ways that I would suggest spending 24 hours in New York City. As I mentioned in a previous post, the endless options give me a bit of commitment phobia. SO, Here’s the first post of a series that will detail what you COULD do with 24 hours in New York.


Let’s assume that:

1. You don’t want to do too many touristy, cliché things
2. It’s decent weather

3. You like to eat and drink as much as I do

Start by having a New York-centric breakfast. If you’re downtown get a bagel at Tompkins Square Bagels. Be prepared to wait in a long line of hungover youths, bring cash, and do NOT ask them to toast the bagel.

If you want more of a diner experience, go to City Diner on the Upper West Side or the aforementioned Flame diner in midtown (in case you missed it, you can read about The Flame here). If you do go to The Flame be sure to say hi to Pedro behind the counter. He’s really good at pouring a bowl of fruit loops. I know because I had this for breakfast for most of my childhood.

After breakfast get on the 2/3 to Clark Street or the A/C to High street and head to Brooklyn Heights. When you get to Brooklyn Heights you should probably get a second cup of coffee to walk around with because you’re on vacation and you’re indulging. There’s a good coffee shop on Clarke street between Henry and Hicks. Get a cup o’ joe (i’ve always wanted to say that) and walk to the promenade. The view from the promenade is probably my favorite view of the city. The perspective of the city from the park below the promenade is even more overwhelming.


After you’ve soaked up the view of the city, you’ll want to walk back up through Brooklyn Heights to the pedestrian entrance of the Brooklyn Bridge. Don’t go all the way to the start, enter by the stairs in Cadman Plaza Park. For your own safety stay out of the bike lane (stay to the left) while walking across the bridge and for the love of goodness don’t stop in the middle of the path to take tons of pictures. If you do, you’ll see the side of New Yorkers you’ve heard so much about.


I think by now you might be ready for lunch. It’ll be a bit of a walk (I hope you have stylish sneakers on) but head towards Chinatown. There’s a hole-in-the-wall, real authentic Chinese place called Deluxe Green Bo. It’s comical that it contains the word deluxe because it’s anything but.  You might feel like you’ll catch some kind of contagious disease just sitting in this place, but I’m telling you it’s worth it. The one thing you have to get is the scallion pancakes. Don’t eat too much cause there’s still a lot to be consumed in this 24 hours.

From there either walk off the pancakes or take the 1 from Franklin to Houston street. (Let me save you some embarrassment by telling you now that Houston is not pronounced like the city in Texas. New York decided it would defy the rules of the English language so it has its own pronunciation of the word.  You say it like house-tin.) ANYWAY, If you do decide to walk, it would be nice (though a bit longer) to go along the Hudson River. Once you get to Houston Street, make your way to Houston Hall. I’m obsessed with this place. At night it can get a bit too “broey” for me, but during the off hours it’s great. I regularly try to convince my boyfriend that we should get married here, however, we are not yet engaged so my campaign doesn’t seem to be going very well. If you’re still hungry, the fried pickles are great. Obviously the beer is a must as well, my favorite being the wheat beer.

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(Seriously though, how pretty is that!)

If I were you I’d probably be ready for a nap. I’d either go home or to Central Park to lie in the grass at the Great Lawn or Sheep’s Meadow. If you end up in the park, after relaxing for a bit find one of those ice cream carts. My favorite thing is the strawberry short cake popsicle. That oughta wake you up a bit.

After your day of consumption (which isn’t over yet) you might feel like something a bit lighter for dinner. Peacefood Cafe on the Upper West Side is one of my favorite places. The chick pea fries are amazing as is the asian greens salad. If you’re not that into vegan/vegetarian fare you can walk up the block to Jacob’s Pickles and be the carnivore you were meant to be.

After dinner my suggestion would be to head to the East Village to Anyway Cafe. From the Upper West Side you can take the B at 72nd and Central Park West to Rockefeller Center and switch to the F. Take that to 2nd Avenue and then walk up from there. Anyway Cafe has live music every night and the best infused vodkas. My favorites are the horseradish and the dill vodka. Hang there, soak it all in, and cry a little cause your wallet is a little thinner but your pants are a bit tighter.


A few of my favorite things about NYC/ Reasons I will probably never leave this great city unless it’s to live in a cabin in Maine…or somewhere fancy in Europe… or…

Ok here we go:

I love New Yorkers. I love how they come in every variety, just like bagels. I love authentic Upper West Side women with their linen clothes, butch hair cuts, and funky glasses. I love when New Yorkers defy stereotypes, like the one that says all New Yorkers have to be rude. We aren’t all rude. Sometimes we are really nice. Sometimes we like to assist tourists when they are lost, or give up our precious seat on the subway. Antithetically, I also love that New Yorkers are often united in their opinions on certain things. They tend to be a fairly open minded bunch and often lean towards the liberal side of life, and those are my kind of peeps.

I love that I can do or get almost anything at any time of day. Want cookies at 2am? They can be delivered. Want to learn lightsaber fighting? There’s a class for that on Thursdays at 7 (I’m not kidding: check it out). This can be simultaneously wonderful and stressful. Perhaps this is more a product of the era I am living in, but the fact that so much is available to me at any given moment has given me slight commitment phobia. NOT in my relationships (heyyyy R0) but in terms of choosing restaurants, coffee shops or even careers. Despite my slight commitment phobia, I’m sticking with all of this being one of my many favorite things about New York.

I love the family I have created here. True, this isn’t specific to New York because I would have created one had I grown up elsewhere, but I love the qualities they have BECAUSE they are New Yorkers.

I love the daily New York-y vignettes. Let me explain. My mom is one of the most cheerful people you’ll ever meet. If you were stuck on the subway with her for five hours underground, she would make it feel like it was your birthday party. When I was younger we would walk around the city and she would point out the most mundane things and exclaim “look at that! Isn’t it beautiful! I love this city.” At the time I rolled my eyes as most too-cool-for-school adolescents like to do. In retrospect, I’m so glad she did that. Now I walk around and look down grungy New York alleys with garbage bins and fire escapes and think, what a beautiful site. It’s so “New York!”

Growing up, if we didn’t eat at the diner on the corner of our block, my step-dad would go to the corner coffee stand. He would get us a classic New York coffee in the classic blue paper coffee cup and a crappy un-toasted bagel with a square of butter that they were too lazy to actually spread. I LOVE this. I would not trade this experience for anything. My mom didn’t wake me up with a gourmet meal on the dining room table in our cute suburban house on our cute suburban street. She DID wake me up with James Taylor on the cd player and views of this beautiful city in every visible direction. I couldn’t be happier to have had that experience.








Hi again! I know you’ve all been waiting with bated breath for the next post so here it goes! A brief history of this twenty-something’s early life in NYC.

I was born in New York Hospital on the Upper East side of Manhattan.



It’s funny that I entered the world on the East Side as my mom couldn’t be less of an east sider. I’ll touch on what that means later. Let me back up a bit further.

My mom was born in Cleveland, Ohio. At the age of five she knew she wanted to work on Broadway. She watched the “Roadway” trucks pass by her quaint mid-western house (is Ohio in the Midwest? You’ll learn I’m terrible at geography…a  byproduct of living in NYC?) anyway… As she saw these trucks pass by she pretended they said “Broadway” and that they were headed to The Great White Way.


When she was 25 she moved to New York with $500 in her pocket. She told herself she had one month to book a show. When she accomplished that, she told herself she had one month to book a Broadway show. She’s been here ever since. I’ll probably have to dedicate an entire entry to her, as she’s the coolest person I’ve ever met. But until then, back to me, me, me.

On the day I was born, my mom had a doctor’s appointment before a mid-day rehearsal for The Phantom of the Opera. When the doctor told her she was going to have to have me that day, she said “but I have a ‘Masquerade’ rehearsal.” The doctor didn’t seem to care that Broadway was calling, and neither did I. So out I came in June of 1989. I’m told my dad came to the hospital with pink peonies in hand. No wonder I love them so!

I grew up at Columbus Circle, two blocks from Central Park and a half-mile from Times Square. I lived on the 10th floor of a 15 story postwar apartment building, with a man- made garden where you weren’t allowed to play on the grass. I went to public school from 1st through 7th grade on the Upper West Side (shout out to my PS 87 and Delta crews) before transferring to an all girls Catholic school on the Upper East Side.



When I was five my dad moved to Toronto to be in yet another company of The Phantom of the Opera. Over time this led to a not so pretty divorce. When my dad left, my mom and I only grew closer. I slept in her bed most nights (Gray Gardens? Eek!) and often played “hooky” from school to go to auditions/rehearsals with her or accompany her on work related trips to Europe. This didn’t make my teachers happy and they threatened to hold me back a few times. My mom always managed to talk them out of it, arguing that traveling in Europe was just as educational if not more so than sitting in a room learning my times tables. I often question this decision when I’m calculating how much to tip, and also that whole geography thing.

Though my dad had and has a big presence in my life, I had a whole troop of theatre crew (primarily gay men) that acted as my father figures until my mother met her wonderful husband Larry on the interwebs. He has been a part of the crew since 1998 and we are so incredibly grateful that he came along and somehow managed to fit in with the two of us crazy people.

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In addition to these amazing men, I had a babysitter named Indra. She babysat me for 10 years and became like a second mother to me. When I wasn’t able to go on said Europe trips, she stayed with me in midtown or took me to her apartment in the Bronx. When I was a bit older she took me to meet her family in Guyana. I came back covered in bug bites but it was a life changing experience and I’ve loved gnips ever since.

People often joke that New Yorkers only order take-out or eat at restaurants. That’s not a joke folks, that’s real life. As a kid I had a binder full of menus and when my mom asked what I wanted for dinner, we would get the binder. For breakfast we went across the street to The Flame diner and sat at the counter. I always got one of two things: fruit loops or “eggies in a bowl” (poached eggs).



When my mom did cook it was usually rice, beans and pickles (a family fav), or tomato soup with cheddar cheese and pretzels. If my mom was away, Indra cooked. She would make roti and butter for breakfast and lamb curry for dinner (funny because I’m now a mostly vegetarian).

Anyway, I think that’s enough about me for now. I promise, next time will be about the subject at hand, NYC!