Author: Devra Hall Levy

Fabulous dinner!!!

Every writing instructor and editor I’ve ever known has told me that exclamation marks are to be used sparingly, if at all, and never more than a one at a time. However, the dinner we had at Bond Street, an upscale contemporary Japanese restaurant in NOHO (that’s not Japanese; NOHO means North of Houston Street), was so amazing as to merit many more than the three I used in the title above.

How we came to dine there is a story in itself – a story about a young girl, a guitar, and a dog (actually two dogs) — no, it’s not about me. The girl is Eliza (ten years old, I’m guessing), and she lives in the building next door with her parents and their bird dog, Maddy (or is it Matty?). Eliza loves music, jazz, and studies guitar. The friendship began when the dogs meet on the street one day, and evolved with talk of music. Jim and Eliza became fast friends, attending one another’s concerts (luckily her parents like jazz, too, and they were all at the Y the other night), and sharing music (Jim wrote out the music to Sonny Rollins’ St. Thomas for her, which I understand she has learned to play quite well.) The bond between the two families was forever cemented the day Eliza’s mom, a veterinarian, made a house call and saved our dog’s life. (Django had been previously misdiagnosed, and she discovered and treated him for Lyme disease.) So what’s this got to do with a fabulous Japanese dinner? Eliza’s dad is one of the owners of the restaurant.

Housed in a brownstone, Bond Street has no restaurant signage, just a discreet awning displaying the address. The staff is genial, and the waiters are not only well-versed in the smallest details of the menu, they can describe the nuances of each of the twenty-something different types of sake available.

Kateigaho – Japan’s Arts & Culture Magazine posts this description in their piece about Japanese Cuisine in NY:

Executive chef Hiroshi Nakahara presents innovative sushi made with the choicest, most elusive ingredients from all over the world, such as hon-maguro tuna from Spain and crabs from Alaska. He has impressed diners since the three-story restaurant opened in 1998. There’s seating for 200; high-spirited chefs welcome guests to counter seats, while the dining area is cozier.

“Luxe sushi served in a nightclub atmosphere makes for an enduring scene,” writes Ben Williams in a Citysearch Editorial Profile. I don’t really know what is meant by “an enduring scene,” but here’s what he wrote about the food:

“High-end Japanese goodies are sprinkled throughout the menu: Toro-caviar sushi comes with a decorative gold twist on top, foie gras meets seared tuna to intoxicating effect and arctic char garnished with truffles has almost too much flavor. Yellowtail is superb enough to make a special featuring four different types a highlight. Blue fin toro is the gorgeously soft center of a special roll. If you want variety, the excellent 6 Bond Nigiri special delivers six exotic combinations.”

10Best.com says:

This celebrity hot-spot offers an attractive setting, chic diners and an excellent menu to delight even the most fussy of palates. The creative kitchen comes up with delectable offerings such as oba-leaf sorbet and sushi topped with gold leaf. Order one of Bond Street’s many sakes, sit back, grab a cell phone and bask in the excitement and frantic activity that is New York. Business Casual, with a flair.

We sat in the back room on the second floor, one of the quieter rooms, where our party of four shared appetizers of Crispy Himeji Rouget with tomato ginger dressing, Crispy Goat Cheese Crab Cakes with pounded rice crust and carrot lemon coulis, and sashimi. For an entry, I opted for a sushi and sashimi plate that included the most delectable mirugai, ebi, hamachi, and other morsels, plus some kind of roll encrusted with sesame that came with a dipping sauce. The Broiled Chilean Sea Bass, marinated in saikyo miso, was melt-in-your mouth delicious, and the Grilled Rack of Lamb with Asian pear and shiso sauce was equally tasty. Even the desserts were out of this world – my favorite was Banana Milk Chocolate Dim Sum with hazelnuts & sweet sour cream dipping sauce, but others at the table raved about Chocolate Meltdown with coffee ice cream & fresh cream, the Ricotta Cup with yamamomo granita, and the Lychee Panna Cotta with strawberry rhubarb compote and vanilla syrup.

Check out the menu (I found one online here) and don’t forget to make a reservation.

6 Bond St, New York, NY 10012 • 212-777-2500 (between Broadway and Lafayette)

Notes on the Writing Life

Friday, 10 AM: Gone is my corner coffee bar where I could sit on a stool and look out the window and see the Jefferson clock tower on Sixth Avenue. It’s been replaced by a men’s shirt store with lime, orange, and raspberry sorbet colored polos on display. So I’m sitting at a window table in a trendy Village coffee spot one block north called Cosi, drinking a vanilla latte and staring at an as-yet-unfilled three-ring single-subject notebook. Some writers might say there is no difference between a blank page and a blank computer screen, but my fingers are lost without a keyboard. Besides, I think too fast to print neatly, and my scribble is barely decipherable. Outside the window I watch a steady stream of passers-by, walking dogs, pushing prams, juggling bags and books with coffees and cell phones, everyone in a hurry. If I were a fiction make up writer I’d make up stories about who they were and where they were going, and I’d mix in snatches of overheard conversation, not that I can hear much over the “music” – contemporary jazz a la Kenny G. I’m not going to get anything done in here.

Friday, 2 PM: Yesterday I had lunch with a writer who is working on a fiction book for teenagers. She was facing a dilemma that I share in writing adult nonfiction — how to balance specificity of detail with a desire to be general enough such that the story will not feel dated or otherwise limited. We are taught, not only by teachers but also through experience as both readers and writers, that specific details can make the printed page come alive. I’m not talking about burying a reader in trivial minutia, but a reader’s image of wind whipping through the palm trees is very different from the image of wind whipping through the pines. Specifics also impart additional information, often setting the time period or locale. If your character is wearing a hat, and you specify a fedora or a Stetson, readers will make certain assumptions, and as an author you have to be aware of what those assumptions might be. You want to use the details that advance and enhance your story, and keep away from those that place unnecessary limits or make it harder for the reader to identify with the characters. This is less of a problem in nonfiction, where the time periods and details must be factual. My fiction-writing friend, however, must be very careful because not only do kids require currency, what is “in” may very soon be ‘passé.’ How likely is it for a teen today to sit down and write a letter? Do they even write emails anymore? Is it all IMing (instant messaging), or is there something even newer than that? If she wants her story to be of interest to teenagers ten years from now, she will have to choose her details with great care. In nonfiction, the author’s only choice may be whether or not to include a detail, and even then, the choice may be dictated by the impact that the inclusion or exclusion will have on the veracity of the story rather than stylistic concerns.

Friday, 11 PM: A similar quandary is deciding when to leave enough space for the reader to imagine whatever comes to his or her mind; it is one way to allow the reader to make the story her own. To tired to think this through tonight.

Friday, 11:50 PM: Deadlines – can’t live with them, can’t live without them. I said that I’d blog on Friday, and here I am, with less than ten minutes to spare. I’ll be flying home on Sunday and promise to get back on track next week. Have a nice weekend.

Concert at the 92nd Street Y

Last night I attended a concert at the 92nd Street Y titled Jazz Legacy: A Portrait of Jim Hall. My reaction is favorably biased, of course, as Jim is my dad, but it was a great concert, really. I’m not going to review it — hopefully someone else will, but I will tell you that my favorite part of the program was the second half. That’s when an unusual string section consisting of six cellos and six violas played on three compositions: a Jim Hall original titled October Song, an arrangement of John Lewis’ Django featuring Jim along with guitarist Peter Bernstein, and Goodbye by Gordon Jenkins featuring Joe Lovano on clarinet and soprano saxophone. Jim recorded all three on 1998 Telarc CD called By Arrangement — but he seldom has an opportunity to perform them in concert, and as I mentioned earlier this week, there is an added dimension to live performances that cannot be captured on recordings. In addition to the ambiance of the concert hall, and the palpable collective concentration of the audience magnified on this occasion by the low volume/minimal amplification of the instruments, part of my fun is watching how much the string players enjoy playing this music. They seemed almost gleeful when playing the pizzicato sections in Django, and the smile on the face of violist Orlando Wells during his brief solo on October Song could have melted a glacier.

Goings On

I had lunch yesterday with Bill Kirchner and his wife Judy Kahn. You may have read about Bill lately at Rifftides or About Last Night as both announced the new paperback edition of The Oxford Companion to Jazz. (To see their posts, which include a list of the essays included in this tome, go here or here.) In addition to being editor of the Companion, Bill wears many hats including those of composer-arranger, saxophonist, bandleader, educator, record and radio producer, and jazz historian. (Bill’s web site.)

We ate at a little bistro around the corner called The French Roast. Open 24-hours a day, it is a popular spot, and rather noisy when crowded. (When I was a kid, that corner location was Blimpie’s, a precursor to Subway sandwiches and the local neighborhood teen hangout.) Judy had just come from a desktop publishing class at The New School and gave me sneak peek at her latest layout of ther CD booklet for Bill’s new CD (more about that when it’s released). Judy is also a professional organizer and her business card reads Re-thinking Space, Designing Systems, and Organizing Homes, Buinsses & Files. Her website is currently under revision, but I love the name — De-Stress That Mess — and if you’re the disorganized type that might need help, you can bookmark it for future reference.

We talked about the jazz world and people we knew in common (coincidentally, one of those people mentioned was Annie Kuebler, who figures prominently in today’s Rifftide’s posting), shared ideas for our respective projects, lamented the price of tickets for live entertainment, and waxed nostalgic about the old days when for the price of a few drinks we could hang out at Bradley’s and hear the legendary pianists — Hank Jones, Tommy Flanagan, Roland Hanna, Jaki Byard, and others. I have a CD library well-stocked with the works of these artists, but there is magic in the moment of creation that can never be captured and replayed.

Technology and the Internet provide wonderful tools for promoting one’s projects, sharing one’s thoughts (and art), and connecting with people across great distances (or even across the street), but I’m always glad for the in-person encounters.

ps. I am taking a couple of days off, so I will not be posting again until Friday.

What He Said

“Love, having no geography, knows no boundaries.” ~ Truman Capote

“Making money isn’t hard in itself,” he complained. “What’s hard is to earn it doing something worth swvoting one’s life to.” ~ Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow of the Wind

Today, July 17, was National Ice Cream Day

It seems that anything and everything has its special day and/or month. I found a press release about National Ice Cream Day on the web site of International Dairy Foods Association. It begins:

In 1984, President Ronald Reagan designated July as National Ice Cream Month and the third Sunday of the month as National Ice Cream Day. He recognized ice cream as a fun and nutritious food that is enjoyed by a full 90% of the nation’s population. In the proclamation, President Reagan called for all people of the United States to observe these events with “appropriate ceremonies and activities.”

And did you know that there’s an International Ice Cream Association? They’re located at 888 16th St., in Washington, D.C., and they have apparently created a list of the most popular flavors, which you can see here.

IceCreamUSA has answers to some frquently asked questions here, at what appears to be a Breyers web site.

For ice cream facts, history, storage and handling recommendations, you might visit The Ice Cream Alliance, the U.K. trade association for the ice cream industry.

For information on how to become a Knowledgeable and Discriminating Ice Cream Gourmet, see Dr Bruce Tharp’s guide to the finer points of ice cream sensory evaluation and enjoyment.

And there’s always Fred and Kris’ Two Dips Ice Cream Tasters site for “ordinary people in search of extraordinary ice cream” with U.S. ice cream news, ice cream reviews, articles, links, and more.

What’s Good for the Goose…

After questioning the intent of a sentence on Rifftides earlier this month, turnabout became fair play. The grammar police, in the person of Doug Ramsey, emailed me regarding my Village Memories post:

Isn’t “still remains” redundant ?, i.e. * …its famous facade, including the clock tower, *still remains* — ?

He is quite correct, and I have edited the text to read “still stands.”

While we may seem to tease a bit, I do believe that a good editor is a writer’s best friend. (The corollary, however, is not true; best friends generally make lousy editors.)

Village Memories

The Greenwich Village stores and institutions that I grew up with in the 1960s are, for the most part, gone. But there have always been a few locales that have been in place for so long that you think they’ll exist forever…nothing is forever, not even Jon Vie, the local Sixth Avenue bakery with a city-wide reputation. Back in the days when roller skates were metal contraptions with four wheels that you fastened onto your saddleshoes and tightened with a key, I would roll around the corner, look in the bakery window, and one of the counter ladies would come to the door with a free cookie. One by one, the ladies retired and new clerks came and went, but the bakers remained and their rye bread and challah was the best in town. Now, I’m sad to report, it’s a store called Jeans USA stocked with brand new apparel made to look old.

Some of the long-gone landmarks that I remember include

    the Women’s House of Detention, a hi-rise jail built in the 1930s that rose above the old courthouse and took up the rest of the block from ninth to tenth street on the West side of Sixth Avenue, and from which windows the inmates would hollar to people in the street below. The Jefferson Market Courthouse was built in the 1870s by Vaux and Withers, and its famous facade, including the clock tower, still stands — now it’s the Jefferson branch of the New York Public Library, and the demolished prison is now a garden.

    Sutter’s Bakery on the northeast corner of Tenth Street and Greenwich Avenue where it was a treat to sit at one of the cafe tables and have a sandwich for lunch — now it’s a party store;
    International, just south of the south-west corner of Sixth Avenue and Thirteen Street, was a supermarket where I used to clerk; now it’s a Rite Aide. For a while there was a store on the corner where I would pour over huge Singer and McCall’s pattern books; I liked to sew. Across Sixth Avenue was a tiny little grocery/deli called was Smilers, where I used to buy the best rare roast beef sandwiches on rye break with Russian dressing, or Bialis for Sunday brunch. I think it became a Korean market (now closed and for rent) or maybe it was where the stationary store is – it’s hard to remember.
    Shopping for gifts was best accomplished at the Japanese store on Sixth Avenue, between Ninth and Tenth Streets, I think, where I could buy tea cups or pretty rice paper note cards, lanterns, or paper-covered boxes for cuff links and such. Then there was Fred Leigton’s on Eighth Street, where I was more likely to leave with a peasant blouse for myself than a present for someone else, or Papier Marche over on Greenwich Avenue, or in one of the many jewelry stores along those routes.
    Lowe’s movie theatre took up the whole triangular block bordered by Twelfth street, Seventh and Greenwich Avenues. It was there that I saw many a movie for 75-cents to a dollar-fifty, and paid 25-cents for a bag of popcorn. Across Twelfth Street was the Maritime building with windows made to resemble portholes — now part of the expanded Saint Vincent’s Hospital.

Expansion seems to be the name of the game, and I guess it’s a sign of prosperity, at least for those doing the expanding. The movie house on Fifth Avenue between Twelfth and Thirteenth Streets was taken over by The New School many years ago. Now I find that the bank where I had my first accounts has moved and that corner is being renovated for The New School. In fact, Walking about the Village I find lots of buildings now bearing the name of either The New School or New York University. I also see way too many nail shops, hair salons, and drugstores all within a few short blocks of one another. Ansonia drugstore on Tenths Street and Sixth Avenue has probably been there for more than fifty years (I can personally attest to at least forty-five), and Bigelows a block and a half south is ancient too. Both used to have a soda fountain, and I loved Ansonia’s root beer floats and Bigelow’s butterscotch sundays. But what I miss most is the diversity of all the little shops and unique stores.

Johnny Pate 80th Birthday Celebration Concert on CD

Having attended this concert, I was honored to be asked to write an account and reveled in the 4,000-word space they allowed me. What follows is but a brief snipet. You can read the whole piece here, but better yet, buy the CD.

When jazz aficionados ask me, “Johnny who?” I wonder how someone so important in the lives of so many stellar jazz giants could slip beneath their radar. Monty Alexander, Kenny Burrell, Ron Carter, Shirley Horn, Harvey Mason, James Moody, Marlena Shaw, and Phil Woods, who were all on hand, are but a few in a longer list legendary collaborators that also includes Ahmad Jamal, B.B. King, Wes Montgomery, Jimmy Smith, and Joe Williams.

Johnny Pate, mild-mannered and unassuming, has been slipping underneath the radar all his life. But March 30, 2003 is the day he has to face the music – his music – and accept the love and affection of those who have come not only to play his music, but also to say thanks.

The program begins with a proclamation from the Govenor of Nevada celebrating Pate’s musical legacy, and in keeping with his lifetime of accomplishments, the ‘whereas’ clauses go on forever, acknowledging his roles as bassist, songwriter, arranger, producer, teacher, composer and conductor of symphonic and film scores, and mentioning many of the great artists with whom he has worked.

The first of many emotional moments comes when Pate introduces Phil Woods. It may not seem like such a long way from Pennsylvania to Nevada, but for someone battling emphysema and down with the flu just days earlier, it is a very long way indeed. Still, Woods would not have missed today’s events. He tells the audience about his life as a struggling musician in the 1960s. “I couldn’t get arrested. ‘Buy a flute, be a studio man,’ they told me. I said ‘forget it.’” Woods moved to Europe . Tracking him down in France, Pate offered Woods a record deal with a dream rhythm section (Herbie Hancock on piano, Richard Davis on bass and Grady Tate on drums), augmented by a string section led by Gene Orloff. The album is titled Round Trip. “I’m talking the truth,” Woods tells us. “I went back to France with a shitload of money, and a few months later I was invited to play at Newport. I was back, baby! I was back, and that’s ’cause of Johnny Pate, and I want to say thank you.”

One by one, these featured artists augment the UNLV Jazz Band. By the time Monty Alexander, Ron Carter and Harvey Mason finish driving the band through the blues, the audience is cheering and we haven’t even reached intermission yet. “I promise you we won’t play anymore lullabies,” quips Pate. “It’s smoking up here.”

Johnny voice cracks more than once with unshed tears – when introducing Phil Woods, when Shirley Horn emerges from the wings in her wheelchair and procedes to play piano for the first time in public using a prosthesis in place of her amputated leg, and when he speaks of his dear friend Joe Williams, no longer with us.

The show is over all too soon. After the encore, the applause begins to die down, but not because the audience is ready to leave. Applause gives way to a spontaneous audience rendition of “Happy Birthday, dear Johnny, Happy Birthday to you.” They know his birthday is actually nine months away, but it doesn’t matter.

No one could be immune to the outpouring of love and appreciation that filled the theater. It’s just ten days since America invaded Iraq and people are still glued to the news reports, but for a few hours at least, all of that was put from our minds. Ten days after the concert, columnist John L. Smith writes in the Las Vegas Review-Journal, “…I found myself not thinking about war,” and he thanks Pate “for reminding us of the beauty that is still in the world.” I like to think he speaks for everyone who hears this live commemorative recording.

Words for Today…and every day

Today will be my last full day of research in what used to be Luther Henderson’s office. The artifacts of his life are in boxes, soon to be sent off to the Library of Congress where hopefully future generations will not only discover him, but also recognize and appreciate his talents as well as his thoughts about music and life and humanity. He was a truly gentle soul with a utopian outlook and I am feeling very honored to be allowed to write his story.

I leave you today with two quotations. I did not find them in Luther’s archives, but knowing Luther, both personally and through the volumes of correspondance I read yesterday, I am sure that he would concur:

“This will be our reply to violence: to make music more intensely, more beautifully, more devotedly than ever before.”
~ Leonard Bernstein

The love of one’s country is a splendid thing. But why should love stop at the border?
~Pablo Casals