Ten months ago, I was pregnant, sitting in Atlanta, waiting for the arrival of our son, when I heard the news that our dog, Sadie, whom we had left behind in the Ukraine because of a no-fly restriction in summer months, was gone. She had been let off her leash and after thirty minutes was nowhere to be found. The Ukraine, as most former Soviet republics, can be a brutal place for dogs. An estimated 30,000 stray dogs roam the streets of Kiev alone. They are mangy, dirty, wild and prone to fight. If a domesticated dog such as our Sadie isn’t mauled by a wild pack, she may die at the cruel hands of humans, who leave poisonous shards of bone and meat in parks where hungry dogs eat them and proceed to die within hours. Because of a 2007 four-year initiative to combat the dog problem, a misappropriation of funds, and now a need to explain why the dogs still roam wild, the poison in parks was a desperate and cruel group of people’s next best solution. In the past two months I’ve learned of seven domestic dogs that have died from eating the bone shards. Needless to say there wasn’t much hope for our lost dog.
Regardless, my American tendencies wouldn’t allow me to do nothing. So I had friends post signs all over the city, visit shelters and vets and just walk around talking to people. I also found two very seldom used websites for lost and found animals that I posted a picture and description of Sadie in Russian.
Nine months passed.
A woman calls my husband and tells him she thinks she has our dog. He visits the dog in question at a veterinary clinic a few blocks from where Sadie was lost. The poor dog is about fifty pounds overweight and cannot walk because of what looks like badly healed broken bones. She doesn’t recognize us at all and is fearful of everything. It is a heartbreaking reunion. I am not even certain it is my dog, she is so changed. She finds a corner in our kitchen and stays there, too afraid to go anywhere outside of the cold kitchen tile.
The woman who contacted my husband came to us the next day and told us what she knew about our dog. After being hit by a car Sadie was brought into the clinic, where she was caged and kept. She couldn’t walk for over a month because of broken bones and because of her confinement her muscles eventually atrophied, hence the horrible limp and severe obesity. The woman, who it turns out is a volunteer at the clinic, was messing around on one of the websites that I posted Sadie’s picture on and somehow made the connection. After returning to the site myself I found my posting was still one of the most current ones, even though it was made in June 2010. Because of the seldom use of the site she found our posting immediately. We gave a month’s salary reward money to this woman and instead of using it for herself she emailed to say she used it to save the life of another dog in need of a surgery.
Sadie’s return to us is a miracle. She was meant to be in our family. Since that first night after her return to us she has come a long way. She has dropped about fifteen pounds and is walking better. She wags her tail and moves around the house more. She has a dog walker who is helping to bring her back to the mentality of a family dog, rather than a shelter dog, which is who she has become. The most amazing part of all this is that with all the hardship she suffered, she became even kinder and gentler than before.
So, for all the bad that is done to animals here, there are rare and amazing people saving dog’s lives one at a time, and reuniting them with their ever grateful families.

Located off of Steinway in a former diner, Queen Comfort dishes out Southern comfort food with a twist. A recent brunch at therestaurant included a “dirty South” eggs Benedict, Nutella French toast, and scrambled eggs with home fries. The eggs Benedict, which consisted of one poached egg with collard greens and jowl, came out sitting on top of a large slab of cornbread. This combination was not easy to eat as the cornbread was too dry and crumbled when eaten with a fork, and its size made the one egg seem measly. The collard greens were a nice touch, however, perfectly vinegary and not at all soggy. We also enjoyed the scrambled eggs, which were soft and fluffy. Unfortunately, the accompanying home fries were overly vinegary and only rescued with large amounts of the homemade ketchup. The clear winner of our meal was the Nutella French toast. As my friend said about this dish, “I want to marry it.”  Made with white Pullman bread from a local bakery and slathered with a healthy amount of Nutella and whipped cream cheese, it had just the right amount of cinnamon, lending the decadent concoction a warm nuance.

The brunch menu changes weekly, with a few staples such as fried chicken and biscuits and gravy.  When asked about the reason for this, our hostess replied that the co-owners of Queens Comfort have so many ideas about the menu, they switch it up every week to try something new. Although I’m not sure everything we ate was a culinary success, this enthusiasm and inventiveness guarantees that I will definitely return to see what they come up with next.

Fidel Lightfoot, Bob Schlemm and Herme Arvore were brought together by their mutual interest in suckling pig-related issues and founded Birdass Productions as a charity, with a view to preventing future pig-related tragedies.

Who/ what inspired your first three songs “ Pooped on her Chest” , “Pizza Party” and “Futuristic Penis”?

POHC just emerged out of a freestyle between Herme and Fidel which is a pretty common thing for them. And somehow that line came out and we riffed on it for a while and all the rhymes had a cohesive feel to it, so we wrote it all down and then pieced together a story maybe adding a few lines in between. We laid it down that day.

Pizza Party was a reaction to the Rebecca Black video “Friday” It was just sooooooo stupid that we had to do something inspired it (although we also had some additional inspiration from Justin Beiber’s “Baby”, an equally annoying song).We were impressed that a song could be so catchy and yet so lame and cheesy that we wanted to write one that was even cheesier. So we ordered up two large pies, one cheese, one pepperoni; cause some like pepperoni, and some just like cheese. We’re working on putting a new video up for that. We just threw some random pizza crap together for the one on our site right now. But it got 1,200 views its first week it was up. We even got featured in Slice, (A pizza blog)

Futuristic Penis…..

The funny thing about “Futuristic Penis” is that Herme, Bob, and Fidel each, independently, had a vision, or, as they insist, a visitation, of a beautiful woman from the future on the same day – at exactly 4:42 p.m. on a Wednesday in mid-January. Herme was instructing a group of school children on the dangers of the suckling pig, Bob was going over the latest sales figures at Schlemm’s Canals, and Fidel was collaborating on a tune with famed songwriter Johnny Mandel when all three were “taken” and found themselves in a bedroom, lit by an eerie blue light, face to face with a beautiful woman with translucent skin. They were all seduced by this girl, who claimed to be from the future, and then were returned to their previous positions, having been “enhanced” in terms of their personal physiology and anatomy… or so they claim. None of the three have allowed a doctor to inspect them since the visit. Nonetheless, they collaborated on the song futuristic penis not only as a proud advertisement of their new selves, but also as a warning to everyone of what is coming in the future. Futuristic Penis may seem to be a boastful hip-hop song with a sci-fi bent, but it is, in fact, an elaborate treatise regarding the coming timeline for man, a sort of “Da Vinci Code” for the future in pop song form 

Friday, April 1st you are debuting your first major video, Pooped on her chest… where did the inspiration come from and what went into filming such a unique project? Pooped on her Chest paints such a vivid picture in your mind that we always thought it would make a good video so eventually it was put up or shut up and we decided to make it happen. But it took about 3 years to make it happen. The toughest part was casting the female lead. As you can guess, it’s not the most alluring title for attracting young aspiring actresses. We had to try and lure them in gingerly by giving them pieces of information until they eventually had the whole picture but everyone wound up turning us down. A lot of them liked the song but didn’t think it would be such a great career move.  I hope they all live to regret it. Anyway, the director’s girlfriend finally said she’d do it since she wasn’t an actress, aspiring or otherwise. But then, the male lead we had dropped out and the location fell through and we were on a time crunch because we had to shoot in summer months……so it took a long time to organize but we finally brought it together and it was all worth it. We hope it’s a “super success”.

What else can people expect from coming to the show Friday night?

Improv Comedy from Leah Evans and Edward Delapine from Post-Grad Productions., Stand-Up Comedy from Bryan Bruner, Evan Jacobs, James Parkinson and  Peter Moses from sorta-secret comedy. musical performances by Hops, Da Spooge (The man who would be king), and hip-hop legends Thee Alabastards. Birdass will also be debuting “Futuristic Penis” live, with futuristic penis artwork being shown throughout the night. And of course, “Pooped on her Chest”, the music video that started it all, is being shown at 11pm. DJ BWoww will keep the party going all night long. Friday, April 1st at Hell Gate Social, 12-21 Astoria Blvd, Astoria

What’s next for Birdass Productions?

We are looking into putting out a video for “pizza Party” and then one for “Futuristic Penis”  and continue writing songs that are equally ridiculous. Also we will continue to inform people that only you can prevent future pig-related tragedies.

Main website: birdassproductions.com-

Also, find us on youtube- http://www.youtube.com/user/birdassproductions?feature=mhum

I have stumbled upon magic.

My husband Dave and I took a leap of faith about 18 months ago, leaving New York for Oak Park, IL, the first western suburb of Chicago, to stake a claim and start a life. We had been living on the eastern end of Long Island for a few years, due to the strange confluence of my being one of 9, my parents setting out on a well-deserved retirement adventure, the birth of my first child and my brother being extremely persuasive. Three years on Long Island nearly stole our souls.

So we headed west, on a hunch, to join my sister, an Oak Park resident since 2005, figuring that at the very least we could always come home. We ain’t never coming home. 

A few months after we arrived, as we poked our heads up from the chaos of moving a family of 4 with two completely useless members (try getting a one year old to carry a box!)we started to look around for some place to play music. We had played around a bit in New York before our kids’ arrival, mostly in jazz groups doing standards or other people’s jazz originals with one or two of our originals thrown into the mix from time to time. Dave had continued to play after the kids were born but somehow no one was looking to book a rapidly-approaching-middle-age woman just about to be, just having been or actually pregnant. Strange, right?

After a quick internet search we stumbled upon an open mic at a local venerable music hall, Fitzgerald’s Night Club, just across into the next town from us, a short bike ride away. We hired a weekly sitter to force ourselves to commit and dove in. And here comes the magic.

You cannot believe the music that is being written in Berwyn, Illinois. Artistically, Berwyn is Chicago’s Astoria. The open mic, for the most part, is filled with working musicians who come together every week to connect with other members of this community to promote, network, collaborate and appreciate the artistry that abounds in this vibrant scene. From Robin Bienemann, whose Hawaiian-jazz influenced madness on his 1920’s vintage guitar backs absolutely certifiable lyrics about pee stains, cat stream of consciousness and an imagined relationship between Jennifer Aniston and a single dad from Cleveland, to Ron Lazzaretti, a local filmmaker whose unabashedly epic lyrics make you feel like you are counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike, Berwyn’s songwriters deliver.

No one epitomizes the scene better than its Queen, Naomi Ashley. Naomi moved to Berwyn straight out of acting school in the late 90’s with her college buddy (I personally visualize Mary Tyler Moore and Rhoda, with Naomi throwing the hat in the air) and found herself at Fitzgerald’s doing mostly spoken work peppered with some self-professedly timid attempts at song writing. Through thirteen years of work, both as a solo artist and in collaboration with a wide array of talent in the area, Naomi has developed a voice with a depth and beauty unattainable without a seasoned life. These songs of hers were not written by no little girl.

Many of the lyrics from Naomi’s 2007 album Another Year or So (www.naomiashley.com) have been memorized by my children from sheer exposure. I cannot get enough of this album. Mandolin, cello, harmonica, spoken word and the exquisitely blended tenor voice of Ron Lazzaretti take their turns backing Naomi’s lilting guitar, her lovely, grounded, confident voice and of course, those lyrics. Naomi’s lyrics are at once raw and refined, smart, sharp and fully accessible. She writes with a daring that leaves you feeling breathlessly included. After finishing one of her songs, you half expect to hear: “So that’s what’s happening with me. What’s going on with you?” And you feel like you really might tell her. Whether she is describing with poignant simplicity the exhaustion of her relationship in Lullaby, outlining the ways that two pathetic people can combine to create an unstoppable synergy in Dangerous or facing without fear the devastating heartache of an inevitable breakup (and one that spans years, my friends; that’s how she rolls) in the title track, Naomi writes with a maturity and vulnerability beyond her years, leaving you feeling almost as grounded as she sounds. This woman, brought up on the generosity and contagion of the Berwyn music scene, continues the tradition.

And here’s where the magic spreads. Despite having 2 kids and a job, I cannot help but be inspired. For the first time in 5 years I am writing songs again. I actually have picked up the bass guitar, and thanks to the devilry of the Vocal Looper, I can conceivably use that thing to accompany myself. Dave and I have a full plate of projects going with a variety of tremendously talented musicians and we’ve got a growing wish list of projects for a fairy tale universe where time and money are no object.

Nobody better pinch me.

Queens Kickshaw is another welcome addition to the burgeoning restaurant scene in Astoria. A long, narrow space decorated with salvaged materials, it projects a down-to-earth sensibility coupled with an appreciation for inventive food and solid coffee. 

The emphasis here is on sandwiches and coffee, with pastries brought in from Balthazar. Coffee is from Coffee Labs Roasters and is slow-dripped for each individual cup. There are a variety of origins to choose from, all described in terms normally reserved for wine. I enjoyed Rwanda Coopac, which was very smooth and a little fruity, while my fellow diner had a velvety rich mug of Mast Bros. hot chocolate.

All sandwiches are cheese-based and meat-free, with some highly interesting combinations, such as the Gouda, with black bean hummus, guava jam, and pickled jalapenos. We opted for the Cheddar & Mozzarella, an oozy, gooey grilled cheese on brioche, which came with a chunky tomato soup, and the Fontina Val d’Aosta. With a base of focaccia, this sandwich was topped with basil pesto, marinated mushrooms, and a perfect amount of melted cheese. The side salad that came with the Fontina had a zippy citrus dressing and the pleasant addition of pine nuts. Refills of seltzer were constantly provided from the vintage soda dispenser at the bar, and hibiscus, lime, and grapefruit soda flavors are offered from P&H Soda, a one-man operation based in Brooklyn. Locally sourced ingredients are a prevalent at Kickshaw, with cheese and bread brought in from local delis and bakeries.

While there are a few kinks to be worked out—the kitchen closed early due to the huge influx of people who came to check out the newest eatery in the neighborhood—Queens Kickshaw presents itself as a prime contender to win the hearts and stomachs of Astorians.

In the summer of 2009, I went on a pie-baking binge. On average, I cranked out 10 pies a week for three hot, sweaty months in an un-air-conditioned kitchen with a smaller-than-average oven. Mostly it was fruit pies: apple, blueberry, peach, cherry, and combinations thereof. There were a few unsuccessful attempts at chocolate and lemon cream pies, and one tooth-achingly sweet buttermilk pie. All of this effort ended up being sold to inebriated patrons at a local bar that also featured the bar-b-q of my friend Trainwreck Washington. I have to admit, my pie must have been pretty darn good, because more than once someone would buy a slice and then come back to buy the rest of the pie.

Needless to say, by the time autumn rolled around, I was pretty done with pie.  While I felt like the enterprise was a success, I decided to hang up my apron for a time. Spending every night after work and then every weekend either baking or selling pies had taken a mental and physical toll. Oh, pies were baked, but usually only on special occasions and holidays. And every time I baked a pie, it never seemed to turn out quite the way I wanted. Being a bit, ok, a major, perfectionist, this was par for the course, but my pies became such a consistent source of annoyance every time I made one it became very discouraging. Somehow, I felt I had lost the touch.

But, usually not one for quitting, especially when it comes to baked goods, I gamely decided to make an apple pie this weekend, spurred on by a request to bake and blog about my experience. I was sent the link to Smitten Kitchen , a blog written by Deb Perelman, who not only takes beautiful and informative photographs of the food she creates, but also writes about it in smart, entertaining way.

While reading through Deb’s instructions and looking at her photos on how to make pie dough, I had a sudden revelation. See, the main frustration with my pies for the last year and a half have been due to the dough—somehow, whenever I went to roll it out, it always cracked or stuck to the table or the rolling pin or generally did something I didn’t want it to. What Deb recommends when making dough is that when cutting the butter into the flour mixture, to make sure to stop when the pieces of butter are the sizes of small peas. Now, this is actually a fairly standard instruction. Somehow, though, it never really stuck in my head. Whenever I cut the butter in, I was hell-bent-for-leather to get it as well combined as I possibly could. Which is actually NOT what you want to do. As Deb explains it, you actually want some larger bits of butter left in the dough, as this is what creates pockets of flakiness in the final product. Likewise, her recommendation of then mixing the water into the butter/flour mixture with a spatula, rather than the usual pastry cutter, also helped, as did her photos of what everything was supposed to look like. 

The gist of this all is to say is that I had been totally over-thinking the dough. Perhaps when I had been making enough of it at one time for six or eight pies, I didn’t over-mix due to the sheer quantity of materials with which I was working. When scaling down, I decided that this dough, because it was only for one pie, had to be perfect, which ultimately led to the gooey, sometimes-bland end result. When I followed Deb’s instructions for this Saturday’s pie, the dough behaved beautifully. No tearing, no cracking, no sticking. Once the baked pie came out of the oven, it was the most golden, flaky crust you could ask for. I didn’t even mind that the apple filling was more akin to applesauce than firm baked apple slices.

As someone who sometimes has unrealistically high standards for herself, this was all a  bit of a come-to-Jesus moment. Sometimes you have to allow for the little imperfections (butter, in this case), rather than beat them into some pre-conceived notion of what they should be. Otherwise, the final result can be bland and ultimately unfulfilling. And who wants that when they eat pie?