snow/slush v. tropical wonderland

It snowed on Wednesday! And when I say “snowed” I mean it full on SNOWED. There’s still snow on the ground, although now it’s more of that nasty snow/slush/street mixture. Ah, piles of dirty snow—the true sign of winter in New York City. But I’m not here to talk about what’s happening outside (although I did take a break from work to make a snowman with the fresh snow, which was very fun). I’m here to brag about my monstera deliciosa, that oh so trendy of plants.

Meet Mandy. I have had this plant for two … maybe three years? It started out as three little leaves, each maybe six inches long, no splits, no holes. And now it lives up to its name. It is a full on monster, and I couldn’t be more pleased. Because even though it’s freezing outside, and there’s snow piled up on my balcony, on this side of the glass, I have a freakin’ tropical plant living its best life.

I just love that juxtaposition of winter outside and my monstera inside. There’s a reason why I, as well as many millennials, are plant-obsessed, and it’s quite the obvious answer. Because unlike other aspects of my life, I have control over this plant and it thrives under my care and its growth is a visible sign that I’m doing something right and that I’m not entirely a black hole of wallow and despair. Woot! But really, I like it because it hasn’t died.

Everyone who comes to my apartment thinks I’m some kind of green thumb, but really it’s just that I get good light and I water my plants regularly. That’s about it. Oh, and I repot them. My monstera, for example, started out in a 6″ plastic container and is now in its … fourth? pot, which is 15″ in diameter. These things are actually super easy and fast growers, so I can’t take all the credit. But I totally will. Because this plant is amazing. (Shoutout to my pothos marble queen in the top left!)

making frittata(s)

I’m by no means a good cook. I don’t profess to be anything more than decent. I can cook well enough for myself, but I’m not hosting any dinner parties (at least, not with food made by me). However, like everyone else during this pandemic, I’ve found myself stuck in the house a lot with no restaurants to go to or friends to meet. So. Enter the frittata.

I’ve always been into baking, but my cooking skills are lacking, so in the interest of trying new things and staving off the boredom at the beginning of our lockdown/pause/quarantine, I started trying out different recipes. I even made red-braised pork. These days, do I cook more? Yes. Do I cook better? Eh, not really. I still don’t have a good grasp of seasoning or timing. But I have gotten really good at making frittatas. Because I’m making them almost every week now. Why? Because frittatas are great. They’re easy to make, and I always have eggs and random stuff in the fridge that I can add: potatoes, onions, corn, peppers, tomatoes, bacon, sausage, et cetera. It all works. It’s amazing. And they’re hard to do wrong. Generally I follow this recipe, but really I just wing it. Sometimes they turn out less satisfactory than other times, but who cares? No one. Because I’m the only one eating them. And I have low standards.

So yay for the frittata, keeping me fed and feeling (mildly) productive. Also, eggs are a cheap source of protein, and I’m really sick of scrambled eggs and hard-boiled eggs at this point.

that faraway land of brooklyn

I never quite understood the appeal of Brooklyn, but I venture out that way almost every weekend these days. Why? Because that’s where most of my friends live. And I can get bored with the island of Manhattan. After all, I’ve become very well acquainted with my neighborhood in the last few months.

I don’t mind going to what I jokingly refer to as “that faraway land.” The L train has improved massively, and the subway is a lot cleaner and not so crowded. Travel by car is more expensive since there are no more shared Lyfts or Ubers, but I’m traveling far less than previously anyway, so I don’t mind spending the extra. And going to Brooklyn, even though I keep being reminded that it’s “still New York,” feels like a trip. I mean, the East River is a pretty definite boundary, right?

Manhattan has been stifling. Not because it is, but because I’ve been here. Things are much more open and “normal” than they were, but I’m still pretty boxed into my apartment, neighborhood, borough. When this pandemic started, there was a period when I didn’t leave my apartment for almost two weeks, and didn’t leave my immediate neighborhood for almost two months. I didn’t go to the beach this summer. I haven’t taken any daytrips or vacations (other than to visit family). My passport even expired. So even though venturing out to Brooklyn is fairly minor, traveling across the river—to help a friend move or attend a park barbecue or spend Thanksgiving—is its own sort of adventure. It’s not really a faraway land, but it’s its own sort of triumph.