Hedonia

Chelsea, boy

My company's New York offices are in Chelsea, in one of the comparatively tall buildings -- 12 floors high. One of the nice things about working in a low-rise neighborhood is getting above the rooflines. This is the view from the window in the office I colonized:

Sweet, huh? That funny-shaped white building in the center is New York's first Frank Gehry-designed building; our north windows have majestic Empire State building views; and our south windows have an unobstructed view of the Statue of Liberty, though she's rather far away and puny. Still, it inspires a small thrill. 

The office is just a couple blocks from the magnificent Chelsea Market, which I visited during my lunch hour. The former National Biscuit Company (Nabisco) factory now houses a myriad of shops, food-oriented and otherwise; Food Network's offices are fittingly upstairs. It's kinda like the Ferry Building, only more industrial-looking. Many of the food shops and restaurants have quick take-away stalls out front.

I opted to pick up some stuff from Buon Italia: Stuffed zucchini, stuffed eggplant and some lovely, bitter escarole (that's SHCAROLE to us eye-talians) with pine nuts and too much olive oil -- just the way I like it. Twelve bucks bought me roughly a pound of prepared vegetable material, plus the plastic containers it was served in.

Just past Chelsea Market is the now tragically hip Meatpacking District, the final nail in whose coffin was when Samantha fictitiously moved in in Sex and the City. Where once were actual meat packing warehouses and, later, gay leather bars and tranny hookers, now fancy boutiques occupy the vacuous stalls: Stella McCartney, Alexander McQueen and Jeffrey to name a few. I popped into the latter for a quick peruse, and I spotted an adorable grey pinstripe jacket with bedazzled Dia de los Muertos-style skulls on the back. And it could have been mine, for a mere $3,125. Unfortunately, I only had $2,865 on me, so I had to resist.

But who needs haute couture? Walking around the streets of Chelsea with the wind blowing my très cheap chic H&M scarf about has made me feel rather glam. A swagger and an ounce of attitude are worth thousands on the open market.

Tea time at Imperial Tea Court

So yesterday morning I had a meeting that didn't happen. As I had planned to meet my friend Hugh at Ferry Plaza for lunch and farmer's marketing, I had a little time to kill. Since I was going to end up at the Ferry Building in the end anyway, I decided to kill that time there.

I'm chagrinned to admit that I don't spend as much time at the Ferry Building, nor frequent that farmer's market, as much as I ought. So, when I do go, it's always a series of new discoveries and unexpected delights. The Imperial Tea Court was of course not a total surprise, but I had never actually stopped and had tea there before. Tea and time killing are a match made in heaven.

I opted for the gaiwan presentation of Imperial pu-erh tea. For the next 30 minutes or so, I enjoyed the sublime activity of incrementally adding hot water to my tea leaves, paddling with the lid, and sipping the tea through the gap between the cocked lid and the cup itself (this takes a little getting used to at first). All this while watching the world pass by in the main concourse of the Ferry Building. I liked the pu-erh tea -- distinctly earthy, almost musty, but once the strongest steepings faded, it opened up to a gentle grassy flavor with hints of clove and cinnamon. The only thing I didn't really love about the place is that the tables are a tad tall for the seats -- or the seats too short for the tables, I guess depending on your perspective -- so I felt even shorter than usual. A small quibble.

Hugh and I had lunch at Boulette's Larder, sitting outside on the back of the building. I had the pulled pork sandwich (as did at least one person at every table in eyesight). Y'all know by now how I love the pulled pork, and this did the trick. However, it's more like a cubano -- not vinegary and sweet like barbecue, and on a fluffy roll. Hit the spot.

Imperial Tea Court
Boulette's Larder
Ferry Building Market Place

The Columbarium

Taking a break from what seems like incessant recipe documentation, I schlepped out to BevMo while DPaul was getting his teeth cleaned. I'd not been to the one on Geary at Stanyan before. As I pulled out from the underground parking lot, I was faced with a glorious green dome rising over the horizon. How could I resist the opportunity to stop into the Columbarium?

I'd never been to the Columbarium before, and it has always been on my list of things to do in the city. I have a thing for cemeteries generally, and this one is exceptional. San Francisco has but two cemeteries where people are buried in the ground; The Columbarium is where you put your ashes to rest.

Built in 1897, it was the centerpiece of a large cemetery. However, in 1901 interment became illegal within the city limits of San Francisco, and in the 1930s all burial plots (except the cemeteries in the Presidio and Mission Dolores) were moved to Colma.

The beautiful Victorian structure has niches on four levels, surrounding a central portico under the copper dome. It's remarkable to see how people are commemorated -- some of the niches are austere and somber; some are elaborate; others are filled with whimsical items from the person's life. I was pleased to see a number of niches with rainbow flags, others with same-sex partners that have chosen to share the tight quarters. All in all, not a bad place to spend eternity. More crappy cell phone pics after the jump.

Neptune Society of Northern California
The Columbarium: Final Shelter [San Francisco Reader]