2011 April « Barbara Leung « The Life of an NYU Student

Spring Break 2011: Staying in Paris

April 28, 2011 by Barb

While everyone made a mad dash to the airport to head to exotic destinations, such as the Greek islands and Italy, I decided to sleep in and awake to a week in Paris by myself. Admittedly, with a two-week vacation, I ended up to be a bit behind in my posting, especially with the amount of work that I had over the break and to complete right upon my return.

Instead of taking up the opportunity to explore Paris’ many museums and monuments, I decided to explore culinary options. That and I also completed my first arrondisement in my quest to cover all twenty arrondisements of Paris before I leave. I had originally planned on completing the twenty neighbourhoods in twenty days, with an intermission brought on by my vacation away from Paris (which I will be covering my next posts). However, I wound up only completing one (that, too, is to be posted soon) and discovering much more work to be completed.

Snails fried in butter and seasoned with thyme

Coming back to my “culinary” adventures, I purchased half a kilo of live snails (they cost only 4,50€ per kg) from the Auteuil market with the intent of having them for lunch. But when I brought them back home and hopped on Google, I realized that there was much more work to be done. Usually, snails have to be fasted (or if you want, feed them herbs to flavour them) for a week or so so as to “purify” them. I decided to take a chance in believing that they may already have been fasted, and poured a little bit of salt on them (this tactic is often debated because it is deemed as torture for the snails), which makes the snails feel uncomfortable and therefore emit a mucus to wash it off, and thus cleansing them further. I left the snails for several hours before coming home to boil them in water, killing them, for about twenty minutes. They were then cleaned off and had their “feet” removed before leaving them in a broth for an hour. Afterwards, they were seasoned and fried in butter; of course, by then, it was already dinner time. But hey, I had a tasty meal and now know why snails are not often served in restaurants any more – they’re awfully time consuming.

The creaminess of burrata revealed

That same week, I finally got my hands on burrata, a fresh Italian cheese made from mozzarella and cream, after popping into Delizius every day or two to see if it had arrived. The eagerness to taste this particular cheese stemmed from watching an episode of Master Chef USA, in which burrata was featured as one of the three possible foods (the other two were chocolate and passion fruit, which was chosen for the challenge) for choosing in the elimination round. I rushed home to slowly remove the cheese from its packaging, which unveiled the place of import, Procacci Giuseppe. Reading online, it was noted that the cheese can be eaten on its own with fresh tomatoes. And after having conquered snails, I couldn’t be more delighted than to have a short prep time. Burrata certainly had the texture of mozzarella with regards to its skin, but it was less salty than its cousin. Pulling apart the top revealed a creamy and stringy interior. And while I could’ve finished the whole cheese without adding more tomatoes, I thought it would be nice to test it with pasta. Its creaminess certainly adds to the pasta, and is certainly worth its price of ~12€ (24,90€/kg) for the ball of cheese.

Delizius
40 Rue Annonciation
75016 Paris
Tel: +33 1 42 88 07 08

Cars from the Tour Auto 2011 event

But no vacation could be complete without some adventures in the city. I’m saving some of the places I visited for my arrondisement post, but I want to share something that I came across and realized. I was making my way to the Tuileries gardens when I spotted an event/exhibition taking place. I peered over the closed gates to see plenty of vintage-looking cars sitting on the garden’s sandy ground. Soon enough I realized by watching the people turned away at the gates that the event, Tour Auto 2011 by Optic 2000, was a closed one.

This brings me back to a post by another NYU in France student that I read some time ago. Her post illustrated the fun in spotting the “in-crowd” during Paris Fashion Week, as a member of the city and not the industry itself. It was strange to have that feeling of a similar context – observing but not partaking. And while it may seem like comparing apples to bananas in terms of events, there is still the similarity of there being two sides to one particular scene. In attending all of the fashion hoopla, I don’t seem to realize that there are those who don’t share the exact same experience as me. In which case, there doesn’t seem to be that same allure that strikes me, as it does for some, or for me when I first started attending these events. The novelty in itself is something fresh that I haven’t had the chance to really marvel at in quite some time. Each niche and community, after all, have their own circle of people and events. And I suppose that strolling by reminded me that I can belong to one particular community, but that there are so many that I’ve never touched or interacted with.

The burrata all wrapped up

The burrata served with fresh tomatoes

Guests leaving and entering the Tour Auto event

Spring Break 2009: Santorini and Athens (Again)

April 12, 2011 by Barb

A dog enjoying the view of Oia in Santorini

We arrived in Santorini in the late afternoon and were quickly whisked away by van to our accommodations at Stavros Villas, which is located in the village of Karterados. Since the evening was fast approaching after settling into our suite, we decided just to head to one of the local restaurants for a meal before walking on over to the more bustling city of Fira for an evening of drinks and fun.

The next day was filled with more excitement as we rented ATVs to tour the island. There was no real itinerary set for us, but just to drive to some of the beaches (more notably the red and black ones). It was enjoyable to drive rather aimlessly on this large island, stopping occasionally to take in the scenery and the atmosphere. So it seems that we were rather loyal to our what would be our regular dinner hang-out in Karterados.

Then there was our trek to Oia. Located near the northern cusp of the island, it is said that Oia has one of the most beautiful sunsets in the world. That and it was the setting for one of my favourite movies – don’t laugh – Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants (both the first and the second). Unfortunately for us, the skies began to cloud over when the sun was setting. But the view overseeing the ocean was still magnificent, which compensated for us missing the famed sunset.

That very evening was spent on the ferry. We had decided to take an overnight ferry back to Athens so as to save money on accommodations and time. Everyone quickly clamored onto the ferry so as to claim a sleeping spot on the cafeteria’s bench seating. The sleep was surprisingly all right for the duration of the six hour ride. While Sam and Angela parted for Florence, Julie, Linfei and I stayed in Athens for another night before returning to Paris (although Julie did stay one night longer than Linfei and I).

Us three stayed in the hotel room for quite some time since it was the day of our course registration. When we were all enlisted for the courses in the fall semester in New York, we decided to take the rest of the day walking about the city with no real intention to visit any of the monuments. We said good bye with a final delicious, yet cheap, dinner in the city. Since our hotel was a little far from the city center, we called it an early night and headed for the airport in the early morning.

Angela, Linfei, Sam, Julie, and I in Fira

Oh look! Donkies!

View of the island amidst our ATV drive

Santorini's red beach turns out not to be not exactly a beach

Me pushing the ATV - this particular model could not reverse

Angela driving her ATV

View of Oia

Photo of a church near by Oia (yes, that also happens to be my desktop background)

View of Oia

The famed blue roof and white façade

Us with the dog that enjoys the view of Oia

And the tourist is complexed

Throughout the whole trip, we didn't have any baklava until now

An old church at the end of an otherwise bustling street

An important building of some sort in Athens

We met a Greek Canadian who moved back to Athens and now collects the business cards of any Canadian that steps into his store

Canadian Slumber Party (Part Two)

April 11, 2011 by Barb

Welcome to Bellevue Hospital, located at First Avenue and East 28th St

This is the second part to the entry that I had written in January

There have only been two times in which the pounding on the door has awakened me; the first being when the person frantically knocking was inebriated, and the second being when I had quite a few too many drinks on Valentine’s Day. It had been perhaps an hour or two after I fell asleep talking to the Occasional Gauloise when the thumping on the door awoke my sobering self. I wasn’t exactly too thrilled opening the door to find two RAs and two EMS (emergency medical service) team members in my doorway.

So began the awkwardness of the EMS asserting that a Professor Occasional Gauloise had reported to NYU’s Wellness hotline that I had had intent to “hurt myself.” Me being one for details began to counter the argument by stating the fact that there was in fact no such professor; the Occasional Gauloise was in fact an administrator. And so I continued on correcting the error each time the EMS attempted to discuss with me the matter, as well as hand me the phone to talk with the Wellness hotline, who quickly decided that I was no danger to myself and that I ought to go back to sleep. The RAs, unsure of what to do, could only be heard discussing amongst themselves that it was meant to be an easy night. I handed the phone back to the two RAs, who were ready to let me go back to bed. But then, one of the EMS decidedly took a couple of steps into my apartment and said, “I recognize this apartment, you’re coming with us.” For the record, it was the same EMS as the one in one of the previous entries. And somehow I wish that there was an ellipses that I could insert between those two clauses so as to illustrate some kind of logic, but really there wasn’t. The idea of letting me go back to sleep was somehow turned over, in spite of the RAs who saw me fit and the Wellness counselor who declared me all right, by the EMS’ whimsy.

Riding in an ambulance isn’t as fun as it seems on television; perhaps it would’ve been had I been able to get strapped up on the gurney and had a live film crew follow me, but unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. On the contrary, I was seated next to one of the RAs (the other one was free to go to bed) and my professing an apology since I had overhead the “easy night” comment. Quite nice of her, though, to reassure me that it happens and that I wasn’t dreadfully drunk of any sort, so it wouldn’t be a long stay at the hospital.

And I honestly believed it wouldn’t be either. In a matter of fifteen minutes, my finger was pricked for blood and we were ushered to another room – unbelievably quick, eh (no sarcasm intended)? This room, however, reeked of a different aura than the emergency room downstairs. There was an eeriness to the “other side,” whose access was restricted. I had a look of unease on my face; the RA shrugged off the next procedure as nothing big, stating that it would just a be an interview and a couple of questions since I had acknowledged that I was depressed during intake. To ease me, she recounted that her and other RAs this year had taken a suicidal girl a couple of times here, and she was in and out within half an hour. Perhaps the RA hadn’t expected it to be a long wait either, she told she would hold onto my wallet and keys for me until I came out.

I was led to a sofa chair in which I uneasily sat as I listened to the loud snoring of one of the other patients. The thoughts of “I don’t belong here, and it won’t be long” calmed me down as I sat in the dimly lit area waiting for me to be called to sit down and have a chat with the doctor. It felt like ages before that happened, though. But when it finally did, I was somewhat elated. There was the casual talk about my depression and some skill-testing questions on math and just general lucidity. After about ten minutes of talking, I was told that I would be out within the hour, but in the mean time, I ought to take a seat. Under this impression, I sat at the benches with the nurses who chatted with me for a while so as to kill time on their end, as well as mine.

The hours passed slowly. It was 4AM when I was admitted and it had barely struck 7AM. I grew incredibly angsty and would try and check in every now and then with the doctor who said that he would get to my file soon. But when 7AM had passed, I asked the nurses if they could check what was up with my file since not only was I concerned with picking up friends that were visiting from the train station, but I also had a show to attend (yes, fashion week really was on my mind in the midst of all of this). At this point, the RA had left to go home since it was far longer than she had expected in terms of wait time, and left a note for me that she had taken my things with me since the holding compartment looked “sketchy.” One of the nurses came back outside and told me that because it was a changeover in doctors, there would have to be a re-briefing on every case – it meant that I would be stuck here for at least another two hours. It was only then that it finally hit me: I was in the mental ward.

I continued to sit with the nurses, but eventually others began to wake up. There was the woman who awoke and asked for the television’s volume to be pumped louder because the country from where she was from was hosting the Olympics. Another Canadian? We started chatting, and it turned out that she only wanted the volume turned up to silence the voices of the nurses who spent much of the early morning gossiping. It turns out that the other Canadian had been an alcoholic and had been drinking with a friend of her’s who was interested in her. Knowing that she had a date the next evening, he took advantage of her lamenting about her day of work, saying “it makes me want to kill myself,” as a “literal” threat and ushered her into Bellevue. Quite the dastardly thing, and what one may perceive as a contrived story, but through talking with her more, it seemed as though that there was perhaps truth in what she said. After all, she, the yoga instructor and real estate agent, was the most sane person here that I could be friends with for the duration of my stay here.

And with that, there came a loud thumping from the bathroom. The one who snored incredibly loudly during the night had awaken and made her way to the bathroom. I turned to one of the nurses to ask what the noise was, and the reply was stated so simply, “oh. That’s Thelma. She’s stamping out the devil.” Pairing with the exorcism was the man who believed that he was a member of the CIA and would frequently pick up the telephone to call them and to “report.” Really, the phone had been hooked up an hour earlier for me so that I could try to contact someone, but it turned out that only NYC numbers were contactable.

Some reason as to my delay, as one of the nurses found out for me, was that the doctors were trying to get a hold of NYU Wellness as well as the Occasional Gauloise. No wonder, I hadn’t been let out earlier – everyone was sleeping. In any case, they did manage to contact the Occasional Gauloise and decided that it be best not to talk to me because “I did not want to,” when in fact I had tried calling thereafter not fully understanding the circumstances.

After ten hours of being held in the mental ward that I was finally released, along with the other Canadian. I walked home, since I had no keys, wallet, or phone on me. And in my lobby, I found my guests who had wondered what had happened to me. My reponse to it all was “I have the best excuse ever – I was locked up in the mental ward.”

And so it turns out that I was pretty lucky, especially since it has become an unofficial mandate that anyone with an NYU card coming into the mental ward is locked up automatically for twenty-four hours. So how I got out in ten hours is a bit of a mystery to me.

Several hours after getting out of the mental ward, I texted the Occasional Gauloise to say, “thanks for getting me locked up.” The response was almost immediate in confusion and a need to address it in person.

Images courtesy nydailynews.com and postsecret.com

RT @WarbyParker: Excited to be there! RT @LinleighHawk: First Ogilvy Office Hours kicks off! @fab @warbyparker @birchbox @havetohave htt ...

April, 2011

Spring Break 2011: Staying in Paris

Spring Break 2009: Santorini and Athens (Again)

Canadian Slumber Party (Part Two)