Franklinia alatamaha

One of two planted today on the Tribeca terrace.

From Dirr:

"A handsome small specimen tree or large shrub valued for the showy white flowers and good fall color; if one is so fortunate to procure this species he/she should provide it a place of prominence in the garden; an aristocrat because of its interesting history; somewhat akin to a fickle lover and may stay around and tease with its beauty, or simply leave...the garden, that is; it is best not to become smitten with this plant."

Well, not sure if I'm smitten, but it has my interest. I mean, it's October, and it's just coming into bloom! Today, after it was planted, we actually watched a bud unfurl into an open flower as the sun struck it at noon, almost overhead. We'll see. The position may be too extreme: shade shade shade SUN shade shade shade.

" The story has been widely told how Jon Bartram found this plant in 1770 along the banks of the Alatamaha River in Georgia and collected a few for his garden. Strangely, this plant has never been seen in the wild since 1790, and supposedly all plants in commerce today are derived from Bartram's original collection. The species may have been sighted again in 1803 in the wild, but this is not gospel."

"...requires moist, acid, well-drained soil which has been supplied with ample organic matter; full sun or light shade buy best flowering and fall coloration occur in full sun."

Manual of Woody Landscape Plants, Michael A. Dirr, revised 2009, Stipes Publishing, Champaign, Illinois.

Taking the pulse

Last night I dreamed of soccer ball-sized spiders that jumped backwards through glass walled rooms, that someone had sawn my fig tree in half, and that Vincent had lost an eye tooth.

Tribeca roof garden, soil delivery

The planters were put into place some weeks ago, and then the irrigation and lighting crew came in to run those lines up through the planters.

Then there was a pause while a humungous air conditioning unit was cut up and taken off the roof.

Today our soil-mix was delivered. Tomorrow the first plants will arrive.

Soil was delivered to two tarps spread on the still-clean pavers, and in two areas over steel I-beams crossing underneath the space.

We had a reunion with the Russians of RTVi. They are filming the whole process. Apparently two of the episodes they taped with me and with me and Natalie have already aired in Russia. We have yet to see the DVD's. We hear that Moscow liked our roof gardens. Moscow must send caviar.

It was good to hear their accents again. And to think we've run out of vodka at home.

To see the roof before anything was there, click this.

Pizza moto

At the Atlantic Antic yesterday...

We had wandered down east from the Henry Street sardine corner, and had not found the world's best schwarmas, just like last year. Oh well. At least I tasted them when I did. Their memory lingers. Then we walked past the wood-fired oven on wheels belonging to Pizza Moto. I saw them in action at the Yard, in the summer, with a line wrapped around the Gowanus Canal, and bailed after taking some pictures for Brokelyn.

At the antic they had one offering, which was wise, and it was standard Margarita.

If their supplies really come from Wild Edibles then even more respect is due...

They said they make 40-50 pizzas an hour.

The pies were $9 each and quite delicious.

Fresh, bright sauce, just-melted mozarella.

We sat on the kerb, feet in the gutter and dripped juice all over the place.

Vince and I felt like Jane and Michael Stern, at the soon to be defunct Gourmet, if you can believe it. Gourmet is to be shuttered. Where will Ruth and Coleman go now?

Atlantic Antic sardines

There they were, round the corner from home, in a cloud of sardine-ish smoke. I queued. And while I waited Vince went to a stand next door operated by the Chip Shop to get beer. Beer in public. In the street. This is not normal. I mean, it should be, but it isn't. Very exciting.

Oktoberfest Hoffbrau is all the tap said.

Then I spotted Don Orlando, a gardening friend, behind the sangria table. Very soon we had a complimentary sangria, too. Sunday was off to a rolling start, and not a sardine eaten yet.

We stood and got smoked. I panicked and ordered four sardines. They were $3 each and quite big. But I should have got more. There was a lot of pressure.

We squeezed under a rope cordoning off La Mancha's sardine, chorizo and paella-eating patrons, and asked to share a tiny table with two women who were gracious and friendly and provided wet wipes afterwards for our fingers. They were Marie and Aida and said they come every year for the sardines.

The fish? Perfect. Charred, very fresh, a squeeze of lemon, a bite of white bread, a mouthful of cold beer.

By far the best food on the entire stretch. But I shall have to write a post about the pizza...

Tomorrow.

Burrata

A rather pornographic view of soft, pillowy burrata on late tomatoes. Burrata is mozzarella - buffalo here - with a much creamier inside, so it all threatens to fall apart upon slicing. It is textural heaven.

I must now go and pour hot jam into sterilized jars, and must stir a bean chile on the stove. Chile! Oops. Hang on.

Phew. That was close. The chile nearly had no chile. Now it has anchos in it. It also has smoked pork hocks, smoked bacon cubes, celery, carrot, garlic and onion, and black beans. All we need is a cowboy movie to watch. See here for the recipe (I don't think it has the hocks, though); you wouldn't believe how many people land on the blog looking for Terence Hill's beans.

Dogwood fruit

Shopping on Friday on Long Island, I wandered into a mini grove of dogwoods at a nursery, and started grazing. The fruit is at peak ripeness. The skin is not nice (leathery and tannic) , so I break the fruit open and eat the insides, which include some large seeds. The flavour is a lot like ripe papaya. Apparently I did the same thing - and said the same thing - last year, too.