Caterpillar wanderings

Shopping at the farmers market brings unexpected acquaintances. While unpacking my vegetables, this little guy showed up somewhere between the kale and the lettuces. He was definitely not your ordinary supermarket escapee, embedded in a mealy tomato and wrung out from a cross-country trip. I couldn't help but notice his extraordinary greenness. Velvety and handsome, I immediately set up a photo shoot along with the glorious radish (soon to be lunch) on my kitchen counter. I later deposited him gently among the ivy in our building's sidewalk treebed. I guess he's a New Yorker now.

My Saturday Sandwich

It's built on a thick toasted slice of 7-grain bread; a generous pile of fresh greens -- velvety arugula, leaves from one of the season's last lettuces, pea shoots; 2 slices of sharp cheddar from Millport Dairy in Lancaster County; finely sliced "rainbow radishes"; homemade bread & butter pickles (also from Millport Dairy); topped off with a sprinkling of capers. Crunchy & delicious!

Back home in America

Thinking a bit wistfully of the faded elegance of certain small cafes and restaurants still found in Europe -- Fabrica di Cioccolata in Florence, where in late afternoon one can sit down to tea and pastry or stand at the bar and savor aperitifs or coffee; cafe Ferrara in Rome; Berlin's original Lutter and Wegner or Einstein Cafe. These places, where even a small morsel is treated like a meal, maintain an unbroken connection to an "old world" idea of food as a ritual of pleasure, social encounter and respite.

One thing they all have in common is a sound. It's the sound of tinkling glass and china. Real glass and real china. Not paper or cardboard or plastic. The sound of cup against saucer, knife and fork against plate. You hear it all over Europe. In theater lobbies at intermission; ice cream and candy shops; in pizzerias; through the open windows of apartments; in train stations at tiny snack bars; even at small eateries at the airport. It is an increasingly rare sound in the United States. I miss it.

Our Earth

Ben and I are here in Berlin on the weekend of extraordinary buildup to Monday, November 9th -- the celebration of the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall. Hearing and seeing so many reminders of the transformative power of individuals working together with a common understanding of what's truly at stake, I'm thinking about climate change and the fact that it is an issue of such overwhelming significance for us all.

This is an iconic photograph that you have probably seen many, many times -- the photo taken in December 1972 during the Apollo 17 space mission. A photo of home, something we all share. It is ours. And we have responsibility for it.

Normally we refer to it as "the" earth -- as though it's something 'out there' that exists on its own, separate, apart.

Language is a transmitter, and when used respectfully, has the capacity to transform and identify, in a simple medium, the essence of human experience.

I have a proposal.

From now on, I will no longer refer to "the" earth, but to "our" earth. Not the definite article, but the possessive. Our earth.

So far, I've mentioned this to three people; Martin Hope of the British Council, Martin Frick of the Global Humanitarian Forum, Benjamin Barber founder of Interdependence Day. We've made a pact. Want to join us?

More English Cheese

These are the cheeses that greet you at Neal's Yard Dairy -- on the sidewalk and inside the shop.

Buying Cheese in London

Neal's Yard Dairy is the jewel in the crown of local cheesemongering in London. They buy cheese from about seventy cheesemakers on farms around Britain and Ireland and stay in close contact both with the producers and the customers who come to their two shops in Neal's Yard (Covent Garden) and Borough Market (near London Bridge.) They see the shop counter as a vital part of what they do -- there they offer and "sometimes insist" that you taste the cheese before buying. I did; taste and buy. A small piece of Tunworth, a soft cows milk cheese made at Hyde Farm in Hampshire. Back at the hotel, it's just the right temperature and consistency -- mmmm. I understand they also export to shops on the East and West coasts in the USA. But, for us, in NY, is that really eating locally? Columbia Market on 114th and Broadway has excellent cheesemakers from the Hudson Valley.

Bikesharing

This is how they do it in Florence. When you need a bike you go to one of these "parking lots" located in various locations throughout the city. This one is particularly nice looking because it's located in the government office area and there's lots of street security. Other neighborhoods may have different stories to tell about the degree of vandalism or stealing. Paris, evidently, is having a hard time keeping its inventory intact. Same principal as Zipcars in NYC.