Top Chef: Sort of Spoiler Alert

I wasn't glued to Top Chef this season, but I've watched it intermittently and I happened to tune in last night, which was lucky, because the finale happened to be on and I had a fair sense of the finalists. But watching their, what struck me was how much I didn't want to eat food by a guy I really, really didn't like. I would go to Angelo's restaurant in a heartbeat. Ed's? No way. I don't care how good his Morroccan food was, he showed himself to be someone who'd kick a guy when he's down and I don't like that. Which is to say, when it comes to fancy-pants cooking, it's probably better not to know too much about the chef.

Voting: A travesty, continued.

Turns out I wasn't the only one who had issues.

Voting: A travesty!

I'm just back from voting in the primary here in New York City. If I didn't know better, I'd say Boss Tweed was alive and kicking in lower Manhattan having sent his minions to Albany to deal with those pesky things called votes. How? Well, here in New York City, they've replaced the old fashioned, lever pulling machines with scanners. But, in my district, where there once were at least six or eight machines there are now only two and this morning, just before I got on one of the very long lines for a machine, one of the two broke so the two long lines had to merge into one. Standing on that line was like being in traffic after a major accident shuts down the road. You're not moving forward, but if you want to get where you're going, you can't go anywhere else. Finally, the voting coordinator gave voters the option of slipping their votes into an emergency voting slot, promising to scan them when the polls close. I don't know for sure if my vote will be counted, but I know that without two hours to spend on the scanner line, I tried my best.

Franzenfest/Manenfraude

I should say that I've been trying to write something about the whole Jodi Picault, Jennifer Weiner, Jonathan Franzen situation for a while now. I've gotten nowhere. But Liza Mundy over at Slate XX, she got somewhere. Check it out here.

I Heart Kara Janx Kimonos

A little over four years ago, I bought a Kara Janx kimono dress for my niece's bat mitzvah. Every time I've worn it -- even when I've worn it on the streets of New York -- I get compliments. But, I haven't worn it for a while, and things, as in my body, has, let's say, changed recently. I was concerned because many of the clothes that I bought before the recent changes no longer fit, but I don't have such a big selection of clothing that would be appropriate for, say, Rosh Hashannah services anywhere that's not in Israel (where I could go in pretty much anything, I think). Still, this morning, I wrapped myself up in that kimono dress and guess what? Not bad! Not perfect, but what is? It's an extremely good dress that's extremely good to me. I think come spring I'll get a short sleeve one, just for good measure.

Happy, healthy new year everyone! And, seriously, here's to a year that brings peace and climate change legislation.

In the Kitchen with a Good Appetite

Melissa Clark's new book, based on her New York Times column, comes out today! Since I have an advance proof I've already read most of it; since I'm an ardent fan I've made many of the recipes. Even if Melissa weren't one of my very closest friends I know I'd love this book. It's got exactly what you want -- beautifully rendered essays about the ways food comes into our lives and the people who bring it in, showing with good humor and grace how our lives are better for it all. And, unlike Laurie Colwin's Home Cooking with its terrific food writing and recipes that don't quite work all the time, these recipes will quickly become your stand-bys. If you buy one cookbook this year, buy this one. You won't be disappointed.

Watching Movies

In a recent blog post Ceridwen Morris tells as that being a mom means she's a movie watching wuss. I'm right there with her. I couldn't even tolerate previews for The Changeling and when the dead brother plot point emerged in Rachel Getting Married my growing fury at the movie burst into a full blown case of weeping rage (rage at the manipulation, weeping for the lost child).

Little did I know that my husband, too, is now changed in his movie watching. He's always enjoyed the romantic comedies (we saw Notting Hill during its opening weekend), but before we had kids the only time he really cried in a movie was at the end of Whale Rider when, you know, the little girl rides the whale. But this summer? He got home from taking the kids to see Nanny McPhee Returns and confessed, "I totally sobbed." There's a war and a lost father, so one can understand that. Then he watched Nanny McPhee with the kids on the couch. (I'd already watched it the day before.) When it was over, he came staggering into the kitchen. "Sobbed," he chirped, "I totally sobbed." If you haven't seen the first Nanny McPhee movie, I can tell you, the end is like the end of any random fairy tale and while Colin Firth, the movie's lead, is especially good at providing the gleeful and humble emotions of those moments, it's not exactly a tear-jerker. No. It's children that's done this to my husband, nothing more, nothing less. Just children.