Monday, October 13, 2008

Invisible Cites, Part 7: In Black and White


As I pack up our apartment, I find myself overwhelmed with nostalgia for my beloved city, and, strangely, missing terribly the friends who preceded me in exodus, like Soprannie, who is long gone, and Robot Boy, who left more recently to take a prestigious fellowship. Each of us had reasons to move, but I think we were all grateful for the excuse. Though I love -- and they loved -- our city profoundly, "our city" has virtually vanished from the collection of identities that New York variously assumes. As has been discussed in previous posts and comments, New York is no longer a welcoming place for young strivers in the creative fields, and, pace my commenters, this is less a reflection of these strivers' ability than it is of the fact that the artistic market has contracted severely in the past few years. A couple of examples: most of the dozens of regional opera companies that used to audition singers in New York each autumn now no longer send their people here; singers used to be able to cobble together an income from church and synagogue jobs, but, no matter how frugally one lives, it's no longer possible. I could go on, but won't.

Occasionally, I run into my old colleagues. One, a tenor, has a mid-level international career that requires him to spend ten months of the year away from his children and his chronically ill wife. Another, a bass-baritone, is working steadily, but I met him in Central Park walking home to the East 90s from a rehearsal at City Opera, several miles away, because his pay only allows him one subway ride a day. I ran into another former colleague, a brilliant soprano who created one of the female roles in one of John Adams's operas, at my university the other day: she's getting her Master's degree and is thinking about developing music history courses for learning-disabled high-schoolers. These are all splendid singers of the first rank, but none has attained the level to which he had aspired. And the artist's struggle in New York City is much harder now than it was even a few years ago.

My own career had changed a great deal even before motherhood, and in the past few years I've mainly performed chamber concerts of rare repertoire in the regional U.S., which, though I've loved it, has been no way at all to make a living. I'm not sure what I will be doing musically in my new city, but, if all goes well, I'll soon have my doctorate.

So I've been reminiscing about friends and a way of life already long gone. But I'm going to miss concrete, physical things just as much, things that transcend the limitations of time and memory, like black-and-white cookies. I'm not sure if they exist outside of New York, and to be honest, if they do, I don't think I will want to try one; they can't possibly be the same.

20 comments:

Maclin said...

"I'm not sure if they exist outside of New York..."

Well, I don't know, but I can tell you that as an almost pure non-New-Yorker (all but a year and a summer or two of my life spent in the deep south), I sat here for a minute going "what is that?"

Now that I know it's a cookie I find it very intriguing.

Pentimento said...

Mac, they are heavenly. A cake-y, soft cookie about 5 inches in diameter, with a hint of lemon essence, and very sweet icing. If Dreshny reads this post, hopefully she will weigh in, as she's a true connoisseur of black-and-whites, and has even made them herself.

Anonymous said...

Look on the bright side - in leaving the black-and-white cookie behind, you may be losing access to a regular small pleasure, but you will be gaining the possibility of a Proustian madeline experience at a later date.

Cheers
Otepoti

Pentimento said...

I'm not sure if I'm ready for that, Otepoti; I just had a really, really good black-and-white today.

Anonymous said...

Is there a cream filling involved? It looks like something I know as a "Neenish Tart" - a cakey shortcrust base, creamy lemony filling, and the same half-and-half topping.

Otepoti

At any rate, friends who pay you flying visits will know what to bring you from the big smoke!

Pentimento said...

No cream filling in a black-and-white, but that Neenish tart sounds quite good and rather similar.

Maclin said...

Sounds great. Much better than a moon pie, which is highly overrated.

Anonymous said...

I mis-spelled 'madeleine'...I think it must be because I read aloud Bemelman's "Madeline" fairly frequently!

"In an old house in Paris
All covered with vines
Lived twelve little girls
In two straight lines..."

You know, for years, because the metrical pattern clunks a bit, I thought Bemelman must be French, and the books translated. I've only just found out that he was another talented New Yorker.

Cheers

Otepoti

Pentimento said...

I've heard of moon pies, but am not sure exactly what they are - can you enlighten me, Maclin?

Otepoti, I didn't know Bemelmans was American! I knew New York was his stomping ground -- there's the famous Bemelmans Bar, which he decorated, at the Carlyle Hotel on Madison Ave. -- but I thought he was a Belgian national for some reason!

dreshny said...

Sorry, coming in late, but black-and-white cookies most certainly do exist in the area to which you are moving. They even had them at the state fair. In my husband's hometown and the surrounding area, they're called "half-moon cookies."

Pentimento said...

Bless you, Dreshny. But are they good? Honestly? For you and I have broken many a black-and-white together.

dreshny said...

Like here, it depends where you get 'em...

Maclin said...

"Moon Pie" is actually a trade name. Unlike the b&w, it's made only by a particular company, although there are knock-offs. It's really more important as a cultural thing than as an actual goodie--by 1970 or so "a moon pie and a RC Cola" was a phrase good for a chuckle as a marker for country people, black and white (heh). It's basically a cookie and marshmallow sandwich covered with a thin layer of chocolate. I'd like to say they're wonderful but they're really not. See www.moonpie.com for probably more than you wanted to know.

Pentimento said...

"By the late 1950's, the MoonPie® had grown in popularity, so much that the bakery did not have the resources available to produce anything else. The phrase 'RC Cola and a MoonPie®' became well known around the South, as many people enjoyed this delicious, bargain-priced combination."

Sounds like a combo best enjoyed by a pregnant lady.

dreshny said...

Sounds terrible to me right now, actually. :)

Anonymous said...

What fun!

NZ's national treat is the Anzac biscuit, a crisp, crunchy biscuit made with rolled oats and coconut. Called "Anzac" after the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (WW1) and (technically) may not be sold commercially, because the Anzac name cannot be used in any commercial context.

I made 'em every weekend for YEARS.

Cheers

Otepoti

Pentimento said...

I've never heard of Anzac biscuits, but I've enjoyed sticky date pudding, made from a recipe given me by an Australian . . .

Maclin said...

"Sounds like a combo best enjoyed by a pregnant lady."

Or maybe most enjoyed? Probably not best enjoyed by anyone. I'm sure I partook of it at times as a teenager though the thought is a little sickening now.

Notice how the official description is "RC Cola and a Moon Pie," where I had "a Moon Pie and a RC Cola." That second "a" was deliberate--that's how most of the people who did it would have said it. Are the Moon Pie people ashamed of their roots or something?

Btw--this is really trivial--I said "by 1970 or so" but I was thinking later that I remember hearing the phrase on Dave Gardner comedy albums ca. 1960.

Pentimento said...

OK, I'm at a cultural loss again -- who is Dave Gardner?

And you're right about "best enjoyed." I really meant, wow, this sounds really rather repulsive to someone of normal sensibilities, but it's exactly the kind of thing I would probably eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner when pregnant.

Maclin said...

Sorry, I shouldn't assume anyone at all has heard of Dave Gardner except some southerners whose memories reach back to the late '50s/early '60s. He was a weird Southern comedian of that time. At the age of 14 or so I thought he was extremely funny, but I haven't heard him since, so who knows?