It's a Long Way to the Top (If You Wanna Rock and Roll)!

A lady at work was super cool to bring me rosemary, sage and basil from her garden at home. She lives in Brooklyn too but it may as well be in OZ. Its in the neighborhood of Bayridge, a real house with a yard and a pool here in Brooklyn! Meaning she or her husband in this case has big money. She is living an entirely different after-work life than myself. Not better mind you (or at least I like to believe), just different. But it is a little strange how terribly different it must be. I wake up in a dark apartment because I can't turn on any lights being the space is so small and I don't want to wake P. I could never go into the kitchen say and make coffee since its a teeny closet right off the bedroom. She says she has a few bathrooms and space is not an issue. She gets in her huge SUV with all her modern devices and I hop on my bike with only my $10 Virgin cell phone. She has a 25foot long kitchen with marble countertops and due to space restrictions I measure my kitchen prep space and the only visible countertop to be just shy of 11 inches.

But yet we clock into that retail box at 7:55 every morning at the same time and work along side each other doing the same job. We get paid the same and we're around the same age. She's a real New Yorker, born and raised here in Brooklyn and we argue and disagree on almost everything. Still, we somehow enjoy each others company in limited doses. Anyone who's not from New York tends to get portrayed as the dumb gullible hick and I confess I envision some NYers to be heartless soulless a-holes. But she grew up in this crowded city of competing ideals and desires. I see that it makes you very territorial and suspicious. Instead of the notion that everyone is cool until proven a jerk, it seems here you are assumed an idiot until you prove you are okay. And again, another prejudice on my end but it seems NY'ers do what's best for them usually and not necessarily the right thing.

Everyday we sort of battle out not necessarily good and evil but our individual understandings of right and wrong and then we go home. Let her tell it I'm sure I'm a self righteous little creep that looks down on her. Regardless, she was kind enough to bring me the freshest herbs and I've used them in so many dishes. This one was a winner. A basil pesto sauce using chicken stock in place of most of the olive oil, almonds and Parmesan cheese. I served it over wheat pasta along with some andouille sausage and roasted whole almonds.

Who knows who's right or wrong or who's life is better. I guess the answer is neither or each but I'm happy for the life I've been given. I'm happy I'm a hick from the Midwest who gets to wander around Brooklyn and New York and pester the locals. I'm happy to be in a tiny apartment. I'm happy my mate plays guitar and writes songs instead of a high end real estate broker. But I do admit that pool sounds pretty good right this minute.