Disappointing

The great New York put-down (I've used it myself on numerous occasions) is that some place or thing or person is overrated. With respect to NYC itself, however, you deplore how the place has ceased to be itself, lost its edge or its soul, its grub or its sparkle. I indulged in a bit of that yesterday, and could continue in that vein, having seen a few more architecturally worthless "boutique" condominium towers today, including the southwest corner of Union Square, which used to be busy with shoppers and strollers but has now been withdrawn from public circulation by a building of terrible banality. The problem isn't just that the buildings are unattractive, but that they somehow lack conviction. Instead of boldly (or humbly) asserting itself as a whole, as what for better or worse it is, each of these buildings dives the space it takes up into smaller glass bits and stone bits and concrete bits and metal bits as if the building is hemming and hawing, uncertain that it can or should actually fill the space. (Quite possibly the problem is with the developers rather than the architects; these gawky buildings unwilling to assert themselves as wholes may be the logical conclusion of building condos.)

However, going on a Saturday food shop with my friends J & A today I found myself more in the overrated territory. They've just come back from five months in Bologna (J on a Fulbright at the University, A taking time off from her work as a lawyer for the Children's Law Center) and they're in acute withdrawal from Italian food culture. In the markets in Bologna, they said, the people know the fruits and vegetables they're selling. They'll advise you on which tomatoes to buy for whatever you're planning to cook. And they have nothing which isn't for eating today or - carefully distinguished - tomorrow. Not like here, where even the "organic" produce (whatever that means these days) seems indifferently mass-produced - and tomatoes don't taste like tomatoes!

Even the famous (to foodies) Union Square Farmers' Market was not the real thing for them. While I thought we picked up all sorts of delicious-looking vegetables (ruby-red radishes, zucchini flowers, young broccoli florets, rainbow chard, black cherries, heirloom tomatoes, two-colored corn, etc.), they frowned grimly through the whole thing.

Dinner (delicious) was resignedly American - the corn, a cucumber salad with scallions and grape tomatoes, and a slab of sirloin grilled to perfection, though it was served finely sliced and sprinkled with fresh rosemary and olive oil, hardly the American way! (I found a yummy non-American wine to go with it, a shiraz from - of all places! - Bendigo.)

I'm accustomed to thinking of New York as food heaven - yummy fresh produce, fresh cheeses from all around the world, etc., etc. - and it's certainly a cut above what you'll find in many other parts of the country (or so we believe). But today it felt like a hardship mission.

I remember Japanese friends saying that vegetables in the US are watery because they're grown past their natural size, European sneers at American bread, and Australian contempt for American lamb. Noticing the latest brands of spice rubs and simmering sauces at Fairway (my favorite market in NYC) and Citarella this afternoon I did wonder if we're so devoted to sauces because our raw materials aren't as flavorful as those of more deeply rooted gastronomic cultures...