Sitting and looking around the small Brooklyn bakery, I jumped a little when I heard the food prep guy call my name: "Allison!" I scurried over to retrieve my warm slice of cauliflower-gorgonzola quiche, nestled into a pile of greens drizzled with rosemary-balsamic vinaigrette. The quiche was delicious – maybe the best I've ever had (which is weird, since I just got back from a year in France). The vinaigrette was light and perfectly savory, inspiring me to try adding fresh rosemary to my homemade dressings one of these days. I sipped peppermint-infused jasmine green tea between bites.
I ate alone, but I felt hopeful. It was my first lunch in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, where I'd be living for the next month. I tried to read a little (The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde) so as not to seem like a lonely weird girl, but I was buzzing with too much excitement, and worry, and all the excess energy that accompanies new adventures.
I spent my whole life in New York City's shadow, growing up in Jersey, just across the bay (close enough, in fact, to see the smoke rising from the World Trade Center on September 11th). Now, I was finally going to be living there myself. Living and working in New York City. Me. What? It felt (and feels) so surreal, to begin a new chapter of my life in one of the world's greatest cities. But despite my anxieties, and the newness of it all, I know one thing: if the food is this good, I can get through it.