The Merdjanoff Experience...a preview

Just click the play button below then sit back, relax and enjoy!

Say it ain't so, Duane Reade!!!

Excuse me, Duane Reade, did I hear that right?!?!?! Did someone say Walgreen's is buying you?!?!?! Does this mean that I'm going to wake up one morning in the not-too-distant future and all my lovely little Duane Reade stores are going to have turned into

WALGREEN'Ses...es?!?!?!!? THERE ISN'T EVEN A PROPER PLURAL OF "WALGREEN'S"!!!

Deep breath. One more. Better. Well, sort of.

I love you, Duane Reade stores, plain and simple. When I walk inside one of your 257 locations in the five boroughs, I feel not only completely certain that I'm going to be able to purchase everything I need, but really kind of special because I know that only NEW YORKERS can shop in your hallowed aisles. Why, just today I said to my cubicle-mate that YOU are my preferred drugstore!

Even worse, did you know, Duane Reade, that out of all the 24-hour drugstores in Manhattan (and there are 46 of them), only SEVEN are NOT Duane Reades?!?!?! Sure, we're "the city that never sleeps" but now we're really not going to be gettin' any shut-eye knowing that if we need some very specific item that cannot be found at a corner bodega there will only be SEVEN places on this island that we can go!

Oh, yes, Duane Reade, I'm sad. You can tell, can't you? Sad. Very sad. But something inside of me knew that this would happen one day. Your rapid expansion over the past ten years made me not only very excited to see you every time I rounded a corner and rather surprised to find two of you right next to each other on occasion, but also, frankly, a little nervous for your future. Now that future has come to us all.

Oh, dear, sweet Duane Reade, how I'll miss you. My only solace is that this transition will take upwards of a year. But after a lifetime of living with the security that only you can provide, that day will ultimately come too soon.

Yours truly now and forever,

Tara

Put down the floss and step away from that electronic toothbrush!

Well, folks, the inevitable has happened: Cleanest Mouth read my post from January 30th and promptly notified me that I pretty much had everything backwards. So in an effort to set the record straight, here are the steps in their proper order with links to the proper products sanctioned by Cleanest Mouth himself. Apologies to those of you who have already made purchases. Unfortunately we here at The Merdjanoff Report do not have room in the budget for any exchanges or refunds you might need to make. We can only offer our sincere promise that future teeth-related reports will be more accurate. Here's to clean mouths:

Step 1: Electric Tooth Brushing with Jason natural toothpaste

Step 2: Flossing with Oral B's Ultra Floss (NOT Super as previously reported)

Step 3: Rinse with homemade mouth wash (please note adjusted recipe):

1 capful hydrogen peroxide

2 teaspoons baking soda

fill with filtered water

two tbsps salt

shake well

Step 4: NOW comes the tongue scraping with Cleanest Mouth-sanctioned scraper

Step 5: brushing with manual toothbrush with baking soda (NB: only as needed in particular cases)

May all your mouths be cleanest mouths!

Open Letter to Sam Sifton of the Times

Dear Mr. Sifton,

After reading your review of Motorino this Wednesday in which you boldly declare that it serves "the city's best pizza", I'd like to give you a little advice:

I don't know where exactly you come from, Mr. Sifton, but where I come from (97th Street, that is) making a declaration about pizza can get you into some pretty hot water. When going down that road, you'd better make sure you've covered every centimeter along the way, left no pizza stone unturned and, by golly, you'd better be ready to defend your statement with charts, graphs and stats. I for one question whether you have done so and why, if you have, your article does not reflect your research.

It took me 30 years to be able to even slightly entertain the notion that I might have formulated an informed-enough opinion to make a declaration along the lines of your brazen assertion. And, even backed by my research, I am fully aware that there are two dominant styles of pizza-making in this city so when someone seeks my opinion on where they should go to sample the city's best, the first question I ask is whether they would prefer authentic, Italian-style pizza or a Real New York Slice (I'm afraid your article makes no such distinction).

A word to the wise, Mr. Sifton: tread lightly when it comes to this town and its pizza, for few things are more precious to us than our intimate relations with that crisp but melted slice of magic.

Sincerely,

Tara Merdjanoff

p.s. It's Joe's for a Real New York Slice and Mezzaluna on Houston Street for authentic, Italian-style (and by authentic I mean a real Napolitan's working that oven).

p.p.s. If what I've just read in your Wikipedia entry is true and you did actually grow up close by, then shame on you. You should know better.

Taxi to Bangladesh

If there's one thing I love about NYC, it's taxis. My love affair began when I was four years old and first raised my arm in that now-familiar gesture on the corner of 97th & Columbus. My mother promptly informed me that, no, we would be taking the bus. I thought surely she was joking but, much to my dismay, she wasn't. And thus my captivation began.

Perhaps partially in an attempt to rationalize a cab ride (when I could no doubt just as easily take a bus), I generally like to think of a Manhattan taxi ride as an opportunity to learn something new about countries I've never had occasion to visit, mostly by schmoozing with the driver. Call me an old lady - it's okay, you won't be the first.

The other day I had a very pleasant ride with a driver from Bangladesh who had picked some rather charming tunes as the soundtrack for our afternoon excursion. I complimented him on his music choice and he was visibly tickled - the passenger just before me had ALSO enjoyed the music! I inquired as to the name of the artist and was told his name was "Habib" and that I could look him up on YouTube - so I did!

Habib Wahid (better known just as "Habib", kind of like Cher) is a young Bangladeshi composer and musician who mixes traditional Bengali folk music with contemporary techno. Habib is a second-generation performer: his dad, Ferdous Wahid, was a Bengali pop singer in the '70s & '80s. Habib himself has released five albums: Maya, Moina Go..., Shono!, Panjabiwala, Bolchi Tomake and Aboseshe. He is most well-known for his song, "Din Gelo" which you can listen to by clicking here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ooVJh0CDqU0

Enjoy! And may all your taxi rides be educational ones!

Man On Wire

If you grew up in New York City in the '70s and '80s like I did, you know about the guy - the crazy French guy - who walked on a tightrope between the two towers of the World Trade Center. Even though he did it in 1974, it was still an active topic of conversation for New Yorkers years later. In one way, Philippe Petit's unbelievable act fit perfectly with the emotional landscape of the time: an insane act for an insane town. But in another way, his daring feat was a testament to the possibility of the impossible and, along with that, a message of hope to a city that had gone a bit astray.

I noticed that the documentary Man On Wire showed on the Sundance Channel last week. I saw the film in the theatre with my husband (another native) and it blew me away for a number of reasons: the simplicity of its story-telling, the chance to hear Mr. Petit describe his triumph in his own words and the love for this town that bathed every frame. Because even though we all know the true end to the story, like any recollection of lost a love, the film focused on the good times and thoroughly respected our memory of them.

If you've never seen footage and you have an extra two minutes and ten seconds, click here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lAVj2IVC9ko&feature=related

And if you have room for an extra movie in your queue, here's a link to add Man On Wire, if you haven't seen it: https://www.netflix.com/Login

Monday Night Feast

My husband is the most divine chef. I have to say that I am the envy of my female co-workers when I pop open my tupperware, filled up with left-overs for lunch. "Does he do house calls?" they've asked. "Um, no, ladies." I've replied.

When I tell the girls of my menu last night I will most certainly be greeted with envious groans:

Spaghetti with octopus in a red sauce infused with bone marrow

Pan roasted hanger steak with sides of creamed spinach

& roasted assorted mushrooms with bacon

Vanilla ice cream sundae with chocolate sauce,

topped with roasted walnuts & pinoli

Pasta cooked to perfection. Yum. A red sauce of which any nonna worth her salt would be justifiably envious. A steak to rival Peter Lugar's. Creamed spinach that made my arteries close up shop for the night and roasted mushrooms just the way nature intended: sautéed with bacon. Double yum.

Our dinner guest was equally impressed as I. Wearing a heavy drape of food coma, he stumbled home with left-overs of his own.

One of the topics of dinner conversation turned to New York City restaurants. Here are a few of our collective faves (in no particular order):

Blue Hill (in NYC and at Stone Barns)

Dovetail

Daniel

Tia Pol

Saul's

Dinosaur

Piece of Chicken

Unidentified Flying Chicken

Patsy's (the O.G., please)

If you are so inclined, chime in on your NYC faves.