Two in the Hand

             Ferry Point Park has moved its way high on my destination list of places to ride my bike to. As Spring sneaked its way through the endless wall of Winter we had up in the Northeast, the park has been the beneficiary of a wide range of different types of birds I don't recall seeing in these parts. There's common and semi-common Spring attractions such as robins and cardinals, but I've been seeing finches, orioles, and other birds I have no idea what category they fall under. I'm not sure if its a migration issue, a climate issue (as Spring rapidly turned into Summer), or the fact the birds found a new place to hang out. Either way, I like biking there before or after any heavy crowds might be around because that's when all these wonderous birds are on full display.

             One afternoon after returning from work, I felt a need to get on my bike and head over to my little "bird sanctuary" before the sun was about to set. There weren't many people around except a few kids playing with a remote-control truck. I made a full circle around the bike path of the park and was on my way back home when this blue jay darted out in front of me. It was flying at a very low altitude, barely a foot off the ground, which gave me the impression that something was off. The bird was flying ahead of me and I chased to see if there was anything wrong with it. The blue jay veered off the bike path and landed in a patch of high grass, now I knew something was wrong. A normal bird in that condition would've just flown up to a tree or high in the sky to escape, instead this one just stayed on the ground as I approached on foot. I was able to pick it up with relative ease, the blue jay didn't put up much of a struggle. It wasn't a baby anymore, but I could tell it wasn't large enough to be a full adult. Looking at its tail, I noticed part of it was ripped off, so either the blue jay injured itself or was attached by a larger bird or other animal. The busted tail was probably the main reason it couldn't fly correctly and I knew if I just left it there, very likely a cat or some other animal would kill it. I've captured several types of sick or injured birds over the years; starlings, pigeons, sparrows, but I never caught a blue jay and I always wished I had. Though I was initially concerned over its safety, I was equally excited over the fact I finally had a blue jay after wanting one for so many years.

             I began riding my bike; controlling the handle bars with one hand and cupping the blue jay in the other. The first few blocks the blue jay didn't put up a struggle, but then after the initial shock of a human hand faded away, the bird started to squirm. The odds I was going to be able to ride all the way home without losing the grip on the bird were increasingly shrinking. I needed to find a solution and fast. About a minute away there was a Home Depot store, but that would involve physically taking my bike and blue jay inside the giant outlet which security may not appreciate, so that idea flew away. Then I saw my answer laying on the curb. As I passed a UPS location, I saw that a number of used boxes had been discarded in their front garbage. I quickly grabbed a box that didn't look too filthy and placed the blue jay carefully inside. Now holding the box at my side, I was able to peddle without worry of losing the bird. The darkness must have made it panic because it kept jumping up and headbutting the top of the box. I also heard some flapping going on inside the box, so it was certainly fighting to get out of there. Without the ability to fly correctly, it would've been as good as dead if I changed my mind and released it back into the wild. With the energy it was displaying inside the box, I was thinking of naming it Fiesty. We were back in my apartment fifteen minute later and I had to lock Leo in another room so he wouldn't try to attack it.

            Once I opened the box, Fiesty hopped around on the floor and even flew around into the kitchen. I tried to give him some crumbled crackers, but he wasn't interested. Then I placed his beak under the running water from the facet to see if he'll take a drink. He took a little, but the rest of the time he kept his mouth sealed shut. After a few minutes Fiesty calmed down and even sat perched upon my finger like a domesticated bird. The only problem is it struggled to stand up straight, it kept leaning backwards and forwards as if it had no balance. This wasn't a good sign, clearly, but again, it was better off than being left outside as easy prey for a cat or falcon/hawk. There's no birds allowed in my building, plus Leo is around, so I decided to take the blue jay over to my parents where there's a cage of starlings it could live in. I brought the blue jay over and tossed it in the cage. The starlings fluttered around inside the cage at the sight of the intruder, while Fiesty remained on the floor. It took a good half-hour for all the birds to calm down, and when they did, the blue jay jumped up to the top perch inside the cage and it was looking as if it was making itself at home. So then all signs turned to positive that it was going to survive. The trick with "wild birds" is getting them young, because they easier adapt to the domesticated lifestyle. Older birds simply shut down internally and die within a few hours or a day. Fiesty wasn't exactly a spring chicken, but it wasn't a full-blown adult, so I gave it a 50/50 chance of surviving.

             The next day the initial reports from my parents was that the blue jay was getting along fine, under the circumstances. They didn't see it eating or drinking, but it was still up on the perch and even pecking away at some of the bird toys hanging inside of the cage. A few hours later when I visited, it was a totally different scenario. I found Fiesty at the bottom of the cage with its head hunched over - it had that death look. I held him and tried to get him to drink or accept some food, but it would do neither. It seemed like it was struggling to breath and with each passing minute it got weaker and weaker. Finally, its body gave one last big twitch and it was gone. I literally felt it die. It could've been from an injury suffered the day before when I found it with a busted tail, or perhaps like the bird that was out in the wild too long, it wasn't going to accept a domesticated life like his starling roommates did. We weren't exactly sure what to do with the remains. If was it was buried in the backyard there could always be the chance the dog digs it up, and simply tossing it in the garbage isn't a great send-off, plus it might be in there a few days until the next garbage pick-up; attracting stray cats and raccoons in search of a meal. I said I'd take the bird with me and figure something out. It was placed in a small brown paper bag and I walked home while thinking of a good place to dispose the body. At a street corner in front a Chinese food take-out place was a public trash can, likely to be picked up by sanitation, sooner rather than later. I placed the brown bag special in the trash can and kept on my merry way.

             The very next morning I returned to Ferry Point Park and did my usual circling around the bike path while gazing at all the birds flying around, as well as the geese and ducks in the water. I was pretty bummed out about losing Fiesty and wondered what the odds would be of finding another blue jay. This time it was a Saturday, with alot of sun, and people were filling up the park. I had a Yankee game at 1pm and was on my way back home to get ready for it, but as I tried to exit the park I noticed these two aquatic birds were scurrying around the grass as if they were searching for something. There is water not too far away, but it didn't make sense that these birds were so close to the parking lot and away from the shoreline. Then in a small patch of burnt grass I saw what the birds were looking for, a baby hatchling. I was confronted with the same options I had only forty-eight hours earlier; do I leave the bird or take it? It didn't seem injured like the blue jay was, and its parents were only a few yards away, but I had to consider two facts. First, the park was getting filled up with families and kids, and there were plenty of children riding their scooters and bikes in close proximity. There was a very good chance the baby bird was going to be run over at some point. Second, the parents and baby bird were so far away from the water I strongly doubt they would've been able to steer it back to the shoreline, where likely the nest was located. I needed to spring into action and fast before the baby turned into scooter roadkill. I scooped up the bird with one hand and controlled the handle bars with the other and headed for home.

            As a baby the bird didn't struggle in my hand as much as Fiesty was while I rode the bike, but I still worried about accidentally losing my grip on it. Luckily on the side of a bike path I saw an empty Dunkin Donuts box, used to carry a case of six, and placed the little birdy inside. Whereas people must have thought I was riding with a case of donuts, I was instead riding with a tiny baby bird. It was about the same routine when I got back to the apartment; I locked Leo inside and tried to give it some water, which it accepted. It was making an urgent peeping noise, likely signaling for the mother, which I felt bad about, but at this young stage of its life usually the bird would be willing to accept a human as the mother figure. I was quite perplexed at what type of bird this was. I figured it was one of those birds you see at the beach with the very long legs and body-size of a dove. The feathers on its body hadn't fully grown in yet and its hair was a little fuzzy, so I wanted to name it Puffin. The Yankee game was rapidly approaching and I couldn't leave the bird in the apartment in case it kept chirping and someone informed the landlord, so I made another trip back to my parents with a tiny package. Puffin was certainly too small to go inside the cage with the starlings, plus it wasn't a "tree branch" type of bird, so we set it up in a tank with flat grounding. I couldn't stay long because I needed to get back to the apartment to change for the game. One of the cats was more than willing to keep an eye on the bird until I got back.

             The Yankees won that afternoon and I raced back to my parents to see how everything was getting along with the baby bird. While I was at the game they called a bird expert and this specialist seemed to know everything about this bird without even seeing it. He confirmed it was an aquatic bird and mentioned it is common for them to run away from the nest areas along the shoreline and end up on baseball fields and so forth. He also recommended we take the bird back to the likely nest area as soon as possible in hopes the parents would accept it back. In the meantime he said he could give it crickets to eat and there were some already in the tank when I got back. The time was late afternoon, and with people and kids still likely jammed in the park, the idea of taking the bird back and leaving it on the sand with everyone around was a certain death sentence. Also, the odds the parent birds were going to hear its cries, find it, and take it back into the nest had to be very minimal. The only chance of that occurring was if we brought it there very early in the morning when nobody but nature was awake. As I held the bird in my hand while the cats watched on, I noticed the bird was trying to crawl up my sleeve, as if trying to get into a nest. I was trying to hand-feed it some crickets, but like the blue jay, it wasn't displaying an appetite. Then I got to thinking that maybe if I create a nest inside the tank, it will feel at home, and hence eat the crickets that come inside. The bird expert said that these types of birds feast on small bugs that crawl on the sand.

              Using a hand towel, I created a small cave-live structure and placed the tiny bird inside. My hypothesis was a great one because within a minute the bird devoured any cricket that foolishly made its way into the towel-nest. Then Puffin became aggressive and left the nest in search of more crickets to consume. It even ate a dead cricket that had drown and was floating in the water dish. When all was said and done it must have polished off about fifteen crickets in the matter of three minutes. This was certainly a great sign that the bird was going to survive! We still weren't sure yet where or how we would be able to release it back into the wild, but for the time being it was good news that the bird was eating on its own. The next day passes and the bird looked the same as the day before, but this time it wasn't eating anymore. It was spending most of its time asleep in the towel-nest. That night, for whatever reason, it went to sleep one final time and never woke up again. It was quite baffling since it was devouring crickets like they were going out of style only forty-eight hours before. As a baby, it didn't know the wild life long enough to shut down internally after being taken inside a house. It was very baffling for it to have died that way, the blue jay I could understand, but not with a baby bird who ate and showed strong indications of surviving. Both bird cases, I still think they were the right choices of taking them versus leaving with the variables surrounding them at the time, but you can always make the right choice and it still doesn't work out right - that's nature.

             I wasn't left in charge of the body disposal the second time around.......

Washing Hands Without Soap

             A couple of Thursdays ago I was on the west side of town and my eyes became drawn to the grand opening of a new IHOP location. Although IHOP is nothing more than a glorified diner, in Manhattan an IHOP seems like a duck out of water. The only other two locations I know of in the city are up in Harlem and a few blocks away from Union Square on the east side. Other chained franchises such as McDonald's and Dunkin Donuts fit the city like a glove, but something about an IHOP stands out. I didn't have time to go in on that particular day, but knowing I had to be back in the city on that upcoming Saturday to run some errands, I planned make that the day I would test out this new location.

             IHOP, short for The International House of Pancakes, has been around since 1958, starting in California, and today has over fifteen-hundred locations across the nation. In 2007 they consumed the Applebee's franchise and are owned by the combined forces which is officially named DineEquity. They're best known for their pancakes, but over the years they've expanded their menu to comply with the traditional foods eaten at lunch and dinner by Americans. I started my day in midtown with grey and threatening skies overhead. Cutting through the city using 53rd St. I stumbled upon a small alley which had a sign labeling it 6 1/2 Ave. I couldn't tell if it was a real street name or some type of joke. The sign looked pretty real to me. Downtown trains on the west side were all messed up due to weekend construction, so my 1 train actually skipped the Houston St. stop I needed and went all the way down to Chambers St. where I needed to switch over to the uptown side to get back. Once I finally reached my stop and was at the corner of Varick and Downing, the new IHOP was only steps away. When you enter you don't get into the restaurant part right away. There's a small waiting room with a hostess desk you must approach first and then you're brought into the actual restaurant section. It's actually a great idea because who wants to be eating their food at their table and watching people stare back at them on the line, using their eyes to say, "Hurry up with your food - I want to sit down and eat". This method allows patrons to eat in peace without angry eyes piercing through their skin like laser beams.

             The restaurant has a weird zigzag shape compared to the usual rectangular shapes of most dine-in eateries. For a place in the city which could get very crowded, it didn't seem like there would be enough tables to accommodate big crowds during peak hours. The time I was going was a lazy Saturday afternoon, so I was seated immediately and there were plenty of open tables left. Basically the entire wait staff had tattoos rolling down their arms; either saying something about the IHOP hiring guidelines or perhaps just a sign of the times. I can't put my finger on it, but having a guy with tattoos in a white shirt and blue apron bringing you fluffy pancakes also seems like a duck out of water. The waiters and waitresses hung out by the kitchen door and were discussing anything except pancakes. I had to make eye contact with my waiter so he could come back over and take my order. I felt bad about interrupting his conversation. I went with the never-ending pot of coffee (which actually turned out to be two cups for me) and kept it simple with the pancakes - just three regular with a side of bacon. The menu features all sorts of pancakes, from traditional blueberry or strawberry to cheesecake-filled which racks up to nearly two thousand calories. I was imagining those cheesecake pancakes in my mouth, but the intelligent part of my brain directed me away from the calorie-nuke. Even though I ordered my pancakes with a side of bacon, I received a side of breakfast sausages instead. I guess IHOP knows whats best for me.

             While I was eating two cops came in and sat down at the table next to me. I never thought I would see pancakes and live ammunition within the same field of view, but it happened. Before leaving I wanted to check out the bathroom which is located on the downstairs level. When I first entered the restaurant I felt there wasn't enough tables for a city-located establishment, but then the downstairs made things clear for me. There was the mother-load of tables located downstairs, probably even more than the upstairs. Since it wasn't busy, the downstairs tables weren't being used and basically all the lights were off, but if they did receive bigger crowds, then they would be able to accommodate them. The bathroom itself was quite clean, but there was one small detail missing when I went to wash my hands - there was no soap!! Both liquid soap dispensaries were bone-dry. I wouldn't have been surprised if there never had been any soap during the grand opening period. If there was some soap previously, there would've been at least some bubbling foam or something seeping out, but this was bone-dry as in no soap ever. I could've reported this to the policemen upstairs, but figuring it was the grand opening and everyone was getting used to the nuisances of the establishment, I let it go, hoping one day they'll get around to putting soap in the soap dispensary. On my way out as I passed the hostess desk there were two more cops standing there and ordering from the take-out menu. This IHOP must be the new "Go-To" for the nearby precinct.

             With a belly full of pancakes, and breakfast sausages I didn't order, I figured I walk it off towards the water by the west side piers. I strolled along the cobblestone blocks of old New York until I made my way to West St., which appears the be the only strip of real estate in Manhattan that's not experiencing a boom. After passing a former gentlemen's club with no ATMs inside and a deserted diner that's too frightening to peek inside, I crossed the street and got a great view of the Freedom Tower which seems nearly finished. I spent a couple of minutes by the water, but once those grey skies finally let down some raindrops, I knew it was time to head back home. I didn't want to have to deal with the construction fiasco of the 1 train again, so my plan was to catch the E train in front of the IFC Theater and take that across town to transfer to the 6. While en route via Bleecker Street the raindrops let up and tourist crowds built up along the way.

             Walking by small eateries and ice cream shops, I was hit with this sudden urge for bubble tea. It's a flavored Chinese drink with soft jelly/gummy-bear like beads at the bottom. The straws for bubble tea are always wide so you can suck up and eat the beads. I was hoping I would find one of these on Bleecker Street, but I was having no luck. They're all over the place in Chinatown, but I really didn't feel like going out of my way to get it. It would've been a great cherry on top for the IHOP experience, but as I drew near the West 4th train station, it was looking like I was going home without my bubble tea. Then as I was about to head down the stairs for the subway, my head turned left and I caught a series of Chinese lettering. I had no idea what they meant, but in English the store has the word bakery on it. In Chinatown, all the Chinese bakeries serve bubble tea. This Fay Da Bakery knew I was in need of bubble tea and it was almost as if it magically appeared as I was about to leave the city as a bubble tea loser. Had I taken the 1 train instead of walking to the E train, this would've been the case. In the end, the construction fiasco worked out well for me. There was no mention of bubble tea in the front window, but I knew they had to be serving it. I went inside and said the words "Bubble Tea" to the lady behind the counter about three or four times before she picked up on what I wanted. You can get bubble tea in all sorts of flavors, unfortunately the lady didn't hear me when I asked for mango, so she gave me generic brown tea, which was still okay.

               If you want something sometimes, it will appear.........

Cornmeal Chicken Cutlets Done My Way

             Last night I came home from a Yankee game and I wasn't sure I wanted to eat for dinner. I was conflicted with either going to the diner and spending money, or cooking something at home and saving a few bucks, with a sink of dirty dishes as the only price. After nearly two hours of contemplating, I finally went with staying home and doing something with the chicken cutlets I had purchased many days ago. I figured 12:40 am was the ideal time to cook a meal and eat it.

             Usually when I make chicken cutlets I like to bread them, but this time I wanted to add a new wrinkle into the mix to make them that more interesting. To add taste and make the crust more crispy, I decided to bring corn meal into the fold. Starting out with my chicken cutlets which can be purchased from any friendly neighborhood supermarket, I brought out flour, bread crumbs, three eggs, oregano, herbs de provence, salt, lemon juice, cooking oil, and the star of the show: corn meal. For a side dish I wanted to boil up some spaghetti. Had it been earlier in the evening I would've also done a sauce, but due to the lateness of the hour, I was going to stick with keeping the pasta plain. Once I started getting everything together in the kitchen, Leo heard the stirring around and came in to see what all the commotion was. It's usually quite annoying to try to cook with Leo around as he makes many attempts to try to get at the food. I was going to lock him in the living room, but when I noticed he was quietly perched upon the kitchen radiator, I figured I would let him stay for the time being.

             Many people make the mistake of dipping the cutlets into the egg yolk as the first step, that's actually step two. What needs to be done first is coating the raw cutlets with flour; just pour some flour onto the cutlets and massage the powder on all exposed surfaces. Then take the three eggs and break open the yokes into a bowl. Once I threw the egg shells into the garbage, Leo leaped off of the radiator and peeked into the garbage to see what treasure I just had disposed of. With the floured-cutlets and egg-dip bowl ready, the final preparation is the bread crumbs. Pour some bread crumbs onto a dish, and then add dashes of salt, oregano, herbs de provence, and of course the corn meal. You can use a utensil or even your hand to mix up the bread crumb-corn meal concoction It's best to organize each dish and bowl in order like an assembly line. Starting from the left; there's the cutlets, the eggs, the bread crumbs, and to the right an empty plate to house the breaded cutlets. Again, you can either use a utensil or even you hand for the breading process. Take a cutlet, dip it completely in the egg yolk, then place in onto top of the bread crumbs (flip it over to cover both sides), and once covered by the crumbs, place in the plate. When all the cutlets have been breaded, this is when you can take the lemon juice bottle and give the chicken slices a few squeezes of juice for extra flavoring.

             With the cutlets ready to go, I poured some cooking oil onto my trusty iron pan and let it heat for about three minutes. That's when I took a folk to carefully place all four pieces of cutlet onto the hot pan. The initial sizzle noise from the chicken hitting the pan let me know it was officially game time!! Leo came over for a closer look to see how this phase of the cooking was panning out. Each side requires about ten to twelve minutes to cook, so I didn't want to start the pasta until the first side was done. I kept taking little peeks underneath the cutlets, and once I saw the dark brown grill lines from the pan, I knew it was time to flip them over. Leo was still curious about those discarded egg shells, but too bad for him the garbage cover was down. When the cutlets where on their other side, I poured the spaghetti into the boiling water and let the both of them race towards the finishing line. Leo grabbed a spot at the kitchen table in anticipation that he was going to join me for this meal. In about ten to twelve minutes, same as Side A, the dark brown lines from the grill where in clear view and the cutlets were ready to consume. In about this same time the spaghetti was nice and soft and I was able place everything onto my plate. Just as I hoped, the added corn meal kept the cutlet crust firm and in its place. Far too often with chicken cutlets, once you start cutting them with your utensils, the layer of bread crumb slips right off like a sock. That's definitely not the case when the corn meal is there to lend support.

             Adding corn meal to cat food might be a whole other story..........