Pocket Stages, Spicy Eats and Other Nashville Notes

Standing at the microphone in the Ryman.

The Ryman Auditorium, "the mother church of country music."

Fellow writer Shea spotted this photo op, in front of one of the Ryman windows.

I was in Music City on a press trip with 10 other writers last week. We hit the Grand Ole Opry. We got all riled up with Trisha Yearwood, our hearts buoyant as she smiled and thigh-slapped in a festive pantsuit to a rollicking rendition of "She's in Love with the Boy," with the Nashville Symphony. We toured the old Ryman Auditorium (site of the original Grand Ole Opry), with church pew seating and historic windows and took a super spicy risk with Nashville Hot Chicken near the Brave Idiot. 

Nine Nashville notes, and this is just for starters:

Number 6. I could see the pretty lights from my room.

1. Ernest Tubb Record Shop downtown. Near 10 p.m. Tuesday, four dudes were playing on the front stage, by the window. Two honey-voiced, pretty women strummed guitar and sang on what I like to call a pocket stage, hidden in the back. You can hear live country music for much of the night, even into the overnight. And find the bar for a nice spicy margarita. (Stylish blonde writer Erica, from Philly, said it was good. It had sliced jalapeño and a salty rim. But it was late, and our third bar stop that night, so I resisted.)
2. Born Bathing. That's the magical/mystical beauty brand of hand, hair and body wash products in the rooms at the Fairlane, a luxury boutique hotel (pet-friendly!) that was just refurbished and reopened. My skin felt soft and pampered and smelled good, too. Even with puffy eyes and urge to stay asleep after a night out, I felt refreshed and renewed with the body wash. I just ordered two (aluminum, not plastic) bottles online.
3. National Museum of African American Music. Interactive displays. So much to see and celebrate. So much history. Shoes, dresses, jackets that belonged to music icons. Two women from our group donned (new, not vintage) gospel robes and sang along with a video in a breakout room.
4. Hot Chicken, hellfire hot. The heat scale at pinball dive lounge No Quarter starts at 1 and goes to 10. My new friend and fellow writer, Geri, and I chose 7. Brave idiots, like the name on the food truck outside. Writer Shea said my face and mouth were getting red and I better get a shot of cream, but the bartender didn't have any. Geri said salt is supposed to help, so I got a spicy margarita with salt on the rim. Ample servings of chicken, tender and juicy under the fire, served on a slice of white sandwich bread, a welcome bland foil.
5. Voodoo Doughnut in the Nashville Airport. The chain started in 2003 in Portland, OR. I had never seen it, but the pink packaging caught my eye. Bedeviling varieties include Maple Bacon Bar and Churro Cheesecake.
6. Gaylord Opryland Resort, with room terraces that look out over lush indoor gardens. A concierge suite our group could use with The Wall Street Journal, big pots of orchids, Goo Goo Clusters, coffee and chilled water. Beautiful Christmas lights and fireplaces to sit by. A family favorite. 
7. Ice, ice baby. The annual ice show at Opryland, this year with a Peanuts theme. Very cute, characters and doghouse all carved from ice. Loved it. It's one to three degrees in there, so everyone (kids and adults) has to don a blue jacket with hood. Also: Ice slides for adventure.
   
   
   
8. Housemade coffee liqueur in the espresso martini for Friday brunch at Cafe Roze. Check the top-shelf cocktail list, including Root of All Evil, with vodka, carrot and beet juice. The house-baked chocolate croissants were big enough to feed 3 or more people. (Sold out by the time we arrived.) The bacon was excellent, as was the Country Ham Toast, with a snowfall of more than an inch of finely grated Parmesan on top. 
   
   Espresso martini.
   
   
   
   See what I mean about a snowfall of grated cheese? Amazing.
   
   
9. "There will be a surprise in your room." That's what the Modern Love chef at the Fairlane said when we left breakfast. Later, by our nightstands, we each found a large, rich, architecturally crafted candy bar. White and dark chocolate with praline, caramel and pepitas. 

And that doesn't even touch on my fellow travelers. A colorful group, including food writer Rai, a beautiful young Black woman with curly hair, lovely long dresses, great accessories and shoes and a rich knowledge of food and cooking, from biscuits to bone broth. Chris, a chivalrous car aficionado who drove to meet us in Nashville. He calls himself "Christhewheeltor" on Instagram. Erica, that blonde mom and actor/writer/editor from Philly (see spicy margarita, above). And many other spirited, smart observers. 

______________________________

Below, my NY Times piece about the Loveless Cafe in Nashville in 1989, when I was a young writer in the promotion/marketing department at Seventeen Magazine and joined Dan on a short work trip to Nashville. We ate at the Loveless and then I interviewed the owner by phone from my apartment on the Jersey Shore. (I've been pitching other food stories to the Times again. It's more involved than making a call at my desk on lunch hour to Eric Asimov, who edited "At the Nation's Table." But I will keep at it.)

https://www.nytimes.com/1989/11/15/style/at-the-nations-table-nashville.html

Kiss the Sweets Goodbye and Point Me Toward Tomorrow*

Note the side part with prized Goody barrette in my

fourth (third?) grade Saint Mary's School photo, circa 1971. 

Coaxed by my mother, I set my hair on pink sponge rollers the night before. 

The light blue, sparkly barrette matched the shiny silk dress 

(now faded in the photo), 

a hand-me-down from relatives in Connecticut.

Okay, enough. I've spent my life spinning fairy tales about sugar, and believing them. Sweets were special. They were magic. Enchanting. Not just euphoric, they added notes of beauty and style to a plain life, like that sparkly blue Goody barrette. It was from the grocery store, but it was a big deal to me. (As a mother, I took great pleasure on lunch breaks from Hearst browsing hair accessories for me or Figgy on Bergdorf Goodman's Beauty Level--I got her a slender black satin hairband with rhinestone bow. I would have done the same for Punch, but she is not a hair accessory type of girl.)

Spun-sugar stars in my youth included the Entenmann's chocolate chip loaf cake my New York City-born grandmother, Alice, got us at the Grand Union supermarket in Dumont. A gift. A Sunday, church-day treat. And the  soft Torrone nougat candies in little boxes that our Italian immigrant grandmother, Rose, sometimes brought us from the Bronx.

They were part of a better life, a privileged life. They were that one Christmas Eve with a glass plate of homemade cookies at Aunt Gloria's and Uncle Jim's down the block in Dumont, where my three pretty cousins (Annie, Cathy and Maria) lived. The magic of my Sweet Sixteen, a pink box-mix cake and pink icing made by my mother and shared with my friends at our dining room table with Quaker lace tablecloth. They were Stanley's Bake Shop in Bergenfield, a special 50th anniversary sheet cake with rich yellow buttercream roses and swags of frosting.  

I could go on and on and on. My fairy-tale cake walk. But that might fill a book.  

I.am.here.now. It is Sunday, October 26, 2025 at 3:24 p.m. and last night, at another lovely party held by our friends in Montclair, I consumed one sweet treat after another. Like Halloween tricks, they rose up and then vanished from my hands.

The clock ticked and I grew tired, having had a sad Friday night and a packed Saturday that began at 7:30 a.m. with cleaning (book group was coming), table setting, grocery shopping, coffee hour hosting, a meeting, flower getting, beauty salon, book group, phone interview for writing assignment, dishes and ending with the Halloween party. When I'm tired, I do reach for food to stay awake.

I think I have figured it out, at least for the moment. I love the hosts of these generous, spirited parties (themes include Super Bowl, summer garden, table games), the friends who attend, the chance to be out with Dan and sometimes even Punchy there. But so many love to bake (I do, too) and great bakeries abound. So first there is excellent food, often catered (last night, mac and cheese and pulled pork; excellent charcuterie boards; farmer's market focaccia). Even a bar, sometimes with bartender. And live jazz music!!!!

Last night I had:

• A Magnolia Bakery chocolate Halloween cupcake, dense and moist, thick yellow frosting cap.
• A serving from a dream-girl size glass bowl of peanut butter cream/Reese's/cake trifle.
• A big, soft ginger cookie.
• An Italian bakery double-decker cookie with jam sandwiched in between, chocolate dip, rainbow sprinkles (you know the ones).
• A small wedge of hostess J's homemade, tender olive oil citrus cake.
• And at the book group lunch here, since it was our Jeannie's bday, two slices of the flourless chocolate cake Karen made, with freshly whipped cream.

Hello? Yes, it's me. 

Am I out to kill myself? I am a sugar addict, and I can't seem to eat sweets in moderation. Yet the zero-tolerance approach may be too punitive? On New Year's Eve 2025, I planned not to eat the party desserts, told my hostess and looked away but by the time the ball dropped, a piece of the Smitten Kitchen chocolate cake found its way onto a plate in my hands.

I think that going forward, I will have to leave before the desserts come out. Physically remove myself, drive back home across town. Either that or get a big cup of coffee with cream and go in the pretty backyard? For many years, I filled my best crystal bowl with fresh red berries and brought a bowl of unsweetened whipped cream to these parties and to book group. (TBT, everyone loved that dessert.) But then I stopped.

What do you think?

Not surprisingly, I was exhausted and sluggish today, sugar hangover.

Now it's 9:17 p.m. Since 3:24, I took a walk with Dan (nice leaves), cut down the dead cone flowers, made sure Punch's friends headed back to their apartment in the Bronx, did a work email, ate dinner, loaded the dishes, played and failed at Wordle, started Spelling Bee.

My plan as of now is to again sidestep sweets, one day at a time. Look at the roads I have taken when allowing them in.

Scenes from the Goody barrette legacy:

Our daughter Figgy in 9th grade at Montclair High. Bergdorf hair accessory.

Figgy's senior portrait. I also got that pretty "White Christmas" style hairband at BG.

I forgot! I put my pearl bracelet around our Punchy's bun for her First Holy Communion. Her friend Nikki did the bun.

*Adapted from "What I Did for Love," a song from the musical A Chorus Line with music by Marvin Hamlisch and lyrics by Edward Kleban.

High-Low Carbs: Heavenly Biscuits, Quick Crescents & Apple Pie Secrets 🍎🍏

 

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High

Dan was away in Boston and Maine last weekend for work and a short family visit. Punchy was out. I had a yen for the Lo's Fried Chicken carryout dinner for two from Turtle + The Wolf, a beloved Montclair restaurant. I wanted the chicken, but what I really wanted was the featherlight buttermilk biscuits. I ordered this dinner package once during that lonely, dark pandemic to share with Punchy. It is not cheap but honestly, the salad was enough for two nights and the 10 pieces of cult-favorite chicken took me through a few lunches/dinners. (You have to order ahead.) The creamy mashed potatoes, yum. (I resisted the Chocolate Peanut-Butter Tart with toasted fluff but had it once with Dan at the real restaurant table.) The hot biscuits were perfection, four small, light, leavened-in-heaven beauties lined up and presented with a little cup of honey. Golden tops and tender, fluffy insides. Omigosh, butter from my fridge, and honey from the cup. Excellent. 

Low 

The Pillsbury rolls contain flour, shortening, water, baking powder--and possibly palm oil.

By contrast, I went to ShopRite with Punch last week when she was hungry. She wanted to make a Seafood Boil, and that was nice, with snow crab, fresh mussels, baby potatoes, corn on the cob, shrimp and plenty of Slap Ya Mama and Old Bay Seasoning. I also allowed her to chose some kid things like chocolate milk, fruit punch (one of each), waffles and Pillsbury Original Crescents rolls. She made them after school today. "I love snacks," I heard her say on the phone to a friend. I was surprised at how good the crescents were, again with butter and honey (her idea). Also, food science at work. Processed, I know, but took me back to my girlhood, round biscuits in a tube, arranging them in a metal pie pan in our 1950s green Dumont kitchen, setting the table for my mother. Today's crescent dough triangles are rolled up so neatly, the directions so clear ($3.49 for an 8-ounce tube).

Apple Pie Secrets

I just wrote a story about Apple Secrets for Food52. I'm proud, and have been sending along more ideas. I've wanted to work for/write for that site ever since one of my idols, NY Times food columnist Amanda Hesser (Cooking for Mr. Latte book), co-founded it. Here is the link:

https://food52.com/story/apple-secrets-baking-cooking-fall

Still chasing my dreams at age 64, and why not? (Bobbi Brown and Katie Couric shared at the 92nd Street Y talk Wednesday night that they are both 68, and nothing's stopping them.)

My apple story intro mentions a tube of biscuit dough. That came first, before we bought the crescents.

Have a good night. 🍎🍏🍎🍏

Working It in Red Shoes

Tory Burch Georgia Ballet Flats in Triple Red suede, on sale now for $129. I love the square toe, but admit they will look better on a demure foot than in my size 11. But still....

Pops of crimson footwear rocked two nights in a row this week at NYC events.

At a Work Like a Girl Q & A Tuesday on the Upper West Side (led by Erika Ayers Badan, kick-ass CEO and thinker, with trend forecaster Valerie Jacobs), a woman in the audience wore fresh red flats with dark neutral pants. The pants were the foil and the shoes were the pretty, energizing grounding. Like all flats, they looked good worn barefoot (or with low-cut, no-show Peds). Your pant hem should not drag or pool over the skimmers. Trim cropped or skinny pants work best. The shape of the shoe was feminine, the way it framed the foot, but not unprofessional. Fun. Work Like a (Very Smart) Girl and look good doing it, too.

For the on-stage discussion between Katie Couric and Bobbi Brown at the 92nd Street Y re the new book Still Bobbi, Katie chose strappy red slingbacks with a kitten heel. Bare legs, white button-down shirt, black and white delicately patterned midi-length skirt. The shoes were everything. Smooth-looking, shapely legs help. Made me think about how I need to moisturize more with a nice body butter. (Hello, looking at Homecourt's new body collection.)

And there was an audience question about red lipstick. Can everyone wear it?

"Absolutely not," Bobbi said. The color makes a strong statement and not everyone can or even wants to own that. It depends on your personality, she noted. On who you are.

"Does anyone in the audience have on red lipstick tonight?" she asked, to prove her point. One woman near the front waved her hand and pointed proudly to her mouth. But the auditorium was darkened.

Oh, and Bobbi had a clean, short mani in Poppy, her signature orange-red color. I've seen her wearing it on Instagram. I bought it in town at the Jones Road store and I love it, for pedis and manis. My home mani lasted for 5+ days without chips, and I do a lot of dishes and garden without gloves. The kit includes a two-in-one base and top coat.

I enjoy soaking up events like these not just for style and substance watching but also for being at the heartbeat of it all, New York, New York. 

The magical ruby slippers Judy Garland, age 16, wore in "The Wizard of Oz," 1939. Showing their age here, and drab and depressing compared to today's color-drenched footwear. 

Photo from The Smithsonian.

Leaving the Cape Behind Again

The view from the path behind Coast Guard Beach at sunset Friday.

Old Coast Guard Station.

Dan on the bridge we love, which spans the marsh and meadow.

    

Don't look too close at these almost oldies.

Three nights/four days with Dan—in a motel near our (former) family house. We filled our hearts and souls with all the Cape we could fit. We rode the bike trail two days. Lapped up soft-serve vanilla with the best chocolate dip once (Hot Chocolate Sparrow). Early Bird Walk at Wellfleet Audubon. Sweet, tender lobster. Great Pond. Reading books. Naps.

Breathing deep. Feeling our age but also feeling the breeze. I see those two new parents biking over this bridge (pictured above) near sunset with a little red-haired girl on the tandem behind her Dad. Our knees weren’t stiff, and I was much slimmer, wearing a Gap khaki skort. Gray hair? No way. Later, I glimpse those same parents, tired but determined, with a younger, brunette girl who refuses to pose on the bridge for a photo except when making a face and wearing a red devil hairband. But her hair is streaked gold, proof of playful moments in the sun.

Oldness was not yet creeping in, or forgetfulness. And now we leave, but we shall return.

I’m posting this from the Amtrak waiting area in South Station, Boston. Beautiful train station. 

Beach Notes

Grateful for a short getaway with Dan, which he planned. Timeless messages in a bottle I was able to discern through the sometimes cloudy, sometimes clear, weathered lens of my life view:

• Hurricanes cut a fearless, take-no-prisoners path. Erin closed the beaches yesterday (no sandy part to sit on, and the tides were menacing) and flooded the main roads pretty bad. Dan's cap was about to blow off. And today at Island Beach State Park, we were told we could only wade up to our ankles. But the weather was beautiful.
• Lifeguards are golden. Saviors in red trunks or one-pieces ran along the surf, toting weights. Then two went in and rode the giant swells, one on a yellow board that said RESCUE and one in a little boat. The waves were so big, it looked like the vessels would capsize. But they did not, with skillful guards in charge.
• Beach sleep is the best sleep. I fell into a deep one in a chair down by the water but then Erin waves washed up over my bag, my books etc. Dan appeared at that instant and I woke up with a jolt. 
• New Jersey's barrier island is (kind of) like Cape Cod. Some of the same flora, from beach roses to marsh grass. Dunes, though not as towering. But little flies bit big here in the swaying grass. The old visitor center has Cape-like treasures, including finds from shipwrecks, such as heavy canvas diver's shoes and haunting deadeyes, stuffed gulls and a spry fox. I will return.
• Surfside menus are predictable and unhealthy. You'll find sushi (good), subs, seafood, some nice iced coffee if you search, ice cream, sweet cocktails with colorful sunset names, chicken fingers, burgers, deep-fried appetizers. I had a fresh Garden State house salad with crisp cucumbers and peppers by the sea. But fries abound. I didn't finish the salad but did swipe some of Dan's French fries.
• Ocean air smells good.
• Saltwater taffy is still a seaside thing.
• Sunset over the bay is a painting. Pinks, purples, oranges. You feel fortunate to see it.
• Some beach house signs have great messages. IF YOU'RE LUCKY ENOUGH TO BE AT THE BEACH, YOU'RE LUCKY ENOUGH, one said. Another had a silhouette of a mermaid and said MERMAID X-ING, which made me think of our daughters.

Good night.

Off-Broadway: "Joy" Tells a Mop-Top Mom's Story of Success

 

Betsy Wolfe ("& Juliet" and "Waitress") 

plays Long Island inventor Joy Mangano. 

By Alice Garbarini Hurley

At "Joy," you feel hope and laugh loud at the mettle of Joy Mangano, the Long Island inventor of the Miracle Mop in the 1990s. Facing the camera on QVC, she sold 18,000 mops in under 30 minutes. She elevated the unsexy tool to something more fun, if domesticity can be fun. It had a a big cotton string head that stayed fresh and pretty (remove and spin it in the washer) and a handle mechanism for easy wringing and to save back strain. 

Her story inspired the 2015 movie "Joy," starring Jennifer Lawrence. Ms. Mangano had lost her job as an airline travel agent, and her parents lived with her. The bills were piling up. The real Joy, played with sparkle here by Betsy Wolfe ("Waitress," "& Juliet"), was a divorced mom of three but off-Broadway, she has one child, a teen daughter, who can't afford things teens need and want, like money for a school trip to Disney. 

Wolfe wins as a striking blonde in mom jeans, determined to make that mop. She won't take no for an answer, especially not from the men in the QVC boardroom. She begs and borrows money from her father's glam young girlfriend, trusts her dad to manage the books (oops) and gets swindled for a patent by a cowboy who doesn't show his hand (Paul Whitty in a star turn). 

When Wolfe steps off the stage to present mops to some audience members, you can tell everyone wants one. It's a rough world outside the theater, and laughter and lightness is a buffer. A staffer quickly whisks the mops away for safekeeping until after the show. 

This feel-good production features a fine-tuned ensemble that makes quick changes and a roster of songs and dances about believing in yourself and following your dreams. Ms. Mangano went on to mop up annual sales of more than $150 million on Home Shopping Network. She developed other clever, even cute, products including slim, velvety, no-slip Huggable Hangers that caught Oprah Winfrey's eye. The people leaving the theater had pep in their steps (and maybe JOY friendship bracelets in their pockets, since they're sold out now in the official online merchandise shop). But you can still get the gray flowy tee, with a scoop neck and lettering that says SPARK CREATE INVENT SPREAD JOY. There's magic in those words.

Jennifer Lawrence starred in the movie version (2015).

The suits at QVC are captivating and funny. Charl Brown, front and center, is crush-worthy.

Joy: A True New Musical

Through Sunday, August 17 at the Laura Pels Theater, Manhattan; joythemusical.com. Running time: 2 hours.

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Joy Mangano, cover girl, 

February 2016 issue of Good Housekeeping Magazine.