"The Devil Drinks Red Juice" and More Frothy Vogue Fun in SoHo

I am always happy in a fashion situation. 

The only Prada I own is hand cream, lip balm and the modern lipstick I love (shown).

I drove to Spring Street from Montclair this afternoon to check out the first-ever Vogue Café pop-up, open for three days ahead of the Met Gala this Monday. It is for fashionistas and also passionistas like me, for whom the Gala is out of reach, and is perfectly timed with "The Devil Wears Prada 2" movie release yesterday. Here are the details: https://www.vogue.com/article/vogue-cafe-new-york-announcement-may-2026.

Lucky me, I found a free parking spot across the way, while town cars and big black SUVs lobbied for position. I took fun photos and aim to post them on Instagram but for now, I misplaced my iPhone charging block, and my phone is dead. So I'm blogging.

I'm fighting a dark mood--dark as my best Majestic Filatures boatneck top in Noir, dark as my coal-black mascara--and going into the city was an excellent antidote, as usual.

Was it worth paying the Lincoln Tunnel weekend toll and paying for cleverly named Vogue Devil-themed, blood-red juice and Glacial Pace coffee and a couple of treats from Hani's Bakery? Yes. No different from the time I paid to attend a Saturday fashion event led by uber editor Carrie Donovan from The New York Times, or the day I saw fashion icon Iris Apfel at the Montclair Film Festival's screening of Albert Maysles documentary "Iris." 

The ether around Vogue and "The Devil Wears Prada 2" is electric. So many details swirling, so much activity, that part of me, the mother and writer in me, has been wondering how Chloe Malle will manage it all. I hope she has a lot of support. She is Vogue's new Head of Editorial Content and co-host of The Run-Through with Vogue podcast--second in line to the queen, Anna Wintour.

The very capable and captivating daughter of Candice Bergen and Louis Malle, Chloe has two young children she talks about on the pod--Arthur and Alice. She is candid about trying to balance it all in her New York City life, to craft valentines with the children, have a good marriage, take family vacations, go to fashion shows, make time to see her mother and not bring her cell phone into the kids' bedrooms so she won't be distracted by work. On top of that, she is reviewing content, conducting interviews, running events, reading, writing--and looking very pretty and stylish, from head to toe.

The highly anticipated Devil Wears Prada movie sequel opened yesterday (Dan and I caught a premiere Thursday in Montclair). 

Style notes from today's event at Altro Paradiso:

• The flowers. Fat pink peonies in short vases, and a cart where we each received a small bouquet of three fresh blooms if we showed proof of a Vogue subscription.
• The crowd. A couple of the young blonde Voguers wore blue jeans with nubby, Chanel-style collarless jackets. Nice look.
• The charm bar! Oh, I longed to select a leather cord with charms and beads but it was $295, so I couldn't. Did you see this Vogue story about NYC shop cats and pendant necklaces? The second one is a tassel necklace from Don’t Let Disco, the Brooklyn brand that ran the charm bar. The sterling silver Keeper Collar looked so good in person. Want.
• Swag to buy. I got a white ribbed tank with VOGUE in black. Not too pricey, size XL.
• Coffee bar. "Can You Spell Cappuccino," "The Glacial Pace Iced Coffee" and a bottle of vibrant "The Devil Drinks Red Juice." Smart references to beloved "Devil Wears Prada" lines. A stylish man next to me on the flower cart line said the "Cerulean Blue Matcha" was good. 
• Dream pastry case. Instagram-worthy treats from Hani's Bakery in New York. Chic, layered Carrot Cake with Pineapple Ginger Jam and Brown Butter Buttercream, sea salt-dusted, saucer-size Triple Chocolate Chunk Cookies that will not help you zip up your designer dress. Also: Cookie Butter Fudge Brownie. I got to chat with Miro Uskokovic, Hani's executive chef/owner. 

Remember, flowers, jewelry, coffee and desserts are fashionable, too.

One Snow Battle After Another

This snow and its aftereffects have been exhausting, ever since our world became a frozen tundra starting Sunday, January 25. I know I should be grateful for creature comforts. But this is no innocent storybook blanket of white. 

1. Our neighbors are maneuvering beloved New York City with mountains of snow, garbage and uncollected recycling. The ice-crusted snow is not going anywhere. Many homeless people have died in NY and NJ.

2. It takes forever to get out of this 1924 Dutch Colonial house. I like easy flip flops, not lace-up L.L. Bean boots--though in a reluctant nod to nature, I bought a pair up in Vermont when visiting Meg. Lacing the boots adds a lot of extra time.

3. If I'm thickly bundled up, I can't drive. I can't budge at the steering wheel. So I have to take my coat off.

4. Our car died at least three times, and we spent a lot of money to fix it. I noticed a number of other car hoods up/vehicles stalled in my travels.

5. Too much carb loading, too little cooking. What is a green vegetable? Please remind me. I did manage a batch of Grace's Mushroom Soup, a big pot of chili and a vegan banana bread from the Babycakes cookbook for Figgy, who has been hunkering down and busily writing her PhD application. But otherwise, crackers, deli ham, melted cheese, chilled prebiotic sodas poured over lots of ice and coffee, coffee, coffee call my name.

6. Dogs are out of their element. They can't find a spot to do their business. I know, because I watched my Sis's sweet Galena for nine days (in Connecticut and here) while Sis traveled. I walked that dust-mop darling three times a day, she in a plum-colored parka, and often, we both dreaded going outside. Tail down, shoulders up, let's go.

7. Some families have little or no food, so I should not complain about a privileged $55 Saturday night pizza delivery from a place in Wayne that we used to love. I ordered the special, a plain pizza, salad and Italian hero package; the chicken parmigiana hero with vodka sauce that Punch always loved; and garlic knots. What a disappointment. The $55 included all the taxes and fees and the $7 tip for the driver. None of it was stellar, and the pizza was practically cold. I figured we would have ample leftovers in this snow situation, but am about to throw them out. 

Yet I have never been more grateful for a heated home. When I walk in the door, I thank God that our oil tank is not on "E" (it has sometimes been) and that the old radiators are still cranking out heat. 

The Nose Knows

Not Your Mother's Shalimar

There’s a new lady in town, and her beauty won’t stay bottled up for long.

The iconic bold fragrance in an Art Deco bottle.

Recently unveiled Shalimar L'Essence Eau de Parfum Intense features 

modern golden lettering and a vanilla-drenched profile. 

Eau de parfum from $115.

BY ALICE GARBARINI HURLEY

Shalimar, the storied French fragrance that has captured hearts and gazes since 1925, was the guest of honor in the Waldorf Astoria on January 31. To fete her 100^th birthday, a rejiggered version of the scent favored by screen sirens Marilyn Monroe and Rita Hayworth was uncapped, passed hand to hand, sprayed and sniffed in the hotel’s new fifth floor Guerlain Wellness Spa.

A clutch of 56 guests of Sniffapalooza, the fragrance fan group founded in 2004, were there to meet and greet the icon's little sister, while sipping mimosas and nibbling on pastel pink and green macarons. Many purchased bottles of either the classic or new Shalimar formula from the gilded Guerlain boutique on-site. Some had loved the scent since their late teens, when their mothers gifted them a bottle, a sign that they were finally women. The classic, time-tested eau de parfum starts at $110 a bottle.

“Shalimar was independence for women,” said Lee Davidson-Xhakollari, Guerlain Manager of Education. In the 1920s, women were cutting their hair shorter and swingy, freer flapper styles were emerging.

Shalimar introduced the first footed perfume bottle, on a pedestal, with a fluted "batwing" design and then a signature blue, fan-shaped Baccarat Crystal stopper.

The glamorous crystal stopper is now a thing of the past, 

though a blue cap, batwing shape and pedestal remain.

Vintage bottles, like this one from the 1940s or 1950s, are collectibles. 

Image from GoldenAgePerfumes, an Etsy seller from Kansas.  

                                                                The fragrance was "conceived in a garden of India."

Shalimar perfume history began with Shah Jahan, the 17th century Mughal emperor of India, who was mourning the death of his beloved wife, Mumtaz Mahal. He built the Taj Mahal and the royal Shalimar gardens in her honor as a timeless tribute to their love. Inspired by this story, Jacques Guerlain created the sensual, opulent scent--the first amber--with woody, sweet and floral components. The blue, fan-shaped bottle stopper is said to be inspired by silverware owned by the Guerlain family.

On Saturday, guests passed around the footed and still sapphire-blue capped bottles, waving their wrists, or Guerlain paper cards, for first and second impressions. The intense contemporary eau de parfum “celebrates vanilla in every form,” according to Guerlain, incorporating precious Madagascan vanilla tincture. The “floral heart" blends bergamot with rose absolute and iris.  

“I like the original Shalimar better,” said veteran sniffer Judy Davis of New York City. "But," she cautioned, "you can’t buy a perfume online. I never have. You have to smell it.” 

Snowy Morning at the Waldorf

The group included “noses” who had traveled from Poughkeepsie, Philly or other parts of NYC. 

“This event sold out in six hours,” said Karen Dubin, founder and CEO of the fragrance group, “with a waiting list of 30.” She has collected scents since age 6 (Arpège by Lanvin) and has over 2,000 in her New York apartment. The original Shalimar “was too cloyingly sweet” for her. But the new Shalimar L'Essence Eau de Parfum Intense? “I’m wearing it and can’t stop wearing it,” Dubin said. She plans to spritz it on for cocktail parties.

You will have to mist your wrist and decide for yourself.

Sniffapalooza hosts several events a year, in places from far-flung Provence lavender fields to bespoke boutiques, including Frédéric Malle on Madison Avenue and Hermès. In the Waldorf Astoria lobby, a second Guerlain Boutique is fully stocked with fragrances, makeup (KissKiss Bee Glow Hydrating Tinted Lip Oil in a lavender hue, anyone?) and refillable candles, steps from the historic Peacock Alley Bar.

 

 

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, a band of four played on the front stage, by the window. On a pocket stage hidden in the back, two pretty, honey-voiced women strummed guitar and sang. 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.