There was an open house today at Greenwich House Pottery. I wanted to take Izzy to there because I was curious to see if he would take to clay. He loves manipulating dough so I figured clay would be in the same genre.
This meant an excursion into the West Village, which happily coincided with lunchtime. We ended up at Home . Time was, there was always a wait to get in there, but today we slipped right in. It was certainly homey and relaxing, not too noisy or busy. I was surprised to note that at brunch time we were amongst a minority of English-speaking diners there, the rest were all French..Who knew that such a place would be a big hit with the French crowd?
I read the menu selection to Izzy who insisted on ordered a dish which included poached eggs, something I can't remember him eating before. I think he liked the concept of the poached egg, after reading about them in one of his favorite books, Bread and Jam for Frances.
When his platter of Cheese Grits, Bacon and Poached Eggs with Tomato Sauce arrived, he seemed to eye them cautiously. I don't think they were what he was expecting. He was hungry though so I figured he would give them a try. I watched him use his fork to break the egg and he seemed surprised at how runny those eggs were. Then he used his spoon to scoop it up. I wonder if he actually liked them..I don't think I would have gone near those at his age.. The question remains..Did he actually like them or was he merely too hungry?
Lunch lunched it was finally time for pottery. What a great place it was..They had a children's workshop set up in the garden and the teachers had set up an amazing clay seascape, complete with waves, an island and sea creatures of all kinds...children were encouraged to add their own elements to the scene. Izzy was momentarily hesitant but then dug his hands right in. He worked for two hours creating a sea monster and some green beans for the monster to eat. I wondered around the studios looking at some great pottery for sale and signed him up for a class.
By the time it was time to leave, Izzy had worked up an appetite for a snack. There is a gelateria conveniently located around the block, Cones. I mistakenly referred to it as ice cream and while we were eating ours Izzy turned to me and announced.."This tastes like gelato, not ice cream." "Of course it does. It is gelato." "Well why did you call it ice cream then?"
Why indeed? Won't make that mistake again, will I? Especially since we will be finding ourselves in the West Village now, at least once a week, for clay class. More West Village food adventures are surely close at hand.