tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18733743603686645492012-03-12T06:00:09.432-04:00Travels. Meals. Memories.Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.comBlogger4371100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-44220935915037753932012-03-12T06:00:00.001-04:002012-03-12T06:00:09.437-04:00

Walking along a quiet street in the slow-paced Caribbean coastal town, I met this lovely woman selling polvorones from her living room open to the street. Because I love the Mexican version of these simple butter/sugar cookies, I had to indulge. For professional reasons, of course. And so, my first encounter with the differences between the two types of money that circulate in Cuba. Moneda

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Yes, the great cars. This lovely example, just one of the fascinating beauties seen all the time on the streets of Havana, on the highways, even in the smaller towns outside the main cities. Old Chryslers, Chevrolets, Packards, Cadillacs, the occasional Edsel or DeSoto. I stood on a corner counting one afternoon and one in every four cars that passed was from the American 1950s. (My friend Jane,

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Though some doubt the veracity of the Hemingway quote indicating that La Bodeguita was the home of his favorite mojito, just a whiff of truth has been enough to establish this bar/restaurant as a major tourist attraction. (And most of the visitors have “immortalized” themselves by signing every available inch of wall throughout the place.) Fortunately our group lunch occurred in an upstairs

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Here’s my friend Lisa, chatting with the sweetest security guard in the world, going through the book he’s using to learn English. He’d heard us speaking, asked if we would pronounce something for him, then showed us the sentence: “You carry on straight on.” We surmised quickly that he was learning British English and told him that Americans would say, “Go straight ahead.” He smiled, told us he

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I was traveling in Cuba as part of an “Art & Architecture” tour with New York’s Center for Cuban Studies, legally, with a people-to-people license from the US State Department. And for me, the best part was, appropriately, the people I met throughout the country. Like this young woman who was just enjoying the warm afternoon breezes through her living-room window in this southern coastal town. So

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This beautiful ribbon of seaside esplanade stretches some four-plus miles through the capital along the Atlantic coast, from its eastern beginning in downtown Centro Habana to its western end when it ducks beneath the Almendares River and delivers you into the more genteel Miramar. Begun in 1901 during a period of US military rule of Cuba (following its winning independence from Spain), the

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No, you’re not imagining it. There really is music everywhere you go in Cuba. Every restaurant. Every street corner and park. Even snack bars. We stopped for coffee one morning at an open-air patio within the rainforest model community of Las Terrazas and sure enough, soon there appeared five musicians and two vocalists kicking the energy up several notches. Then, as we ambled through the nearby

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Old Havana. I was all prepared for the historic sights of this Spanish colonial part of the city, the wrought iron balconies, the riot of colors, the cobbled streets. What I was not prepared for was how wonderful the Cuban people are. And not just here in the touristed part of the capital, but all over the city and in other spots visited throughout the country. The Cubans I met were the kindest

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One of the frustrating things about visiting the wonderful markets on my travels is that I’m usually without a kitchen in which to prepare the beautiful produce I find. Not so here in Istanbul. I was staying in the Galata Residence, a 19th-century apartment building converted into a budget hotel that offers rooms and suites with small kitchens. Not that anything in this breakfast of mine needed

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It’s no accident that I feel my soul open up whenever I visit Tucson. The sky. The sun. The warmth (I usually visit during cold New England winters back home.) And the fact that my generous hosts Simon and David are artists, given to creative thinking, provocative conversation. And given to great company with a group of friends similarly inclined. Fortunately a recent visit coincided with Tucson’

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How is booking a cruise like buying a car? Well, once you pay for it, the seller doesn’t want to hear from you again. Until you’re ready to buy another. And should the price of the vacation you’ve already bought go down, they really don’t want to hear from you. (Currently, an October cruise we booked with a nice discount in January was being advertised in August for a lot less, along with

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-11041583993999259482012-03-01T06:00:00.000-05:002012-03-01T06:00:00.647-05:00

If you can’t quite figure out what you’re looking at here, don’t fret. The whole scene is a bit unreal even for those of us who were there. The Fisherman’s Feast of the Madonna Del Soccorso di Sciacca Society of Boston is the biggest of the Italian-American festas that turn almost every weekend in this neighborhood into a crowded madhouse of fried sausages, fried dough, strings of colored lights,

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Sailing from Byzantium this time. South through the Sea of Marmara, the Hellespont, the Aegean Sea. And here, from our stateroom’s porthole, the view upon leaving Bodrum, Turkey -- the ancient city of Halicarnassus. It was so easy and deeply relaxing to sleep onboard ship. Such silence save for the gentle murmurs of the sea. The comfort of knowing that when you woke up you’d be in yet another

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Oh, no. Just before we landed in Tangier, my camera started misbehaving. Shades of purple would appear. The image would blur and run. But mercifully, not on every picture. So I would never know if I’d get the shot or, as in this case, not. Fortunately I managed to take plenty of photos in both Tangier and in our next and last stop, Lisbon. And when I got home, Canon customer service was

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-17033430197443491212012-02-27T06:00:00.002-05:002012-02-27T06:00:01.763-05:00

What a lovely break from the crowds of Istanbul was this day trip west to Edirne. On the Turkish border with Greece and Bulgaria, it was originally founded by Hadrian as Adrianople, then later became the Ottoman capital before the sultanate moved to Constantinople. Consequently it’s dotted with wonderful examples of remarkable architecture and decor. Like this domed ceiling in the Eski Cami, the

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Each summer, when Vincent Price would come to Boston to tape his introductions to Mystery!, we’d have a small party after we’d finished. His wife, the actress Coral Browne, would arrive for the event, and we’d all have a generally good time. On Vincent’s last day of taping before he retired as program host in 1988, the party was a tad more extravagant, posters of him hanging around the studio,

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When I find a recipe I like, I stay with it. And when it comes to baking, I always use my friend Nick’s recipes. He tests them so thoroughly and has such a sympathetic appreciation of the “home baker,” that his recipes always work. For example, his Torta di Nocciole alla Veronese, pictured here. When Nick and I were traveling through Italy in 1988, gathering recipes for his Great Italian Desserts

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The fabled La Fenice theater in Venice. Aptly named, “The Phoenix” has burned and been rebuilt many times since it opened its doors in the late 18th century, since it hosted the premieres of Verdi’s Rigoletto (1851) and La Traviata (1853). Here it is the night I went to hear a concert (before the theater burned again in 1996, arson this time), not caring overly much what the music or who the

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When we arrived in Córdoba on the rápido train from Madrid, we hoisted our bags and headed for the centro. Still looking like the Arab city it once was, the city offered small streets and alleys bordered by chock-a-block stuccoed houses, whitewash all over their thick walls (to keep out the heat), all containing an interior central courtyard. Here’s the view from our pensión, where the senora

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I’m not much given to luxury. It makes me uncomfortable. (In fancy restaurants, I’d much rather speak with the kitchen staff than with some snooty hostess or wine expert. While running in the nicer sections of my town, I’m usually much more at ease with the landscaping crew than I am with the homeowners.) However, I make an exception for the laid-back comfort provided by Windstar Cruises. Take

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Look closely and you’ll notice that this is another in a series of jumping pictures. Easy for the jumper to get lost in all this faded grandeur though. These public thermal baths were built in the early 3rd century during the reign of the emperor whose name they bear, and they remained in use until the 6th century sack of Rome by the Ostrogoths. But you knew that. At one time they encompassed

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Çiya. The best place Nick and I ate in Istanbul. We’d heard of this casual restaurant (where Chef Musa Dağdeviren hunts down and serves up acclaimed dishes from central and eastern Turkey) from the food writings of both Paula Wolfert and Oleana chef Ana Sortun, and we wasted no time in trying it. Our first full day in town, we were right there, asking waiter “John Travolta” to bring us an

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I love when my friends’ paths cross. Even remotely. Here’s my pal Ted (a former Bose-o like me) standing within the Snake Bridge (as Tucson residents familiarly refer to it) that was designed by my friend Simon. Cool. On a recent visit to Tucson, I’d had breakfast with Ted (who’d driven south from his Phoenix home) at the Little Cafe Poca Cosa, then ambled around downtown, along 4th Avenue,

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All right, I will eat my words. I have held the Boston MFA in somewhat low regard, calling it very JV, lacking in any real masterpieces, etc. After several visits in the summer of 2010, I thought it a fine place to pass the time, walking among the ancient art of Egypt, the large hall of Italian Renaissance pictures, the occasional French Impressionist. But nothing stood out, took my breath away.

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There are few things as evocative as the art nouveau design and lettering of the Paris metro. The first line opened in 1900 during the Paris World Exposition, grew to more than 133 miles of track and 384 stops during the next 40 years, and since then has gone on to become the second busiest subway system in the world (only Moscow’s is busier.) And still, with its clearly color-coded maps and

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I’m not a voracious meat-eater. But every once in awhile, nothing seems to satisfy as much. So when Nick suggested a trip to this BBQ joint in the Williamsburg neighborhood, I was delighted. Fette Sau is hip (like its location) and basic and good. You enter what seems to have once been an auto-repair shop and approach the counter. A chalkboard indicates what’s available that day, and the server

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The tiny side streets that lead into the Praça de Figueira in downtown Lisbon serve up a rich roster of visual delights. One offers several 19th-century hardware stores, another features storefronts displaying prepared foods to go, a third is a nightly gathering place for streetwalkers of all varieties. There’s also the fancy men’s hat shop. And the store with its front window filled with hanging

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Whenever I hear someone talking about how immoral America has become, I laugh. Violent video games and relatively tepid nudity in films may seem loose to some, but only because of an underlying Puritanism that still seems to serve as an American benchmark. Whenever I travel to a warmer, more sensual European destination -- be it Italy, Portugal, Spain, even France -- I’m reminded of just how

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-28433983730458910002012-02-13T06:00:00.000-05:002012-02-13T06:00:14.913-05:00

There’s a lawlessness in Tucson that I find very appealing. It’s not quite like the James Gang ridin’ into Tombstone, pistols blazing. It’s more like tattoos and warm-weather drinkers and edgy types just hanging out. On a recent visit, I noticed more condom wrappers on the ground, along with spent nitrous oxide (laughing gas) cartridges, though usually not together. I also noticed many more signs

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When it comes to finding the best ice cream in Rome, everyone you ask seems to have a different favorite. So the only foolproof way to a correct answer? Try every place yourself. OK! Among our favorites, the old standbys: Giolitti, where I sampled my first gelato autentico, several flavors (I’m sure hazelnut was one of them) built vertically onto a cake cone until you think it can hold no more.

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When you can’t find the time to travel to other parts of the world, chances are that some of those places have found the time to travel to you. An example: the Yasmin Levy concert I attended on a cold winter night just miles from my home. Backed by a flamenco guitarist from Scotland, an Armenian virtuoso on clarinet, duduk and zurna (flute- and Middle-Eastern-horn-like instruments), an electric

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Is this Tippi Hedren? She wishes. Alas, it is one of the many thousands of people who find themselves in the beautiful Renaissance city of Florence and who also find themselves surrounded by thousands of pigeons. Fed over the centuries by countless tourists with good hearts, these dirty birds now have a sense of entitlement bred into them that would rival that of any Hapsburg princess or

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Teresa, a Spanish cookbook author and restaurateur friend of Nick’s, had provided us with an interesting list of places to eat when in Madrid. I especially wanted to eat Basque cuisine, so I paid attention when she, a Basque native, mentioned that Currito was her favorite. We emerged from a nearby metro station in the middle of an evening downpour and took refuge under a leaky awning, trying to

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Granted, most people come to Assisi to admire the Giotto frescoes. To follow in the footsteps of native son San Francesco. Or maybe to visit the nearby resting place of his Facebook friend Santa Chiara, patron saint of television (no joke). Well, we did all of those things. But then Miriam, Nick and I took some paths less traveled in this beautiful Umbrian hilltown. Good meals, visits to friendly

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I don’t particularly like to drive. So a vacation perk for me is not having to get behind the wheel, not having to think about the responsibility of driving, of parking. Give me public transportation every time. I’ve only had to drive twice in all of my times in Europe, and one of those times was only for 20 minutes (when my friend Antonio asked me to take a car from his home in the country into

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This is my friend George expressing wonder and delight at a wedding vehicle in San Francisco’s Chinatown. I met him in Boston before he moved west, and he kindly hosted me when I hit SFO for the first time. (He was a better host than I was a guest, I’m afraid.) He was also a big Mia Farrow fan, and back in Boston in 1979, when I was working at WGBH-TV, l learned that Farrow and Anthony Perkins (

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During the early spring of 1992, a friend introduced me to photographer Joel (Cape Light) Meyerowitz in a Provincetown bookstore. We started chatting and when I mentioned that I was planning a trip to Ireland, Meyerowitz interrupted, “You must go to Achill Island!” Um, OK. Here was one of the world’s great seers making a recommendation. Of course, I’d go. So when my father and I were in the Old

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I am an all-or-nothing kind of guy. Sometimes that’s good, often not. This time it was good. A few years ago, I was checking out the world-music shelves at my local library and found a CD by a Portuguese fado singer with remarkable hair -- platinum blonde, plastered-down tides of finger waves. I took a chance. One listen and I was hooked. I wound up getting all of Mariza’s albums right away,

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I love the street food in Istanbul. Yes, there are simit sellers early every morning offering their sesame-studded bread rings (sometimes from carts, sometimes from trays balanced on their heads) to willing buyers throughout the city. But as the morning wears on, other vendors appear selling mussels with a squeeze of lemon, various fruit juices, kumpir (baked potatoes with an assortment of

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Mmmmm. Patatas bravas. Found on every tapas menu in Spain, from the most elegant big-city lounges to the simplest country tavern. (I’ve even had them at a “small plates” Spanish restaurant in Boston.) Of course, there are slight variations from region to region, bar to bar. But for my euro, no one does it quite so well as Tapas, 24 in Barcelona’s Eixample neighborhood. The starting point for all

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-5906895920946447292012-02-01T06:00:00.001-05:002012-02-01T06:00:05.911-05:00

I value my private time when I travel. If I’m in Rome, I want to be among Romans, to speak and hear Italian. The same applies in Istanbul, Lisbon, Barcelona. I’m on vacation to be “away.” I want to get lost in the alleyways of Venice, the markets of Montreal, the medina of Tangier. Fortunately much of my travel has been solo. And at other times, my infrequent companions have (mostly) understood

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Anyone familiar with Boston’s North Shore knows that you can’t attempt to eat at Woodman’s of Essex (“A Yankee Tradition since 1914”) during the summer without encountering lines of staggering lengths. Hot and covered with suntan oil and sand, families try to mollify their antsy kids while waiting for freshly steamed lobsters, fried clams, fried everything. Yes, there are other such emporiums in

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-50526801610807969962012-01-30T06:00:00.000-05:002012-01-30T06:00:08.961-05:00

Frequent readers of this blog may think that all I did in Barcelona was eat. Not so. Witness this wonderful community arts center that Jay and I visited (OK, on the way to a nearby restaurant) at Carrer Comerç, 36 in the El Born/La Ribera district of the city. A former monastery (started in 1349, completed in 1700), the building has recently been renovated by the city as the Centre Civic Convent

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This is my long-lost pal, Artie Gaffin. I met him in Boston through my friend Dali and we clicked immediately. Soon after, he left his native Manhattan and moved to Los Angeles to work with various theater groups. In fact this photo was taken on the morning after I’d endured a one-man performance by Stacy Keach in Solitary Confinement at the Pasadena Playhouse, which Artie was stage managing. (

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My goal: to eat at every Indian buffet restaurant in Cambridge. My cohorts (so far): James, Karen, two Michaels, Daniel, Patti and Sandra. A daunting task, actually, because in Central Square alone there is at least one Indian resto per block, it seems. The winning CSQ spread to date: Shalimar of India, hands down. In fact, we like it so much that we keep returning here instead of trying out new

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-9520951288102524902012-01-27T06:00:00.003-05:002012-01-27T10:04:39.968-05:00

I don’t subscribe to a lot of emailings or Facebook groups or things like that. But one that I do enjoy is Istanbul Eats (a serious eater’s guide to the city). Helmed by Ansel Mullins and Yigal Schleifer, two Americans eating their way through that storied capital, the blog contains excellent recommendations (“We’re talking about serious food for serious eaters, hold the frills”) about great

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-78417571359013903692012-01-26T06:00:00.002-05:002012-01-26T08:57:24.083-05:00

On our second trip to this hidden-away local restaurant, I had the same treat that I’d enjoyed the first time: sopa à alentejana. A rustic, homestyle soup, it’s made from the simplest of ingredients, often a dish cooks create to use up leftover things. Excellent chicken stock, laced with garlic, is the base and the key to making the broth as flavorful as it is. Slices of yesterday’s bread gone

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-32343571391540630482012-01-25T06:00:00.002-05:002012-01-25T06:00:03.564-05:00

My friend Jeff recently told me he likes the old photos I post here and wondered how I remember all of these stories. Well, as my pal James likes to remind me, “You have something to say about everything.” No matter his meaning, I take it as a compliment. And of course I’ve been thinking about these things from time to time through the years and so I tend to remember them. Alas, not always. Take

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-9229398322457632002012-01-24T06:00:00.000-05:002012-01-24T06:00:12.409-05:00

Jumping pictures. Philippe Halsman was the master, getting everyone from Audrey Hepburn to Salvador Dalí, Albert Einstein to the Duke and Duchess of Winsor to oblige. It was my late friend Dali who got me started on them when she introduced me to Rome back in 1980. She put it pretty simply: “Would you rather have a picture of you in front of the Colosseum or a picture of you mid-air in front of

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-35662685469951629492012-01-23T06:00:00.000-05:002012-01-23T06:00:08.161-05:00

Jay’s father was a cartoonist with a successful comic strip, Tiger, that still runs in syndication nationwide (though, oddly, never in a newspaper wherever his son happens to live.) When Jay and his sister were still single-digit kids, his father realized that he could send in his strip from anywhere in the world (rather than only from their New Jersey home) and he picked up the family and moved

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-3557836249617457432012-01-22T06:00:00.000-05:002012-01-22T06:00:05.905-05:00

When I decided to make the leap from teaching for three years in a Catholic high school to a higher-paying job in a public school, I signed up for all the teaching credits I’d need (I had none) in one summer session. One of the classes was modestly called “Media,” and for my final project I planned an instructional slide show. About how to make strawberry preserves from start to finish. It

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-91441963855538199742012-01-21T06:00:00.000-05:002012-01-21T06:00:00.160-05:00

I love this photo of my niece Emma enjoying the squeak toy that I brought her when we met. Before I headed south to the Garden State to be introduced to my brother Brien’s new puppy, I’d found a rubber toy duck that quacks each time it’s squeezed. (Jay said, “Your brother is going to kill you.”) Emma loved it, shaking it and squeezing it all over the house. A few days later, Brien called to say

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-66271034605499240852012-01-20T06:00:00.003-05:002012-01-20T09:41:52.489-05:00

When I signed on to my first corporate job, at Bose (aka “the most respected name in sound”), I had the great good fortune to be paired up with Mike, art director extraordinaire. We didn’t know at the time how easily and wonderfully we’d click, how our hard work together would not only be a pleasure but would result in some pretty successful materials. All I knew then, aside from his easy sense

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-71832301765685329642012-01-19T06:00:00.002-05:002012-01-19T08:29:39.297-05:00

Can’t decide what to order? Order it all. That’s what we did here at the Borsa Lokantasi on the Istiklal Caddesi in Istanbul. This popular and welcoming cafeteria-style cafe has, like many places in the City of the World’s Desire, steam tables that feature whatever the chef has prepared for the day. You can order as little or as much as you like, in whatever combination you like. So we ordered (

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-68623060366997277162012-01-18T06:00:00.005-05:002012-01-19T17:55:50.981-05:00

“My wife, the actress, Coral Browne” is how Vincent Price always used to introduce her. She was not as well known in the USA as she should have been (and regrettably she turned down playing Joan Collins’ mother on Dynasty because, she told me, “They don’t let you rehearse for American TV.”) But she did play the memorable Vera Charles in the movie Auntie Mame and had an enviable stage and screen

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-86416069700420813282012-01-17T06:00:00.001-05:002012-01-17T06:00:11.497-05:00

OK, I admit it. The only reason I took the brief train ride from Naples to visit nearby Pozzuoli was because it’s where Sophia Loren grew up. Sue me. Still, when I got there, I was happy to find that there is more to experience than just movie-star thrill. San Procolo, the city’s patron saint, was beheaded here in the fourth century; because his feast day (November 14) is often rainy, he is

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-37111246460580005782012-01-16T06:00:00.003-05:002012-01-16T08:18:12.970-05:00

What’s wrong with this picture? Absolutely nothing if you live in Barcelona. Or anywhere in Spain for that matter. The New England-originated Dunkin’ Donuts had to adapt a bit when it arrived here, officially because of “trademark issues.” With stores opening (and closing) all over the world, the corporate behemoth boasts more than one thousand different donut varieties (and allegedly many more

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-69577214047010587902012-01-15T06:00:00.001-05:002012-01-15T06:00:05.043-05:00

This was the year of Mommie Dearest, the regrettable Joan Crawford biopic that torpedoed the career of director Frank Perry (David and Lisa) and forever relegated Miss Faye Dunaway to the category of shrieking caricature. Yes, I saw it. But I have an excuse. I was in Los Angeles and it was playing at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. How could I not? A few days later, arriving in San Francisco, I found

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-39855065877626129452012-01-14T06:00:00.002-05:002012-01-14T08:02:32.273-05:00

"Chance of flurries." So said the forecast when I left Boston for Manhattan on December 25. The next day, a blizzard. High winds, more than a foot and a half of snow, freezing temperatures. We were housebound in Nick’s apartment on West 10th Street, watching in amazement as the wind-blown snow accumulated. Flights, trains, buses were cancelled for that night and the next day. (Fortunately Nick

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-34565747784214602522012-01-13T06:00:00.001-05:002012-01-13T08:52:40.177-05:00

I had only been working at Boston’s public television station for a few months when I saw a small posting by the elevator inviting staff to be in the studio for an interview with Maya Angelou. Of course I went. The audience was a dozen or so young women bussed in from a local college...and me. I was the only man. And the only white person. When Angelou entered (in an orange, wide-wale corduroy

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-15917222658184161622012-01-12T06:00:00.001-05:002012-01-16T09:48:56.433-05:00

Because we wouldn’t be able to get to the northern Spanish region of Asturias this trip, I had asked cookbook author and restaurateur Teresa Barrenechea for some recommendations on where I could find authentic Asturian cooking in Madrid. She pointed us to Los Asturianos. Muchisimas gracias, Teresa. This small bar with tables (outside in nice weather) was terrific, just what we were looking for.

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-68939951000729825062012-01-11T06:00:00.002-05:002012-01-11T06:00:16.738-05:00

We are now, my friend Ernest (who revels in such things) tells me, marking the Ancient Roman Juturnalia Festival, honoring Juturna, goddess of lakes, rivers and, yes, fountains. I’m assuming that would include this peaceful dribbler outside the Palazzo Farnese (Tosca, Act II.) As Ernest tells it, “The story goes that it was on this date that the divine twins Castor and Pollux miraculously

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-68586292111547248002012-01-10T06:00:00.000-05:002012-01-10T06:00:07.457-05:00

When I signed up for a second summer poetry class in Provincetown, I did so through my friend Kathe’s organization, Thalassa Writing Workshops. I had taken one with Mark Doty the previous year and loved the exercises, the communal meals (cooked by Sharon, Kathe’s girlfriend at the time and a featured player in several John Waters’ films), the musical evenings as Sharon sang to Neal Sugarman’s sax

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-53690508481484588342012-01-09T06:00:00.003-05:002012-01-09T06:00:01.386-05:00

Instead of spending upwards of $350 on a tasting dinner for two (with water and wine) at Comerç, 24, an early pioneer in the molecular gastronomy phenomenon, why not just shell out only a tenth of that amount and still have a great meal by the same great chef? Tapas, 24 is Michelin-starred Carles Abellan’s bow to the wave of gastrobars that are popping up all over Spain and serving up modern

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-62986929832094163912012-01-08T06:00:00.002-05:002012-01-23T16:01:30.481-05:00

On the morning after our ship had sailed all night from Istanbul through the Sea of Marmara, I made sure to be awake early enough to witness this storied waterway, fabled in legend and in song. Literally. AKA the Hellespont, this narrow passage connects the Aegean Sea to the Sea of Marmara (and then via the Bosphorus to the Black Sea beyond) and as such has been strategic (both militarily and

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-12143675341177011622012-01-07T06:00:00.000-05:002012-01-07T06:00:04.526-05:00

Part of the pleasure of a vacation for me is the freedom from having to drive. I love taking public transportation. Not only because I never have to look for a nonexistent parking place, but because it can provide a theatre-like experience sometimes. Characters, stories, situations. An unexpected treat on this trip to San Francisco was learning that BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) has a wonderful “

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-10431927046379482982012-01-06T06:00:00.000-05:002012-01-06T06:00:06.936-05:00

Imagine my surprise as I walked through the narrow alleys of Venice, coming upon this eyeglasses shop and seeing a friend in the window. Well, a picture of a friend, Ken, a model with 20/20 vision, the college roommate of my pal Jacques. Small world. Ken, whom I remember as the toast of Provincetown during the summer of 1979, had befriended Divine, who was appearing there onstage with Holly

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-40484366626328995662012-01-05T06:00:00.004-05:002012-01-05T08:34:35.846-05:00

When our cruise ship docked each day along its Barcelona-Lisbon route, many of our fellow passengers hopped on waiting buses to take advantage of local excursions the cruise line offered. We never did. Our reason, aside from not wanting to be on a tour bus, was that most of the ports we called at were so interesting that it was a pleasure just walking around on our own, getting lost, making

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-23297473586994637962012-01-04T06:00:00.001-05:002012-01-04T06:00:00.675-05:00

Meet John Travolta. Well, not really. But before I went to Istanbul the first time and was engaged in my travel research, I found an online site in which a young woman had mentioned a certain waiter at Çiya, the wonderful restaurant on the Asian side of the city. She had written that his co-workers jokingly referred to him as Travolta...and it caught on. Sure enough, when Nick and I arrived one

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-22919145357885193432012-01-03T06:00:00.000-05:002012-01-03T06:00:13.100-05:00

A general strike was slated to hit the city a few days after we left. And for the few days that we were there, we saw signs for the strike everywhere. Cars with loudspeakers mounted on their roofs, broadcasting pleas for support. When I asked our cab driver on the way to the airport if the strike would include him, he said, “Everyone.” Stores, trains, buses, cabs, restaurants, bars, everyone. (He

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-17792536162247562712012-01-02T06:00:00.000-05:002012-01-02T06:00:00.783-05:00

I once asked a female friend why women seemed to love shoes so much. Much more than men seem to do. She said she suspected that it was partly because a woman’s shoe size generally never changes, no matter how her age, body type or other aspects of her appearance might. True? Who knows? The same “permanence” may fuel my ongoing interest in manhole covers of many lands. Seems like every place I go,

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-51256841931099985702012-01-01T06:00:00.001-05:002012-01-01T12:10:32.812-05:00

Happy New Year to you. And happy one-year birthday to us here at SLS. What better way to honor the occasion than with these zero-calorie birthday cakes, found in the window of a funky linens shop in Barcelona. Just don’t try to eat them unless you like the taste of terrycloth. Many thanks all year to our followers, our daily readers, our encouraging friends and enthusiastic commenters (

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-44930866332330098212011-12-31T06:00:00.000-05:002011-12-31T06:00:13.821-05:00

I don’t like New Year’s Eve. But I do like ritual. So I manage to get through the former by indulging in the latter. Each Dec. 31, I write down all the “resentments” that I would like to shed and toss them into the fire before midnight, hoping that their turning to ash will prevent them from coming with me into the new year. (Once, in Paris, with no easy access to a fireplace, I ripped my list

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-45100248786331949652011-12-30T06:00:00.000-05:002011-12-30T06:00:05.550-05:00

I’ve been thinking about Vincent Price lately. About this first time I was a guest at his home in the “Bird Streets” near Doheny Drive above Sunset Boulevard. (When he invited me, he jokingly called it “Vincent’s Bed and Breakfast.”) And about the last time I visited him, a year after this picture was taken, in 1993 when he was confined to bed or a wheelchair, and we watched City Slickers

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-72977682225447144642011-12-29T06:00:00.001-05:002011-12-29T06:00:08.687-05:00

My birthday lunch. At Bofinger, a restaurant that I’d wanted to eat at for about 40 years. Why? Because it was featured in a college French class textbook in a conversation between Pierre et Philippe, two young hommes who began each of the lessons with some adventure. “Au restaurant” included Pierre’s suggestion that they eat at “Bofinger, 5 Rue de la Bastille,” and, sure enough, that’s the

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-90918011159823513982011-12-28T06:00:00.002-05:002011-12-28T06:00:09.854-05:00

Tucson is a town abundant with artists. And with activists. So it comes as no surprise when these groups intersect as they often do. In the huge street-side windows of an architectural firm on 6th Street, two large loose canvases hung from metal beams, each dotted with painted acrylic, front and back. Still Life in Rwanda, it’s called, by Eleni Sakellar, and the posted artist’s statement tells us

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-20174542258803748962011-12-27T06:00:00.001-05:002011-12-27T06:00:05.227-05:00

I remember when I was a child, my parents would sometimes drive back to New Jersey from visiting friends in Brooklyn through Manhattan and past the Christmas crèche set up at St. Anthony’s near Greenwich Village. And here it is, still displaying its homey charm, greens tacked up with a random naturalness rather than something sophisticated and floristy. When I came across this photo today, I was

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-7024868829321921162011-12-26T06:00:00.001-05:002011-12-26T06:00:06.560-05:00

Caravaggio, the late 16th-century painter who was no stranger to scandal, caused admirers to gasp with this painting, Madonna di Loreto, seen here in the space it was painted for in Rome’s Sant’Agostino in Campo Marzio. The madonna (aka BVM) is shown in an apparition to two peasants as a common barefoot housewife, her petitioners not only barefoot but displaying their dirty soles! Her appearance

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-3675725028703836812011-12-25T06:00:00.001-05:002011-12-25T06:00:08.039-05:00

One of the many pleasures of having a pastry chef as a best friend is, well, take a look. This is (part of) the dessert spread at Nick’s Christmas Day table. A Bûche de Noël, lower left, with wonderful coffee-flavored buttercream icing and marzipan mushrooms and pinecones. A fig-and-chocolate-filled Sicilian buccellato, upper left, sprinkled with i diavoletti. A center platter of his Truffle

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-45481186568728191922011-12-24T06:00:00.000-05:002011-12-24T06:00:10.140-05:00

When I was growing up, Christmas Eve was often a tense evening in our family, and after some nominal gift-giving, I’d flee to my friend Nick’s house for his mother’s wonderful seafood-based menu. Shrimp, lobster, fish, pasta, lots of laughs, I loved it and looked forward to it every year. This past Christmas Eve, Jay and I had another terrific dinner, thanks to my friend Toni and her husband Paul

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-81462378163112096592011-12-23T06:00:00.000-05:002011-12-23T06:00:17.237-05:00

There is no escaping the scallop shell in this pilgrim destination in Northern Spain. It’s the traditional emblem of Saint James (Santiago), one of the two national patron saints. (The other is Saint Teresa of Ávila.) Beginning in the 9th century, pilgrims en route to Santiago de Compostela would carry a scallop shell not only to identify themselves, but also allegedly to scoop up sustenance

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-55594970876061494342011-12-22T06:00:00.002-05:002011-12-22T09:05:31.260-05:00

Serendipity. I was to have dinner with friends in Concord that night. I wanted to see my pal Peter’s art exhibit at the Groton School’s Brodigan Gallery. And I had long delayed a visit to my Groton-based friend Karen. Plus, I had the afternoon free. It all worked out and it all was wonderful. Karen’s house is a charmer, just like she is. And she accompanied me to the exhibit of Peter’s collages,

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-53487629008683914102011-12-21T06:00:00.002-05:002011-12-21T15:53:39.630-05:00

I’ve never been a big fan of tourist-oriented anything. Organized tours, guided groups, mass-produced souvenirs, you name it. So I took little interest in the candy here at Istanbul’s admittedly touristy Spice Bazaar when I saw it was being marketed to Americans as Turkish Viagra. To the French as Aphrodisiaque. Granted, it wasn’t just at this historic emporium where I saw this. And the Turks

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I love the town I live in. It doesn’t take itself too seriously. I can walk to Harvard Square, bike to Boston. I live two blocks from a wonderful assortment of Middle Eastern stores. The library and (most of) its staff are terrific. And Watertown has the best Christmas lights I’ve ever seen. Perhaps not the most gaudy or spectacular, but certainly the most beautiful and sophisticated. Located

Sandy Leonard Snapshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08749503711878944701noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1873374360368664549.post-9940035102232113842011-12-19T06:00:00.000-05:002011-12-19T06:00:01.822-05:00

When I visited my friends Giovanni and Renata in their hometown of Ravenna, I was charmed by how few cars there were in the centro, how many pedestrians and, because the city is relatively flat, how many cyclists. And then, a week later, I came upon this sight in Bologna. Yikes! It was outside a school, and I guess there’s a bike rack in there somewhere. How could you possibly find space for

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This is a train station. Can you believe it? It’s right in plain sight, right off the Praça de Restauradores. But the first few times I went looking for the Rossio station, I walked blithely by it, thinking this was something more fanciful. But no, this is the hub that offers trains between Lisbon and the towns west to Sintra. Designed at the end of the 19th century, it’s a Romantic recreation in

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I look forward to the Sage Farm Christmas party every year. (It’s tonight!) My beloved creative partner Mike and his beloved life partner Brian have the most beautiful home and horse farm, and they turn their greenhouse into the greatest, most welcoming party space, filled with plants, a koi pond, cats and dogs, eager Yankee Swappers, terrific refreshments and a rich roster of wonderful guests.

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I’d been to the San Xavier Mission several times before with Simon and David, but had never wandered much beyond the church. And the gift shop. So this time, when Simon and I drove out there on a whim late one Sunday afternoon, we took a brief hike around the small, cross-topped hill just off to the side of the parking lot. Along the way, this grotto, fenced off and housing a statue of the Virgin

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I had always wondered why the houses in pictures from the Greek Isles all seemed to feature whitewashed walls and deep-blue windows and doors. Then I arrived in Mykonos. The sea. The light. The sand. I had my answer. Just look at that blue water. Exactly the color painted on almost every shutter and piece of trim on the island. (And the colors of the Greek flag, too, come to think of it.) So

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There’s no escaping Audrey Hepburn. Or Truman Capote. When I was in Palermo for the first time in 1984, I got it into my head that I wanted to find a copy of Breakfast at Tiffany’s in Italian. Collazione da Tiffany. Of course, I found it, the Italians being known for their appreciation of fine art. And, of course, I didn’t buy it once I realized that my Italian was such that I couldn’t read much

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My only other visit to the City of the World’s Desire had been in early June, so this time I was eager to see what the autumn harvests would bring to market. Quince, pomegranates, walnuts. But the best seasonal treasure in store for us? Figs! Seen here close to the vendor’s blue apron, these sweet and embarrassingly juicy treats made for excellent breakfasts sliced over Turkish yogurt and almonds

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Chickens. Fashion. Lamb. This was my first trip to Italy (not counting a dinner in a seaside town on the French border eight years earlier) and I loved everything about it. Some things more than others, of course. Like the wonderful juxtapositions so natural there that would seem so astonishing back home. Another lineup that we saw time and time again was: Bar. Pasticceria. Duomo. (Bar. Pastry

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OK, what is this? Among the many public art projects that my friend Simon has devised in and around his hometown of Tucson are these panels to enhance a downtown parking garage. Charged with retaining the natural light of the garage’s open spaces, with designing something that would look good in both daylight and at night, and with keeping the materials’ budget as low as possible, here’s what he

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It was drizzling and raining on and off. We’d just had lunch with our new Istanbul friend Cenk, then stopped for a quince dessert before descending the very steep streets to this neighborhood of antiques dealers, one we’d read about in Orhan Pamuk’s extraordinary novel The Museum of Innocence. Jay had loved the book as much as I did, and I had promised I’d show him the area. Who would have

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It’s a given that the internet has made the world a smaller place. Or at least a more connected, accessible one. So why should I be shocked when I receive a comment here from a reader in Portugal, mentioning he’s been following SLS for some time now and saying, “Every day is a great and funny surprise”? But shocked (and thrilled) I was, maybe because the beautiful town he’s from, Coimbra, is one

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This volcanic Greek Isle, thought by some to be inspiration for the legendary Atlantis, blew its top a long time ago. The result: a deep, deep harbor (so deep that our ship, seen here, couldn’t drop anchor) called the caldera, surrounded by a number of remaining border islands. When you leave your ship and get transferred to the small dock area, you have three choices to get to the town 1,000

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Peter Madden and I have been friends for some 30 years. Since before he decided to go to art school, move to New England from NYC (where he grew up on Jane Street), and before he became an acclaimed book artist, admirably blurring the lines between book making and fine art. From early on, we’ve both shared an inordinate interest in singer Ronee Blakley and the films of Russ Meyer, specifically

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Our only stop in the Peloponnese, this beautiful medieval town has, like many coastal towns in Greece, an old city and a new one. This is the old one, a pedestrian-only island connected to the mainland by a thin causeway (off the left of the photo) that can barely accommodate the width of one car. (Monemvasia actually means “single entrance.”) The city was founded by the Byzantines in the sixth

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Long ago, when I was part of an international Mail Art exchange, my posts crossed paths with those of Antonio, a stranger to me then in Lucca. So when I was planning my first extended solo trip to Italy, he and I made sure we met. I arrived by train, Antonio took me to his family’s home, and later, introduced me to his girlfriend Roberta at the restaurant you see here. I wish I could remember the

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This is a color photograph. Taken in front of our old home at 125c Oxford Street after a surprise snowfall. One of the nice things about 125c was the off-street parking, a rarity in Cambridge, which really came in handy on days like this. (Snow-related street parking bans made the few precious spots even fewer.) That’s Jay, front and center, and the presence of a broom leaning against my car

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