Sushi Nakazawa

It's a miracle I can still zip up my pants.

If you have not seen Jiro Dreams of Sushi, stop reading and beg, steal, borrow, or download it

Chef Nakazawa is second from the left

immediately. This fascinating documentary is drool-worthy, both because it is so well done and because it takes everything you think you know about sushi to the next level. It is the story of Jiro, a sushi chef, and his simple sushi restaurant in a subway station in Tokyo that has three Michelin stars. Ed and I watched it a while ago and were smitten, so when we learned that Jiro's apprentice, Chef Daisuke Nakazawa, had opened a restaurant here in New York, I immediately set about getting us reservations.

This was easier said than done, however. There are only three seatings a night at the bar for ten people each, and I was told that we might as well not go at all if we didn't sit at the bar. One can make reservations starting at midnight for up to 30 days in advance, so I set my phone alarm several times in a row and logged in to the site. Again and again I was beat out. I was beginning to get desperate; our time in NYC was dwindling, and our odds of getting into this place were looking bad.

I mentioned my woes to my savvy friend Maggie, and she recommended a new app called Shout. The idea is that if you have something valuable that you can't use--concert tickets and reservations, mostly--you can list it on Shout and other users can claim it and reimburse you. In principle, this is a great idea, but of course some people are making a lot of money by signing up for reservations for the express purpose of auctioning them off. One can make up to $50 a pop for this. Since this was making a limited commodity even more limited, I disapproved of the model. Then again, I didn't have any other ideas. So I scoured the Shout listings for several days and finally found and paid for a reservation. We were in.

The experience was absolutely worth the $50 reservation and gray hairs it cost. Ed and I showed up a few minutes early and had to wait until exactly 9:30 when our reservation was to start. I didn't mind, though, as I was drinking in my surroundings. The restaurant was polished and elegant, generally quite simple, though the framed pieces of lacquered tuna on one of the walls were certainly worth a double take. The small dining room (I didn't count but I estimate there were eight tables) was in the back, and the space behind the sushi bar was humming with activity. About four sushi chefs, all men in whites, sliced and diced all manner of interesting sea life and scooped rice from a large urn by hand, laying their finished creations in the centers of pretty plates to be whisked off to tables by the formally-dressed staff.

Chef Nakazawa broils eel for a table

At one point, a cheery middle-aged man, also in whites, appeared among the chefs. He poured himself some steaming green tea from a tap--these are common in Japan, sort of like samovars in Russia, I imagine--and immediately pretended to splash it, giggling, onto another of the chefs. Ed and I had been trying to figure out which one of the men was Chef Nakazawa, and a quick trip to Google revealed that this practical joker was the great man himself. He wore the same uniform as everyone else and didn't appear to be giving orders or inspiring particular fear in the hearts of his chefs. The difference between him and the dour Jiro was stark.

Then we were escorted to our places at the bar and invited to settle into exquisitely comfortable chairs. There was no food menu, of course, as the menu was set, but we were asked about food allergies and invited to order the sake pairing (which, of course, we did). There was little talk at the bar; everyone seemed to be watching the chefs just as intently as I was.

Each piece was served one by one by the man himself. Chef Nakazawa's assistants would cut pieces of fish with great precision and lay them gently on little pillows of rice and sometimes he would even assemble the sushi himself. Then he'd lay a palm flat and load it up with five or six tasty morsels, deposit one each on the stone slabs in front of each diner, then repeat so that everyone had a piece. As he served, he'd announce the type of fish in thickly accented English that was very difficult to understand. I made certain to chase each piece of sushi with a piece or two of freshly sliced Hawaiian ginger and sips of crisp, tasty sake.

I made very careful notes as I ate to ensure that I didn't forget anything. The courses were:

• salmon
• smoked sockeye salmon
• "dancing" scallop - this was served alive. After placing each piece down, Chef Nakazawa would stroke the flesh of the scallop lightly with his finger and it would undulate in response. This was, obviously, a little strange and we diners all exchanged alarmed looks, but I decided to hide my squeamishness and go for it. The scallop was firm and delicious (though I was rather glad we were served only one), and Chef Nakazawa completed the experience by pressing a button on a small red radio that let out a shrill, cartoonish scream as we all chewed. It was pretty funny and helped me not think too much about what I'd just swallowed.
• giant clam (geoduck)

Our first piece - salmon

• trigger fish "with own liver"

Trigger fish with its liver garish - one of my favorites

• fluke - To convey to us how fresh the fluke was, Chef Nakazawa announced proudly, "Kill here." Then he pointed at a sheepish looking chef and added, grinning, "He do it."
• barrel fish
• horse mackerel - out of Chef N's mouth, this sounded like "hose mackerel" and in response to our confused looks he made a riding motion with his hand and recruited the maitre'd to help translate
• baby gizzard shad - another one that got lost in translation until Chef N assured us, "English person coming," then yelled "Engrish, onegaishimus!" (English, please!)
• massaged octopus, of Jiro fame - absurdly tender

The best octopus one can eat outside Japan

• jumbo shrimp
• golden stripe yellowtail
• smoked bonito
• a tuna trio: plain blue fin, "soy marinated lean part," and fatty tuna

Tuna, arranged in order of decadence 

• sea urchin with truffle salt - I must have looked particularly transported while chewing this piece because Chef N looked at me and asked, "You like it, ha?" My mouth was too full to answer, but I nodded emphatically. He jerked his head at me and said to no one in particular, grinning, "I find a happy face."

• soy cured salmon roe
• anago eel
• tuna handroll
• tamago - for those who have never tried tamago: it's sort of like an slice of an omelette, though I think there's a bit of sugar mixed in because it's always sweet. I tasted my first piece at the Tsukiji Fish Market in Tokyo--a friendly shopkeeper handed it to me to try and explained in broken English what it was--and I've been a big fan ever since.

The meal was capped off with fruit sorbet. I thought I'd be too full to eat it, but I ended up scraping my bowl clean. 

It's difficult to explain how good each piece was. I was torn between feeling as though I couldn't possibly ever eat anything else ever again and wishing the chefs would keep serving us tidbits all night. Ed and I staggered out of the restaurant way past our usual bedtime stuffed, sleepy, and utterly content. 

All of this cost more than peanuts, of course, but dinner at the sushi bar is really an incredible bargain. I can't recommend this restaurant enough, though I would be a lot less excited to eat at a table. The show is more than half the fun.

Celebrities in NYC

When the topic of celebrity sightings in New York comes up, nearly everyone around here has cool stories to swap. Ed has better ones than I do (ask him sometime about seeing Philip Seymour Hoffman in the locker room of our gym or nearly walking into James Franco in the street), but I've still seen my fair share. 

Just for fun, below is a list of all of the celebrities I've spotted here in New York. I haven't included anyone who I specifically went to go see in a show (Tom Hanks, for example, didn't make the cut) or any celebrities I found myself rubbing elbows with because friends have known them personally. These are people I've simply spotted around the city during my five-plus years walking these streets. I'd have a lot fewer sightings if it wasn't for Ed, by the way; he's much better than I am at matching famous faces with names. 

Frank Whaley

Kristen Taekman

Ron Jeremy

Bryan Cranston (!!!)

Aida Turturro

Ali Larder, to Ed's delight

Anthony Bordain

Tea Leoni and David Duchovny

Aviva Drescher

Wolf Blitzer

Christopher Plummer

Matt Damon

Ice T

Jonah Hill

Gerard Butler

Michael Cera - saw him twice in NYC and once in Park City. I think he might be following me. 

Joseph Gordon-Levitt

Frank Langella

Malachy McCourt

Richard Belzer

Salman Rushdie

Sam Worthington

Dania Ramirez

My list of sightings in Boulder may be somewhat smaller...

Meet Hester

After five years of being car-less, I've rejoined the ranks of red-blooded Americans everywhere. Ed and I will be driving ourselves out of the land of subways, buses, cabs, Zipcars, and pedestrians, and we'll be doing it in style.

Meet Hester:

Hester is not at her best here. No one looks great in fluorescent lighting. I assure you that she's quite stunning in sunlight.

Hester is a spunky Subaru Impreza. She has all-wheel drive, leather seats, a spacious trunk, and fantastic fuel efficiency. (Sadly for Hester, she also has New Jersey plates, but they're temporary and we're going to swap them for Colorado ones as soon as we can to spare her further shame.) She's named in honor of the our new neighborhood in Boulder. We'll be living on a street called Hawthorn, and even though the spelling doesn't quite match Nathaniel's, I thought his Hester Prynne was a fittingly heroic namesake. And she just looks like a Hester.

I'm quite taken with Hester so far. She's easy on the eyes and very fun to drive, and I know she'll take me on some excellent adventures.

Bookstore Tour, Part III

For the third and final leg of my independent bookstore tour I had a co-pilot! Shannon, dear friend and fellow bibliophile, was visiting from Washington, D.C., and she accompanied me to three great spots.

Loot

First, we stopped at The Strand near Union Square simply because Shannon had never been. Since the purpose of this project was to explore new places, I didn't include The Strand in my initial list and won't say too much about it here. But it's always fun to stop in this enormous store, which is always crowded no matter how late the hour or the how dire the news stories about the future of independent bookstores. Having checked The Strand off our list, we got to work and went to nearby Alabaster first.

Alabaster Bookshop (122 4th Ave.)
Purchased: The Works of Guy de Maupassant by (surprise) Guy de Maupassant, and Girl with Curious Hair and A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again by David Foster Wallace

When we arrived at Alabaster, I discovered, to my surprise, that I'd already been there. I wandered in once several years ago, enticed by the racks of discounted books in front of the store. Shannon and I started with these very racks and I discovered a very beautiful old collection of Guy de Maupassant's stories for only $2.

Like other used bookstores, things inside Alabaster had a semblance of order but only a very loose one. Shelves were labeled with handwritten signs, and spillover books were stacked on top of arrangements on the shelves or simply in piles on the floor. The fiction section had obviously grown beyond its original shelving and one had to make an abrupt left turn to find the end of the alphabet.

There were quite a lot of good options on the shelves, and Shannon and I got lost for a while. I cradled several possible purchases in my arms as I browsed, some of which were quite tempting. But all that went out the window when I happened to look to the highest shelf, whereupon I practically dropped all of the other contenders. There, just out of reach, were four books by David Foster Wallace.

I simply can't stop being astounded by the brilliance of David Foster Wallace's writing, and I don't think I'll ever really get used to it. "Genius" is just too mild a term. No one else's books sparkle with the kind of insight, wit, and creativity that overflow from his pages. And it must have come pretty easily to him, because in his too-short career he was incredibly prolific. I look for his books at nearly every used bookstore I visit but I never find any, and on the occasions that I've asked the proprietor I usually learn that any copies of his work that come in tend to go within a matter of days. But there were four here. One, Consider the Lobster, I had already read, so my decision was slightly easier to make than it might have been. In a heroic act of restraint, I chose just two of the remaining three. One, A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again, is a collection of essays, and the other, Girl with Curious Hair is a collection of short stories. (I have an audio version of him reading various pieces, and so had already heard several selections from the third book, Brief Interviews with Hideous Men. I could hardly believe my luck at finding them, and at having Shannon, who was tall enough to reach them for me, along for the ride. Feeling giddy, I navigated toward the last stop on our agenda.

East Village Books (99 St. Mark's Place)
Purchased: The Alienist by (I'd never heard of this, but Shannon said she enjoyed it and she and I have similar taste); Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, and Emma by Jane Austen, and The Art of Fielding by Chad Harbach

In googling East Village Books, I came across a great news story that convinced me I was going to like this store immensely. In 2011, a thief named Andrew Hansen had been checking out books from the public library, tearing off the stickers, and selling them to used bookstores. He chose things like graphic novels with high resale values and pocketed the cash left over after he'd paid his fines. The owner of EVB, Donald Davis, had apparently come across some of the ill-gotten books after Hansen had sold them to the store and taken off, and he was irate. Davis is a big fan of the library and was indignant that Hansen was stealing from it. He left the store to have dinner one night but made arrangements with the friend watching the shop, and when Hansen happened to come in with hot books to sell the friend called Davis and gave him the code phrase they'd agreed on. Davis rushed back to the shop and confronted Hansen, and when Hansen tried to leave Davis tackled him. Davis, as it turned out, is no wimpy book lover. He was a wrestler in high school. He was able to subdue Hansen until the police arrived to arrest him. I found this swashbuckling story rather thrilling and was quite excited to visit the store in person.

Shannon browses the outdoor selection

Alas, I liked East Village Books much less than I'd hoped to. Although they had a very large selection, I had trouble finding too much that interested me, for one. Also to he salesclerk was quite terse and unpleasant, which is a bit unusual for stores like this. Usually the staff is made up of fellow book aficionados who are thrilled that you intend to spend money with them instead of on Amazon. And, there was a massive air conditioning unit blowing positively frigid air right down the fiction aisle. This, of course, was the place I'd hoped to camp out, but I ended up having to make quick trips into the aisle for a minute or two at a time, then retreat about 20 feet away to warm up before charging in again. This kind of environment is fine for a corner store that you pop into for a quick quart of milk, but in a shop that demands browsing it was decidedly dismaying.

The store was not without its charms, though. There was a strange outdoor section covered by plastic and tarps in which high shelves sat on a layer of gravel. It was rather endearingly haphazard but just solid enough that I imagine it must remain in place even in the dead of winter. And someone in the store clearly had a sense of humor. We were tickled by some of the section labeling.

And I was a fan of their method of displaying more expensive older printings of small novels.

The store's credit card policy was also conveniently conducive to my tendency to lose all self-control in bookshops. We'd spent just about all our cash on lunch at a great noodle place and then cookies at Momofuku Milk Bar, and so I whipped out my credit card at the register. I was told, however, that my purchase of $12 was too small because there was a $30 credit card minimum. Shannon said she'd give me cash for her book if I paid for all of them, but we still needed to spend a few dollars. So I joyfully returned to the shelves where I selected a few Austen novels to make up the difference. Classics are always wonderfully cheap, and three novels later I'd racked up a big enough bill to allow the cranky clerk to swipe my card.

Now that my tour has concluded, I can safely say that Three Lives and Company is my favorite place to buy new books in New York City and the funky, friendly Mercer Street Books is my favorite used book store. As a matter of principle, it's nice to have settled on some go-to spots, but it's, admittedly, an irrelevant conclusion since I will be moving away from New York in a matter of days. Still, I hold out hope that these posts may be helpful to future book shoppers, and I look forward to scoping out book-buying options in Boulder.

The Moth, In Person

I've been a longtime fan of The Moth, a storytelling radio show, and after more than

five years in New York I finally got around to going to see a live show on Friday night. (Nothing like waiting until the eve of a big move to do all the cool stuff that's been in your city all along...) The Moth's tagline is "True stories told live without notes" and each of the shows features stories that (supposedly) revolve around a theme. The theme on Friday was "Into the Wild: Stories of Strange Lands" and I figured there would be stories about survival or travel. Instead, however, all of the storytellers seemed to interpret the theme in a rather metaphorical way.

I thought the show started at 6:30, so Ed and I headed to Cooper Union (most of the performances are at the smaller Housing Works bookshop, but this was a special event in celebration of the twentieth anniversary of the Riverhead Books publishing house and so was in a bigger space) at 6:00 only to discover that the doors opened at 6:30 but the show wasn't until 7:30. We killed time at a Starbucks nearby, which turned out to be a mistake. When we arrived in the large auditorium in the basement of Cooper Union at 7:00, it was impossible to find seats with a good view of the stage. The rows of chairs in the auditorium are interspersed with lots of what I can only assume are load-bearing pillars (they must be functional because having this many pillars in a room with a stage is a terrible idea), and each one blocks the view of everyone lined up behind it. There were plenty of empty seats, but none of them were good ones. We ended up with one seat that just barely offered a view of the microphone and one next to it that looked straight at a pillar. But there was nothing to be done, and I figured that it wouldn't be that terrible since I usually enjoy listening to the stories on the radio.

"View" from the  bad seat. A cellist sat in the white chair, and the microphone that the storytellers used is behind the pillar in the center.

I always enjoy checking out the audience at these kinds of events. People are generally dressed in either very elegant or very eclectic clothes and have conversations you don't usually hear in other venues. They discuss books, politics, science, and classical music. As we were waiting for the show to begin, I tuned into a conversation behind me just in time to hear a man say, "Well, a society always gets the government it deserves."

Author Sarah Vowell, who is a new hero of mine, hosted the show. She is a short, squeaky-voiced author with some of the most genius comedic timing I've ever encountered, and I've already ordered one of her books. She had everyone in stitches with her frank, deadpan introduction. All of the storytellers were authors as well, though I'd only heard of two of them before. The first up was Meg Wolitzer. As she was getting taking the stage, I noticed that the seat to my left, which was being reserved by the guy on the other side of it, was still empty. I asked whether he was waiting for someone and he said that he was but agreed to let Ed and me move over one seat each until his friend arrived. As it turned out, his friend never came, which was a tremendous stroke of luck. We were both able to see all of the storytellers, and though none of them was particularly physically expressive, it was great fun to watch them anyway.

We listened to stories by Meg Wolitzer (someone whose books I've never read because they sound too fluffy, though I may need to re-evaluate based on her funny, poignant coming-of-age story), Jon Ronson, James McBride (author of the well-known The Color of Water and recent winner of the National Book Award), Maile Meloy, and Marlon James. It was tough to pick a favorite story at the time, but now that a few days have passed I think Marlon James's story of self-discovery in his native Jamaica has stayed with me most, with McBride's story taking a close second. None of the stories had much to do with the theme, as far as I could tell, but they were great anyway.

I really enjoyed the show. Moth events take place all over the country and it would certainly be worth attending one. But those who live in smaller towns without performances can rest assured that they're not missing too much. The stories are almost as enjoyable to listen to on the radio as they are to see, and thanks to The Moth website and podcast, they're available on demand.

Eleven Madison Park

Maggie, one of our favorite foodie friends, had been trying to get us reservations to go to a very fancy, highly renowned restaurant called Eleven Madison Park for ages. Part of the problem was that our group was to have six people in it, which made things challenging. Meals and Eleven Madison have many, many courses and take forever, and so it was a bit of an unconventional idea to go there for lunch. But when she told us she'd gotten us spots there for 1:00 on Saturday afternoon if we wanted them, we all jumped at the chance.

Eleven Madison Park is an elegant restaurant with sky-high ceilings and simple, classy decor near Madison Square Park. Alas, no pictures are allowed inside the restaurant, so I don't have any images of our meal to share; I was actually rather glad about this policy, however, because it allowed me to worry only about enjoying the food and not capturing every mouthful on film. It was a little strange to get all dressed up for a weekend lunch, and other than great food and lots of courses I wasn't quite sure what to expect from the experience. I've eaten at a few restaurants similar to Eleven Madison before, and while the food is almost always delicious sometimes they can be a little stuffy. Eleven Madison was anything but, however. Each of the fourteen courses (!) we were served over the four-hour meal was painstakingly crafted and delicious, and many were also creative and almost whimsical.

Smoked/Smoking sturgeon

The theme of New York was woven throughout the meal. We started with a box of the restaurant's take on New York's ubiquitous black and white cookies. Instead of being sweet, though, these were savory and included cheese. I could have eaten a whole stack. Other courses included things like smoked sturgeon (served under a still-smoky glass dome) served with caviar, cream cheese, and pickle spears, and a salad garnished with bread crumbs seasoned like everything bagels. One of my favorite courses came to us in a picnic basket that we got to unpack ourselves. Inside, we discovered ceramic dishes made to look like paper plates, pretzel sticks, raspberry mustard, soft cheese, and wheat beer. There was also a seafood boil course in which a pot of clams, shrimp, lobster, small potatoes, and baby stuffed peppers was dumped artfully on a board in front of us, then seasoned with herbs, spices, and a generous flood of lemon juice. All of this makes Eleven Madison sound casual; those who've heard of it know that it's anything but. But its class and refinement is accompanied by a good sense of humor.

The picnic basket, which was a fun change of pace from the other impossibly intricate courses we were served.

We noticed the same attributes in all of our servers, who joked with us while waiting on us hand and foot. I had scarcely settled into my seat upon arriving before a woman to my right had deftly placed a purse hook at the table which she invited me to use. Each time anyone from our table returned from a trip to the powder room, a staff member was ready to help push their chairs in for them.

The sommelier not only made good recommendations but also put on a great show. Nate, one of our party, is a major wine fan and had spent the previous evening poring over Eleven Madison's wine list. He was ready to go and after conferring with the sommelier put in an order for two bottles of burgundy. To our great surprise, the man returned a few minutes later pushing a cart bearing two bottles of wine and what looked a lot like Medieval torture devices. He explained that lots of old wines had to be opened through other means because sometimes the corks had been degraded, and that while this wasn't likely to be the case with our wines, it was a fun show anyway. He then heated a large pair of tongs--called port tongs--over a burner and fit them over the neck of each bottle in turn when they were glowing red. One of the bottles cracked neatly and he was able to lift off the whole neck in one piece, cork and all. The other required dabbing an ice-water-soaked shaving brush before it came off. Both wines were decanted through fine sieves before they were served and the broken parts of the bottle were dipped in wax. (Interested in learning more? I found this video of another sommelier from Eleven Madison demonstrating the process).

This is about a third of the kitchen.

We were the last ones in the restaurant and were thrilled when a maitre d' told us we were going to get a tour of the kitchen. (Turns out Maggie had been gently but insistently "suggesting" to the staff that we'd love something of the sort for some time.) After a round of complimentary apple brandy that was too strong for me to do more than sip at nervously, we were ushered back into a massive, sparkling kitchen. We were served boozy snow cones made from a block of ice shaved before our eyes with a beautiful 100-year-old ice press and invited to feast our eyes on the pre-dinner activity around us. There was a swarm of chefs in tall white hats at each station all busily spooning, chopping, and whisking. I watched one man plating a course; he passed a single daub of some sort of sauce back and forth between a pair of spoons about eight times before he was happy enough with its shape to place it on the plate.

In the kitchen was a large poster of Miles Davis. On another was was a framed poster of a list of words and phrases. Our "tour guide" pointed these out and explained that once an early critic gave the restaurant three-and-a-half out of four stars, saying it was very good but that he wished it had a little more Miles Davis. The master chef at Eleven Madison took this to heart and launched into some research. He and his team compiled eleven adjectives describing Davis and his music: cool, endless reinvention, inspired, forward moving, fresh, collaborative, spontaneous, vibrant, adventurous, light, and innovative. These words were printed and framed and now they serve as a reminder of the restaurant's food and service philosophy to everyone that spends time in the kitchen.

Chris Flint, chef and Cheley alum

The czar of the kitchen was the chef de cuisine. He tastes every single thing before it is carried out to diners with a bevy of plastic spoons and all of the chefs must respond to him with "oui" instead of "yes" according to custom. He came over to nod seriously at us and ask us if we'd enjoyed our meals. We all babbled happily. Then he asked if we all lived in New York. Everyone nodded, though Ed said that he and I were getting ready to move to Colorado. The chef sighed and said that he loved Colorado; in fact, he'd spent his childhood summers at a camp in Estes Park. "Which one?" Ed and I insisted just about in unison. Amazingly, he and Ed not only attended the same summer camp, but were there at the same time. The chef's face changed from polite indifference to real interest and he and Ed talked about how this camp had changed both of their lives. Ed asked his name (Chris Flint) and then introduced himself. "I saw your name on the wall!" the chef said, his eyes widening. "You were a Fourth Degree Mountaineer*!" Ed looked a little abashed and said that yes, he was, and the chef wrung his hand with a look of intense respect on his face. We all chattered for a few minutes about how small the world is, then he had to get back to work, though he shook all of our hands again and wrung Ed's with special intensity.

As at many fancy restaurants, we were given parting gifts. Each person got a copy of the day's menu in an envelope and a jar of absolutely delicious, house-made granola. It has pistachios, pepitas, and dried cranberries in it and it has been making my mornings a little easier to face.

One certainly can't eat a four-hour lunch often, but it's pretty fantastic to get to do something like this now and then. I was inspired by the creativity at Eleven Madison Park and had a wonderful time sharing the experience with Ed and our friends. I can't say just when we'll go back, but since the menu changes seasonally I'm certainly excited for more surprises the next time I return!

*At Cheley, being deemed a Fourth Degree Mountaineer is a big deal. Ed estimates that when he was at camp there were only about 20 names on the wall, and the list started in the 1920s! So it's no surprise that Chris Flint noticed Ed's name there.

Intelligence Squared Debate

I am scrambling to get through my New York "bucket list" and one thing that's been on it for years is an Intelligence Squared Debate. For those who have never encountered Intelligence Squared: it's a debate series that provides a platform for experts on various topics to discuss controversial issues. Each topic is phrased a statement (e.g. "Death is Not Final"; "Flexing America's Muscles in the Middle East Will Make Things Worse"; "Genetically Modify Food") that one side argues for and the other against. I've long enjoyed their podcast (find it via NPR) and was really looking forward to seeing a debate in person.

The motion last night was "Embrace the Common Core" and I was both pleased and dismayed that this was the only debate that fit into our schedule. I'm already pretty informed about the Common Core and would have enjoyed seeing a debate about a topic that was less familiar to me. On the other hand, the prospect of watching experts in education talk about something so relevant and interesting to me was exciting. Ed and I arrived at the theater (Merkin Hall, which is part of the Kaufman Center) near Lincoln Center and settled into rather small and uncomfortable chairs as ushers tried to fit late-comers into the few remaining seats. It was a sold-out show, and the crowd was a diverse one.

John Donvan, who moderates all of the debates, provided an introduction and explained the procedure and then the panelists took the stage. Arguing for the motion were Carmel Martin and Michael Petrilli. Their opponents were Rick Hess and Carol Burris. I was a bit disappointed that Carol, the visionary principal of a renowned high school in New York state, was the only in-the-trenches educator. Both Michael and Rick work for think tanks and write books and articles about education, and Carmel used the be the assistant Secretary of Education and is now the vice president of the Center for American Progress.

Before the debate, the audience used small remotes tethered to the arms of our chairs to vote for or against the motion. We were also given the option of going on record as being undecided. (We didn't learn the results until the end of the evening.) Then the debate began.

After the opening remarks from each speaker, John Donvan posed questions to each side and allowed panelists to answer them and rebut their opponents' responses. Then the audience was allowed to ask questions. Hands all over the auditorium shot up, but there was only time to address about five questions. Then there were two-minute concluding statements from each panelist and we all voted again. The winning side was determined by calculating which team had changed the most minds.

I really enjoyed the event and had very few criticisms. Although it lasted for two hours I thought the time passed very quickly, as the debaters were good speakers and the topics were engaging. Often, they'd fail to answer the question posed and would drift off on tangents, but John Donvan did an excellent job of smoothly redirecting them. The questions from the audience were generally insightful and relevant. Ed and I were both surprised that the team arguing for the motion didn't seem to be prepared with as much data as was the other side, and we both thought the opposition used some rather cheap tactics at times that seemed to be based more in rhetoric than in actual fact. But overall, I was very impressed with the debate and would love to see another if given the chance. John Donvan agreed with me, apparently; he commended the panelists for a particularly stimulating discussion and the audience for its decorum and good questions. He said that it had been a long time since he hadn't had to throw out any of the questions posed by audience members. Walking into the auditorium earlier that night, I'd wondered whether the experience of attending a debate would be markedly different from listening to one. I concluded that it was certainly much richer to be there but that listening to a podcast was nothing to sneeze at, either.

At the very end of the debate, we learned that the results of the initial vote were as follows: 50% voted to embrace the Common Core, 13% voted not to, and 37% were undecided. After the debate, 67% were in favor of the motion, 27% were against it, and only 6% were undecided. So although it ended up being pretty close, the side arguing for the motion won, having persuaded 17% of people to change their votes compared to the opposition's 14%.


Unfortunately, unless you live in New York of Philadelphia, there aren't opportunities to attend a debate anytime soon. But anybody anywhere can visit the Intelligence Squared website to listen to or watch past debates and cast votes of their own. And John Donvan told us about a recently launched Intelligence Squared app that will provide all of these options from one's smartphone! I can't think of a better way for an intellectual to spice up a commute, road trip, jog, or cooking/cleaning session.

Update on Henry

Remember Henry, the fourth grader I tutored during the 2013-2014 school year? He's the one I persuaded my boss to assess for free in our office. After a rather sad goodbye at the end of the school year, I met up with him twice this summer. Our first outing was a rock climbing excursion at my gym, and the second was a kayaking adventure in the Hudson River. Henry is very energetic, and he's been cooped up inside all summer because their neighborhood in the Bronx is so dangerous that his mom won't allow him to leave the apartment while she's at work. So I thought it was best to take him places that would let him move!

We had a blast and Henry splashed me a lot. I suspect only a few of those time were accidents.

After he was assessed, we wrote up a report for him and then nothing happened. Henry is very bright but pretty severely dyslexic, and his school has not been giving him the specialized instruction he needs. This is common in schools like his that have too few resources; I think most of the personnel mean well, but they often haven't gotten great training and don't have half of what they need to educate complex kids. (Nearly all of their kids are complex, by the way, if for no other reason than that they live in poverty.)

Usually, our report is a very persuasive piece of evidence that can be used to persuade districts to get moving, but a complaint needs to be lodged by the parents in these cases. Henry's mother is a truly wonderful person who cares enormously about his education, but she doesn't speak much English and I'm not sure what her own educational background is. She finds the system tortuous and feels powerless. She's not in a great position to advocate for her son, and it was nearly impossible for us to counsel her about the process due to the language barrier. The tutoring organization said they were going to "look into it," but I didn't hear anything for months and was beginning to give up hope. I was anything but content to let Henry be just another one of the under-served masses, but I felt I'd done all I could do.

Then, on Tuesday, I spoke with one of the directors at the tutoring organization and got great news: Henry's case has been taken by the lawyers at Advocates for Children! If any of my readers have cash burning holes in their pockets, they should donate it immediately to Advocates for Children. This heaven-sent organization provides free legal advocacy services for kids whose families couldn't normally afford them. (It's kind of a drop in the bucket, but still.) The tutoring company had sent them Henry's case and our report, and several of their lawyers are preparing to write everything up to present it to the school board. They are going to demand compensatory services as well, which means that the district would have to pay for two years of high-quality, individualized reading tutoring for Henry because for the last few years they have not provided him with the instruction to which he was entitled. Henry's disability should have been crystal clear by about the end of first grade or so, but the district just threw him in a classroom with an extra aide and has done nothing else for him.

I spoke with some representatives from Advocates for Children yesterday. They are as charmed by Henry and his family as I am, and they share my outrage at his school's indifference (though they see this kind of thing more often than I do and seemed a little less raw). We talked about the kinds of services they should demand. Then, since they plan to sue if the district won't settle, they asked if I'd testify in court on Henry's behalf and of course I said yes. I can do this by phone, apparently, but I'd much rather come back to New York in person. Anyway, I hope it won't come to that.

I'm feeling really optimistic about this, and have high hopes for Henry!