Tag Archives: Rome

The Pain Game: When Will I Play the Violin?

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Roman Background: Painful Travels in Italy

My regular readers know that my recent posts have diverged from the usual subject matter of food and cooking due to the back injury I incurred in Rome more than three (!) weeks ago. Sure, I saw the Colosseum and even had an unexpected brief evening out at local hot spot. Despite this, the injury was severe, and I’ve fallen quite behind in my work and writing, which is incredibly frustrating. Two and half weeks post-injury, I finally saw a spine specialist last Friday. (More on this below.) Following the visit, I decided in the eleventh hour last Friday – read: one hour before we needed to leave for the airport – that I would rally to attend a family wedding in Chicago with my husband. (You must remember that after what I lived through in Rome, my bar for what I’m able to accomplish has been ineffably altered.) I thus hobbled around as quickly as possible, grabbed my cane, and off we went. I was instructed to be “as active as possible,” you see, and it had already been more than two weeks of immobility. Not easy for a fitness enthusiast like me. I therefore interpreted this advice, which was not further qualified or quantified despite my requests, as walking to the best of my ability.

I do indeed plan to post some nutrition and foodie pieces soon. In the meantime, I wanted to share the graphic my parents and I happened upon in the waiting room of the doctor’s office. I hope you will find it either informative or amusing or both. (Click on the image to open up a larger version if the print is too small.) I’ll first provide the written intro to the piece. Next, look at the graphic, and then I’ll share with you a few of the Newby reactions.

Waiting Room Reading Material: The Road to Recovery

Introduction. ”When you are injured, your anxieties, fears, and knowledge will powerfully influence your recovery. Starting at injury, look at both roads down which you can travel. Where are you now? Can you recognize some of the places? What experiences have you had? Where will you end up? Wellbeing? Discuss the map with your clinician.”

(Adapted from Butler DS, Moseley GA. 2003. “Explain Pain” from the NOIgroup, dedicated to explicating healthy notions of self through neuroscience knowledge.)

Newby Reactions: What Is This, Stand Up?

Honestly, I’m not sure any of this will translate. And, frankly, if you don’t find parts of the graphic somewhat amusing without further explanation then you should probably stop reading altogether and read my (much funnier) post on Moxie instead. If you do keep reading (kind soul) then remember that this conversation occurred in a very quiet waiting room, with a few other people peacefully sitting in their chairs while my father and I bantered for about 5 minutes in a fairly gregarious fashion at 7.45 in the morning.

PKN is me, NIN is my dad.

PKN: “Yup, that’s me, hunched over, holding a cane. What am I, 80? Seriously.” (Continues.) “But look at that, if I continue on this road here, I’m about 30 years younger and look fabulous! AND I can play the vioiln. Awesome. Of course, I need to become a man first, but whatever – at least I can play tennis.”

NIN: “This thing is supposed to be helpful and understandable to patients. “Bravery Chicane”? What the hell does that mean? And what is “chicane”?

(I actually didn’t know the meaning of the word either. Do you? And I really still don’t understand the context in which it appears on this graphic.)

PKN: “No clue. But there’s ‘Freakout Corner.’ People get that.” (Yup, I know it well.)

NIN “Castration?!?!” (my dad says alarmingly)*

PKN: “No, dad.” (Chuckles.) ”Ca-tas-tro-phi-za-tion.” (Guffaws. Several people look over, scowling.) “You know, worrying about bad things happening?” 

(Like, am I ever going to be able to walk again, let alone run the Boston Marathon in 2012, I think to myself. Or is this a tumor? How long do I have left to live?) 

Both continue staring at the graphic, laughing. More quips are made. You get the gist. A little impromptu waiting room comedy. At least, we thought so; I believe other patients were less than amused.

* I’m sure my dad was kidding. Pretty sure.

Chicago Postscript: One Week Hence, 3.5 Weeks Post-Injury

I began writing this post one week ago after reading this graphic, following a day of several doctors’ office visits. I’m finishing it today after our quick jaunt to Chicago. So, let’s see, to recap briefly so as not to bore you, let’s just say that in the past three weeks I’ve been through anxiety town, freakout corner, and fearville; had a fair bit of both helpful and unhelpful information; have seen a long list of professionals (which will continue); and have sat for some time contemplating life from Mount Nowhere.

Nevertheless, I set out to Chicago feeling hopeful, and was even able to stand up (almost) straight and proud in my gorgeous sari from India on the wedding day. No better way to see a city than walking, my husband and I traversed the streets of Chicago for a few days to take in the fabulous food, art, architecture, and music, albeit at a slower pace than usual. (Want to hear more about things like that in real time? Follow me on Twitter or Facebook.)

However, by the time we arrived at the airport on Wednesday evening after what I considered light activity (e.g., my husband enjoyed a 10 mile run alone while I begrudgingly worked from the hotel) I was having great trouble walking. This marathoner doesn’t do well with implementing moderation without further instruction, apparently.

By Thursday morning, I was in extreme pain while I headed to my physical therapy appointment – yet another health professional. Clearly I had overdone “as active as possible,” arriving at “Re-injury Central” and right back to “Pain City.” Here I currently reside and feel much like I did 3 weeks ago. Incidentally, I bypassed the train-track loop of “compo railway.” What the hell is that?

I later chatted with one of my doctors, who suggested I might consider visiting “Cortisol Corner.” (No he didn’t actually say “Cortisol Corner.” Come on. The graphic may be cheesy but the spine specialist isn’t Mr. Rogers.)

I now sit quietly. Well, lie, really. And I wonder yet again: When will I play the violin?

P.K. NewbyDr. P. K. Newby is a nutrition scientist and educator who normally writes about food given her expertise in the prevention of obesity and chronic diseases through diet and the relations between agriculture, food production, and public health. She brings together her passions for food, cooking, science, and sustainability through her writing and videos to help people eat their way towards better health, one delectable bite at a time. If you like what you see here at The Nutrition Doctor is In the Kitchen, please subscribe to my blog from the home page, become a fan on Facebook, follow me on Twitter, check out my food porn on Pinterest, watch my cooking videos on YouTube, and peruse my recipe page for soups, salads, seafood, sweets, and more. Thanks for reading!

Remembering Rome (The Good Times, That Is)

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My recent experience in Rome, while harrowing, would have been a lot worse had I not been to Italy before. Granted, it’s one of my favorite cities and I was very much looking forward to taking in sights beyond the Colosseum, as glorious as it is. And lingering over a fabulous Italian pastry and cappuccino in one its splendid coffee shops (actual coffee shops, readers, not coffee shops of Amsterdam ilk). And experiencing Rome’s finer wines and cuisine in an unexpected corner of the city rather than inadvertently coming out in a local hot spot on Gay Street. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.) Did I mention that many of the superb wines I enjoyed while in Italy with my husband in 2009 you can’t find here in the states? As they’re made in small batches, they’re seldom imported.

Now I’m just getting depressed.

Hence my need to return to some of the photos I took when last in Rome. I’m including just a few here; perhaps you might enjoy them before my blogging returns to food stuff next week.

I’ll try to get through posting them without weeping.

I mean, I didn’t even have any gelato while there! Or pizza! (Sniff, sniff.)

Among my favorite vistas of Rome, a black and white version of this photograph hangs in my home. #awesome

The Arch of Constantine (AD 315), Romans invented the rounded arch, which is technically known in architectural parlance as the, er, Roman Arch.

The Castel Sant’Angelo (AD 135) is the setting for the final scene of Puccini’s “Tosca.”

The Roman sculpture hall at the Vatican is one of my favorite collections; its staggering opulence cannot be captured in a photograph.

Ancient Roman dude, with mini dude hanging from his toga.

Itty bitty Italian cars, Romans *especially* adore their mopeds. (Pedestrians beware. #seriously)

A grand view of the Roman landscape and one of its many ruins. (Again with the arches.)

A random street in the Eternal City.

The baroque Fontana di Trevi (AD 1762) is the most famous fountain in Rome – and arguably the most magnificent. Find images online to better appreciate its splendor.

I love this photo of the grand amphitheater at dusk + the Arch of Constantine and umbrella pine trees — but it in no way conveys the, um, colossal nature of the Colosseum.

That’s more like it: a view of the Colosseum (AD 70) from the inside. (See how tiny the people are?) Note the viewing stage for postmodern gawkers like me. Pretty sure it wasn’t used in ancient times for, say, a gladiator kick line.

One of Bernini’s famed sculptures in Piazza del Minerva, the elephant (AD 1666) forms a base for one of eleven Egyptian obelisks (BC 589) in Rome.

Some of my most ethereal photographs have been taken in flight, this one of the sun beaming at dusk on the Italian alps below.

Ciao, Roma! May we meet again in happier times. Until then, special thanks to those of you who stumbled across my blog this past week for the first time – mostly photography and travel bloggers – as I recounted my most recent adventure abroad.

Here’s hoping for a more successful journey to Chicago next week.

You know, assuming I can walk, and all.

P.K. NewbyAn avid traveler who normally writes about food, Dr. P. K. Newby is a nutrition scientist and educator with expertise in the prevention of obesity and chronic diseases through diet and the relations between agriculture, food production, and public health. She brings together her passions for food, cooking, science, and sustainability through her writing and videos to help people eat their way towards better health, one delectable bite at a time. If you like what you see here at The Nutrition Doctor is In the Kitchen, please subscribe to my blog from the home page, become a fan on Facebook, follow me on Twitter, check out my food porn on Pinterest, watch my cooking videos on YouTube, and peruse my recipe page for soups, salads, seafood, sweets, and more. Thanks for reading!

Coming Out in Rome

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This is the third post in a series discussing my recent trip to Rome, with its unexpected happenings while attending a scientific conference on diet and physical activity at the (Food and Agricultural Organization of the United Nations (FAO). It was all downhill after my first day admiring the gorgeous pignoli-giving umbrella pine trees. Minor edits aside, this post was largely written in real time on Thursday, May 17 while enjoying my last meal in Rome.

A simple yet satisfying supper in Rome: a trio of crostini with tapenade, four cheese, and asparagus paté & salad.

The conference was over, at last. Despite severe back pain, I had just given my final talk and chaired the post-conference workshop. My friends and colleagues were heading out to explore the city for our final day. A run along the river was in store with a fellow marathoner, followed by dinner at Piazza de Navona and a night walk to experience the Eternal City under starlit skies. A spectacular ending to a fabulous conference (I’m told – I missed most of it), especially sweet to those of us who had worked so hard on the scientific committee for the past year.

For me, ’twas not to be. With sorrow and envy, I bid them farewell and plodded once again to the medical center for another pain shot, anxious to lie down immediately. My evening plans were far more meager: God willing, I’d be able to make the short walk back to the hotel with a stop off midway for rest and dinner. The fine dining options I had researched were completely out of the picture; all I could hope for was for something decent en route.

Four hours later, I began the excruciatingly slow journey from FAO to my hotel. Happily, the walk took me by the Colosseum, which I never tire of viewing in all its magnificence. One can only muse in wonderment at the glories (and atrocities) Ancient Rome held. I pottered gingerly around its perimeter, hoping to head up one of the many hills of Rome and explore the yonder regions. I struggled with each step on level ground, however, and the seemingly interminable set of small, winding steps leading up a steep hillside gave me pause. I was reminded of the steps at Montmartre my father looked upon with similar trepidation; there are automated options to assist that particular ascent, however. In this case, I was on my own – and decided wisely not to attempt the long trek upwards. I knew I was thus limited to the restaurants on my direct path homeward.

I surveyed a few of the dining options in my immediate vicinity and rejected them all. Obvious tourist traps, the prices were outrageous and the menus included such things as chicken fingers and hamburgers. Pshaw. I continued on my way and, after turning a corner, happened upon a stage with four energetic performers, part of a major LGBT event / gay rights demonstration.

Not a great picture, I know, but the best my IPhone and I could do given the circumstances. You get the idea, though – and there’s the Colosseum in the background, too.

Wonderful! Lovely! I’m always up for some art and music to accompany my food. And supporting gay rights in so doing was just an added bonus. The restaurant to my immediate right thus seemed rather suitable, given its proximity to the stage, lively crowd, and good music. I entered without further adieu, anxious to sit the eff down.

In I go, yet I’m getting the vague feeling that I don’t quite fit in. This, despite the fact that my waiter was adorable and very polite and attentive. And not in a lewd sort of way, either. This was my first sign, you see (to perpetuate the stereotype that the manners of many Italian men towards female tourists are, er, questionable). As it turned out, I had entered a bar-slash-restaurant called “Coming Out,” in which I was one of very few females – and certainly the only straight one. The mood was all the merrier given the major event occurring outside on Gay Street.

Could I make this up? Yes. But I’m not. And here’s the menu to prove it.

I chuckled to myself. Why this struck me as amusing, I don’t really know. (I mean, other than the obvious irony of “Coming Out on Gay Street.”) Goodness knows I’ve spent my fair share of time in gay bars. I run a theater company, remember, and I pretty much assume people are gay unless told otherwise. I think that for the most part I smiled mainly out of happiness: I’ve stumbled randomly across many a music and dancing event around the world, completely by chance. ‘Tis a glorious part of travel – especially when the event is connected with such an important human rights issue.

Sautéed mixed mushrooms: the perfect accompaniment to crostini and red wine.

Further, the food was quite enjoyable indeed, starring a trio of bruschetta with tapenade, asparagus paté, and four cheese. A glass of red wine and plate of funghi completed my supper: don’t doubt how delicious simply prepared vegetables can be, like this plate of mixed mushrooms perfectly sautéed with extra virgin olive oil and a sprinkle of parsley. Dessert was the thickest, richest hot chocolate I’ve had in recent memory, warming both body and soul. So, yes, the food certainly contributed to my feeling of contentment.

Then again, it could have just been the heavy pain killers.

Pain, schmain. It’s good to be alive, I thought, as I paid my bill and prepared to depart.

One critical question at hand now remains, however: can I rise out of this chair???????

P.K. NewbyAn avid traveler, Dr. P. K. Newby is a nutrition scientist and educator with expertise in the prevention of obesity and chronic diseases through diet and the relations between agriculture, food production, and public health. She brings together her passions for food, cooking, science, and sustainability through her writing and videos to help people eat their way towards better health, one delectable bite at a time. If you like what you see here at The Nutrition Doctor is In the Kitchen, please subscribe to my blog from the home page, become a fan on Facebook, follow me on Twitter, check out my food porn on Pinterest, watch my cooking videos on YouTube, and peruse my recipe page for soups, salads, seafood, sweets, and more. Thanks for reading!

Rome: An Unexpected Pain in the Arse

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Not quite the food and wine adventure I expected, alas, but I did manage to eat one piece of Italian cheesecake with berry coulis.

For the past year, I have participated on the scientific planning committee for the International Conference on Diet and Activity Methods, which convened at the Food and Agricultural Organization (FAO) of the United Nations in Rome last week. A triannual meeting, it is the major conference in my field where scientists focus on the measurement of food intakes and physical activity. Accurately assessing these behaviors is key, as it is the foundation for studies examining important diet and health relationships such as with cardiovascular diseases, obesity, diabetes, and cancer, like my own research at Boston University.

I had been integrally involved in the program planning and was scheduled to chair a symposium, give two talks, co-chair a post-conference workshop, and moderate a panel. I tell you this only to convey that this conference is among the top in my field and it is a big deal. Fellow researchers and friends from across the globe would be in attendance, and I was looking forward to hearing about their work, meeting about potential research projects, and socializing with them over fabulous wine and food in the Eternal City.

I could never have imagined missing essentially the entire conference. While my colleagues and collaborators enjoyed the intellectual stimulation of the meeting and wandered about this magnificent city, I spent most of my time sedated in the medical center following a shot in the arse.

Damn hotel bed! (Or Something.)

Anyone who has thrown out their back can understand the story I’m about to tell, and if you can’t, I hope you never will. But if bad backs are in your genes, it often takes the tiniest thing to lead to unthinkable amounts of pain. My husband once suffered from a toothbrushing-related incident, for example. My back had been a bit sore for weeks but when I entered the hotel and sat on the bed, which was hard as a rock and mattress pad-less, I had a very bad feeling about it. (This is Rome’s version of a 4 star hotel, by the way. Don’t even get me started on the other issues.)

My back was hurting the first morning, which is nothing new albeit the discomfort was a bit more extreme than usual. The bed didn’t help, sure, but who knows how it happened? Lugging my baggage the 0.75 km to the hotel? (Not unusual for me following a long flight; I love walking.) The 4 inch heels the night before? (I do love my heels…) Perhaps a combination, I imagine.

I successfully chaired my first session and gave my first talk, then sat down at the table.

At the session’s end, about an hour later, I could barely rise from my chair.

In spite of that, I managed to survive through the dinner that evening, hoping things would resolve. I took a hot bath back at the hotel, praying things would be better in the morning.

Two sleeping pills and 10 hours later, I could rise from the bed only with agony. (The kind that is slowly beginning to develop now as I finish writing this piece, as any verticality whatsoever is quite painful after 30 or so minutes.)

I nonetheless dressed very, very slowly and prepared to head over to the conference.

I am nothing if not disciplined, after all. I persevere. No pain, no gain. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps. That kind of thing.

Until I collapsed on the hotel floor.

*****

As I lay crumpled on the ground, I thought first of calling my husband or my dad, prepared to change my flight and return home immediately. Defeated, tears streamed down my face with pain and anguish.

And then I thought of Team Hoyt, the magnificent duo where father Dick pushes son Rick in a wheelchair during marathons. Oh, and pulls him in a boat during triathlons. With the message “Yes You Can!” they’ve traversed more than one thousand races in the past three decades. I’ve watched them run the Boston Marathon in years past and wept openly. In April I was honored and humbled to run by their side as I accompanied a struggling friend on the final 3 mile stretch to the finish line in the near-90 F degree heat.

And I thought of the millions and millions of people who struggle every day with basic tasks due to extreme physical challenges.

Yes, I was in excruciating pain, but lots of people throw their backs out for all sorts of reasons, in all sorts of circumstances. I would somehow make it to the conference and fulfill the roles I had promised to play.

Long story short. (I Mean, Less Long.)

I did indeed deliver my second talk and chair the post-conference session, as planned. (My cute suit, a short burgundy dress and jacket I bought in Sydney, looked awesome with sneakers.)

And I did, in fact, hear the closing address by the FAO assistant director-general of agriculture in the final fifteen minutes of the conference, which highlighted the importance of biodiversity and sustainability in feeding the world.

I did not, however, attend any of my colleagues’ sessions and spent a good portion of two days sedated in the medical center while getting injections to control the pain and lying very, very still.

I rallied for one evening out with a very patient friend and even plodded around the Colosseum on my last night in Rome, where I inadvertently participated in a gay rights demonstration. (True story.)

And, through the grace of God and power of the human spirit, along with one garrulous Brit with whom I chatted happily for several hours to pass the time while flying across the pond, I somehow made it home as planned in time for Boston University graduation the next day.

What, you ask? You attended graduation after all that?

Yes, yes I did.

Live long and prosper. (No matter how much pain you’re in.)

My student worked with me for more than 3 years, and if I could walk at all I would be there to hood him as nutrition’s newest doctor, pain notwithstanding. And I was. And the following day I dragged myself yet again to the main graduation, as participating in university commencement is an important academic duty of a professor. I would play my part to the degree I was able, and I was excited to hear Google’s CEO Eric Schmidt give the address and see Leonard Nimoy (Star Trek‘s Dr. Spock) receive an honorary doctorate.

You see, after getting through last week – and believe me when I tell you that this is the short story – my bar is reset yet again for what is possible.

Now. If you’ll excuse me, I need a valium.

P.K. NewbyDr. P. K. Newby is a nutrition scientist and educator with expertise in the prevention of obesity and chronic diseases through diet and the relations between agriculture, food production, and public health. She brings together her passions for food, cooking, science, and sustainability through her writing and videos to help people eat their way towards better health, one delectable bite at a time. If you like what you see here at The Nutrition Doctor is In the Kitchen, please subscribe to my blog from the home page, become a fan on Facebook, follow me on Twitter, check out my food porn on Pinterest, watch my cooking videos on YouTube, and peruse my recipe page for soups, salads, seafood, sweets, and more. Thanks for reading!

Pine Nuts in a Grand Setting

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I love traveling, but it does make writing harder than usual. I’ve been at the International Conference on Diet and Activity Methods in Rome at the Food and Agricultural Organization of the United Nations this week, a triannual meeting focused on how scientists measure food intakes and exercise behaviors. If you missed me desperately or felt you would have liked to know that sooner and/or or see other status updates and photos this week, please feel free to become a fan of my page on Facebook or follow me on Twitter. I do have a Roman tale to tell that I will write soon – it’s not food related, ironically – but in the meanwhile wanted to write a quick post to connect with you. I also have many other (nicer) pictures so perhaps I’ll make a slide show soon. I selected the two photos below to highlight both the Colosseum – I think that may be required if you’re writing about the Eternal City? – and Rome’s fabulous flora.

Misleading of its magnitude, the trees are *not* taller than the Colosseum. They don’t call it “Colosseum” for nothing, after all.

Isn’t that gorgeous? I love the Italian (Tuscan) Cypress (background) and European Umbrella Pine trees (foreground) that dot the Roman landscape and create a lovely adornment to the outer perimeter of this grand amphitheater. Indigenous to Mediterranean climes, the latter tree bears the pignoli (pine nut), a tasty little seed common in Italian cooking and my own Mediterranean-style diet. (Do toast them first – it brings out the flavor, as it does with any nut.) Earlier this week I enjoyed a salad of frisée, parmigiana, and pine nuts with rosemary-infused olive oil. (No food porn, sorry – I was at a reception and decided to eat it, not tweet it.)

Here’s a bit more perspective for you. And remember this is the *ruin* of this architectural masterpiece.

I must sign off for now but I really have been missing blogging terribly; I am blessed to have far more stories to tell than there is time to write. More to come soon, I hope. Until then, know how much I deeply appreciate each and every one of you who reads my blog. In no time at all, we’ll soon be making pesto together with summer-sweet basil, pignolis, parmigiana, and olive oil. I look forward to cooking again with you soon!

P.K. NewbyDr. P. K. Newby is a nutrition scientist and educator with expertise in the prevention of obesity and chronic diseases through diet and the relations between agriculture, food production, and public health. She brings together her passions for food, cooking, science, and sustainability through her writing and videos to help people eat their way towards better health, one delectable bite at a time. If you like what you see here at The Nutrition Doctor is In the Kitchen, please subscribe to my blog from the home page, become a fan on Facebook, follow me on Twitter, check out my food porn on Pinterest, watch my cooking videos on YouTube, and peruse my recipe page for soups, salads, seafood, sweets, and more. Thanks for reading!

A Slice of Pie on New Year’s Eve in NYC

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NYC pizza is the best in the world! (or on this side of the pond, anyway)

It’s not what you’re thinking. No Times Square, no ball dropping, nothing like that. More like running to catch a train back to Boston following a trip to Long Island, NY and Cape May, NJ visiting with family. Half of you are thinking “What? And you didn’t stay in NY for New Year’s?” and the other half are thinking that there could not possibly be anything worse than the Times Square scene in NY. Both are reasonable sentiments, I think, but let’s just say “been there, done that.” A story to tell, for sure, involving two drunken Marines, a crowded hotel room full of friends, a freezing cold winter’s night, and a dog named Max.

(Yeah, okay. I made up the dog part. The rest is true, though, and about that particular new year’s night oh-so-long-ago: my lips are sealed. Honor, and all.)

Anyhow, I was deposited in Penn Station by my parents to catch a train back to Boston and, as the traffic was much lighter than expected, I was more than an hour early. This is unusual – nay, unprecedented – as I’m usually running rather speedily to catch transportation of any kind. I first considered trying to get myself onto an earlier, more expensive train using my feminine wiles, feeling fairly confident I could bat my eyelashes at the conductor while gasping “But I didn’t know my ticket was only for the 2pm train!” in my finest Southern drawl. Fun, perhaps; tempting, indeed. Nevertheless, I decided instead to do a quick bit of shopping and enjoy a jolt of frenetic Manhattan energy. I had just enough time to buy new gloves and pick up an inexpensive pair of earbuds. (I’d left my high-quality earbuds at home, where they dwell with seven cheap pairs that I’ve collected upon forgetting them under similar circumstances.)

My zippy jaunt through midtown culminated with an obligatory slice of pizza. And I do mean obligatory, as in absolutely, fundamentally required of any trip to NYC. Many of you know that I am a New Yorker, and, like all New Yorkers, I adamantly maintain that there is no pizza like New York pizza, and it’s the best. Period. Full stop. No question.

(Well, um, with the possible exceptions of Naples and Rome, where I’ve had truly outstanding pies though it’s not really the same thing. I’ll say more about Italian pizza next time I’m in the country in May. In the meantime, let’s just say NYC pizza is the best this side of the pond, at the very least. But I digress.)

It’s been a while since I’ve lived in Manhattan, so I can’t really give this topic its due respect by contrasting various slices around the city and so forth; quality varies widely, of course. My favorite pizza spot used to be in the West Village, but now I often find myself enjoying a slice or two at a place right in Penn Station. Believe it or not, it’s one of the best slices I’ve had in the city, and definitely a highlight of my day when traveling from NY to Boston.

I love making pizza at home, by the way, with whole wheat crust, fresh tomato sauce and various toppings such as wild mushroom with goat cheese, caramelized onion and black olive, or zucchini, eggplant, and buffalo mozzarella. I don’t often make pizza for dinner for what I think are obvious reasons, but I do love it and my recipe is fairly healthful for what it is. Also: very, very delicious.

For me, the perfect cheese to sauce ratio is on this NYC slice.

But when I pop into a pizza place for a slice, it’s always cheese. I adore veggies, as you well know, but find that the toppings always disrupt the critical cheese to tomato sauce ratio that I find most pleasing. These things are all about individual preference, certainly, but for me there’s got to be a goodly amount of tomato sauce. It also needs to be piping hot. Finally, the slice must be adorned with four crucial elements: parmesan cheese, garlic powder, oregano, and crushed red pepper. If my husband had been with me today, I would have had him take a picture of me eating my NYC slice lovingly, much as I did with my London fish and chips.

Sated, I then boarded the railway for the afternoon’s trip while remembering fondly my previous train journey to London. A mellower New Year’s Eve awaits back in my hometown that is now Boston. Our first gathering is an early evening on a patio overlooking the Boston Common, where we’ll watch fireworks with friends. We’ll then head to Cambridge for a late-night sushi party. (We’re making the sushi, by the way, which is great fun if you’ve never made your own. I’ll show you how one of these days.)

There will be no drunken marines this year, I think – though they do tend to show up where you least expect them, no? (Or Is it just me?) No screaming at midnight in Times Square. And nary a dog named Max. (Oh, right, I already told you I made that part up.) Even so, an intimate evening ringing in the new year with champagne and sushi is a bit more my style these days.

That this year’s holiday also included an unexpected hour or so in New York, with just enough time for my favorite slice of pie this side of the pond … well, that’s just an extra added bonus.