Eustace Tilley, the New Yorker mascot who has graced the cover since the first issue
My relationship with The New Yorker goes so far back I’m unable to remember when it began. Maybe my parents showed me a cartoon. Or, as an older kid, I saw the magazine on a table or in a magazine rack, (an oddity from another world), and it called to me. For years I have read it religiously, sometimes browsing the cartoons first and going back to the articles. I miss the ‘old’ Around Town section now reduced to three picks and find some articles way too long but there’s always something to enjoy.
An exhibition, Drawn From the New Yorker, celebrating the publication’s centennial, recently opened. It’s at the Society of Illustrators, 128 East 63rd Street. Founded in 1901, the Society is the oldest nonprofit organization dedicated to the art of illustration in the U.S. The exhibit showcases more than one hundred artworks, mostly cartoons, that have been published in the magazine (and a few that never were).
The opening was jammed and lively with a group of musicians including a pianist and a woman dressed in flapper style who played the guitar and the washboard while singing songs of the 20s and 30s (aka Miss Maybell.)
Sometimes I look at a cartoon, can’t figure out what’s funny about it and don’t think I’m alone. However, the magazine’s covers are almost always terrific. The exhibition includes many well-known artists’ work ranging from Helen Hokinson, who took a jab at the daily lives and social scenes of the 1920s and 30s; to James Thurber,
One of Thurber’s famous cartoons
who wrote wonderful stories and drew terrific cartoons;
to Peter Arno, actually, Curtis Arnoux Peters, Jr., who contributed from the start of the magazine; to Roz Chast, a staff cartoonist who has published more than 1000 cartoons in The New Yorker since 1978.
If you are a New Yorker fan and can make it happen you will probably love this exhibit (which will set you back $15). The house is pretty cute by itself and the crowds will have thinned. Here’s the website for details: https://societyillustrators.org/
Cartoon’s caption: Mother: eat your broccoli. Child: I say it’s spinach and I say to hell with it
My father thought this cartoon, originally published in The New Yorker December 8, 1928, was funny and repeated it to me (a very picky eater as a kid) often. I like spinach now but then, not so much. Regardless of your feelings about vegetables, here is an easy recipe for a spinach omelet.
Photo, The Kitchn
1 cup baby spinach, packed
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
2 large eggs, beaten (with a whisk or fork, your call)
1/8 teaspoon coarse salt plus more for seasoning
Freshly ground black pepper)
1 tablespoon grated Parmesan cheese
Wilt spinach in some butter (some= about 1 Tbs.) to get rid of some of the moisture. Transfer it to a plate or bowl.
Melt another tablespoon or so of butter in the same pan, add the beaten eggs and cook until the top is almost set but just a little bit wet.
Take the pan off the heat so the eggs don’t overcook. Sprinkle grated Parmesan cheese on one half of the eggs, then top with the spinach. Fold the other side of the eggs over the filling. Slide the omelet onto a plate and eat or serve.
Harold Ross was an original member of the Algonquin Round Table who used his contacts to start The New Yorker. I bet he had little use for spinach.
Harold Ross, founder of The New Yorker
Several of you out there have told me my blog is blocked. In an effort to stop this, I have changed my email marketing service. I very much hope this gets rid of any problems you have had.
Most of the players were men in their mid-years with a sprinkling of teen boys and a few young women. Good playing all around but due to the heat we left after five innings.
Once in ‘town’ we browsed the shops buying nothing although there is a new store with pretty jewelry and woven baskets. We passed lots of restaurants, mostly noisy and full of beer-drinking young people, as well as a few realtors and other businesses.
My “tea’ came in a paper bag with a plastic glass of weak iced tea
interact {with}. ” (My interactions with plants were limited to getting them into the ground, weeding, watering, and cutting them. We rarely spoke.)
Crimini mushrooms
