A few weeks ago two of my favorite women were visiting NYC from California. Tracey and Aida. [And yes, I dragged them over to Brooklyn as well]. I showed Tracey the peace of Prospect Park, had lunch at this amazing Japanese-Peruvian restaurant in Park Slope where I ordered a red snapper dish in an orange-cilantro sauce and I nearly flipped through the glass window because that dish was THAT good. I ordered another.

From there, I escorted Tracey down to Fifth Avenue in Park Slope where we excitedly ventured into The Chocolate Room. Now this sugar foodie is the best kept secret in the world. It's a chocolate bar/cafe where all things are chocolate. From the sorbert to the brownies to the beer to the wine. Not to mention all the varied ice cream and cookie variations.

Needless to say, after biting into the chocolate sundae and sipping on her chocolate port Tracey literally swung her head back against the wall and found herself wedged between Seventh Heaven and Orgasmic Euphoria. Yes, the Chocolate Room has THAT kind of affect.

But the aforementioned was not the highlight. It was Kara Walker. Artist. Extraordinaire.

At 1pm the following day Aida called and said they were heading over to the Whitney Museum to check out the Kara Walker exhibit and to meet them there in an hour. I did.

I knew nothing much about Kara Walker. Except that she worked in silhouettes. And was young. Earned the MacArthur Genius Award a few years ago and was of African-descent.

I walked into the exhibit and there in sprawling grandeur was a mammouth-sized depiction of what I believed to be antebellum life on a southern plantation. The enslaved and their enslavers going about their day. You know, typical slave life. I walked out of that room to another, thinking, mmm... so this is just another tame, sanitized depiction of slaves in America. Then something caught my eye: one of the silhouettes: a southern belle kissing a gentleman caller was disjointed. Meaning, their was ANOTHER pair of legs under the wide dress of the southern belle. The barefoot legs of a slave. And I thought: wait a minute, is that a depiction of some raunchy sex taboo in slave land? And yes it was. And I just started laughing. At the devilish audacity, at the courage, and the humanity. At the underbelly of historical accuracy.

Oh yeh. I liked.

If you're in NYC, check out Kara Walkers exhibition. Very very interesting stuff.

The Chocolate Room in Brooklyn's not that bad either.

Until next time,

Keith