Shirine Saad

Day one – after a speedy flight from JFK we land in sunny Helsinki. The city is clean, quiet, soothing even. Stylish young people on bikes, trams, design stores and cute cafés. Yes. I am finally in Europe.

Helsinki was voted best place to live by Monocle and I can see why. The drinking water tastes better than Fiji. The air is pure and the sky is a crisp blue. The Finns are endearing and sweet and have a bit of a dark sense of humor. And of course, they love their saunas. Here it’s all about the saunas. At night we take a ferry to one of the island restaurants and taste the freshest raw salmon and down neat vodka. We sing drinking songs while the sun, with its neon pink ribbons, kisses the still river. Kippis. (Cheers)

Day four – after traveling throughout the country on Eurail trains and looking at the stark tundra through the massive windows, we hop on the Allegro – Europe’s first high speed train to Russia – and promptly pass the borders. As a dashing blonde man with chiseled cheekbones checks my passport, the flashbacks of the Russian visa application nightmares vanish. Soon we’re looking at soviet bunker style buildings, barbed wires and modest houses. Olga, a language teacher and guide, is waiting at the St. Petersburg station. Later tonight we have a reservation at The Idiot, named after Dostoyevsky’s famous book. But now I have a date at the New Holland cultural complex, located on an old industrial site. Model, editor and art patron Dasha Zhukova is transforming historical wood warehouses into to art studios, venues and perhaps a store or two. That’s thanks to her husband Roman Abramovic’s 4M$ investment. On the site, a flat, vast field covered in gravel and grass, giant inflatable rats greet visitors. They are by the Bruce High Quality Foundation and part of the summer exhibition at New Holland. My hostess, lovely Anna Dyulgerova, offers me a tasting of Georgean cheeses – pungent and complex- and herb tea which we drink with spoonfuls of honey, wrapped in thick wool blankets.

Check out my interview with Belgian designer Walter Van Beirendonck, one of the Antwerp Six who’s having a retrospective at MoMu in September! Love, sex and David Bowie…  http://www.hintmag.com/department/hinterview

Inspired by some of my own experiences and by my sisters’ countless terrifying tales, here’s my list of tips to follow when you meet that potentially-cute-smart-and-eligible-bachelor. Consider yourselves warned — it’s a jungle out there.

1- Check him out. Use your detective skills. Research the hell out of him. Chances are, he has a girlfriend, or a wife, or several, or some crazy mental issue. He may have a child or two somewhere in a faraway land. Find out! Don’t fall under his spell.

2- If someone tells you anything negative about this person, BELIEVE THEM. If they say he’s a cheap bastard, a womanizer or a psycho, keep that in mind. Don’t let him fool you. Some friends will lie to you. They are not your friends.

3- This is the only topic on which your mother was right. If you still want to give him a chance, take your time. Don’t jump on him. Definitely don’t jump in bed with him. A man who really likes you will go out of his way to charm you. Let him do that, and then more. Watch him as a hawk observes their victim. Does he wear old, stinky clothes? Does he have bad table manners? Worse, does he make disgusting jokes, burp, look at other women at the restaurant? Is he using his smartphone during dinner, texting frantically? Has he FORGOTTEN his wallet? (this one happened to me more than once. Just walk out and let him deal with the mess). Is he talking about HIMSELF the whole time? Is his hand on you lap, chest or butt??

4- If you have been weak and jumped in bed with him, you’re done. DON’T text, call, or ask him out. Wait for him to do that, and don’t let him take you for granted. Chances are, he’s already over you. And you may be stuck with an STD. Good luck. I hope you have insurance.

5- If he does text or call or ask you out, that’s very good news (unless he gave you an STD). Still, don’t let him take you for granted. Allow him to manifest his interest in the most creative ways. Watch out: is he “not sure he wants a relationship”? Does he have commitment issues? Is there a sexual position that reminds him of his mother (yes, that is a true story)? Does he want to stay with his (pregnant) girlfriend and also keep seeing you? (also a true story)

6- If you’ve gone through all these stages and still believe the candidate is flawless, do give him a chance. But always remember sisters, men’s brains and our brains really aren’t built the same way. He might very well be cheating on you with your mother’s crazy friend.

Lately I have been restless. In May I visited Antwerp to report on the historical port’s new slew of avant-garde talent. I walked through the tiny cobblestone streets, taking regular breaks to bite into a steamy, sticky gaufre or crunchy praline-filled chocolate. Young people overcrowded outdoor terraces, drinking icy beers and munching on fries; there was a sense of careless freedom in the air. I attended the opening of the much-awaited MAS Museum, which celebrates Antwerp’s portuary history and the rich cultural exchanges that took place there throughout the centuries.

One day one, we flew over the city in a helicopter. The Schelde glistened, the Gothic Cathedral rose from the flat city, and the MAS, with its rust indian bricks and asymetrical facade, stood proudly on the waterfront.

The MAS is an oversized cabinet of curiosities, filled with antique boats, paintings from Flemish masters, contemporary installations, and art works commissioned from the city’s best talent. There is an in-house composer, whose remarkable noise-like ambient tracks add an eerie dimension to the shows. Vicky Geunes, the region’s most celebrated chef, serves his delicate compositions in his Michelin-starred restaurant, ‘T Zilte, which is surrounded by glass and overlooks the city. I tasted an acid-green iced cucumber yogurt bonbon, fresh and fragrant and delicious.

A woman stands in a silk emerald dress and little victorian booties, holding a straw umbrella. Curled tribal earring hang from her ears; her chocolate hair is twisted in braids and buns. She sings in front of her big band, The Smoking Time Jazz Club. Men of all ages, some bearded, some dark from the sun, play their trumpets and strings. A tall man with a bowl hat and a frizzy goatee dances with a young woman with an athletic build and a cotton skirt. They twist, tap and swing, looking into each other’s eyes and smiling. It’s smoking hot. Further, a tune of old blues on a guitar. A man is playing in his tweed vest and pants, sweating in the sun. Sometimes he gently taps his tambourine with his foot for a jingle.

Families pass by, the men dressed in seersucker suits and bow ties, the women clad in tight cocktail dresses, elaborate flowered hats and stumbling on their vertiginous heels. Tourists in souvenir t-shirts flaunt the shiny, colorful plastic bead necklaces they have collected from the parade, where exuberant characters on floats pitch plastic trinkets and candy on the crowd’s heads.

At Antoine’s, a French Quarter French-Cerole restaurant that’s been open since 1840, pink, green and blue balloons rise from wooden bistro chairs. A fleur de lys motif decorates the wallpaper and moldings of the high ceilings. Antique chandeliers cast a dim light on a very colorful crowd. Here, a man in a Hawaiian printed shirt; there, a woman with fifties cat frames, tomato red lips and nails and a flower-printed dress. In the corner, a woman with a waxy complexion and thick red-traced lips sings oldies with a deep, sensuous voice. Her orange flame-printed dress billows softly as she moves her hips.

My charming waiter lights up a brandy infused with lemon peels and brandy. He stirs the potion to heat it up, then mixes it with coffee and serves it in a little cup. I dig into my warm pecan bread pudding and take a sip of the hot, sweet, toxic concoction.

She dashes in, a lithe, golden body, her sun-kissed mane undulating wildly, her tan highlighted by a petrol-blue sweater with a hoodie. She is 64. In her sun-drenched penthouse conference room, fuchsia and white orchids bloom by the floor-to-ceiling windows; leopard-printed rugs line the floor; zebra skins adorn massive wood chairs; the heavy conference table is scattered with colored pencils, images and books. As for the walls, they are covered with hundreds of artworks: Man Ray lips, a tortured Anh Duong self-portrait, a picture of veiled women on a beach by Shirin Neshat.

A DVF portrait by Francesco Clemente

Diane Von Furstenberg sits straight on the edge of the couch, throwing her shoulders back like a ballerina. She puts down her Ipad, with its lip-covered screensaver. She holds her thick locks in her hands for a moment, closing her eyes. It has been a busy morning, as usual. Then suddenly she perks up again, beaming and talking about her business – her favorite topic. This year her resolution was to expand in China; she is leaving for the country in a few days. On April 2nd, Diane Von Furstenberg: Journey of a Dress, a major exhibition of her work and influence, opens at Pace Beijing after a stop in Moscow, featuring portraits of the princess by Andy Warhol, Francesco Clemente and Helmut Newton, dresses. Portraits DVF has commissioned from contemporary Chinese artists (conceptual artist Zhang Huan, photographer Hai Bo, painter Li Songsong and multimedia artist Yi Zhou) will be unveiled.

We Lebanese are always worried. We’re paranoid about politics, people, everything and anything. We think everything is a mysterious and dark conspiracy. We don’t really believe in a better world; battered by centuries of political manipulations and war, we have mostly accepted the corruption and decay in our country. In Beirut, most people dream of the “West.” People save up for shopping trips to Paris. They plan a whole holiday around a London concert. They talk about their relatives in Australia, France and Canada. Who could blame them? In Beirut, there’s not much to do – except tan at outrageously priced beach resorts and comment about so-and-so’s marriage and so-and-so’s outfit.

So I didn’t quite know what to expect when I opened American journalist Annia Ciezaldo’s first book, Day of Honey. I knew she had lived in the region and married a Lebanese man; I thought she might offer some insights about the region, like a scholar or a distant observer — or the many cynical correspondents I knew.

But I found the book refreshingly hopeful and poetic. Ciezaldo embraces her husband’s family and culture with curiosity and humor. She learns to make typical Lebanese and Iraki meals. As she navigates the complex, violent realities in both countries, she draws vivid portraits of the courageous and inspiring people she meets. She does write about the absurdities and the contradictions and the corruption, but she also describes how civilians deal with the chaos everyday and shows that they, too, have dreams, even it if may be so much harder for them to reach them. And she shows that everyone needs love and food to survive.

Annia Ciezaldo loves Lebanese food

“Why do you wear so much black?” asked my aunt, an economics college teacher who is known to wear leopard printed-sweaters and bright colored outfits from Marni, Chloé, Gaultier or Watanabe while chain-smoking in front of her class. It was cold but sunny in Beirut and I had brought my new lazy wardrobe: a convenient combination of black tops and skirts that I can mix and match without even looking at myself in the mirror. When we had a long luscious fish lunch on a warm beach one day, and I suffocated in my skinny jeans and dress, I realized the black was too much.

So for the summer I’m really into all the really soft, earthy tones and easy silhouettes.

I’d like a long silk pleated skirt like this one from Rag & Bone.

Actually, I want the whole outfit. The harness-bra top is just amazing. Ok, more pilates in March.

I’d also like a beautiful statement belt. Margiela always makes the best.

Shoes need to be comfortable for running after the bus and long walks in Soho. I like these Chloé platform espadrilles- relaxed and chic.

And then to flirt with handsome hipsters while endlessly waiting for a table at Five Leaves, I’ll wear these Rodarte for Opening Ceremony snakeskin shades:

The light has muted from icy to warm and soft; today I went out for the first time without my heavy down jacket (which makes me feel like a very unattractive bear). I opened the windows wide and bought some hyacinths. I’m getting ready for a big cleanup. But before summer comes I want to spend more nights reading in bed. How soothing to be isolated from the noise, smells, and aggressions of the city, to forget about trash culture – Lady Gaga’s eggs, Justin Bieber’s haircut and other subjects everyone seems obsessed with. Right now Philippe Sollers, Mario Vargas Llosa and James Joyce are on my bedside, but I did promise to share my impressions of the last two books I read.

First, La Carte et le Territoire, by Michel Houellebecq, winner of this year’s Prix Goncourt. It’s the story of this strange artist, Jed Martin, who finds massive success in the most serendipitous circumstances. The people he eventually meets include Michel Houellebecq, a degenerate depressive character who’s gruesomely assassinated; Olga, a sex-bomb/PR girl from Russia, Frederic Beigbeder, a coke-addicted celebrity writer who’s equally bitter and hyperactive.

As usual, Houellebecq offers a dark and incisive analysis of our corrupt, PR-savvy, vulgar world. While La Carte et le Territoire is not as powerful as the writer’s older books, it’s definitely an interesting insight into the art world and our times. If you want to be completely disillusioned and demoralized, read it.

Tomorrow the world’s first Nars boutique, designed by star art director Fabien Baron, opens officially.

The intimate Bleeker Street boutique holds the full Nars range and exclusives such as the Bleeker matte lipstick, a burnt red stain. Here you can play with everything with the makeup artists, protected from the hysterical action of malls. I’ve always been a fan of Baron’s sensual black casings for the brand (I remember stealing my mom’s almost-empty Nars eyeshadow palettes and getting the last bits with a Q-tip. I must’ve been 11). I also love the Orgasm blush and gloss (it’s true, you look like you’ve just spent the day doing it on a beach rather than bitching at the New York transit system). The makeup remover is epically efficient and the lipsticks – my fave is Senorita, a golden-peachy nude – are creamy and pigment-rich. For summer, there’s a Studio 54-inspired collection – I’m especially impatient to try on the copper nail polish, inspired by the disco divas and flashy decadence of the era.

Finally, there’s an inspiration wall with books, films, fresh flowers, and other pretty things that evoke the poetic world of François Nars – an adoptive New Yorker who lives in a hotel suite on Central Park South and enjoys long strolls in the Village on sunny days.

This week it was cold out and I spent long days working and reading at home (just finished Houellebecq’s La Carte et le Territoire and Eliette Abecassis’ Une Affaire Conjugale, more later). When I needed a change of scenery (from the office/dining table section of my studio in Greenpoint, that is), I moved to the kitchenette section to concoct hearty, colorful dishes.

Here are my favorites of the moment:

Scallop ceviche with blood orange
2-3 scallops per person (I buy them fresh at the market, which really makes a difference)
1 lime, juiced
1 blood orange, juiced
1 tsp. good quality olive oil
pinch sel de Guérande
1 chili pepper, seeded and minced
1 avocado
cilantro leaves, chopped (keep a couple of whole stalks for decoration)
1/2 red onion or shallot

Cut scallops in thin pieces.
Mix in the cubed avocado, onion, cilantro leaves and peppers, then add the lime, orange, oil, salt and pepper.
Mix well to allow the flavors to blend.
Serve with a thick slice of country bread or some good tortilla chips. I like to serve this in a clear martini glass because the bright colors and contrasted textures are really pretty.

The next day, I seared the remaining scallops with some shallots and made a blood-orange lime reduction. It was delicious and equally beautiful. My friends Janette and Soha Farah, owners of IF boutique and wonderful chefs, taught me to grate some lime zest on the scallops for extra zing.

Another recipe I love making, especially in the winter, is braised lamb shanks. Lamb is a staple in Lebanese cooking and I really miss the lamb stews we eat everyday at lunch there, but here the meat tastes milder and is more tender.

In this version I used squash and yams because their sweetness really comes out when paired with lamb.

Braised lamb shanks and caramelized yams and squash recipe (for two)
2 lamb shanks
1 large yam
1 butternut squash
some olive oil
some ginger
spices (cinnamon, cloves, ginger powder…)
1 onion
cilantro, for serving

Heat the oil in a thick skillet and throw in the minced onion
Add the shanks, salt and spices and brown them on all sides
Throw in some water or broth (cover the shanks), cover and let simmer for one hour, or until the lamb falls off the bone
Add the cut yams and squash (I like to keep them in big chunks because they melt quickly). You can add some brown sugar for extra-caramelization
Throw in some ginger. For extra heat add a bit of hot pepper
Cover and let simmer for about 20 minutes, or until the vegetables are cooked
Add the cilantro leaves and serve with some steaming couscous. You can add some dried figs, raisins or dates 10 minutes before the end the stew is ready if you like the sweetness.

Bon appétit!