Tag Archives: Coney Island

My dear friend Miranda Künstler is back from Berlin. She has spent the past two months following the elusive and deadly Spider Swallows on their migratory journey east from Lisbon into Mongolia.

I made a huge pitcher of cold brewed ice coffee and she brought me back this delightful tote bag! The perfect size for my flivvervaat tracking notebook, my camera, and my flask. And Bubo snacks. We’re running low on vole jerky, hopefully Mordecai will send a package from wherever he may be. (I’m trying to feel unconcerned since I have not heard from him in months and his last letter left me feeling oddly unsettled.)

We gathered on the widow’s walk with friends last night to watch the burgundy sliver moon sink and to watch the fireworks on Coney Island rise. It’s hard to believe that another summer has passed and soon fall will be upon us. The leaves are already turning a bit – the cool weather after Hurricane Irene has made the trees believe it is fall and so they are gearing up for their showcase of colors before winter. Bubo and the dragons soared through the smoke down at Coney Island and came back with hot dogs for everyone.

I never ask her for particulars. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.

And, because I know you so well, below is my recipe for Ice Coffee, Miranda Künstler Style:

1. In a large jar (I use an enormous Mason jar) stir together 1 cup of ground coffee and 4 1/2 cups of water. Cover and let rest at room temperature overnight (or 12 hours).

2. Strain twice through a fine mesh sieve or coffee filters or a sieve lined with cheese cloth or a sieve lined with coffee filters, etc. etc. etc.

3. Add equal parts cold water to your coffee concentrate. That’s 4 1/2 cups, dears.

4. Serve in a tall glass with ice and cinnamon milk. (That’s milk mixed with cinnamon and a dash of sugar.)

5. Sip and pontificate.

I believe the mystery of the missing jellyfish has been solved. Sunday and Monday found Bubo rather quiet, and, Bubo being Bubo, this was puzzling and concerning. It appears that guilt renders my dear little owl silent. Good to know.

It took til Tuesday (today) for her to confess. Late Saturday night, Bubo decided she wanted the jellyfish to be able to go for a walk outside. The weather was clearing and she thought they might enjoy a meander about the park.

She outfitted tiny Pestilence into one of my jelly balls (picture a water-tight gerbil ball with a tiny filtration system). I imagine she must have had help with this, but she’s not giving up her accomplice. And as Pestilence was enjoying the jelly ball, Bubo decided that Hoover, the second-smallest jellyfish, ought to go with her. So Hoover was outfitted into a jelly ball. And then, Bubo reasoned that since my brother Mordecai and I often take summer strolls with drinks in hand, the jellyfish would also enjoy their strolls infinitely more with drinks in tentacles.

And then she poured gin into the jelly balls.

And then she placed the jelly balls onto the sidewalk and gave them each a slight push.

And so the jellyfish, soaking in gin in their jelly balls, left the house.

They have not returned. Naturally.

Bubo has been searching for them and has not been able to find them. She’s petrified that they were in the sun too long (direct sunlight would poach the poor things).

If you happen to find a hungover jellyfish in a jelly ball, will you let me know? I’m trying to keep positive, but I’m a realist: two drunken jellyfish could easily end up anywhere. If they headed towards Coney Island, they’re most likely at the bottom of the ocean. I’m sure they’d be able to get out of their jelly balls, so I’ll pretend that they’ve made a new life off the coast.

Bubo, being much more cynical than I, is picturing jellyfish salad and other atrocities.

Poor dear. Though, clearly, it is solidly her fault. She promises she will not send anymore jellyfish out into Brooklyn. We’ll see.