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Bread love is back, dear friends, in full force.  The starters are growing like weeds and will be the foundation of some truly beautiful tangy sourdough breads this weekend.  I came home from tonight's appointment with my mental health professional -- which is not only de rigueur for New Yorkers, but also required by law -- all set to show off pictures of the starters, to wax rhapsodic about how bread love never lets me go no matter how many times I turn my back on it, and most importantly, to answer the question posed by BF, a/k/a Housse, a/k/a Big Fella of our Dear Witho (dear Witho, I don't visit you as often as I should, but I adore you now as ever I did, and I promise I'll be back with plenty of, uh, useful comments , namely, what is sourdough bread?  Once again, I have bitten off more than I can chew, and am thus going to try again tomorrow night.

In the meantime, while I crack my knuckles and break out my thesaurus, here is a fun little time-waster, a few pictures of how I spent my Easter weekend:

Once upon a time, this used to be the Bleecker Street Cinema, home of some of the happiest memories of my teenagerhood.  In 1990 the landlord tripled the rent, and puff, no more Bleecker Street Cinema.  Sure hope it was worth it, guys.

This is the bell tower at the Orthodox church on Bleecker Street.  I have been told that this is a very Gothlike Easter picture, something that might grace the cover of the 4AD Easter music compilation.  I like the idea of this.  All together now:  "Yesterday I felt so old/I ate my chocolate egg..."

Most of my favorite places to eat and drink and dream in the Village are gone:  the aforementioned Bleecker Street Cinema, the Schapira Coffee Company (a/k/a Flavor Cup) on West 10th Street, the Peacock Caffe on Greenwich Avenue.  (The loss of the Peacock really breaks my heart, for reasons too long to go into here.)  Happily, the Caffe Dante on MacDougal Street is still here, as it has been since 1915, where sweet young women have been bringing me double espressi and gianduja gelati since my first visit when I was 16, when I took one taste of that gianduja gelato and announced, "it's like frozen Nutella, only it's so much better."  When I first moved to New York when I was 21, I was amazed by two things:  I could now buy beer at the corner store, and I could go to Caffe Dante for gianduja ice cream any time I wanted to.

This is Sixth Avenue, facing south from Bleecker Street, yet another picture where I stood in the middle of the crosswalk to get the shot.  Every time I stand on this corner -- indeed, every time I look at this picture -- my mind's eye puts the World Trade Center towers back.  It's still like an open wound that will not heal, looking at that empty space.

I'm such a simple tool:  I'm a fool for neon signs, and I'm a particular fool for Bigelow's, home of the absolute positive coolest toiletries in the city.  If you've ever had a burning desire to buy a tube of Euthymol toothpaste, here's the place where you can find it.

So I'm a fool for ghost signs and wrought-iron fences, too.  I told you I was a simple tool.