I was critically exhausted while I was apprenticing and working full-time, and it was also winter, so I suspect I was a little light deprived, too. When I’d let myself take a nap in the afternoon, I’d wake up at 5 P.M. and it would already be dark outside. I’d jump three feet in the air thinking that I’d overslept my alarm clock. Heart pumping, it would take me a good few minutes to calm down and realize that it was evening and not dawn. Finally I realized that I had learned as much about pastry as I needed to, and I said my good-byes to that wonderful apprenticeship. The physical torment aside, I learned a ton about technique and efficiency in the time I spent at Mesa Grill. And it’s thanks to the confidence I gained that I launched my cookie parties.
The parties started out on a small scale, with just me and a few dozen of my closest friends. I made tons of desserts and served wine and champagne. It was cozy and celebratory, and I discovered that there was something really special about having people into my home and watching them gobble down goodies that I had made with my own two hands.
It did not take long, though, for cozy to turn into massive, and soon my cookie parties were huge bashes and I’d have a hundred or more people crammed into my one-bedroom apartment. That one hundred or so people would rotate over the course of the evening, so by the end of the night who knew how many hundreds of people had been there. I invited a core group of friends, and then they invited more, and then I invited near-total strangers, too. My friends always tease me that whenever I’m introduced to someone for the first time I say, “Hi. I’m Lisa. Wanna come to my cookie party?” I am constantly meeting people who tell me, “Oh, yeah, I went to one of your cookie parties,” or “Oh, right, I ate brownies on your bed.” Just recently I met someone who said, “You know, my dear friend James Gandolfini went to one of your cookie parties back when he was skinny and had hair.” When I heard that, I can’t tell you how fast I rushed back home to look through my pictures and hopefully find one of him leaning up against a door frame. No luck.
I had a winning formula for my cookie parties—great food, plentiful drink, and a nice mix of people. As the parties got bigger, so did my baking workload, until I was preparing for them weeks in advance. Every night in the days leading up to the party—after I’d already worked a full day at the station, mind you—I’d make desserts and freeze them in stacks. I always made at least two dozen of everything, from mini pecan pies to chocolate chip oatmeal cookies. By the end of the week my refrigerator looked like the makings of a diabetic coma. The night of the party, while I danced around my guests, I was also running a trail between fridge and serving tables, refilling and making sure everything stayed nice and chilled—because there’s nothing worse than a soggy chocolate chip cheesecake square.
One year, I thought a good twist on the theme would be to celebrate chefs I had either come to know or knew about. A side benefit is that it would take some of the hard cookie labor off me. This was after I’d left Hot 97 and was working at WOR Radio. Cooking shows were really starting to boom, and WOR had a number of them, so it was a good tie-in to my work as well.
The first chef I asked was Alfred Stephens from Mesa Grill. I still remember his homemade Hostess cupcakes, and a banana cake layered with peanut butter buttercream and glazed with jelly. To die for. I also asked Erik Blauberg, the chef at the ‘21’ Club (I nabbed him during an interview). He made opera espresso cakes and white chocolate mousse cups. I grabbed Jacques Torres when he was the pastry chef at Le Cirque. I was trailing him for an article I wrote for the New York Post, so of course I took advantage of the opportunity to have him throw his hat in the ring. He made a fig tart. Anthony Bourdain brought a layer cake. I had met him while I was eating at his restaurant Les Halles, and he was just starting to make a name for himself as a writer. I was thrilled when he came to the party, because I knew already that he was going to become famous. He had star power, it was obvious. Anyway, with all these chefs stopping by and bringing their amazing desserts, my little cookie parties were becoming like a mini Aspen food festival. I even convinced Veuve Clicquot to sponsor one of my parties, and this was long before anyone was doing that—definitely before every housewife, city or suburban, was lining up corporate sponsors for their Chihuahua’s birthday party.
Speaking of housewives, as publicity for the parties started to grow, I got very good at picking out the people who were there just for the media exposure. One person whom I really considered a friend lost all sense of herself at one of my parties. That year, the party was being covered by the New York Times, and I noticed that she made sure she was in every photo op. If the cameraman’s lens was pointing at the cheesecake bars … she’d be holding up a slice. If the camera was pointed at a cake, she’d make sure she was cutting into it. And when the reporter went around the room for quotes, of course she was front and center. She was not such a good friend after that.
An autumn cookie party.
By far the hardest thing about the cookie parties was how to avoid telling certain people that their pastry sucked. I appreciated the people who chipped in, but there were times when I’d get about ten different batches of brownies. For some reason, a lot of people think they can make the perfect brownie. In truth, it’s probably one of the more difficult desserts to get right, because it’s all about texture and timing. Some batches were burned and dried out; others were just ugly. I’d have stacks of these second-string sweets sitting in my kitchen, just waiting for their moment. I wouldn’t put them out at first, but as I quickly learned, after a few stiff drinks a burned brownie can taste delicious. So I’d more than gladly take these misfits out of their tinfoil after a few hours and toss them on a serving plate front and center. Once the alcohol was flowing, my guests would eat anything. Melted cake, soggy pie, didn’t matter. Which was good for me, because I never had leftovers.
Just recently I was looking at pictures from some of my first cookie parties and noticing the string of boyfriends that I had over those years. Some of them were more casual than others. There was the younger guy I met at the gym, a really cute personal trainer. Turns out he and I had grown up in the same neighborhood, and I teased him that as much of a musclehead as he was now, little old me had kicked sand in his face back then. Anyway, he was sexy and cute, and what a great body.
He was just the kind of guy that I would have thrown myself at just a few years before. I probably would have shown up at his door in nothing but a jog bra, holding a plate of chocolate chip cookies. Those days were finally over, though, and the cookie parties helped me realize that once and for all. Now I was baking for me, and as a way of showing my love, as opposed to trying to win someone else’s. And that’s a big difference.
In celebration of my big life in the Big Apple, I felt what better way to honor New York City than to create an apple pie cookie. I used to make mini apple pies for all my cookie parties, after noticing that no one wanted to slice a big piece of pie because it meant using utensils (and how can you hold a drink if you’re standing and using a fork?). For this book I wanted the same delicious apple pie flavor but in a cookie. I know Mayor Bloomberg wants everyone to cut down on snacks in his city, but I dare him to say no to these. If you want to get adventurous and further thumb your nose at calorie counts, place a scoop of vanilla ice cream between two cookies and then it’s an apple pie cookie à la mode!
BIG APPLE (PIE) COOKIES
½ cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, at room temperature
½ cup white sugar, plus ½ teaspoon for dusting apples
½ cup packed light brown sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
1½ cups all-purpose flour
1½ teaspoons cinnamon, plus ⅛ teaspoon for dusting apples
¾ teaspoon baking soda
¾ cup peeled, finely diced Granny Smith apples
½ cup chopped toffee
Parchment-lined cookie sheets
Preheat oven to 325 degrees.
Cream butter and ½ cup of white sugar until incorporated. Add brown sugar. Mix unt
il fluffy. Scrape down sides of bowl. Add vanilla and mix again.
In a small bowl, stir together flour, 1½ teaspoons of cinnamon, and baking soda. Add to butter mixture and mix until dough looks like sand.
Sprinkle apple pieces with remaining ⅛ teaspoon of cinnamon and ½ teaspoon of sugar. Now fold apples and toffee pieces into dough.
With ⅜-ounce ice cream scoop, scoop out balls of dough. Space 2 inches apart on parchment-lined baking sheets. Press each cookie down slightly.
Bake for 18 to 20 minutes, until cookies appear firm and the surface starts to crack a little.
Makes 24 cookies.
PHOTO SECTION
The original Kardashians. Me, Bonnie, and Andrea.
Smiling and on my own. Something I’d get used to.
Beginnings of a cat lady. My first cat, Taffy.
Me at age twelve with gazelle legs and rabbit teeth.
Look what the philharmonic missed out on.
At age seventeen. While my friends were getting fake IDs, I got my first authentic press card.
High school cheerleading squad. Give me a double D!
My first blog. Diary of a Mad Insecure Cheerleader. Is it any wonder I became a workaholic?
At five foot three, I was just another peanut at Jimmy Carter’s inauguration.
Big eighties hair to match my big boobs. © by Marc Raboy
Chicago radio. Hard to tell if I was hiding my dark circles from an all-nighter or channeling Elton John. © by Paul Natkin/Photo Reserve, Inc.
My freshman class photo from Hot 97. © by Hot 97 FM, New York
Universal Studios Florida with Flavor Flav. The biggest alarm clock that never worked.
Will Smith: the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, with the Jewish Princess of Long Island.
Cher, post-Moonstruck and me, post–blonde dye job.
With Anthony Bourdain. You can never have too many chefs in the kitchen when you throw a cookie party.
P. Diddy, Pepa of Salt-N-Pepa, and DJ Jazzy Jew.
The Grammys. Winner of Best Reporter in High Winds and High Heels Atop a Mobile News Van.
Proud mom with her newborn.
Thanks to Paramount Pictures, the premiere for Dinner for Schmucks (here with star Zach Galifianakis) was the first red carpet where I didn’t feel like one. © by Michael Morales
I never dreamed as a double-Dlister I’d get to interview an Alister like Steve Carell. © by Michael Morales
At the Sex and the City 2 movie premiere. Leaning on the barricade I would later jump over to interview Sarah Jessica Parker.
CHAPTER 11
WHAT I LEARNED FROM TV
When I first started at Hot 97, the original program director had told me in no uncertain terms that I was “just the newsperson.” I could have let that knock my ego flat, but instead I decided that I needed to make my own opportunities. If I didn’t want to be “just the newsperson” on a radio station, maybe I needed a plan B—and C. People in media always have to have a backup plan, and I took the program director’s lack of interest in me as a message not to put all my eggs in one basket. So that’s when I decided to try my hand at television. I still loved radio, but I was looking for something extra to do in the afternoons for more exposure and income.
One of my freelancing jobs before Hot 97 had been in the news department at VH1. I was supposed to report and write for the on-air VJ, a woman who was really not the sharpest tack in the box. Pretty? Yes. Bright? Not so much. So here I was doing all this work to make her sound good (and smart) on TV, and I thought to myself: I could do what she’s doing. I didn’t kid myself that I was the greatest beauty in the world, but in comparison to her I realized that I had more to offer.
That experience gave me the confidence to make an audition tape. Then I called everyone I knew in media and told them what I wanted to do. Voilà, it worked. My first freelance job was for a show called The Real Story on CNBC, and it was a blast. It was a news story about the girls who danced in the background of rap videos, so not only did I interview the girls and go on location with the artists, but part of my story was to dance in the video rehearsal. It was so much fun, and exactly what I needed to feel like I wasn’t “just a newsperson.”
Very soon after that I was hired for a new local morning show called Weekend Today in New York on WNBC. The host was Bill Boggs, and I was brought in to be the entertainment reporter.
After years of working on the radio, I was used to having to beg artists for interviews. So the thing that struck me first about television was how incredibly easy it was to lure in celebrity guests. In comparison, getting celebrities on the radio was like pulling teeth. But everyone wanted to be on television—all you had to do was ask and you got them. On the one hand, this bizarre phenomenon made my TV job easier, but on the other I found it so frustrating. I was the same person whether I was on the radio or on TV, and tons of people listened to New York radio. Those stars should have been just as happy to be interviewed on Hot 97. But the visual of television was so magnetic to people, and I guess they felt that being seen and heard was much more worth their time than just being heard.
In any case, New York is such a big market that if celebrities were in town for a concert, or to promote their album, movie, or new television show, they came on Weekend Today in New York. I interviewed Jon Bon Jovi, Jewel, Cher, Diana Ross, RuPaul (I had to interview him while standing on a box because he was so tall), Dolly Parton (she and I were wearing the same shirt at the time, a jersey turtleneck with cutouts over the shoulders; it looked a little different on me), Michael Bolton, Barry Manilow, the Beach Boys. Let’s just say that those were more familiar acts for the station to go after, as opposed to the hip-hop artists I interviewed on Hot 97. Of course, now any morning show would kill to have Jay-Z on, but back then hip-hop still seemed like a foreign language to them.
When I first started out on TV, I did all my hair and makeup myself, with no professional intervention. I had long hair, and I thought it was nice, but it really didn’t have any style to it. Then I was offered a job as a correspondent for The Gossip Show on E! and I was told that perhaps I needed a little help in this area. The executive producer called me after one of my segments, and he said, “Lisa, we think you’re terrific, but what’s with your hair?”
I really wanted to succeed in television and I naively decided that if this guy worked with celebrities, then he must know what he was talking about. So I got my hair cut up to my chin. This was when bobs were really big, so I figured that’s what I should get. Later, one of my friends said, “Lisa, why’d you go so extreme? He told you to get a style, not to cut it all off.” But there was no halfway with me, and if he didn’t like my hair, then I got rid of it. It’s a good thing he didn’t ask me to sleep with him.
After that not-so-great experience, I decided to get some truly professional help in the form of a stylist. This was a revelation. I learned so many things from him and my producer that had never occurred to me before:
1. I have a freakishly large head. But wait, you don’t have to feel sorry for me, because apparently having a really big head is a good thing on TV. It fills the screen. And if you put really big shoulder pads in all your tops, it helps to minimize the enormity of your skull.
2. My eyes are lopsided. Do not go on television if you have any tendencies toward body issues (that was a joke—who doesn’t have a tendency toward body issues?). The camera causes you to dissect your own face to a degree that is insanity inducing. This must be the cause of all the plastic surgery in Hollywood. In my case, after staring at myself in the mirror for hours, I discovered that my eyes are crooked.
3. My lips are also kind of wonky. See above. But here’s a neat trick a makeup artist taught me: you can correct this imbalance with lip liner. Just be careful you don’t start looking like an old-timey movie actress. The producers don’t like that, and it scares the kids watching at home.
4. Don’t wear prints. They’re hypnotizing, and not in a good way.
5.
Don’t wear anything with too much stretch. It shows bulges.
6. Fake eyelashes are a godsend. When I tried these the first time, suddenly my eyes looked huge! They still looked lopsided, unfortunately, but you can’t have everything.
7. Soft lighting is your friend. And so are the guys who adjust your lighting for you. Some days when I was feeling less than fresh, the lighting guys were the only thing keeping me from looking like an extra on The Walking Dead. Thank you, lighting guys, I will love you forever.
8. The right bra makes all the difference. So does double-sided tape.
9. Bright colors pop on camera. They make you look awake! However …
10. Be careful with lipstick. Pink is not my color; neither is coral. But MAC Viva Glam lipstick—the first one—is awesome.
Finally, there’s one more thing I learned from television that my stylist didn’t teach me but that I picked up everywhere I went: you’re never young enough. No matter how young you are, or think you are, or how young you feel, someone else is always going to be younger.
Blond as can be.
TELEVISION IS FUN AND chaotic, and if I thought it was stressful to have to fill airtime on the radio, I did not know stress until I added on the whole visual component of TV. I remember I did some freelance work for ESPN2, covering the New York City Marathon. When you’re on-air, you have these little tiny earbuds so you can get instructions from the producers. I was used to that, fine. But what I wasn’t used to was having the producers literally screaming into my ears for the entire time I was on-air. They were cursing and carrying on like the Hindenburg disaster was unfolding over our heads. Afterward, one of the screaming producers told me what a great job I’d done, and I thought to myself, This is bananas. Fabulous, absolutely. But bananas, definitely.
Sex, Lies, and Cookies: An Unrated Memoir Page 11