METROPOLITAN DIARY

Scent of a Carrot
Dear Diary:

When I was single, I lived in a studio apartment on Third Avenue between 14th Street and 23rd Street. My life centered on my job as a buyer at Bloomingdale’s and evenings spent with friends at bars and restaurants.

n 1978, I met the man who would become my husband at Club Med. He lived in Chappaqua and worked in Tarrytown. After deciding to move in together, we bought a co-op on 70th Street off West End Avenue.

I started to cook and, naturally did my shopping on the Upper West Side. One of my big discoveries was Fairway on Broadway near 74th Street. The produce selection was overwhelming. I never knew there was such choice in fruits and vegetables.

As I walked around the store one day, I noticed a woman picking up several different types of carrots and smelling each bunch carefully.

This seemed rather odd, and I asked politely why she was smelling the carrots.

“Honey,” she replied, “if they don’t smell like carrots, they sure ain’t going to taste like carrots!”

— Eileen Tichauer

(I LOVE that woman!!!)

Pouring
Dear Diary:

I was in the city for a short visit and was walking near Midtown Manhattan when the skies suddenly opened up. Within seconds, I was drenched.

A middle-aged man standing a few feet from me popped open his umbrella and walked over.

“Come,” he said simply.

Grateful for the shelter, I fell into step beside him. We walked in silence for two blocks until he stopped in front of a souvenir stand.

Only then did I notice the rack of umbrellas. He gestured for me to go inside, then turned and disappeared into the rain.

“Thank you!” I called after him.

— Karima Sauma

https://www.nytimes.com/2025/11/16/nyregion/metropolitan-diary.html