Joaquin De Luz. Photograph by Henry Leutwyler.

It’s been a good year for Richard Rodgers fans. After a hit revival of Carousel at the New York Philharmonic and New York City Ballet’s recent all-Rodgers triple-bill, New York City Center’s Encores! series presents the beloved Broadway composer’s On Your Toes — a blend of vaudeville and classical ballet — from May 8-12. The production, directed and choreographed by Warren Carlyle, boasts a cast of seasoned Broadway performers alongside top ballet dancers, as well as George Balanchine’s original 1939 staging of the gangster ballet “Slaughter on Tenth Avenue.”

I sat down with NYCB principal Joaquin De Luz, who plays egomaniacal Russian danseur Konstantine Morrosine in the show, during his break from rehearsal to discuss the challenges of the role, how it differs from performing at NYCB, and what it’s like to speak onstage for the first time.

You’ve never done anything like On Your Toes before. How did you first get involved with this production?

I was on our tour with New York City Ballet in Denmark and received a message from the casting agency. I’d heard that this show was coming around — a couple girls in the company had been called — and I’ve always loved acting. My favorite times onstage are in the ballets when I play someone, but I’ve never had a speaking role. I came in and read lines, and I had to have a Russian accent, which was kind of funny. I’ve been playing for years with a Russian accent with another guy in the company, even when ordering delivery pretending to be this “Mikhail” character. It came in handy. When I auditioned for Warren, he gave me notes and said, “You dance very big. You need to do the same thing with your voice.” I tried it again and didn’t think I got it, but they called me an hour or two later and made an offer. I was really in shock.

Were you a musical theater fan already?

Yeah, but I can’t call myself a true fan. I’ve probably seen about 15, and I’ve been here [in New York] for 16, almost 17 years. Some musicals nowadays are too all over the place. I like to see the pure art of it, and that’s what I like about this show. It comes from an idea — the Russian ballet — and it’s very simple. I understand blockbuster musicals can work as well, but my favorites are the pure ones.

How difficult was it to play this character in On Your Toes?

Not so much, because I’ve been around these characters my whole life. [Both laugh] They do exist. The most difficult part is putting it all together — and the timing. Comedic actors have great timing. I’ve just been watching these incredible artists: Walter Bobbie, Christine Baranski, Karen Ziemba, Shonn Wiley. It’s amazing to me how talented they are. I sit in the room and just try to take it in. The little details can do a lot. I’m trying to take it from them, and they’ve been very helpful.

How does dancing in On Your Toes differ from dancing at NYCB?

My character here is a bit over the top: the quintessential Russian superstar, on and offstage. He represents that big “all about me” attitude. I hope I don’t dance like that at City Ballet — where I enjoy being out there, but it’s not all about me. There are these beautiful things called the music and the choreography. This show is fun because I get to really sell it. I can’t be afraid to be too over the top, because that’s what Warren wants. The audience meets the character speaking first, and they know he has a big ego, and that has to translate to the dancing.

De Luz and co-star Irina Dvorovenko. Photograph by Joan Marcus.

Tell me about the infamous number you dance in On Your Toes.

The “Princess Zenobia Ballet” is the part Irina Dvorevenko and I are in. Warren captures something that the Russian ballet did very well, recreating this kind of “Arabian Nights” atmosphere. It’s like a mini full-length done in 13 minutes, but with funny stuff happening, things going wrong. He nails it. The Russian pieces in the past, it’s all about the stars, about the couple, who’s dancing that night. This is perfect because they all have their entrance. She’s very commanding, and has slaves, and he enters and … [Pushes out chest and growls]

Did you know already know Dvorovenko from your six years with American Ballet Theatre?

I performed with her during my first year at ABT. It’s actually the last time we danced together, but I’ve never lost contact with her. She nails the part. She has this perfume when she dances. She’s a true ballerina, even when she’s walking down the street. It’s amazing to share the stage with that. She’s magnetic. She pulls you in, and you forget that there’s anything around you.

Was it hard to get back into narrative mode after 10 years with NYCB?

I did do more acting at ABT than at City Ballet, but I have a story going in my head no matter what I dance. Obviously, when you do Robbins, for example, you’re playing a character. Balanchine, not so much, but I do get to do some of the more classical Balanchine works, and you do play somebody. For example, in Theme in Variations, it feels to me like Imperial Russia, like I’m in a palace. Even though I don’t have to play a character per se, I like to relate the music to how I portray the role to the audience. I don’t think I could do any movement, no matter how modern, without projecting some kind of relationship to the music.

Has it been difficult juggling the demands of the show with NYCB?

Yeah, but everyone has been very understanding. It’s a beautiful thing when worlds collide, but it’s been hard. This week I have four shows, and it’s been pretty hard stuff. This week I’m doing Tarantella and Fancy Free, which I could do every day of my life. Well, not every day of my life — of my career. I don’t think I’ll be doing double-splits forever. Thankfully, these aren’t premieres at City Ballet that I’m performing. But doing this show puts me in a good mood for the rest of the day, so matter what I have to dance, I can’t complain that I’m tired.

Would you consider doing another musical after this?

I would love to, but I can’t really sing. [Both laugh] So I’m very limited in that department. I see a lot of dance musicals. Movin’ Out was great, and if that came back I’d love to do it. Who knows?

Ricardo Graziano and Kate Honea in “La Fille Mal Gardée.” Photograph courtesy of Sarasota Ballet

I expected to be disappointed. At least a little bit. After watching superb film of the Royal Ballet in Frederick Ashton’s 1960 staging of La Fille Mal Gardée — including two Ballet in Cinema screenings led by the expert Steven McRae and Roberta Marquez — I strongly suspected my first experience with Fille at the theater would miss the mark. A trip to London, I assumed, would be needed to see this charming work — part romantic comedy, part pastoral ode — in all its glory.

Who expects to find this very British ballet, which fuses classicism with folk forms including maypole dancing and clogging, on the Gulf Coast of Florida? Yet there it was, rounding out the Sarasota Ballet’s 2012-13 season at the Van Wezel Performing Arts Hall with an April 18 premiere. There were no pangs of disappointment, either. On opening night, all around me, onlookers couldn’t resist tapping their feet to Ferdinand Hérold’s bouncy score and, in one case, even whistling along. I couldn’t fault them for it.

Odd though it may seem to find Ashton in alligator territory, Sarasota, since Ian Webb took the reigns of the company in 2007, has seen several revivals of the great choreographer’s ballets, including Two Pigeons, Birthday Offering, and Les Patineurs — all works seldom seen in New York.

Fille — the story of Lise, who falls for the farmhand Colas despite her mother’s plans to marry her to the weird but wealthy Alain — has special significance to Webb and assistant company director Margaret Barbieri, both of whom were coached by Ashton personally while dancing the ballet. (Webb appeared as Colas and Alain with the Sadlers Wells Ballet. Barbieri danced Lise with the Royal Ballet Touring Company, now the Birmingham Royal Ballet, which lent Sarasota Ballet their costumes and sets — copies of the sunny Osbert Lancaster originals — for the ballet’s two-day run.)

Ricki Bertoni as the Widow Simone and Logan Learned as Alain. Photograph courtesy of Sarasota Ballet

I had seen the company just once before, in a triple-bill last year that included works by George Balanchine and Twyla Tharp, but in Fille these dancers — particularly the corps de ballet — looked far sharper, more precise, and more uniform in style than I remembered them.

Webb and Barbieri must be proud to have excellent dancers filling their former roles. Kate Honea brings unmistakably American exuberance to Lise and bravely attacks her complicated pointework. Ricardo Graziano, as Colas, proves himself to be himself a superior technician and partner, and further develops his character through glances and smirks. Ricki Bertoni’s Widow Simone might be more cartoonish — in both mime and makeup — than the Royal Ballet performances I’ve seen on film, but he takes ownership of the role and steals the first act with a bold, flawless performance in the famous clog dance.

Fille reveals many loveable characters — all the way down to the dancing chickens that open the ballet — but I’ve always been most intrigued by Alain, who marches to the beat of a different drum (or, as it were, dances to the tune of an off-key flute). His stiff, angular steps and puzzling timing stand apart from the others’ lyricism. Colas makes a fool of him, interrupting one duet with Lise at the picnic with Alain none the wiser, and the other villagers take part in the ridicule. Alain, nevertheless, remains blissfully unaware of, or at least unconcerned by, all of this. Are we supposed to pity him?

Pity seemed out of the question with Logan Learned in the role. His crisp, athletic dancing and radiant smile reveal Alain’s delight in life’s simple pleasures. As he creeps back into the farmhouse at the ballet’s very end, once the happy couple has departed with their dancing and singing retinue, and gleefully retrieves the red umbrella he lavishes with so much attention, we’re happy that he, too, has found love, however strange.

Candidates should:

• have some dance writing experience, whether for print or online publications or blogs.
• be deeply familiar with the New York dance scene and able to cover dance in the city.
• be willing to write features, interviews, essays, or reviews (between 500 and 2,000 words each) for the print edition and/or website at least once every other month.
• be active in pitching ideas or open to accepting assignments.

If interested, please send a brief biography and at least two samples of dance writing to dance@brooklynrail.org. One-time submissions by writers or artists working in dance are also welcome.

Antonio in control of a crowded stovetop.

Through the Ballet Cook Book Dinner Series — gatherings featuring meals made from recipes in Tanaquil Le Clercq’s cookbook — New York City Ballet soloist Antonio Carmena, baker extraordinaire Susan LaRosa, and I are embarking on a kind of time travel, preparing the favorite foods of the 20th-century’s most famous dancers and staying true to their (often old-fashioned) cooking methods.

Our April 13 dinner, where we prepared five recipes by ballerina Melissa Hayden, had special significance: Hayden’s son, Stuart Coleman, was among our guests. As with past meals, we weren’t entirely sure the dishes lived up to their recipes’ intentions, but Stuart, an exceedingly kind guest, assured us we had done them justice and brought him back to his childhood. “This brings me closer to my mother,” he said in a touching pre-meal toast, “whom I miss very much.”

Melissa Hayden in “Cortège Hongrois,” which Balanchine choreographed as a pièce d’occasion for her retirement.

Hayden, born Mildred Herman in Toronto in 1923, began her career in the ballet corps of Radio City Music Hall. From 1945 to 1947, “Millie,” as she was known to close friends and family, danced with American Ballet Theatre and joined New York City Ballet in 1948, shortly after the company’s founding. There, George Balanchine cast her in new ballets including 1958′s Stars and Stripes and 1962′s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Her “exultant, dramatic style defied the supposed impersonal mold of the Balanchine dancer,” according to her 2006 New York Times obituary, and Lincoln Kirstein, NYCB’s co-founder, also considered her a happy anomaly: “Melissa has been the nearest thing to a ‘star’ in our starless company. We have never encouraged stardom on programs, posters, or publicity; managers can’t make stars. The public does.”

At this dinner, the sixth in our series, we were also honored to have with us Stuart’s partner, food expert Meryl Rosofsky; Paul Epstein, a close friend of Hayden’s and the President of the George Balanchine Foundation; his partner, Garry Parton; and reliable friends and indispensable sous chefs Michael Pereira and Jeff Gageby. It was a treat to hear Stuart and Paul’s stories about Hayden’s life and career during a vodka happy hour and over the meal itself.

Dinner guests

Hayden’s recipes in the book reflect her Eastern European Jewish heritage, and clearly came from a time (and place) where fresh vegetables — at least those beyond potatoes and onions — were scarce. Susan and Meryl spoke of eating similar dishes when they were growing up, but to this Wisconsin Catholic boy, the flavors were entirely new.

The only dish Stuart specifically requested we prepare was his mother’s sweet and sour meatballs, which I’m told were served at The Ballet Cook Book’s 1966 launch party at Bloomingdale’s. (We were grateful Stuart didn’t ask us to prepare gefilte fish. His mother and grandmother commandeered the bathtub for live carp and whitefish before preparing this dish!) Ground round steak, eggs, potatoes, and onions went into the meatballs themselves, and the main source of flavor was the sliced onions, which had been boiled with sugar and salt and simmered in lemon juice.

The main course: sweet and sour meatballs, potato latkes, and stuffed cabbage

The stuffed cabbage — ground steak wrapped in cabbage leaves and smothered in a sweet and sour tomato sauce — was remarkably similar in ingredients and taste to the meatballs. The main course’s two fried dishes, potato latkes and chicken wings, were — big surprise — universal favorites among guests. The latke recipe called for the eggs to be separated, and for the whites to be beaten and folded in — a very unusual preparation for this traditional dish. Served with applesauce and sour cream, they were delicious.

Finally, we served fruit compote, the only dessert in Hayden’s chapter of the cookbook. It’s a relatively simple dish (says the guy who can’t cook), made from dried fruits that are soaked overnight and simmered for about 15 minutes. Plated beautifully by Antonio, with the fruit surrounding a dollop of whipped cream, it was a perfect ending to an outstanding meal. (To read more about the dessert, visit Susan LaRosa’s blog.)

Watch a video of the dinner preparation (with outtakes):

Download Melissa Hayden’s recipes:

• Katie’s Sweet and Sour Meatballs
• Stuffed Cabbage
• Chicken Wings
• Potato Latkas
• Fruit Compote

Boston Ballet in the Prologue of “The Sleeping Beauty.” Photograph by Rosalie O’Connor

The classic 19th-century story ballets are difficult to pin down. As a newcomer to dance, one can see a number of productions of, say, The Sleeping Beauty — all, according to playbills, with choreography “after Marius Petipa” — and be unsure which steps are the Russian master’s and which have been added or altered. Crucial variations in structure, costumes, and décor complicate matters further. It can seem impossible to know the ballet, much less whether one likes it.

I, for one, was unaware how enjoyable this 123-year-old work could be — though it’s widely considered the pinnacle of classical ballet — until a matinee performance of Boston Ballet’s current production, only the third I’ve seen live. Now I’m nearly obsessed. Although the quality of the dancing varied that afternoon, the experience on the whole far surpassed those I’ve had watching technically superior performers in New York. The Boston production fuses music, dancing, costumes, and décor in a way that feels lavishly grand and completely right. At two hours and 40 minutes, it’s longer than the others I’ve seen, but it doesn’t lag for a moment.

The production is a well-known one, staged by Ninette de Valois in 1977 for the Royal Ballet, which continued to perform it until 1992. Boston Ballet has performed this version before — in 2005 and 2009 — and this season it was presented at the Boston Opera House, where David Walker’s richly detailed sets evoking the 17th and 18th centuries blend almost seamlessly into the opulent Rococo designs of the theater itself. The costumes, by Walker and purchased from the Royal, are also excellent.

Kathleen Breen Combes and Joseph Gatti. Photograph by Rosalie O’Connor

The leading performers are less consistent. As Princess Aurora, Lia Cirio improves as the ballet progresses: In the challenging Rose Adagio, instead of basking in her youth and the attention of her four suitors, her Aurora looks frightened and eager to end the proceedings as quickly as possible; yet she returns far more relaxed in the second act’s Vision Scene, where she attacked the steps with ease. Her Prince Desiré, Lasha Khozashvili, impresses with his noble carriage, but could show more passion in his dancing without sacrificing elegance. Dusty Button (who must have one of the best names in ballet) distinguishes herself as the Lilac Fairy with her strong rhythm and mime.

The final act, a series of divertissements celebrating the royal wedding, can easily seem frivolous after two hours of highly dramatic storytelling, but not so here. Ashton’s delectable pas de trois, danced exuberantly by Bo Busby, Whitney Jensen, and Seo Hye Han, establishes a lighthearted tone. As Puss in Boots and the White Cat, Patrick Yocum and Brittany Stone show impeccable comic timing as they prissily roll their necks and rub their backs together. Best of all was Kathleen Breen Combes, who danced as the Bluebird’s partner, Princess Florine. Her strength, line, and musicality were unmatched. While she danced, the performance reached a sublime peak.