The 109th

From a Reputable Online Source

2010-02-03T12:19:00.000-08:00

Faking Your Way Through Fine Dining by Pete Holmes from... aforementioned reputable online source

Sure, Applebees is fine for, like, the first thirty dates, but there comes a time to step up your dating game and take that special someone into the wild mist of highbrow culture that is "fine dining." It's easy to get lost in the brandy-swirling tundra, what with all the veal shanks and jacket-rentals, but never fear: I may have no idea what I'm doing in a fine dining restaurant, either, but I've perfected the art of faking like I do.

Let's start at the start.

Getting Seated. So, this may be your first time at Le Fromage or whateverthecrap, but you don't want anyone to know this. On your way in, remark that it's slow for whatever night of the week it is, even if it's busy. You've seen busier. As you're taken to your table, ask the hostess if "Juan" is working tonight. There's a really good chance there's a waiter named Juan, and if not, there's an even better chance there's a cook named Juan. Even if the hostess has no idea who Juan is, tell her to "tell Juan you said hello." If anyone is going to feel stupid, it's her for not knowing Juan, not you for making up Juan.

The Table Treatment. Once you've taken your seat, buckle up for a whole bunch of people doing things you usually do for yourself. This can be awkward, like when the salesperson at Foot Locker laces up your sneakers for you. You could do it, but you have to let that modesty go. At any restaurant where a coke is $7.50, act like you love having your chair pulled out for you, your meat cut for you, and your napkin put on your lap for you. Be ready for it, though. Otherwise you may forget and think someone is trying to steal your chair, eat your food, and grope your crotchables.

Beverages. When it comes to water, the waiter will usually ask if you want bottled or tap. Don't say tap. I know it's more expensive, but tonight is all about excess. If it helps, pretend tap water killed your family. Bottled water comes carbonated ("sparkling") and non-carbonated ("still"). Go with still. Not only do you avoid the emasculating experience of saying "sparkling" in public, it will prevent the possible belch-carnage carbonated water can induce, and no one wants that, especially after the cheese plate.

Wine is your best bet for booze. If your date wants something else, get a Southern Comfort Manhattan, straight up, dry. Not because they're any good, it just sounds cool. Then when it comes, tell your date they made it a little too sweet and you swore you said "dry." You're not annoyed, you just know your stuff. Comment that "Juan makes them just perfect" and propose a toast in his honor.

If you do get wine, don't get merlot. In fact, snidely tell your date "merlot is highly overrated." If they ask why, use words like "leathery," "rusty," "thin," and "burnt." Hide the fact that you only started hating merlot since you saw the movie Sideways. When it comes time to taste the wine, the waiter will show you the bottle and wait for your approval. Look at it, pretend to read it, and nod. Resist comments like, "The bottle has a kitty!" or "That should get us drunk nicely, thank you."

Edibles. There are a couple certainties on fine dining menus. Ninety percent of the time, there will be some sort of beet salad. It will probably have endive, a type of lettuce-like weed that tastes like shoelaces. Get this. Lettuce is for Big-Macs, endive is the shrub of the snobgods. Pretend you like it. If it helps, tell yourself that endive saved your family form a tap-water attack.

The menu can sometimes intimidate, but don't lose it now: you're so close to the end. Here's a valuable tip: Read the descriptions of the food you're getting. Memorize an ingredient, like "paprika," so twenty minutes later when you take your first bite, you can say,"You can really taste the paprika." If you're up to memorizing two ingredients, you can whip up some great verbal gems such as "the paprika really brings out the shallot-zest." If you blank and forget what it is you're eating, pretend it's so delicious it's making you speechless. That's a nice cover.

Dessert. Somewhere next to the flourless chocolate cake and the creme brulee is a dessert option you don't see everywhere: cheese. Not cheesecake, just straight-up cheese on a plate. They call it (wait for it"¦) a cheese plate. Sometimes you choose, sometimes it's the house's choice. Either way: goat, lamb, sheep"¦ they're all there, in cheese form. Go bold and ask for something really unique, preferably from a smelly place, like France. If the waiter says the cheese is "pungent" or "has a strong aroma," get ready for a cheese that both smells like a barn and tastes how a barn smells. Put some on a little bread, eat it and pretend you enjoy tasting the scent of lambass - if you do, you'll earn yourself some mad snobbery points, which is sure to impress.

Warning: If you order Bananas Foster, or anything else "prepared tableside," this means the waiter brings a stove to your table and cooks it all right there in the dining room. This means get ready to have everyone in the restaurant staring at you while the waiter shoots flames and bananas everywhere. Is it worth the attention and the possible eyebrow singing? No. It's just sweet, burnt bananas. Go with the cheese.

After Dinner Drinks. This is your sweet, sweet reward for making it through the meal with nary a slip. And what a nice finish: where else but a fine dining restaurant do you look MORE civilized for ordering hard liquor AFTER your meal? Order a double shot of Grand Manier at Chilis after your Sizzlin' Meat-Cheeze Shrimp Nacho Combo Platter, you look like a classless boozehound. Order it in a snifter at Chateau Bolongeyloon, however, you're one step away from a Bentley and an honorary monocle. Getting loaded is what the upper-classes are all about! Get into it! Sure, most cognac taste like DayQuil and burns your nosehair on airborn impact, but it's all part of the fun. Swirl it, sip it, drink it however you like, but for the love of cufflinks, don't mix it with anything. Most of these places hear "I'll have Hennesey and Coke" as "Please kick me in the mangroin." These are the finer things; they're to be savored as is - they don't socialize with the common liquids.

There's more to it, I'm sure, but that's all I really know, and it has served me well. If you follow this advice, there's a good chance everyone will think you're an acceptable fine diner and not a Joe Everyman who dips his fries in honey mustard and prefers Pabst to Pinot, KFC to organic chicken breast with free-range mustard, and sweatpants to cummerbunds. To be honest, I don't even know what a cummerbund is, but it sounds illegal. Good luck!

2010-01-17T03:30:00.000-08:00

Hello There!

2010-01-08T15:30:00.000-08:00

It's been awhile. I apologize. A sign of my repentance: shoes.

Lanvin, Lanvin, Jil Sander, Gucci. Photos via Coutorture

Note to Self: Self-Preservation over Sympathy

2009-12-08T19:47:00.000-08:00

So I leave the library, feeling pretty amused that I had just purchased a reasonably good condition issue of National Geographic from 1977 for 25 cents.

In the underground parking lot, I pull out and am about to leave the parking complex when I see someone coming toward me and waving at me to stop.

I figure that I forgot something at the library, and a librarian has come to my rescue-- but I think, this isn't a librarian that I've seen before. It's not.

It's a tiny Southeast Asian guy, 5 feet or less, 40 or 50, but somewhat dried out. His face wasn't necessarily a kind face, but a face that seemed capable of having been boyish and naive, before being weathered and lined the way that a period of hardship often causes... as it was now. A permanent expression of apology.

He comes near my opened window (I've just locked the doors) and asks if I am Vietnamese. I say no. He says his car has broken down on the highway and has been asking for a ride to a nearby bus stop for two hours, so that he can take the bus back to Baltimore, where he lives. Works as a mechanic in the area. There was more about a friend who lives in a nearby town/city. A towtruck to get his car. It sorta made sense at the time.

This is where I think two things: 1) how sad, and 2) he's lying.

But number 1 seems to win out in my head, so I said that I needed to call somebody first. I call my mom and I ask him for a driver's license. Doesn't have one. Has a Vietnam passport though, so I take it. It looks... a bit beaten up. The picture confirms my thought-- a bright-eyed and undeniably naive-looking face when young.

I read off the name to my mom, along with the passport number. The name he has indicated on his uniform is not really the same one as his passport. This doesn't occur to me at the time.

So he gets on the car and starts thanking me. I want to remain noncommital because I need to stay suspicious of him. Should've remained suspicious before I let him into the passenger seat, I think.

He says he's been outside in the cold for two hours and thinks he has a fever. On cue, he starts coughing into his hands. I open the windows on my side as I'm driving to the bus stop.

He talks about the other people that he talked to before, a Vietnamese couple who didn't quite trust him, and another man who told him to get lost. Interesting data.

I've made a few turns and am about halfway to the bus stop. He is telling me how to get there because I kinda know where it is, but it also helps to not appear to be so familiar with the area. His story is that he had just talked to the bus driver and the bus driver told him that that bus would be the right one to take. He asks almost immediately what time it is, but the illuminated clock is on the dash. Anyone with a car would know that, but I tell him anyway: 6pm.

Okay, he says, the bus driver told him the next bus is at 6:40. He has 40 minutes. What should he do, he ponders, and immediately comes up with the solution. There's a McDonald's across the street. He can go there to wait.

With more time, I'm starting to doubt this guy more and more. The story is a little... strange... and becoming increasingly so, and I probably shouldn't have started off by giving him the benefit of the doubt.

But so far, he seems to be okay, and sticking to his story. He asks me about me. For some reason I tell him my real name, but just the first. He apologizes for making me drive out of my way and asks if I live in the area. I say something to the effect of somewhere in the general area. Increasingly doubtful-- shouldn't've used my real name.

He talks about how he has to take the bus to get back. Then the Greyhound. Then he does a sort of a very uncertain retracing of his words, addressing me, and it's obvious that he's going to ask for money.

He says the bus is $5 and the Greyhound is $22. He doesn't have any money on him. I really don't like this one bit at all, but I know it generally hard to ask for money from a stranger, so I think maybe that the story is still somewhat true. He says that he's a mechanic, and if I give him my number, he can do some work on my car for free. I say that's okay, with a shake of my head. Actually, I don't want to call any bluffs or continue any sort of conversation-- but it's too late for that. So I just tell him I really don't have any money on me.

McDonald's-- I can see it. Nearby is a bank. I can tell he wants me to go there, but he doesn't say anything. I've made it very clear that all I have on me is $7. We get to McDonald's, I hand him $7-- such crisp bills that I enjoyed receiving as change-- and he's thanking me, but slithering out the door. His speech had been grateful, nervous, and almost excited the entire time. Very bizarre. I just want the whole thing to be over so I don't even make eye contact, but I do watch his movement, just in case.

He walks toward McDonald's, and somehow, I don't feel good at all. As I drive home, I put all 4 windows down and let it blow a little bit because he was coughing.

I pull out of the parking lot and start thinking about the what if's. But it's better not to. I guess I thought that because the context was that I had just left the library and was still in the library parking lot, that a hitchhiker wouldn't really count as one. I think that sometimes, it's okay to say sorry, I just can't, even though I feel sympathy or want to help.

Top Chef

2009-12-04T15:41:00.001-08:00

Aaaaalright. It's no surprise that H is a fan of Top Chef. In New York, he downloaded the latest episode to watch in the uber plush bed of our hotel. He stuck it out to the end too, even though the bottom half of the episode was mysteriously cut off, and he couldn't see any of the dishes, and the video stopped just as they were announcing who would be out of the competition.

Dedicated man, eh?

Somehow I haven't become involved in Top Chef. I *gasp* hadn't heard about Colicchio's restaurant until we were in the cab on the way there. Given that most reality show hosts are chosen for their looks and charisma, not their talent, I didn't presume that he had the resume that he does.

The experience at Craft - and I'm in agreement with H, it is a delightful restaurant, and underrated from what little I know of the ratings game - piqued my interest. And just for fun, I found my way to the Bravo website, where each week the winning dish is presented in a video how-to.

Delicious looking, no? A bed of delicata squash puree is the foundation for hand-made goat cheese ravioli, topped by hen of the woods mushrooms and a mushroom reduction.

But let's be real. Is anyone out there attempting these recipes? Did they even finish? Because it took that very professional chef twelve minutes, and he had prep cooks. And creative editing. And four gas burners. And an accent.

Craft NYC... sort of.

2009-11-28T19:11:00.000-08:00

I will admit (and have, to my K) that despite a curious palate, I don't often remember specifics when it comes to restaurants. Tastes and dishes, for the most part, seem to become less distinct with the passage of time. The overall impression, I retain: most importantly, who I'm dining with, and then the general quality and harmony of the meal.

A "successful" meal will be a vacation in itself-- the most successful, a getaway for two (two being a very specific number, heh heh): involuntary smiles and laughter soon become conscious and increasingly enthusiastic. All else is forgotten in the world, except for one's dining companion(s). And when your dining companion smiles as K does, laughs as she does, speaks as she does, it wouldn't matter if there wasn't anything else in the world.

Success isn't defined by ingredients, decor, or service. It is that almost single-minded... devotion?... to the person across the table or next to you. Dining at a restaurant is a special occasion to be enjoyed-- no worrying about shopping, prep work, cooking times, and cleaning up after (particularly when other things are going on in the world). It is a focus on a shared activity, a common joy. Of course, if a meal is transcendent, it certainly helps to have the external reinforcement of that feeling of harmony.

That is, particularly if the harmony you feel is called "being madly in love with your beautiful, funny, and intelligent girlfriend." Yes, ladies and gentlemen, luckiest, happiest guy in the world here-- hi!

And this past week, I found myself back in New York (where "we" began) with my one love across the table from me: bacon. Bwah ha ha ha ha ha ha!

Sorry, honey, couldn't resist-- tee hee hee.

But. Craft.

I think we did the right thing by going with small dishes.

Crispy bacon: Three pieces of pork belly served verrrry crispy. Fried to a crust on the skin side, with melty/gooey fat and tender "lean" meat. Perfectly seasoned. Great with the butter lettuce salad; by itself-- I can't believe I'm saying this-- almost too fatty. (Honey, please don't think less of me...) The formerly bordering-on-almost-too-crunchy-skin-side was a perfect textural complement to the lettuce as well.

Butter lettuce salad: Wedges with a six-minute egg (outside of the egg was breadcrumbed and fried). Give me anything with a warm runny egg yolk and you've won me over; maybe something that K and I agree on? Good question to ask. With the bacon, really freaking good. Without the bacon, might've been too... plain? Can't say, because I didn't look back once I found the combo, ha ha ha.

Beet salad: Probably the 3rd or 4th time I've had beets, but pretty good. Earthy, semi-sweet, tasted like fresh beets (...guessing here...). Ask my lover for a more qualified verdict.

Cardoons: Billed by the server as a cross between celery (texture) and artichoke (flavor), the cardoons lived up to the advertisement. As artichoke is another one of those count-the-number-of-times-I've-had-it-on-one-hand items, I think it was pretty good. Perhaps a touch bitter, if I recall correctly, but maybe artichokes are supposed to taste a little bitter-- I just don't know. Another handoff to K, ha ha hah a (we make such a great team). But bitter as a descriptor, not a negative.

Creamed spinach: Yum.

Hen of the woods mushrooms: Considering that this is something that Craft is famous for (unless I ordered an incorrect variant), I was underwhelmed. Underseasoned? Simply roasted, texture was bordering on a little tough and chewy, particularly near the base of the stems. Slightly less festive note.

Berkshire pork ravioli: Overall impression seemed to be slightly more al dente (including the filling) than I would like, but solid, happy flavors. Interestingly, because of the strength of everything else, this was middle-to-bottom of the pack.

Pear study: Tart and two types of pear sorbets. The non-spiced sorbet was slightly more awesome. Tart was gud (sic).

Chocolate souffle: Four words: Earl Gray creme anglaise. Some random letters: OMFGROFLMAOWTF! The chocolate souffle was boring by comparison.

Sugar & spice doughnuts: YES! This was the most delightful dish of the night. Light, fluffy mounds with just the right amount of external sugar... and cinnamon (the proper amount of cinnamon is just enough to be tasted), I seem to recall. Fun mini proportions, with MONDO sauces-- chocolate and applesauce, which were served with, and then THE MASSIVELY ENTERTAINING EARL GRAY CREME ANGLAISE.

Overall, it was the perfect amount of food and we didn't leave stuffed (Pierre Gagnaire, I'm looking at you)... but oddly enough, we were feeling a bit full before dessert??? But despite what might sound like criticisms above, one of our great restaurant meals and experiences, in my opinion-- maybe top five? Really high quality, really delightful. A fantastic experience all around, and I was very lucky to have such a wonderful dining companion.

It was appropriate that the dishes I most enjoyed things were a combination of something ordered for K and something for me: bacon + lettuce, doughnuts + creme anglaise. I think we worked in a feedback loop, because I kept getting happier when my girl got happier. Happiness all around, in fact, even with the decor-- the spray-paint (huh-ha!) paintings and lightbulbs and crazy walls.

A glance at the watch at the end of our meal showed our stay at Craft was pushing three hours, for a meal that was simpler with "small" plates. When such time has flown so enjoyably and comfortably by, you know you've found someone very special.

And boy, have I ever!

...Okay, the restaurant's pretty special, too.

Operation Cassava Melon (shake-a-shake-a)

2009-11-28T11:04:00.000-08:00

Step One: Enjoy your Thanksgiving.

Step Two: Take turkey carcass. Lovingly remove flesh. Place bones in stock pot. Boil with celery, carrots, onions, thyme and rosemary.

Step Three: Strain stock. Use heavenly turkey water to flavor polenta, risotto, sauces, stews.

Step Four: Notify long-distance boyfriend.

Step Five: Wait.

Love ya' Honey!

Chocolate: The Sequel

2009-11-25T09:13:00.000-08:00

Evidently, le boyfriend was only getting started with his first shipment of chocolate! Hard to believe, seeing as the first batch was truly a smörgåsbord of the world's best bars. Over the course of the past few years, however, I have never stopped admiring H's assiduous curiosity, thoughtfulness, and generous affection. Alors, more chocolate followed on the heels of the first. In thanks, a review!

Dole's Waialua Estate 70%: Yes, made by Dole, makers of canned fruit and raisins; but don't judge based on the brand! This is an absolutely delightful bar. It arrives as five ten-gram bars, the perfect size for tasting. The taste is rich and fruity. However, in comparison with the bars which followed, the Dole bar had a powdery flavor, more like cocoa powder than smooth cocoa butter.

Rogue Chocolatier Rio Caribe 70%: Like the Rogue Hispaniola, the texture and physical properties of the Rogue Chocolatier product are exceptional. For it's melting properties, tempering and presentation it is the best chocolate available. The flavor of the Rio Caribe is lower in profile than the Hispaniola, like an oboe as compared to a flute. They both sing, just at different registers. It was delicious, and indulgent in a way that only deep, creamy chocolate can be.

Francois Pralus Republique Dominicaine 75%: I have a new lover. No no no, H isn't going anywhere. I mean a new chocolate love. A new relationship in cocoa. It is this bar, made with organically grown cocoa, grown in Madagascar with trees from the Dominican Republic, processed in France, consumed in America. Ahh, the taste of organic chocolate, with the heady overtones of jet fuel. No matter, this bar is so divine that it will banish all thoughts of melting ice caps for those of melting chocolate. Like the Hispaniola, this bar has fine, sharp berry flavors. It is a more finely tuned instrument, however, than the Rogue chocolates. Each note is in perfect harmony. It made me eat chocolate like a kid, one grand corner snapped off, then another, until half the bar was gone!

Now that's something to be thankful for this season.

Portrait of a Lady and a Tramp

2009-11-02T17:24:00.000-08:00

I was relishing and basking in glory of the last post, perfectly content in having that be the first one that the world would see, but that would be selfish. So, I have created a tribute-to-us post for my honey pumpkin.

Make no mistake. This is the tribute post.

Put on your goggles or your face will be ripped off.

I present Exhibit A: a story from a British news source (doesn't really matter which one). In case they take it down, I have reproduced the epic story below.

--
Boxer dog adopts a goat
Thursday, February 28, 2008

With a name like Billy, this boxer was perhaps destined to be mates with a kid.

The pet dog has become a father figure to baby goat Lilly after she was tossed out by her mother.

'They sleep together and even clean each other,' said owner Katherine Tozer at her farm near Buckfast-leigh, Devon.
--

Let me take a step back.

"Hunh!"

(I'm not as young as I used to be. (Also, there is no step back like a James Brown step back.))

I was inspired to find something online worthy of my sweetie pie, so naturally I typed in the normal happy couple searches to see how we fared against the recommendations ("check, check, got that going on in spades, check, you must be crazy Cosmogirl!") and use the article like a bingo board (you draw your own conclusions (fine-- naturally, I bingo-ed the crap out of the Internet)).

So I had to go bigger. Like... Greatest Of All Time big.

"G.O.A.T."

Cycling through my google results-- results like the Ultimate Goat Fansite-- I found a pic that could express my boundless love for my one and only: Billy, the goat-adopting boxer.

I felt the love. But I also felt that certain things needed to be changed to better express... my world. Behold Avalon:

You see, it's very symbolic what I have done. The symbolic red lips and shoes. The symbolic tie and black box. The symbolic big yellow star. But most symbolic are the polygon happy faces-- why is hers a decahedron and mine only a pentagon?

It's because she is my better half (and here, we define "better half" as "my face only has half the number of sides n as hers does" (don't think about it too hard-- nothing romantic ever stands up to the light of reason (and it's because love is an impulse, unplanned inspiration huh-ha!)))

Baby, I would totally clean you. (And please immediately see above for boxer-goat-owner Katherine Tozer's comments before you clean my clock. (Romantic, right? Right? Anybody?))

Rogue Boyfriend

2009-10-27T15:07:00.000-07:00

This will happen to you. If you have a boyfriend - not just any boyfriend, but the extra-sweet, absolute-top-of-the-heap-best-boyfriend-in-the-world (patent pending) - he will send you chocolate. It will arrive by air, by foot, by mail. You will think that there couldn't possibly be more on the way, but there is. Ding dong! That's your doorbell ringing. And at your door is a man standing with a bag of hand-wrapped chocolate bars from your nearby chocolaterie.

You, knowing your boyfriend, will understand that these are more than chocolate, it's fruit! Or rather, the fruit of your boyfriend's labor. You see, said boy does everything at full throttle, and has been impelled by his nature to track down the most special chocolates from around the world. In gratitude, you will endeavor to consume them with the same care it took to find them. With seven bars, comparing them will be a heroic effort ("I didn't mean for you to eat them all at once!" he'll mention later (by the way, "at once," refers to the span of two weeks. It may seem like a long stretch, but this means half a bar every day)). You are undaunted. THIS IS SPARTA!

It was a most delicious marathon. The taste of chocolate - mingling with the taste of victory - is sweet indeed. With that, here are the fruits of my labors.

Amedei Chuao and Amadei 9: From Tuscany, the Amedei breed of chocolate is one of the world's best. The brother and sister duo of Alessio and Cecilia Tessieri put exceptional care into the full process of chocolate making, from the growth and protection of the cacao trees to the final bar. Neither the Chuao nor the 9 is poor. The Chuao single-origin was named by the Academy of Chocolate one of the best single origin bars in 2006, and the 9 won gold for 2009. However, at 70 and 75% chocolate, respectively, they hit the palate hard. Dark chocolate is lovely, but these two bars lack sufficient sweetness to balance well. Like a well-made cup of espresso in which bitterness is balanced by sweet crema, chocolate needs a sweet side.

Amano Cuyagua: Like Amedei Chuao, Amano's beans are from Venezuela. Perhaps it's just the difference between South American and African beans, but like the Chuao the Cuyagua lacks sweetness. This is chocolate for goodness sakes, it's supposed to be a delight to eat, sweet and smooth! And the bar is so thick it requires decidedly ungraceful maneuvers to eat, and takes quite a while to melt. Meanwhile, the shards of chocolate sit in your mouth, like those wax lips which used to be popular at Halloween. Remember how they took forever to become something edible (well, chewable, not edible), and in the meantime you had to loll them about in your mouth, waiting for some form of flavor to emerge while the wax heated up?

Amedei Porcelana: What is missing from the Chuao and the 9, the Porcelana variety more than makes up for. The chocolate is dark (70%), but is rounded and smooth in flavor. This is also a 2009 award winner, but is a step ahead of the other varieties thanks to it's balance. Cherries and sweet port are the flavors here. Absolutely delicious.

Patric Madagascar: Like the Porcelana, the Patric chocolate has a lush berry taste to it. Even better, the Patric chocolate is shaped in a thinner mold, allowing the chocolate to melt more quickly than the previous varieties. Now, I know what you're thinking: that's less chocolate! Yes, sometimes that does mean less chocolate. But this is more than compensated for by the sensation of the quick snap and liquification of a thin bar.

Chocolat Bonnat Asfarth: Chocolat Bonnat. I've given these bars to others as gifts but never tried one myself. From now on, few of them will escape me so easily. While this bar is 65% cocoa, and therefore in a category somewhat distinct from the others, it would be sinful to omit it from any list of fine chocolate. It is Hersey's for grown ups, the ultimate sweet. Weighing in at 100 grams, twice that of the other bars, it is absolutely indulgent. So sweet, one expects caramel to come oozing out of the joints, but that loveliness comes directly from the beans, so don't worry about stringing caramel all over the place!

Rogue Chocolatier Hispaniola: How does one express perfection? Since no words could depict the exceptional nature of Rogue Chocolatier chocolate, there is nothing left but to beg, exhort, plead with you to buy this bar, and experience it yourself. It is flawless. Delicate, sweet and balanced, the ultimate chocolate experience. Please, keep this small batch maker in business. I, no, the country, nay, the free world depends on it!

Small Cool Apartments from Apartment Therapy

2009-10-20T10:53:00.001-07:00

Some fun things going on here (chalkboard paint in kitchen), but a little overdone: http://www.apartmenttherapy.com/ny/small-cool-2006-entries/finalist-4-jane-darkos-cozy-thicket-007907

A full list (scroll down): http://www.apartmenttherapy.com/ny/house-tours/new-york-citys-smallest-homes-059303

More commentary to come?

Seattle

2009-10-19T09:27:00.000-07:00

moody moody moody city

softly gray greening-blue

one embrace

If Ever

2009-10-18T15:56:00.000-07:00

My future kitchen is decorated with the found shopping lists of Simon Attwater.

Fun with yeast

2009-09-25T20:20:00.000-07:00

If this were a movie, the cheesy tagline would be: "More than just a starter, it's a whole new beginning"
Clicky

rawrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrllllllllll

2009-09-22T20:20:00.000-07:00

We Will Survive

2009-09-17T20:20:00.000-07:00

Igudesman & Joo

Link-a-link-a-ding-dong-ding

2009-09-14T13:45:00.000-07:00

Links from our web-based travels:

Check out the beautiful type work of Jessica Hische, and her fabulous graphic for the New York Times this January, detailing the floor plans of various U.S. Presidents. Marital dischord in the Roosevelt home, oh my!

Animals with lightsabers. Speaks for itself.

Humorous furniture from CiteNYC. Love the grandfather clock.

Perfectly retro: floating vacuums. Hoover has a new version of the classic Constellation, which hovers by forcing air out the bottom. My aunt has a beautiful, more flying-saucer-shaped version in the unmistakable mustard yellow of the 60s.

Fun with face

2009-09-07T20:19:00.000-07:00

They say he's an engineering student.

Fun with wordz

2009-09-04T20:19:00.000-07:00

Assignment: Pretend to think deeply in order to impress beautiful girlfriend.

Premise: The only difference between "intimate" and "intimidate" is the "id."

Let's all take a deep breath.

"No!" cries the voice from the upper rafters, "No I won't take a deep breath! What does that mean? Is it because I didn't get carded in that bar on my 21st birthday?! Explain yourself!"

Fine, let's all take a moment to spazz out.

[arms flail] Bla bla bla bla blahhhhhhh

It's good to reflect on the world from these different, somewhat contrived perspectives every once in a while. No, it doesn't matter what the root of "intimate" and "intimidate" are, actually; it doesn't matter that the premise doesn't make sense; it doesn't matter that I just happened to find a relationship between these two words that kind of makes sense; just stop.

Drop.

And [arms flail] Bla bla bla bla blahahhhhhahah

The very notion of the "intimate," however one defines the parameters of the word, is that at its heart is something that is completely private and then shared with-- entrusted, really-- to another person. There is a certain, it seems, public impulse to interpret what has been written in a certain way. So let's keep it clear: without going to the limits of what is deemed "intimate," the very interactions that people have with other people are, in their own way, intimate.

A clerk asking for one's credit card is an intimate act: something that you are keeping secret from the rest of the world with barriers of wallet, pocket, purse, and things with zippers, buttons, and duct tape is suddenly given freely to the clerk. Sometimes, even out loud, over the phone. What is it about this act, this, "And how will you be paying?" question that makes the previously-held-secret not?

"WAIIIIIIIIIT!" yells another voice from high up (maybe the same one as before-- it's been a long time since he/she last spoke up). "You're so WROOOOOOOOONG! We keep the card in the wallet to PAAAAAY for stuff! OF COOOOOOOURSE we'd give it to the clerk!"

True. So since people understand that money is to be kept until it is to be used (we will equate credit cards with cash money, although the Fed and many people would not), the privacy is only an issue in the interim because of...

"THIEVESESSSS!!!"

Thanks, Gollum, knew I could count on you.

Let's talk "intimidate" for a moment. Would it be too far out of the question to say that fear of theft could intimidate one from freely pulling out and holding a credit card?

"Well, that and it would be in poor taste!"

Ladies and gentlemen-- Gollum, a gentleman and a scholar.

So for whatever reason, the connections between the "intimate" and "intimidate" seem to be that the act of handing a stranger your CC is guided by a set of rules of what would intimidate one enough to keep the CC under lock and stylish key.

"So it WAS about my ID, wasn't it?!"

Sure.

So if there was a fundamental truth about human nature to be made, I didn't find it...

...this time!

Stay tuned next week for the exciting conclusion to:

Circus Maximus, MWAH HA HA HA AHA HA HA HA H!

(The "mwah ha, etc." was not part of the title. (Nor was the comma.))

Note to self: Figure out what id is.
Note to self: Get nasal decongestant.
Note to self: Get id?
Note to self: Hee hee hee hee hee

True Haiku

2009-08-30T19:43:00.000-07:00

A racially profiled poem for my lover boy:

Gluttonous squirrel

Caper cross my August road

Chestnut in your jaw.

Seriously, what was this little guy doing? Industrious, to be starting to hoard nuts so soon. The chestnut was still green, and bigger than his head. Overeager?

Also overeager, perhaps, were the police in our generally peaceful town. Today they were arresting a man. Guns drawn, they put him face down on the asphalt. He protested. I have no reason to doubt the legitimacy of the arrest, save that a few weeks ago helicopters and a robot were sent into the bank to investigate what was thought to be a bomb. Given that no further news followed the heli-cam pics of a Wall-E lookalike heading into the bank, I am guessing the mysterious package was some little old lady's salmon, wrapped neatly in brown paper by the friendly men at Tim's Seafood.

Quoting aforementioned lover-boy, "le sigh."

Our Blog: Welcome and Gesundheit

2009-08-29T20:18:00.000-07:00