Friday, January 8, 2010
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Note to Self: Self-Preservation over Sympathy
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.
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.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Top Chef
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.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Craft NYC... sort of.
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.
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)
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!
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Chocolate: The Sequel
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.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Portrait of a Lady and a Tramp
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.
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?))
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)