There is something so tragic about eating with plastic cutlery in a take out bowl. Am I being too ridiculous? I don’t think so. So, I can recommend you getting this food to take out and then plating at home on some more fashionable pieces of tableware with nice millennial gold forks. That’ll be fine. And when you’re at home you can imagine that the waitor at Tucci is back with the block of Parmesan and life is decadent and nothing is bad.
When we watch Eurovision, we don’t want a ballad, we want dwarves on unicycles, hard metal Vikings, explosions, sequins, fire! The more insane the better, and I am thrilled because this year finally amped up the insanity. Let’s watch some of my favorites, first off a vampire youth from the Ukraine!
In high school, I would not miss an episode of Así es la Vida. It was on Univision without subtitles and I couldn’t understand a thing. It was brilliant. Eventually it became the foundation of my Spanish education, which is surely why it’s easier to talk about my cheating husband than it is the weather. Still, no knowledge is bad knowledge.
I have had many sensitive plants over the years, and they are one of the very first things I purchase at the Marché des Fleurs in Paris when I arrive in my beloved city. I have a spindly one at home right now that my cat worships. He loves to stick his face in the plant and watch it curl up at his touch. But this post has to do with another seemingly cognizant plant, the Venus Flytrap.
When I get overwhelmed by the overbearing Americanness of Iowa I can escape to places like this. For me, there is honestly nothing quite so refreshing as sitting in a strange place listening to conversations in languages I can’t even name as I devour something hearty and delicious. That food made me feel so good. Maybe I should marry an Indian guy who’s a chef. That is probably one of the better ideas I’ve ever had. Please send in your applications for my hand in marriage, gentlemen. Cheers.
Monday: Why don’t you spend like 1/6th of the year away from home like me? Y’all know what I’m doing and where I’m going — MEXICO CITY — but I […]
I don’t care how beautiful you think puffy piles of crystalline snow are. I don’t care about your cozy sweaters and your hot tea and your crackling fires. I don’t care about skiing or or parkas or that Scandinavian concept of Hygge that all the hipsters and wine moms have adopted. I don’t want anything to do with it. To me, as I’m sure you know, winter is a hellish misery of frozen doors and chilled fingers and darkness and eternal misery.
I rounded the corner and there she was before me, the green light of the Olive Garden sign washed over me and I felt as if I were a pilgrim arriving in the holiest spot in all the world. I was giddy with excitement reader, and I veritably rushed for the escalator that would lead up to the doors of the blessed restaurant.
Monday: Why don’t you affix a bunch of pictures to a blank wall in a haphazard yet artsy fashion? I was trying to give my office a facelift, so I […]
I adore them, obviously, I worship their existence, but I realized that I’m not always consciously thankful for their presence in my life. That changed yesterday when I realized Eddie might be no more. I love that behemoth of a moody feline. He’s an angel and he’s already used up three of his nine lives. I don’t ever want the last one to come. Until it does, I will love him with all my heart.