pretty on a plate

or cutting board. rarely have i seen celery look so pretty... nor sliced meats so tasty. or maybe i'm just hungry after the stomach-stretching holidays and craving something that does not contain massive amounts of starch and/or sugar. did i mention i'm fat.

why do i want to eat this dress?

because it looks like a giant chantrelle mushroom, that's why. via

let them look at cake

these are just amazing. rarely am i astounded by cakes, but these are pure artistry. via

pretty as a brownie

via via

pie pops

i'll take four dozen, please, thankyouverymuch.

withlovelily via rarebirdfinds

marshmallows are the new cupcake

on the rare occasion i got my childhood paws on some Lucky Charms, i was the kid who forced down all the cereal bits as fast as i could to be left with a glorious pastel pool of floating marshmallows. and those hot chocolate pouches... i'd open 2 (maybe 3), pour 1 (maybe 2) through a sifter til only the mallows remained, and greedily add all the marshamallows to my one mug of hot choco. i still remember the day my grandmother introduced me to marshmallow fluff and peanut butter sandwiches.... cue the Hallelujah Chorus. and the day i watched my first homemade gourmet marshamallow melt into a mug of homemade mexican hot choco...the thing was shaped like a cube for the love of god! cue the heavenly rays of light.

i've always been and still am obsessed with marhsmallows. pull them apart with my fingers til they feel like taffy, toast them over a burner on the stove and pretend it's a crackling fire... you name it, i'll eat it. the obsession has hit a real fevor pitch the last few months as i've rediscovered the underrated rice krispy treat (Starbucks actually has a right good one) and s'mores... i'm confident one or both will soon become the new cupcake. you can only imagine my excitement when i came across this site selling cereal marshmallows all by their lonesome!! brilliant, m'dear watson, brilliant.

set as desktop background

i've gotten into oysters lately. first i ate several at a house dinner party where the host had bought them from her "fish guy." they were raw and totally fresh and sans fishy flavors. it was probably the first time i really gave oysters a go (without covering it up w/ so much hot sauce and lemon that there was nary an oyster left to taste). and i dug them. last night i went to naha on a groupon. we tried the oyster appetizer, and though they were briny (as i've learned to describe them), i still LOVED them. it was an instantaneous transport to the seashore. i can see how some might hate that flavor, and how in a certain mood i might not like it so much either, but boy did they ever hit the spot last night. not to mention the softshell crab to follow (f'amazing!) and p's wood-grilled ribeye. i have not had a steak that delicious in a very very long time. in short, if you're in chicago and have some money to spare or something to celebrate, try naha. the ambiance is a bit stuffy for my taste (we were by far the most casually dressed folks there), but the food... to DIE for.

pretty tasty

a few selections from this article. i love the look of the meringue sticks up top. having been to alinea, i can say they could have picked a better achatz creation than the hearts of palm, but i had to give homage...

Yummy

that's all. via lolita

I Second That

Sorry to mention eating so soon after those new human pics, but I felt compelled to move those babays down a little. And stat.


c/o ffffound

Pretty as a Parapluie

This presentation is doing wonders for both my OCD sensibilities and my passionate love of basil. In fact, if I ever gave birth, God help the child, I might name it Basil. And then promptly give it away. That's right, "it."

Gracias Day

Drool

Um, yum. I've been craving marshmallow-smothered hot cocoa for a couple weeks now. I don't think I can stop myself from buying one of these marshmallow sample packs from whimsy and spice. I only wish they could deliver them to my door right.this.instant.

Thanks (a lot) to bliss for making me hungry.

The Rents

Now that my dad has joined the footloose and fancy free ranks of retirement (is it wrong that the idea already appeals to me at 31?), he and my mom are taking impromptu road trips. Last weekend they packed a couple bags and one dingo into their car and trekked 12 hours up to Chicago to visit me and The Foo. They brought their sweet pup with them, and this here pic's proof that Foo still has some dingo love left in him yet. Enough for a rump-to-rump snooze draped all over his grandmasters, anyway. Foo sure does love Mike, as evidenced by the fact that he could not take his sad brown eyes off the man. It was almost creepy. Foo has always had a thing for the mens, and boy has he seen his share come and go.... but where was I going with this...

My parents love Chicago and have visited about a thousand times in the five years I've lived here, so there was no need to relive the standard tourist fare. We winged it (retirement style) instead. Starting Friday night I took the BBQ lovers down the street to Smoke Daddy to check out Chicago's version of meaty tang. The rents approved, and so did I once I discovered the "Carolina Style" sandwich, which stands for slaw on top. And cheese if you so please. And I do. One saucy thumb up.

On Saturday we grabbed brunch at Lula, which is -oddly enough- the namesake of mum and diddy's dog. Later that night, I dragged them to a bike messenger dive in the loop (the kind that doubles as a liquor store, yeah) to hear D's band play. As we approached, they noticed a long line of club-goers forming outside the building. We would have been the only white folks to join the line, and massively underdressed at that, and yet they seemed really excited about the prospect. That is, until they realized we were actually headed for the establishment nextdoor, which appeared to be closed or altogether condemned. Not so!

Once we were not-so-comfortably inside amongst a handful of people and the stench of spoiled smoke and old vinyl, I disappointed mom again with the news that no way in hell would the sursly surly bartender have wine or margarita mixins. I wanted her to ask just for a laugh but thought better of it after spotting the decidedly "I want to kill you, slowly" look already on the bartender's face. Trusting my judgment, she happily settled on a gin & tonic and earplugs for an extra buck. Dad went with scotch side of earplugs, and it was vodka straight up for me. For once they sucked their drinks down faster than me. Someone needed some liquid courage I guess. Forty-five minutes later it was all said and done, and they genuinely seemed to enjoy the musical experience. Troopers, right? Four sore thumbs up.

Then there was Sunday (anything but) coming down, because Sunday was my long-awaited date with Alaksan king crab legs, in season only for another month or so. My crab cravings are so severe that I drool just thinking about them, weird feeling on sides of my tongue and all. No kidding, it's Pavlovian. We hit Joe's Seafood for lunch, because it's a little more affordable that way (I did my research). Still about two-hundo for the three of us, but what a delicioso splurge it was. The legs were perfectly cooked and expertly cracked and prepared (by someone else) so that giant chunks of flaky crab were ready and waiting for us to easily fork right out of the shells and into our lovin' mouths. Zero work, people. 'Twas the best crab I've ever had, hands down, and the 'rents concurred. Six claws up! I try (and fail) not to get too excited over food, but this was well worth the anticipatory frenzy. In fact, it's grounds for one more trip of indulgence while the legs are still in season. If you're in town, I highly recommend you take me there. Hee.

One of those nights we watched Mumford on Netflix instant play. We could hardly hear it half the time over my GD heater, but it seemed to be surprisingly good. A little outlandish in the end, but a good story. We settled on Netflix after searches through my "borrowed" On Demand channels left us collectively staring at a penis TWICE. I had to convince them this was not what I usually find. Damn the nearby cable users who watch 27 Dresses a bazillion times, why don't I ever find the interesting stuff when it's just me?? Two phallic thumbs down.

Unfortunately, the 'rents' trip was cut a little short. My gramps is in the hospital for blood clots, so my parents packed up the car and trekked through all sorts of winter weather to visit him in Jerz. If I were retired I would have piled in with them. Instead, I'm here sending many good thoughts his way. Love you gramps. And love you, rents, for being good sports, great houseguests, and loving grandmasters to the dingo that misses you so much he licked himself a new hotspot just to prove it! One paw down.

Bambi Killer

I try not to think about the fact that Foo eats deer. It's not his fault he's allergic to a mystery protein other than deer, and so we stick with deer. Oddly enough, sometimes he reminds me of a deer, particularly when he's prancing. This brings a whole new meaning to that "you are what you eat" philosophy. As for me and the pig, no comment.

But all that's beside the point, if there was one from the start. Oh yeah, being the professed creature lover that I am, I find myself very fond of these photos by Sharon Montrose. My favorite is definitely the porcupine. Figures. Most of her subjects are residents of a nearby zoo and, we presume, have pretty good lives. I like how the images are sweetly stripped bare yet still remind of the various ways that animals are forced to live within human confines. Which I see as both good and bad all at the same time.

Jerz

Just back from a weekend at the Jersey shore. Jerz gets a bad rap, but don't knock it - the southern beaches are quite lovely. Cape May. Avalon. Stone Harbor. Ocean City... they all reside in an unnaturally warm section of my heart, since we spent one month every summer growing up in nearby Sea Isle City. Our routine was -in retrospect- comically regimented, and each day of that month was nearly identical to the one before and after it. And yet. It rarely grew tiresome.

During that month the six of us (seven when dad joined) piled into Grams and Gramps's beach house, which had three bedrooms and ONE BATHROOM (do the math. many a plunger were plunged and many a match struck). Morning started with a bowl of cereal, unless Gramps decided to hit the bakery and bring back the most scrumptious cream-filled donuts I'd ever before (or since) sunk my teeth into. I'd lay in bed listening to the kitchen commotion to determine if it was a donut day. If it was, I'd rise suspiciously earlier than usual and take my place at the table. Next came a sunscreen slathering followed by a long walk down the beach. Lunch sandwiches were carefully prepared by Grams and Gramps ~ who introduced me to PB and marshmallow fluff (bless them) and the infamous and mysterious-in-a-real-bad-way "pimento loaf" (thanks for driving me to early vegetarianism).

Then came hours upon hours of beach time. My brother and I smashed world records in wave riding, paddle ball hits, and pruney fingers while older sis scoured the beach for boyfriend du season. Dinner was usually preceded by fights over the outdoor shower queue, and nights were spent on the boardwalk, shopping, bike riding, ice cream spooning at the old fashioned ice cream shop, watching TV or movies and reading many a book. One month after it all began, the family piled into the car and returned home to our regular life with blond hair and tans (the likes of which nobody who looked at me now would ever dream possible).

Good memories. My parents returned to Sea Isle to celebrate dad's recent retirement, and there I followed to see my parents and grandparents and -I confess- to take advantage of the free oceanfront condo... and... consume as much seafood as I possibly could within two days time. My dad, who was recently diagnosed with a deadly carrot allergy after consuming copious amounts of carrots within a short time (no kidding) grew sincerely concerned that I would soon join him with an allergic reaction to crab. He was right to worry. I went crab crazy. She-crab soup, crab salad, crab omelette, crab-stuffed scrimps. What can I say, I miss me some fresh seafood out here in the middle of the GD country and had to make up for lost time. I also threw in a philly chicken cheese steak, clam chowder and Chik-Fil-A nuggets for good measure. I spotted that Chik-Fil-A sign at the Philly airport, and I'm pretty sure my eyes widened and glazed and I silently mouthed the words as my body instinctually bee-lined for it. Like a beacon in the night.

It's a good thing we spent two hours speed-walking along the beach. Otherwise I'm not sure I would have had any pants to wear to work this week.


Gorgeous photo c/o Karl Strauss. To see more go to Lenscratch.

Dissever

I'm feeling a little like that gummy bear at the moment. Finally finished the second half of the plaintiff's deposition that started late last month. The thing went 7 hours all told. Highly unusual in light of the low level of complication, but probably speaks to my inexperience and the plaintiff's penchant for non-stop ramblings (useful at times, brain-burning at others). There were some awkwardly funny moments (discussing the changes in the "motion of the ocean" with a 66-year-old man comes to mind), but I'm too brain-blur-overloaded to elaborate at the moment.

But.... there's been a buttercream frosting-coated carrot (gross) dangling before me all day to help me through. That's right, my night with The Veils is finally upon me, and I couldn't be more excited! Unless I won the lotto, in which case a lot of things would change around here. Feeling very glad I scheduled the dep for today and not tomorrow. Now I can enjoy me some Finn Andrews & Co. hook, line and sinker.

Will report back tomorrow...

"The Most Tender Place in My Heart..."

... is for strangers."

I love that line. I'm not sayin' it's right, but I like it.

The Hideout Block Party did not dissapoint. I heard a Canadian band I'd never heard before, called Black Mountain. They might be a bit too "jammy" for my taste, but the lead singer was bad-ass. She just stood there subtly swaying and nodding her head to the beat, occassionally belting out some gorgeous icey-cool vocals. Cross Janis Joplin with Mazzy Star, and throw in a few warbles. I could do without the warbles, personally, but she earned 'em. My easily-distracted-by-unimportant-things-side also loved that she had no waist yet still wore a waist-cinching dress. But I digress.

Neko Case was the headliner and sounded great once the soundguys got their GeeDee heads out of their arses (not 'til SIX songs in after she'd already played one of my FAVORITES). There's a sound guy out there who needs to be shot. Okay, fine, maybe he just needs to be canned, but the piper needs to be paid. If you've never seen Neko live, you really must. Just like a songbird, she sounds just as beautiful live (when some amateur doesn't fuck it up), and she's a hoot to boot. Here she is at a different concert asking guys to stop wearing girly pants, a sentiment I wholeheartedly share. Stop making us stare at your mooseknuckles, damnit! You know you do it too. Tight pants are man's answer to plunging necklines. They want us to look, I'm sure of it.

Thanks to gg for her fashion commiseration (I ponder if "What Not to Wear" could take on an entire city?) and for reminding me of the deliciousness of a North Carolina hot dog. I had a couple bites despite myself, and boy do slaw and chili do a dog good. Even though I rarely partook back in NC, I had to agree with gg that it tasted like home. Thanks to B for the ticket, and for fearlessly shedding a tear or two at the sound of a pretty voice. I mean, after a few brews. We know, it was just the beer talkin'.

Biking to and fro the show was almost as fun as the show itself.... except for when some assholes shined a flashlight in my face to scream at me that I should be wearing a helmet, and "helmets save lives!" I'm well aware, Brothers Helpful. Thank you kindly, BUT (a) my head is too big. (b) it was hot. and (c) if you're so concerned about my well-being, why are you screaming in my face and blinding me with your flashlight?? Of course I didn't say a word. I just put on my best poker face, pedaled fiercely onward, and pretended not to see or hear a thing (no, not a peep).