I had my last drink on September 22nd. It was a fat glass of barbaresco and I was sitting alone at Touche, trying hard to dive right into my Tom Robbins novel. My eyes glazed back and forth over his elaborate text, but my mind wandered to more wanton thoughts. While I knew the barbaresco would be my last glass, it certainly was not the first of the evening. I started my regular rounds of crass text messages, a little charm of my stunted emotional growth, knowing i'd blush about it later. But i didn't care. It was a personal farewell party, an introspective gluttonous binge, my own mardi gras to prepare for the oncoming ash wednesday. Tonight, I drink, and tomorrow I begin my lent.
I have not had a sip of alcohol nor a morsel of bread since then.
That is, until last night.
12 Bridges gin, stirred and served up with a big fat twist. Within the first sip my nerves were rattled to the bone, and i giggled with elation. Baby, it was good.
My mission failed. I was supposed to wait until halloween, but as always my greedy side took the best of my strong will. If this is any insight to my character it would have been this last Thursday. I broke one very important self-inflicted rule, and as i witnessed the smoke smoldering from the plane, i decided to sit back relax and pour myself a martini and let it come crashing down.
Now that i've finished my perfectly stirred gin, and the plane lay indistinguishably on the ground, I will get up dust myself off and pick up the pieces to start over.
Today is day one again.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Sunday, September 28, 2008
"Like every American I'm speaking with, we are ill."
I am afraid of this woman:
thank you, Katie Couric, thank you. Its comical to watch her circle around the drain and spew out buzz words. She's the smartest hockey mom I know.
And, although hilarious, this is disturbingly similar:
It nauseates me so much that i'm writing about on what i thought was my food blog. I can't wait to watch the debate on thursday.
let's keep tweedle dee and tweedle dum far away from the White House, please?
One last real-life note: start hoarding your monies in the mattress. times is gettin sticky
Also, I've (miraculously) put the bottle down, as well as my fork until Halloween. Trust me, green tea is not as good as bourbon, but i don't feel like looking like a fatty for my birthday. If all goes well I'll tell you about a different kind of food adventure, one of a treacherous non-delicious sort.
love and fluffy bunnies
thank you, Katie Couric, thank you. Its comical to watch her circle around the drain and spew out buzz words. She's the smartest hockey mom I know.
And, although hilarious, this is disturbingly similar:
It nauseates me so much that i'm writing about on what i thought was my food blog. I can't wait to watch the debate on thursday.
let's keep tweedle dee and tweedle dum far away from the White House, please?
One last real-life note: start hoarding your monies in the mattress. times is gettin sticky
Also, I've (miraculously) put the bottle down, as well as my fork until Halloween. Trust me, green tea is not as good as bourbon, but i don't feel like looking like a fatty for my birthday. If all goes well I'll tell you about a different kind of food adventure, one of a treacherous non-delicious sort.
love and fluffy bunnies
Friday, September 26, 2008
Wong King's
My Sunday usually follows this ritual:
Wake up at around 10
drink 5 pints of water
curl into the fetal position on the couch
watch No Reservations/Bizarre food/Iron Chef/Jon and Kate plus 8/Whatever mindless television that will distract me from my dehydrated body
do that until 2, when i have to start getting ready for work.
i know, its sad, i'm trying to fix it.
A couple of weeks ago, i happened to be watching Bizarre Foods, and that day Andrew Zimmern was exploring Hong Kong and the wonderful world that it dim sum. So I called (texted) Robert.
"11:30, Wong King's. Dim sum"
When I arrive, I grab a numbered ticket, 213, and ask the perfectly costumed hostess what number they were on.
I need you to imagine your thickest Chinese accent, because to phonetically write it out may just be too offensive/complicated.
"Number one thirty five"
Knowing it would be quite a wait, I bring the tom robbins book i've been trying to take time to read, and i wait for my dining partner's arrival. Just as i was about to whip out a cigarette to pass the time, my aunt, tiny perky adorable, comes up to me and says hello. This is how much Wong King's is a dim sum mecca. I believe every time i've eaten here i've run into her and her family. Her family from the outer edges of beaverton. They braved tunnels, bridges, urbanism and 82nd ave, just for the perfect morsel of har gow and siu mai. well done, Ming Vong, well done. All asians, chinese, vietnamese, cambodian, etc know where the good stuff is, and that is on Division past 82nd.
Many an article, as you have probably read, has mentioned that (asian)immigrant culture has immigrated from china town (decrepit amalgamation of the homeless, the drunk, and the immoral) to the lands of 82nd ave (decrepit amalgamation of used-car lots, prostitutes, and gang activity).
When Petruchio finally arrives, its still another half hour before we get seated. I hardly had a chance to pour our teas when we were immediately confronted by an overly energetic chinese man with tray in hand
"Steam dumpling with beef tripe and shrimp"
We look at each other, confused and intrigued, and obediently nod our heads. Why not? I am ready to ravenously dive into the little metal pot for some unidentified and unfamiliar dumpling. Then this miniscule woman comes charging in with her giant cart in tow, and pokes her head smartly between me and my chopsticks.
"Har gow, siu mai"
These two things being the reason i ever go to dim sum, caught me off guard. I was looking at my first order beckoning to me, a mere few inches from my face only to be taunted by this woman for to order more. So I ordered them both. Robert and I smile at each other with approval. I was hungry and ready to indulge in my craving for shrimp and bamboo shoots. Before I knew it, another little Chinese woman rolled by, our chopsticks still in midair and ready to dive into our untouched dishes. She stops us and tries, in indistinguishable english, to demonstrate how wonderful chinese broccoli is.
I'll save you the rest. Cut to about 15 minutes later. 8 plates in front of us, most of them containing shrimp, and not one morsel has been eaten. I have confused their friendly nature as good service, but really it was an attack from all angles. They were pushers, delicious steamed treat pushers. Taro root bun? pork dumpling? shrimp rice noodles? They knew i was itching, and vulnerable. I needed a fix and they were eager to provide it for me.
Finally, I was able to say "no", and with that most of our dim sum carrying friends left us alone, smirking at our table spotted with small plates. Job well done. Its time to eat.
Har gow: my favorite. Honestly, if you are an apprehensive round-eye, i recommend you start with this. It just shrimp and bamboo in a tapioca wrapper, and cooked in a bamboo steamer (most dim sum is). its skin is nice and sticky and finishes with a happy little crunch from the bamboo. i could eat 12 orders of this.
Siu mai: another classic, it is a pork and black mushroom dumpling. Because of the pork, i always get caught biting into some sort of fat pocket which kind of grosses me out. As much as i love it, i am always poking it around my plate
hom bao: also known as the chopstick safe kid food. Its a steamed bun made of a sweet flour and filled with salty barbeque pork. I love to grab it with my hands and peel off the paper bottom, break off each piece and give it a little pinch. Also, White people friendly.
Among other things, we had those dishes along with Taro dumplings, Shrimp rice noodles and that unidentified first dish. We were full, and Robert told me a story about his classmate that he thinks is a narcissist, then i realized that i related to his classmate. Now i am afraid that i am a narcissist. but i forgot that i am blogging, and now i am blogging about my concern about being a narcissist, which may be (besides throwing your very one fake funeral) the perfect example of one's self-centeredness.
Moving along, the trek you'll make to Wong king's, as well as the bombardment of food pushers you'll defend yourself from is well worth the circus you'll have in your mouth. I recommend everyone try the phoenix talons and beef tripe at least once in their lives.
Wake up at around 10
drink 5 pints of water
curl into the fetal position on the couch
watch No Reservations/Bizarre food/Iron Chef/Jon and Kate plus 8/Whatever mindless television that will distract me from my dehydrated body
do that until 2, when i have to start getting ready for work.
i know, its sad, i'm trying to fix it.
A couple of weeks ago, i happened to be watching Bizarre Foods, and that day Andrew Zimmern was exploring Hong Kong and the wonderful world that it dim sum. So I called (texted) Robert.
"11:30, Wong King's. Dim sum"
When I arrive, I grab a numbered ticket, 213, and ask the perfectly costumed hostess what number they were on.
I need you to imagine your thickest Chinese accent, because to phonetically write it out may just be too offensive/complicated.
"Number one thirty five"
Knowing it would be quite a wait, I bring the tom robbins book i've been trying to take time to read, and i wait for my dining partner's arrival. Just as i was about to whip out a cigarette to pass the time, my aunt, tiny perky adorable, comes up to me and says hello. This is how much Wong King's is a dim sum mecca. I believe every time i've eaten here i've run into her and her family. Her family from the outer edges of beaverton. They braved tunnels, bridges, urbanism and 82nd ave, just for the perfect morsel of har gow and siu mai. well done, Ming Vong, well done. All asians, chinese, vietnamese, cambodian, etc know where the good stuff is, and that is on Division past 82nd.
Many an article, as you have probably read, has mentioned that (asian)immigrant culture has immigrated from china town (decrepit amalgamation of the homeless, the drunk, and the immoral) to the lands of 82nd ave (decrepit amalgamation of used-car lots, prostitutes, and gang activity).
When Petruchio finally arrives, its still another half hour before we get seated. I hardly had a chance to pour our teas when we were immediately confronted by an overly energetic chinese man with tray in hand
"Steam dumpling with beef tripe and shrimp"
We look at each other, confused and intrigued, and obediently nod our heads. Why not? I am ready to ravenously dive into the little metal pot for some unidentified and unfamiliar dumpling. Then this miniscule woman comes charging in with her giant cart in tow, and pokes her head smartly between me and my chopsticks.
"Har gow, siu mai"
These two things being the reason i ever go to dim sum, caught me off guard. I was looking at my first order beckoning to me, a mere few inches from my face only to be taunted by this woman for to order more. So I ordered them both. Robert and I smile at each other with approval. I was hungry and ready to indulge in my craving for shrimp and bamboo shoots. Before I knew it, another little Chinese woman rolled by, our chopsticks still in midair and ready to dive into our untouched dishes. She stops us and tries, in indistinguishable english, to demonstrate how wonderful chinese broccoli is.
I'll save you the rest. Cut to about 15 minutes later. 8 plates in front of us, most of them containing shrimp, and not one morsel has been eaten. I have confused their friendly nature as good service, but really it was an attack from all angles. They were pushers, delicious steamed treat pushers. Taro root bun? pork dumpling? shrimp rice noodles? They knew i was itching, and vulnerable. I needed a fix and they were eager to provide it for me.
Finally, I was able to say "no", and with that most of our dim sum carrying friends left us alone, smirking at our table spotted with small plates. Job well done. Its time to eat.
Har gow: my favorite. Honestly, if you are an apprehensive round-eye, i recommend you start with this. It just shrimp and bamboo in a tapioca wrapper, and cooked in a bamboo steamer (most dim sum is). its skin is nice and sticky and finishes with a happy little crunch from the bamboo. i could eat 12 orders of this.
Siu mai: another classic, it is a pork and black mushroom dumpling. Because of the pork, i always get caught biting into some sort of fat pocket which kind of grosses me out. As much as i love it, i am always poking it around my plate
hom bao: also known as the chopstick safe kid food. Its a steamed bun made of a sweet flour and filled with salty barbeque pork. I love to grab it with my hands and peel off the paper bottom, break off each piece and give it a little pinch. Also, White people friendly.
Among other things, we had those dishes along with Taro dumplings, Shrimp rice noodles and that unidentified first dish. We were full, and Robert told me a story about his classmate that he thinks is a narcissist, then i realized that i related to his classmate. Now i am afraid that i am a narcissist. but i forgot that i am blogging, and now i am blogging about my concern about being a narcissist, which may be (besides throwing your very one fake funeral) the perfect example of one's self-centeredness.
Moving along, the trek you'll make to Wong king's, as well as the bombardment of food pushers you'll defend yourself from is well worth the circus you'll have in your mouth. I recommend everyone try the phoenix talons and beef tripe at least once in their lives.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
notes
I have 4 places that i have yet to write up about.
i came home after work and looked in the fridge. My roommate, after an big day at ikea, brought home some ikea caviar and left a note saying i have to take a picture of me eating it. apparently it costs $3.50. i'm totally intrigued, and horrified. Usually, the cheaper end of caviar goes for $7-10/ounce. this lumpfish caviar is 3.50 for 2.8 ounces.
my mom read my blog. she said that after that she realized that i will never lose weight. then tried to bribe me with plastic surgery for going on a diet. i love you, mother, but the absurdity of your offer never ceases to dumbfound me. every time you say it.
i came home after work and looked in the fridge. My roommate, after an big day at ikea, brought home some ikea caviar and left a note saying i have to take a picture of me eating it. apparently it costs $3.50. i'm totally intrigued, and horrified. Usually, the cheaper end of caviar goes for $7-10/ounce. this lumpfish caviar is 3.50 for 2.8 ounces.
my mom read my blog. she said that after that she realized that i will never lose weight. then tried to bribe me with plastic surgery for going on a diet. i love you, mother, but the absurdity of your offer never ceases to dumbfound me. every time you say it.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Pho Oregon
After a rough night at the touche post-cocktail shift, I awaken on the couch of my dear friends' house.
crap.
My head feels no bueno and i quickly run through the grocery list of liquid imbibes i managed to power through last night. Broyles, Chef, and Nate are already up and soaking the last few bits of sun our summer has offered to us. I greet everyone with an instinctive utter:
let's get pho
While I am well versed in the world of pho, I had yet to try their family favorite, Pho Oregon. Today was that day.
Once seated, they were greeted with a familiarity only the most regulars of regulars get. I take one glance at the menu and order what I always order, everything. Beef tripe, soft tendon, flank steak, and brisket in a soft anisey warm broth with a few scant bits of green onion and cilantro floating off to the side. Let's get pho'ked up.
When we get our respective bowls conversation ceases. i load up mine with handfuls of thai basil, jalepeno, and a tiny squeeze of lime. The table becomes silent and we speak in slurps, gulps, and smacks all the while in between dabs of our eyes and noses. You know you're doing something right when your eyes are tearing up and your nose is running like a faucet. awesome.
There's really no way to look pretty eating pho. Noises are made, and your face leaks as you try to suck up the rice noodles. I am often hunched over my bowl sloppily dipping my various beef parts in hoisin sauce and siracha and thanking whatever higher being led me to the destiny that is pho. Eating like a caveman pisses me of, but sometimes there really is no other way. Most people do. Broyles, however, like the dancer she be ate with an amazing elegance. back straight, chin up and only the tinisest of slurp. i was amazed, and amused. not once did she need a napkin. juxtapose that with me crying directly into my broth with a pile of haphazard and unloved napkins. i laughed a little on the inside.
never have i finished an entire bowl of pho, but i came close. Eating pho has a heirarchy to it. you go in knowing you'll have to make sacrifices. i usually abandon the noodles first, wasted space. then i give up on the tendon, and then the steak. i covet the sinuous chewy rubbery tripe and the therapeutic hug that is the broth. glorious.
Pho Hung(where i am a devotee, both beaverton and portland) has a sweeter broth, i like both, but Pho Oregon is deep NE. Definitely, if i pass out at the supper club house again.
crap.
My head feels no bueno and i quickly run through the grocery list of liquid imbibes i managed to power through last night. Broyles, Chef, and Nate are already up and soaking the last few bits of sun our summer has offered to us. I greet everyone with an instinctive utter:
let's get pho
While I am well versed in the world of pho, I had yet to try their family favorite, Pho Oregon. Today was that day.
Once seated, they were greeted with a familiarity only the most regulars of regulars get. I take one glance at the menu and order what I always order, everything. Beef tripe, soft tendon, flank steak, and brisket in a soft anisey warm broth with a few scant bits of green onion and cilantro floating off to the side. Let's get pho'ked up.
When we get our respective bowls conversation ceases. i load up mine with handfuls of thai basil, jalepeno, and a tiny squeeze of lime. The table becomes silent and we speak in slurps, gulps, and smacks all the while in between dabs of our eyes and noses. You know you're doing something right when your eyes are tearing up and your nose is running like a faucet. awesome.
There's really no way to look pretty eating pho. Noises are made, and your face leaks as you try to suck up the rice noodles. I am often hunched over my bowl sloppily dipping my various beef parts in hoisin sauce and siracha and thanking whatever higher being led me to the destiny that is pho. Eating like a caveman pisses me of, but sometimes there really is no other way. Most people do. Broyles, however, like the dancer she be ate with an amazing elegance. back straight, chin up and only the tinisest of slurp. i was amazed, and amused. not once did she need a napkin. juxtapose that with me crying directly into my broth with a pile of haphazard and unloved napkins. i laughed a little on the inside.
never have i finished an entire bowl of pho, but i came close. Eating pho has a heirarchy to it. you go in knowing you'll have to make sacrifices. i usually abandon the noodles first, wasted space. then i give up on the tendon, and then the steak. i covet the sinuous chewy rubbery tripe and the therapeutic hug that is the broth. glorious.
Pho Hung(where i am a devotee, both beaverton and portland) has a sweeter broth, i like both, but Pho Oregon is deep NE. Definitely, if i pass out at the supper club house again.
Broder
9:30 am = cranky
But for the sake of lady power i awaken
cute swedish food calls to me. and cute would be the perfect word for my food.
let's be brief. it was adorably charming.
it made me miss TheBridge so much more
originally 8/7/08
But for the sake of lady power i awaken
cute swedish food calls to me. and cute would be the perfect word for my food.
let's be brief. it was adorably charming.
it made me miss TheBridge so much more
originally 8/7/08
Friday, September 12, 2008
First Thursday Freedom: Part 3 of 3. Bar Avingon
we're full, but we're not drunk. BAR AVINGON!
our server was awesome and suggested a decent bottle of syrah.
lighter bodied, and tight. the nose was deceivingly gorgeous. it needed time to open up.
paired with olives that made love to my mouth and a nice salty pecorino
i've decided that Robert will be my food friend. he does not believe in foie gras, but i will try my best to eat away at his morals
i am now drunk and decided it was time to try Integrity's Trillium absinthe. floral, licoricey, potent. admittedly perfect with a cigarette. i may have pissed my server off for breaking the rules. for that i apologize. that was totally an asshole move. but i'm drunk and i am invincible.
today has been a good day.
our server was awesome and suggested a decent bottle of syrah.
lighter bodied, and tight. the nose was deceivingly gorgeous. it needed time to open up.
paired with olives that made love to my mouth and a nice salty pecorino
i've decided that Robert will be my food friend. he does not believe in foie gras, but i will try my best to eat away at his morals
i am now drunk and decided it was time to try Integrity's Trillium absinthe. floral, licoricey, potent. admittedly perfect with a cigarette. i may have pissed my server off for breaking the rules. for that i apologize. that was totally an asshole move. but i'm drunk and i am invincible.
today has been a good day.
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