My Forking Heroes!

How many of us have dreams?  How many of us have ideas?  How many of us have tried and tried to make it happen until one day we took a look around us and realized that we weren’t having any fun trying any more?  Well I know a couple of ladies who have put the fun and inspiration back into dreams and ideas. 

Forking Fantastic hits the bookstores today people!  A heartfelt, finger-licking congrats to Tamara Reynolds and Zora O’Neill the authors of Forking Fantastic!

One of the things I absolutely loved (read: now miss dearly) about my few years living in the wild, wild west  was  that everyone had dinner parties.  Everyone has parties and they don’t take place at bars…well not always at least.  And people shop for and cook and bake…in their homes!  They bring cookies to work and talk about what they made for dinner over the weekend.  Everything’s easy breezy and all about good people chilling out over a glass of wine (or many bottles perhaps) and good times.  In that spirit my friends, here in New York, created  the now infamous “Sunday Night Dinners”  which was in its’ origins a simple gathering of fabulous friends and fabulous food…the almighty dinner party.  It slowly became known as a moveable feast, an underground restaurant of sorts, and just a plain ol’ wacky  good time…the location changed, the menu changed, the guestlist changed, but the ladies stayed true to one thing…fucking amazing food and fun!  Along the way they took pictures, they blogged about the mishaps and successes, they sent out invites with the menu that usually made you smile and always made you hungry, and they cooked…and apparently someone else (besides us) paid attention!  And now they have a book! 

Oh but this is, of course, the simplified version of the story.  The one fit for family story hour.  What some of us are priviledged to know is a little bit more of how they got here.  I don’t want to give too much away…we’ll  save that for their Vh-1 behind the story special in a few years…but what I will tell you is a lot about how awesome I think they are and a little about how magical life is.

See…one day I started working as a manager of this restaurant you may have heard of, The Tasting Room.  A, now sadly closed, restaurant in which the lives of all the employees who came and went will forever, sickly be intertwined due to our passion, loyalty, and integrity and absolute love we had for this place.  And one day, this lady…a lively, redheaded story teller was totally holding court at Family meal…telling a story and holding everyone captivated whether  they realized it or not, because she was so fucking loud.  You could actually hear her laugh from down the street…and I thought she was hilarious.  We kept eyeing each other in that way that two people realize they know each other from a previous life do.  Are you an actor?  Are you a singer?  Are you a dancer?  Where did you work before?  Oh, did you ever work here?  What about there?  No?  How about there?  And finally.  Finally…we tracked it back to almost 10 years earlier.  Was it really that long ago?  Maybe 9.  And we figured out that we worked with each other for about 2 months in a place that shall go nameless because the scars it left on us are already indelible and unforgettable enough (I will tell you that in the 90’s in NYC almost everybody spent time in this place and it was commonly referred to as BootCamp).  And we bonded over hideous memories of our past work experience.  The funny thing is that in the 10 years between we both traveled and moved and worked in a million different places to only land in the same place…working at a restaurant together with a ton of creative ideas and trying to see which one would stick.  She told me about her Sunday Night Dinners.  Often when we worked together, she would talk to me about the menu planning or some funny story about what happened at last week’s dinner. I talked to her about writing about food and wine.  I shared with her some of my ideas for stories and blogs.  She told me about some of her ideas for food shows and guidebooks.  But mostly, we told stories, we drank, and we laughed.  And then one day she quit.  She went to go be a wine buyer. She had a French speaking assistant, I’ll never forgive her for that!  We stayed in touch.  I went to Sunday night dinners.  The instructions are to bring the cash donation and a bottle of wine.  Marisa and I showed up with two brown grocery bags full of vino and we had already been drinking champagne all day…it wasn’t pretty but we had fun.  Then one day Tamara  came in to see us at The Tasting Room, in the afternoon before we were open and she walked into the office and announced she and Zora were getting their book deal.  “And now all we have to do is write it.”  And with that, I thought.  Life is great.  If you do something that is fun and inspiring people will enjoy it and if you do it your own unique way…there is always a story.  And I truly believe that in life my favorite people are the ones who always know that there is a story and they can’t wait to tell it to you.  And most importantly, they laugh at their own jokes!

So here’s to Zora and Tamara!  Here’s to ya’ll getting over to their website and/or amazon and purchasing the book right now.   And here’s to genius redheads stickin’ together!  And mostly, here’s to dreams and ideas!  

On another funny note:  the first restaurant that Tamara and I worked at many moons ago was also the place where the owner , knowing I was a writer, asked me if I wouldn’t like to have Ruth Reichl’s job one day and write about food and wine (Ruth was at the time the Ny times food critic and of course went on to write hilarious books and is the editor in chief at Gourmet).  I laughed.  See, at the time, I wrote “serious” drama.  I have since met Ruth and not only think she’s a genius and way cool but would fucking kill for her job.  How’s that for laughing at your own jokes?

http://forkingfantastic.com

Peaches and Cream

It's been a funny year for me.  People I know have come to live in NYC, people I haven't seen for a really long time have visited NYC and some really important people in my life have left NYC.  One came back.  One is thinking about coming back.  And one just left.  Being a New Yorker myself, whenever people leave this city (including myself a few times) I always think of the passage in the Allan Gurganus book "Plays Well with Others" where the narrator says (die hard fans please forgive my loose quotation here)..."there are four days in the life of a new yorker.  the day you first see it.  the day you move there.  the day you move away.  and the day you move back."

This, of course, pertains to non-natives.  But,  I'm just sayin'...seriously.  It is hard to live here.  It is hard to not live here.  But, sometimes you just gotta go.  And people say oh, things will stay the same, we won't change, the city will always be here, we'll always be friends.  And I'm here to tell you that is not always the case.  People change.  New York changes.  We move on, we forget, we don't answer the phone or return that email and then all of a sudden you realize it's been a week or a month or a year and you loose touch with someone you love.  I mean especially in the restaurant business, we work day in day out with people for years and the second they leave it's as if it was all a dream.  But.  Every once in a while.  Every now and again, you get caught between the moon and New York City, you meet someone and you know in your shriveled black heart, down in your little broken toes, you know that you will know that person forever.  

And I know that at some point.  Like, when I'm 103 and she's 91 that Megan Uber and I will still be stuffing our faces with peanut butter filled pretzels and looking for the next bottle of Champagne.  I mean, we'll have to buzz for the nurses to bring it.  And Uber's got a small bladder so we'll have to have the catheter changed first but there are things you know.

So, yeah.  I know this is supposed to be a food/drink blog.  And it is. But that's just it for me.  People are food and wine.  Not in a soylent green sort of way.  But, for me all of my memories of people get all twisted up with my memories of food and where we were when we ate something or what bar we had that drink in.  And this is how it is for every body in my life.  If you mention some one to me, I almost instantly think of a food or beverage I associate with them.  I never realized it until I began working on a book about my food and beverage memories but that's how it is.  

And when I started thinking about Uber leaving and thinking about obvious things like how much I'd miss her, I started thinking less about her (sorry babes) and more about the food and drinks I connect her with in my memories.  Well, okay not less.  I take that back.  I'm trying to say that a lot of my memories of our good times co-star some things and it's not about that party or that joke or that song or that book.  I mean, that's obvious.  We're good friends we got that shit too (last day at TTR, love sticks, shorty got low, lolita).

So because I like to write about food and wine and booze...and because I will miss you...I do miss you, I wanted to also write about you.  Because I know things, Uber.   Like:  the day I knew we were clearly starring in our own tv series in our brains was years ago.  I walked into the office and asked very casually "what's up peaches?" and you replied very casually "what's up cream?"  That was it.  I was like, who the hell does this bitch think she is?  I mean, sure, there was the fact that we would race to see who could spin around faster in her swivel chair, or the fact that you would get in a cab and go pick me up a lobster roll all the way downtown, or compile lists of late night restaurants without batting an eye.

I also know that I was there the first time you tried an oyster.  The FIRST oyster!  I love that day.  I love that you love oysters now!  See, now you go try to have champagne and oysters and see who the hell you think of, huh?  Me.  That's right.  Yeah, whatever!  Sure, you'll think of some dude too but at some point you will get all tipsy and you'll trick someone into ordering a bottle of Selosse and everything will get all fuzzy as the flashback approaches and you'll think of my shiny red hair and tell some charming story about how hilarious and pretty I am...I know.

I mean, really.  Brighton Beach...I think of love sticks and that dude who had the chest hair growing in the pattern of a bulletproof vest.  I think of eating cherries and melting chocolate covered almonds while drinking Fontsainte rose.  Delicious.

Christmas, I think of poo-lar bear pooping little black licorice jelly beans on the floor and I think of the fact that I totally tried to pass off the fact that I hadn't put anchovies in the deviled eggs or pork in the greens that I gave to your brother!  oops.  What do you want from me?  I was drunk.  It's christmas!  Baby Jesus, the Grinch, poo-lar bear and shots of Applejack.  C'mon ya'll.  And for the record...Uber's brother does not believe in dinosaurs so he pretty much had it coming okay?

I think of snack packs of dried fruit from that magical mystery place you always tell me the name of but I can never remember and I'll never have them again because I can never remember the name. Damn you!

I think of our pretend slumber party where we were just going to drink champagne and eat ice cream.  And I think of Adulterated Ice Cream flavors.

I think of our other pretend slumber party: the coat check at work.  I love that place!  There's always cookies and mini-peanut butter cups, bananas and apples, cherries (when seasonally appropriate of course), coffees, teas (iced for me and hot for you and sascha), yogurt, leftover family meal, bagels, and how whenever I drink the kombucha drinks I get all hyper and crazy. Or whenever I eat cupcakes that Linda brings I get all hyper and crazy.

I think of our almost slumber party where we waited so long for a certain cigar smoking italian wine importer to leave the restaurant that we were passing out from exhaustion and hunger and all we had to eat was a banana and some crumbs of potato chips that we shared.

I think of our real slumber party that began with oysters and mussels that we had been dreaming about all day and ended with shots of jameson's on my shag rug.

I think of gummie candies and crab chips.  No wait, that's boo.  No wait, that's you too!

I think of the el diablo and the grape smash and how years have gone by and we still want them! And I think that we're at the end of concord grape season and I don't even know if Ricardo made any grape smashes this year?!

I was at Mas farmhouse last night.  And I looked over at the corner table and I thought of Austin's bday.  And I thought of the fact that I climbed over Schmoo and Austin to threaten to kill you with a fork.  Because?  Because.  Because, you said you didn't like corn.

What can I say lady?  I'm not gonna say "don't change".  I'm not gonna say "you'll be back".  But, I do miss ya.  And I hope you have fun.  Or had fun.  Whatever, isn't Boston like 3 blocks long?  Aren't you done with it yet?  Just kidding.  

But remember one thing lady, save room for love. 

PS  seriously what the fuck is the name of that place with the dried fruit?

Cleanse this!

I stare ahead blankly as I watch the wrinkly back of the fat man's head in front of me turn around to look at me as we all heard the loud rumble of my stomach's hunger pains roaring.  "That's it.  I'm getting a coffee."  9 days of no coffee.  8 days of no alcohol.  7 days of raw foods, three of which were juice only and it's the fucking line at Chase bank on a Saturday morning that takes me out.  Truth be told, I was planning on having a glass of Champagne tonight, but I was hoping to leave coffee behind.  Somewhere about halfway through a 30 minute wait to deposit a check, the "crazies" set in.  Well, again let's stick to the truth Carolyn, the crazies had set in last week, or 35 years ago depending on your take.  But seriously, I started to think; this whole starvation thing is really overrated.  I don't feel well.  I actually feel like shit.  I feel exhausted.  I'm scared to work out for fear of passing out.  I got dizzy on the stairs at work yesterday.  I have a headache and I never get headaches.  I haven't even lost any weight.  And I feel straight up, voices in the head, shit-house rat crazy.  And I realized I wanted a coffee.  So that's what I'm doing, having a coffee.  And a pastry.  I mean, don't get me wrong.  I don't think I want to jump off a bridge into a sea of pasta and cheese.  The one time I did feel great during this cleanse was after I had eliminated the meat, cheese, and bread from my diet.  But cut a girl some slack, we need a little somethin', somethin' as opposed to all or nothin'.  

This was not the first time I have "starved" myself.  My diet is a constant pendulum, swinging wildly like so many chemically imbalanced moods.  I've done it all from staunch vegan diets, strictly making lists of things I will not eat to gluttonous bingeing, consuming everything in my path, spreading butter on top of my foie gras.  One or the other, constantly.  I'd like to think or fantasize really, that perhaps one glorious day I could eat well most of the time while maintaining some healthy balance.  Maybe we don't need to eat everything in site just because it's here.  And maybe we don't need to not eat anything at all just because last month we were on the "nitrate-laden cured meat only diet".  I should be used to this by now.  I'm the same person who was on the "green food only diet".  And this came a month after being on a three-month "Irish whiskey and gummy worm diet".  I just want to be able to be moderate!  But, who am I kidding?  I can't even spell moderation without the help of Microsoft's auto spell correct!  One time, while suffering some health concerns I found out that the zinc in shellfish, particularly oysters, is good for people with anemia.  I went on an all out ticket to ride adventure.  For over a month, I consumed almost nothing except raw oysters and champagne.  I think I sometimes ordered a side of spinach or an artichoke.  I finally started eating meat and that really helped but for a while I was convinced I was on the right path.  The real trick to all of these diets is self-delusion.  The thing in life I'm best at is "self-will".  The thing I'm even better at is being stubborn.  Once I've made up my mind that is it, nothing is changing that.  I can go without food as long as I believe I can.  But do I want to?  Just as I was thinking this whole "cleanse" thing is a bunch of bullshit, someone at work said I looked "amazing" and someone else said "tiny".  And there we have it...justification.  Back on track with our old friend "the crazies".  But is this how I want to live?  It's grim and joyless...so not me.  

You know who really has it figured out?  The French.  That's right, I said it.  But, of course if you know me you know I think the French have everything figured out...tiny geniuses who's general apathy and suspiciously long life spans will one day leave them as last man standing so that they will once again rule the world with a debaucherus, moody fist and a cigarette dangling from their collective pouty mouth.  But I do want to let the world in on a little secret.  The French drink Slim Shots.  They do.  I swear on it.  The reason Parisiennes are so skinny, even on a diet rich with butter, cheese, and foie gras is because in their morning coffee they pour what looks like a "normal" individually wrapped creamer into the cup.  If you looked at the label it would say "slim shot" which is an appetite suppressant in the form of coffee creamer.  How do you like that?  And...and funnier than that?  It's free.  The next time you're in Paris at a cafe take a closer look at your creamer options.  It's cream or slim shots.  Seriously.  Go to the countryside in France and the people are a whole lot rounder.  I'm not condoning appetite suppressants; it's just an observation people.  And while drifting off into my own rants and thoughts of "why am I on this stupid cleanse anyways?" and "I'll give you something to cleanse", I give up the self-delusion of the cleanse.  I love food.  I love coffee.  But most of all I love, really really love, wine.  And if the saying is true, oh you know the one, "you are what you eat", then let me tell you, I want to be oysters and Champagne.

Author's note:  For the record, although the French do that whole Slim Shot thing, they also do not eat the all-american diet of corn-fed beef and high-fructose corn syrup sweetened beverages.  That's what makes us fatter than them!  Oddly though, they do love themselves some Orangina, so much so that the ads are these crazy over-sexed drawings of scantily-clad animals drinking Orangina.  Vive La France!

And...on a more serious note.  I have in the past been given some grief for my passionate take on my chosen life of gluttony.  Yet, this same person keeps reading.  So, if your out there Mr. I hate myself angry pants, this one's for you, hater:  I've decided to add some links to websites that might help if needed.  Ah, public service.

Alcoholics Anonymous   www.aa.org

Overeaters Anonymous  www.oa.org

Foods that heal                www.curezone.com

Air France                         www.airfrance.us

The Day the Sun Comes Out

I live in NYC.  It has been my home off and on for a long time but there was a time, in between, when I lived in Seattle, WA.  Without fail whenever I mention this to people, they always ask if it's true that it rains all the time or if the weather is really that bad.  And I always answer, yes, it is. Over the years my answer has taken on a new life, a story of it's own.  I now say, "Yes, it really is that bad. It rains all the time.  Every day it is gray, foggy, rainy or at least misty and cold.  Even in the summer.  Except for one magical day when the sun comes out.  And that day is August 25th. It's actually been declared a holiday in Seattle.  Everyone takes off of work and we all go to Denny Blaine beach to swim in Lake Washington.  We drink rose and champagne.  We eat oysters and float on rafts.  Later people celebrate by having dinner parties.  In my group, we all end up over Bryan and Sinclair's house for dinner and wine and that is always repleat with crazy stories, Drunken Pilates and a Dance-Off to Dolly Parton or ABBA.  So much fun."  

Now, people might laugh it off as a great story.  And true, August 25th was originally my made up day to represent the manifestation of all of my favorite moments in Seattle combined with my anger over how cold and yucky it is there most of the year.  But, I'm here to tell you that I actually willed the magic of August 25th into existence.  And now it truly is the day the sun comes out!  Here's how the magic happened:

One day, getting home late from the restaurant I open my mail and received a supponea to be at a lawsuit mediation (too long of a story, even for me) in Seattle on August 26th.  I laughed a little to myself because I knew that meant I was going to be there at least by the 25th and that's my day I always talk about.  I became even more thrilled to learn that my good friend Baby Jo was also going to be visiting friends in Seattle at the exact same time and became absolutely ecstatic when I learned that there would, indeed, be a grand ol' dinner party at the house of Bryan and Sinclair on what day?  You got it, August 25th.  Hilarious!  But wait, there's more...

My day of magic began quite early.  I woke in my friend Angie's bed...which is not unlike a princess' bed from fairy tale.  It is densely plush and soft.  Her room is dark and warm.  And as I woke and wasn't quite sure exactly where I was for a moment, I quietly considered doing one of those therapies that recreate the experience of being in the womb.  I gave that thought up pretty quickly. But I had felt I had come to understand my good friend Angie just a little bit better. Angie made us some coffee and we talked and talked before she drove me off to meet the ex-husband for coffee.  I won't go into my coffee date here except to tell you that if you are divorced and you are on remotely friendly terms with your ex, I strongly encourage you to, at least once have coffee or lunch with him/her.  You learn so much about yourself and your journey in life.  After coffee I find myself for reasons unexplainable, in this blog, walking around Seattle's fabulous Convention Center area and while dodging the rain drops by hiding under a storefront awning and talking on the phone, I make arrangements to meet Schmoo and Spencer at the restaurant Matt's in the Market for lunch.  So, I head to the Seattle's very famous Public Market for lunch.  I have some time to spare so I stroll about taking pictures of odd things like "decoupage graffiti" (which I thought was quite brilliant an idea) and rotating heads of wigs at the wig shop.  Then Schmoo calls to find out exactly where I am and all I can say is "on the corner of somewhere and f*cked up"  so we decide to meet at the restaurant and I get us a table.  During our lunch, which is full of stories and laughs rose and coffee and some of my most brilliant comedic timing to date, Schmoo looks outside at the Market, which also over looks the water, and suddenly exclaims "You did it, you did it!  You made the sun come out and it's August 25th!"  And, indeed, the sun was out.  It shone through the big glass windows on our arms and faces as we finished our coffee and headed out back to Angie's house. 

Sidebar: My two favorite quotes of this afternoon so far? 1) While sitting in between Schmoo and myself in the truck and holding the pies for dinner Spencer says; "I've got a stick in my crotch and cream pies on my lap, it's everything I've ever wanted.  Why don't you take a picture of this Carolyn?" and 2) while sitting on her couch watching Battlestar Gallatica as Baby Jo and I got ready; "Gross.  There are girls putting on makeup in my house."

Now on to dinner...I love Bryan and Sinclair's house.  Everyone does.  It is one of those places that makes you feel completely comfortable the second you are there.  It is beautiful, stylish, and gracious just like them.  And a dinner party with them is always on my must-do list when I visit Seattle.  Dinner parties are different in Seattle than in NYC.  People are less hectic and people are barefoot.  I always say I don't miss Seattle, I miss the dinner parties.  I miss my friends.  Seattle and I never really got along so well.  We were like a bad relationship.  It was doomed from the start but I really did try to make it work.  Eventually our fundamental differences became too glaring and I had to move back to NYC.  See, I have my own personal holy trinity that I was not willing to let go of (dresses, highheels, and waxing) and these things constantly clashed against the backdrop of fleece, sandals, and unwanted bodyhair in sad, little rainy Seattle.  But, my friends are pretty great.  

We walk in to see the usual sights.  Mi Suk and Bryan are prepping.  Sinclair, Laura, and Schmoo are all outside by the grill drinking rose.  Angie, Baby Jo and I start frantically looking for wine.  There is a table full of beautiful bites of food...heirloom tomatoes, basil, fresh mozzarella, goat cheese, prosciutto, olives, crostini.  On the grill were Dungeness Crab, Lamb, red carrots.  We were drinking champagne, rose and chablis.  Later drinking rhone.  Later drinking  vintage Chateauneuf du Pape.  Vieux Telegraphe.  1995.  We had such a beautiful dinner. And for dessert we enjoyed the coconut cream pies from Spencer's lap and Mary made peach cobbler with the peaches Baby Jo brought from South Carolina.  Mi Suk toasted the gents for hosting us, as always, and putting so much thought and work into the dinner.  More friends kept stopping by for a bite to eat or a glass of wine to say hello or to share a story.  Baby Jo and I remarked how cool everyone at the table was, how fortunate we felt we were.  

It didn't take long for the dinner party to disintegrate into something we lovingly call "Drunk Pilates". These parties are famous for it.  I am not even kidding a little. We literally all start doing pilates and yoga, tipsy.  No one has the same balance or strength they have while sober so it's quite hilarious.  We usually get the few who don't normally do these exercises involved and we fall down and laugh.  This then is quickly followed by more party music and dancing.  This time it was Dolly Parton.  Madonna came on later.  We dance, we sing, we laugh, we drink some more.  

Eventually, people start to head out.  It is a Monday night, after all.  Some people have to get up early.  I have to get up early.  Angie and I head out...completely drunk.  We drive...completely drunk...for the one block to her house and go to bed. We actually hit a car while parking and Angie parked nowhere near the curb.  Not pretty.  Oh well.  I love Angie for many reasons.  One of them is that while I am a complete hyper-active spaz she is so mellow.  She is one of those people who loves to lie under the blankets and read and curl up and sleep.  I am one of those people who never got out of that stage of "do I have to go to bed?"  Angie has to tell me to go to to bed.  Or to take a nap.  Or to calm down.  It's sweet.  And true.  I probably would have stayed up and had another drink or two if she hadn't made me go to sleep.  

Ah, the party was over.  But, it was a success.  The whole day was a success.  And now, I needed to sleep. Well, I had court in the morning anyways.  And I would  need a fresh batch of magic for that so I needed to get some rest.  I lay my magic wand down next to me for safekeeping. I had done what I came to do.  I got to spend August 25th almost exactly how I had envisioned it. And I had done it, I made the sun come out...for one magical day, August 25th.

Voulez-vous "Kusshi" avec moi?

Awww, Kusshi oysters.  Have you ever had them?  Now, I love oysters. Really, I love them.  If you're ever sitting across from me at a table and you've been talking awhile and notice that perhaps I'm not listening, that I seem to have that far-off glance to nowheresville; it is probably because I'm thinking of oysters.  And Champagne.  Sorry, it's true.

Oysters are my island food.  What's yours?  You know, that game you play when it's a slow night at your restaurant and you're all hanging around waiting for customers.  If you could only bring one food to a deserted island with you and had to eat that and nothing else forever, what would it be?  Oh, you don't play that game?  You must work in a different field. 

You probably play a different version like, who would you rather screw?  Or if you could only take one celebrity to the island who would it be?  You see, in the restaurant industry; we're a different breed.  We work at night, we work around booze and food in a perpetual party atmosphere, we are overly sexualized, and our boundaries get blurred nightly.  Sex or at least the flirtation of sex is around all the time. Sex is a given.  So instead, food becomes our porn. And Chefs are the stars. The more exotic and pleasurable the item, the better.  The more unique and hard to get, all the more exciting.

In my time, I've worked in several restaurants that serve things like Milt (the male "roe" or "sperm sack" of cod).  Hearts, stomach parts, brains, feet, liver are all fair game, of course; fried pig's ears and tails...heck I ate the whole head with my friend Austin one night.  

But even being surrounded by all this uniqueness, I still find the oyster the most alluring, mysterious, and sexy of all the foods.  I love that we eat them alive.  I eat mine completely raw, naked,  usually forgoing any lemon juice, tobasco, or mignonette because I get a certain pleasure out of knowing that it is my teeth sinking into it's body that is actually killing it while I eat it.  Basic knowledge of chemistry would illustrate that adding lemon juice is a form of curing, therefore cooking the oyster, ending it's blissful state of raw.  And even to look at it, lying there quivering and glistening in its shell you begin to understand why one of your best friends is a lesbian.

I recently made a trip to Seattle, WA.  Whenever I'm in Seattle, I'm sure of a few things.  I'm going to be ridiculously jacked up on caffeine, because there really isn't anything else to do but escape the rain in a coffee shop.  And I'm going to eat a lot of great seafood with my friends. But, what I didn't expect was to have an oyster I had never eaten before!  

Somehow the magic of the Kusshi oyster from nearby British Columbia had elluded me.  My last night in Seattle, I had dinner at Spring Hill.  A newly reviewed restaurant in West Seattle. The food, in a word, was amazing. The wine list, all Washington, needs help.  As most of you know, I know my American wines...and I'm ok with the kitsch factor of a gimmick wine list.  Just do it right.  But, I was with my favorite person in the world drinking Billecart-Salmon brut rose (not from Washington) followed by Michel Chapoutier's rose (not from Washington) and we enjoyed those just fine all while laughing hysterically and exchanging jokes while we ate our Duck Egg raviolo, our steak two ways (hot and cold), our Cold Ciopino, and of course our oysters.  The magic may have occurred in the oysters themselves or it may have lived in the mignonette.  I know, I said I eat them naked but I have to tell you...their mignonette is made from beer hops and it's delicious.  

I had a few other great meals while in Seattle this past visit.  I'm sure I'll be writing about them because there are certainly some good stories.  But my favorite meal was at Spring Hill. Everything about my night was perfect, like out of a movie.  Maybe it was the company, maybe it was the oysters, heck; maybe it was maybelline.  Whatever it was I know one thing, it was magical and amazing.

Mantra for Monday, Sept. 8

Breathe Carolyn.  Don't panic.  Whatever you do, do not panic.  It'll be okay.  There are other roses.  There are other wines and things to drink.  And anyways, isn't it almost the end of rose season?  You don't want to be one of "those people" do you?  One of "those people" who drink the "wrong wine" because they don't have the palate to move on to the next season's wine.  No, you're not that girl.  I know, it's just hard for you to transition out of rose season.  Ok, ok...I hear you.  You do still have a few more weeks to drink pink.  But you do have to come to terms with the fact that you just drank your last bottle of Domaine de Fontsainte rose.  It's true sweetie, it's gone.  And you won't be able to have any more until next year.  And just think,  you were able to hoarde so much of it for yourself anyways.  You probably drank more of it than anyone else in the city this summer.  That feels good, right? Plus, you knew this day would come.  You didn't even think it would last you as long as it did.  You always panic a little when you pick up highly allocated wines that are difficult for anyone to get their grubby little paws onto but you did know that whatever you had of this was going to be it,  right?  They did tell you that there was much less of it made this year.  And you did have to fight to get as much of it as you did.  Every time you put a bottle of it in the fridge you thought of exactly how much you had left, how much was hiding in your closet. Well, last night you did it.  You opened the last bottle.  You drank it by yourself while watching the first season of Mad Men, you ate beets and blue cheese...all perfect little things for this wine.  And you thought to yourself:  "if John McCain wins, I am moving to France immediately!"  Ahhh, good plan.  You are a genius, albeit a pickled one....marinated in french rose!  You know what?  You should be proud of yourself Carolyn.  You actually made it last most of rose season.  You should congratulate yourself and celebrate.  You should march out at once to the nearest wine shop...you are surrounded by them and find another rose and pour some on the floor for your homies or at least for your main homie, Domaine de Fontsainte. 

Food therapy

What a funny friendship!  Well, no I take it back.  It's an awesome friendship.  It's the middle of the afternoon I had just come back from the grocery store.  It's a Sunday.  It's so hot outside but an absolutely beautiful day.  And here I am putting my just-purchased food away.  That's my favorite part of grocery shopping is putting it all away.  It not only gives me a special feeling of abundance to have food in the cabinets and in the fridge it's also because I like the little surprises I find in the bags.  I know, I know.  I just bought these things, how could I be surprised by any of them.  But seriously, when I'm at the store I do buy some necessities and then I start picking up things that attract me.  I shop by passion.  What am I in the mood for right this second?  What looks pretty?  What looks delicious and fresh?  And, now I find myself wanting a snack because I'm putting away the last of the summer corn and heirloom tomatoes in all their grotesque beauty. I'm handling avocados and greens, snacks for later, waters in pretty bottles, juices with curing aides added, and sausages and pates galore!  Fruit, coffee, and chocolate.  I always buy a dark chocolate bar right as I get to the counter to pay.  So, putting my foods away, the phone rings and it's Marisa!  She is also enjoying the beauty of this day...sitting on her patio in the sun drinking sparkling wine.  She tells me she's hungry.  I say, me too.  She's preparing herself a snack at the same time as I.  Then we each sit down and while other girls might talk about what they just picked up at the Barney's wherehouse sale, she and I discuss the snacks and beverages we're having with supreme excitement.  I tell her I've just tossed a little locally grown spinach and heirloom tomatoes and bacon and couscous left over from the morning adding fresh herbs and olive oil...squeeze of lemon and seasalt all while drinking a pilsner...very sunday afternoon.  It's my pre-drinking, drink.  Beer doesn't count as a drink, in my book.  Marisa has cobbled together toasted baguette and goat's cheese with a little basil, olive oil, salt. "I'm eating the most delicious snack ever!", she says.  And she's still drinking sparkling wine, from Greece.  Which prompts us to discuss how great Greece is, how they gave us so much and we're lucky to have learned from them.  I also think I'm lucky to have friends who love food and booze as much as I.