Dim Sum in Brooklyn! It might be a 45 minute train ride, involving going into Manhattan and back into Brooklyn on a different line, but it is so very worth it.
- har gao (shrimp dumplings in rice flour dough)
- shu mei (pork and shrimp dumplings)
- pork ribs
- vegetable dumplings
- shao long bao (soup dumplings!)
- chewy fried pork dumplings
- shrimp wrapped in chow fun with soy sauce
- shrimp wrapped in tofu and fried
- almond jello
- $45 for 3 inc. tip
Coffee at Dunkin Donuts, where a little boy tried to dance with Fred.
- medium coffee
Almondine Bakery, Park Slope (Free Macaroon Day!)
- zingy lemon macaroon
- zingierblackcurrant macaroon
- zingless raspberry macaroon
- tea
Yoghurtberry, 23rd St, Manhattan
- yoghurt with blueberries and mochi (no pingsu! they hadn't cleaned the machine!)
- $4.50
LA Burdick, also on 23rd
- ginger macaroon (YUM)
- zingy rasberry one
- mean guy at the counter (hates the the orange shade in there perhaps? it's adorable otherwise)
Dessert Truck Works, Clinton St, LES
- lemon and thyme macaroon (mmm aromatic and tangy)
- raspberry and anise macaroon (the BEST)
- chocolate version - (rich and salty!)
Home, Williamsburg
- PG Tips
- fresh snickerdoodles
Bon Chon Chicken at Boka, St.Marks, East Village
- lychee cocktail (Seoul twilight!)
- crispy wings and drumsticks with spicy sauce and garlic and soy sauce
- $35 for everything (inc. Fred's beer and my cocktail)
Spot, St. Marks
- condensed milk ice cream with caramel sauce (tasted like being little again, you know what I mean...)
- kabocha squash ice cream for Fred and coffee for Crumpet
- $12
Home
- popcorn
- Modelo beer
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Sweet, Sour and Sweeter Still
Before I commence with the food log I have to mention a few things, like teaching in Seoul this summer won't pan out because we can't find a company that will send us for less than a year. Crumpet is actually going for a visit there in a couple of weeks so I have asked for some cute stationery and weird sweets. We're plotting to see each other again in June.
Even after Buttcrack Boy's magical company whipped a shiver-inducing, gorgeous wind through my life, and flushed out every last Nugget related pain, seeing Crumpet again was like having a thumb poked in the Nugget shaped wound my stupid heart is still sporting. I didn't even know it was still there, after the freedom of crushing on such a perfect, hot Frenchman who made me laugh every day.
I told Crumpet I need a Buttcrack replacement, and although the phrasing needs some work, so as not to appear as if I am after some sort of surgery, it's pretty much true.
Even with this unexpected side effect, spending an uninterrupted week with Crumpet was like having a week-long birthday, it was like eating thick buttered toast when it's raining outside, it was restorative, easy, and we laughed till I had pains over and over again. We talked about weddings, and babies and everything we hope to share. I loved every moment of it. (Even the part when a mouse tried to watch a movie with us in the apartment.)
In other news my contract at work has been extended until the end of May, which means J and I will be leaving at the same time (I couldn't manage without her!) and so I have been applying for jobs. I had brief thoughts of getting a grown up job and returning to London, but these were scratched when my Mum said 'So where are you going this summer?' and the spiral of endless possibilities unravelled before me like a magic carpet.
I will never be this lucky again. I don' think, until I have a baby, but that's luck of a different kind, that comes with an enlarged bottom and no travelling, so I must make the most of this temporary liberty.
Hence I have applied for positions in Paris, Florida, New York, Vancouver, Seoul, Toronto AND London. Now I'm home and back at work, at least my CV is jet-setting.
Even after Buttcrack Boy's magical company whipped a shiver-inducing, gorgeous wind through my life, and flushed out every last Nugget related pain, seeing Crumpet again was like having a thumb poked in the Nugget shaped wound my stupid heart is still sporting. I didn't even know it was still there, after the freedom of crushing on such a perfect, hot Frenchman who made me laugh every day.
I told Crumpet I need a Buttcrack replacement, and although the phrasing needs some work, so as not to appear as if I am after some sort of surgery, it's pretty much true.
Even with this unexpected side effect, spending an uninterrupted week with Crumpet was like having a week-long birthday, it was like eating thick buttered toast when it's raining outside, it was restorative, easy, and we laughed till I had pains over and over again. We talked about weddings, and babies and everything we hope to share. I loved every moment of it. (Even the part when a mouse tried to watch a movie with us in the apartment.)
In other news my contract at work has been extended until the end of May, which means J and I will be leaving at the same time (I couldn't manage without her!) and so I have been applying for jobs. I had brief thoughts of getting a grown up job and returning to London, but these were scratched when my Mum said 'So where are you going this summer?' and the spiral of endless possibilities unravelled before me like a magic carpet.
I will never be this lucky again. I don' think, until I have a baby, but that's luck of a different kind, that comes with an enlarged bottom and no travelling, so I must make the most of this temporary liberty.
Hence I have applied for positions in Paris, Florida, New York, Vancouver, Seoul, Toronto AND London. Now I'm home and back at work, at least my CV is jet-setting.
A New Month, a New Start
Dear Blog,
Thank goodness no one reads you yet. I have been quite neglectful. If I fill you in, will you forgive me?
Oh, good, well then, February jostled along happily with the stellar company of the French intern. Who may or may not have earned himself the nickname Buttcrack Boy. It was....hypnotic. Especially when he bent to fill the dishwasher. (I know! The dishwasher! At work, sometimes whole days go by and if I don't empty it, or J doens't, it stays full and everyone else in the office scrats around for cracked old cups rather than stooping to such a domestic level in the workplace. Wtf?)
March revolved around returning to the comforting bosom of NYC, for a visit with beloved Crumpet, before she leaves the city for Law School. We yelped continuously to come up with the ultimate list of places to go and things to eat. I drew all my clothes on my packing list, washed them and tried them on and finally packed them. I packed a divine pair of sky high heels I never even wore. They didn't even make it out of the bag.
At my Dad's request I kept a log of everything we ate. And so guess what? A week among the delicious gastronomy of New York is what blogs are made of. So settle down, promise you won't tot up the calories as you go, and enjoy hearing how I gained my extra half a stone....*
* I actually deigned to go on the an Atkins-ish eating plan for a full week before the trip, in an attempt to even out the fat damage from spending a week eating with Crumpet. What on earth is all that about? I was positively weak. I reminded myself of Lula in 'To The Nines' by Janet Evanovich, when she keeps all that bacon stashed in her purse and gets chased by dogs. Not that that actually happened to me, but after a week without rice it didn't seem all that outrageous.
Thank goodness no one reads you yet. I have been quite neglectful. If I fill you in, will you forgive me?
Oh, good, well then, February jostled along happily with the stellar company of the French intern. Who may or may not have earned himself the nickname Buttcrack Boy. It was....hypnotic. Especially when he bent to fill the dishwasher. (I know! The dishwasher! At work, sometimes whole days go by and if I don't empty it, or J doens't, it stays full and everyone else in the office scrats around for cracked old cups rather than stooping to such a domestic level in the workplace. Wtf?)
March revolved around returning to the comforting bosom of NYC, for a visit with beloved Crumpet, before she leaves the city for Law School. We yelped continuously to come up with the ultimate list of places to go and things to eat. I drew all my clothes on my packing list, washed them and tried them on and finally packed them. I packed a divine pair of sky high heels I never even wore. They didn't even make it out of the bag.
At my Dad's request I kept a log of everything we ate. And so guess what? A week among the delicious gastronomy of New York is what blogs are made of. So settle down, promise you won't tot up the calories as you go, and enjoy hearing how I gained my extra half a stone....*
* I actually deigned to go on the an Atkins-ish eating plan for a full week before the trip, in an attempt to even out the fat damage from spending a week eating with Crumpet. What on earth is all that about? I was positively weak. I reminded myself of Lula in 'To The Nines' by Janet Evanovich, when she keeps all that bacon stashed in her purse and gets chased by dogs. Not that that actually happened to me, but after a week without rice it didn't seem all that outrageous.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
The Cure
He loves caramel, but most of all he loves vanilla.
He doesn't like chocolate.
He doesn't like beer. He doesn't drink wine.
He drinks white martninis. I had never even seen one; my martini is a lemon drop, and everyone else I know likes them dirty, with olives.
He likes the way I'm always smiling.
He doesn't know it's because he's around.
I enquired, in a moment of lasciviousness, whether he plays Scrabble.
'No, what is that?'
I explained, it's a game, with letters, you make words....
'Ah! Scrar-bluh!'
We're playing today.
He says he doesn't know how to repay me for looking after him during his visit.
I don't know how to tell him that he repays me each day, that after so long frozen in the head, the heart, and everywhere else, he makes me thaw.
I can't tell him he makes me feel human again.
He says he will send macaroons from Laduree, as a thank you.
I'm not going to argue.
il est stupéfiant.
He doesn't like chocolate.
He doesn't like beer. He doesn't drink wine.
He drinks white martninis. I had never even seen one; my martini is a lemon drop, and everyone else I know likes them dirty, with olives.
He likes the way I'm always smiling.
He doesn't know it's because he's around.
I enquired, in a moment of lasciviousness, whether he plays Scrabble.
'No, what is that?'
I explained, it's a game, with letters, you make words....
'Ah! Scrar-bluh!'
We're playing today.
He says he doesn't know how to repay me for looking after him during his visit.
I don't know how to tell him that he repays me each day, that after so long frozen in the head, the heart, and everywhere else, he makes me thaw.
I can't tell him he makes me feel human again.
He says he will send macaroons from Laduree, as a thank you.
I'm not going to argue.
il est stupéfiant.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
They keep getting younger!
So Mr.Engineer was only 24, and today I found out our French intern is just 18.
It makes sense, he only speaks when spoken to, but he has a good sense of humour and is very polite. I'm pretty sure this is the only internship he'll be taking where someone heats up a chocolate cookie for him.
Anyway, the fact he's still an ultra cool teen explains why he wears his jeans so low half his ass is hanging out. He was leaning over slightly yesterday and I walked right past his crack dimple that showed though his jersey boxers. The boxers had a tiny hole in them.
That really was the most interesting part of the work day.
It makes sense, he only speaks when spoken to, but he has a good sense of humour and is very polite. I'm pretty sure this is the only internship he'll be taking where someone heats up a chocolate cookie for him.
Anyway, the fact he's still an ultra cool teen explains why he wears his jeans so low half his ass is hanging out. He was leaning over slightly yesterday and I walked right past his crack dimple that showed though his jersey boxers. The boxers had a tiny hole in them.
That really was the most interesting part of the work day.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Haha!
Last week I went out to celebrate the end of J's exams and met a lot of her other friends. J is considerably younger than me, which is charming because she seems to think this means I know all sorts of stuff and can give her advice. I don't know much, but I can talk like I do so it's gratifying for both of us.
At J's post exam pub dinner, her youthful neighbour, upon finding out my age, immediately cried 'Don't worry! You don't look 28! And besides, you have a really nice coat so it doesn't matter!'
I might as well have confessed to being 78.
Then I quietly luxuriated in no longer being 21.
At J's post exam pub dinner, her youthful neighbour, upon finding out my age, immediately cried 'Don't worry! You don't look 28! And besides, you have a really nice coat so it doesn't matter!'
I might as well have confessed to being 78.
Then I quietly luxuriated in no longer being 21.
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