Tarts and Crafts

Day 1 - 20/03/2010

2010-04-03T20:50:00.004+01:00

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

Upon Arrival - midnight 19/03/2010

2010-04-03T20:48:00.001+01:00

- freshly baked snickerdoodles
- strawberry Haagen Daaz
- PG Tips

Sweet, Sour and Sweeter Still

2010-04-03T19:53:00.008+01:00

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.

A New Month, a New Start

2010-04-03T19:35:00.005+01:00

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.

The Cure

2010-02-21T09:51:00.003Z

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.

They keep getting younger!

2010-02-03T18:14:00.005Z

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.

Haha!

2010-02-01T23:55:00.004Z

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.

In Defense of Disney - by Elle Woods, or Cher from Clueless

2010-02-01T22:42:00.011Z

I spent the weekend on the south coast with my school friends. It was completely fabulous. Especially the ride home. We sang most of Evita and half of the Ultimate Disney Princess CD.

Disney gets a lot flak. It was a solid part of my childhood; the films, the characters, the toys and the theme parks. Yes, the girls all have outrageously huge eyes, tiny waists and a tendency to get hitched at sixteen. They don't go to university, and they usually need their lives saved at least once per movie. Preferably by a really hot guy. I know, I know, it took forever for Disney to consider drawing a non-white princess. And where are the non-heterosexual characters? You know, like in real life?

So Disney may be flawed, but I don't think it's actually evil. The reason the stories have outdated premises and stereotypes is that they are based on fairy tales. They are generated from the old, white, straight Hans Christian Anderson world of good vs evil and ugliness vs beauty. Disney has not evolved these tales very much, but they allow the characters to evolve. Even if it's only to believe in themselves, and let love into their lives. That's something real people often have a problem doing. The reason I still have songs from Beauty and the Beast, The Little Mermaid and Alice in Wonderland on my ipod, is that they were my very first exposure to dreams, to burgeoning womanhood, to real passion (passion for living, not just for the hot guys, although I quite liked Aladdin). I can almost hear you laughing but they really were important to me.

Ok so pretty much all the Disney women find love and their journeys are usually not complete until they have found their mate. So what are Disney films saying? That you can't be happy without love? If Disney is considered a bad influence for this alone, then I have some unfortunate news...the whole of modern life tends to give this message, it didn't start here. And even though when you grow up you learn (hopefully) that there are actually many different kinds of love, and being swept off your feet by a rich, handsome, possible former beast, is usually not the way life rolls, the idea that everything you have or don't have is made better when you experience love is not far from the truth. Loving and being loved is something you have to learn how to accomplish successfully, even if it's so nuanced and intrinsic you don't know you're leaning it as you go along.

It's fine if you'd rather avoid allowing your kids to get obsessed with all that pink plastic princess crap. When I was a kid there was no such thing as a Disney store, there were absolutely no miniature versions of Disney Princess outfits, no sparkly baby heels or fairy wings. It was just the movie plus your imagination. (And if you're really spoilt like I was, trips to Disneyworld and a pair of Minnie ears.)

At work, after J and I had compleetd an under-our-breath rendition of the song about Gaston and his incredibly thick neck, from Beauty and the Beast, J asked me which Disney film was my favourite:
'Alice in Wonderland.' I replied.
'What!? There's no princess! She doesn't fall in love!' said a horrified J.
'She goes on a JOURNEY OF SELF DISCOVERY!' I sort of yelled.
Even though she laughed so hard her cup of tea may have come down her nose, I think that's the essence of why J loves Disney too. I think it's why so many girls love Disney - the protagonist gets to be true to herself, and often gets to be loved for it too.

By a really hot guy.

No More Mr.Engineer

2010-02-01T22:26:00.002Z

Today Mr.Engineer and I had a friendly conversation about the Mummy exhibit at the British Museum. I was wearing a pair of gloves from my vast and beautiful collection, along with my new stripy hat. The weather has turned icy cold again and Mr.E informed me it is the coldest winter in Britain since 1918.

And that he is leaving for China on Thursday. This means a deflating end to our absolutely-going-nowhere after work flirting. I was rather enjoying it though, and had been hoping to get the chance to be much more nosey about life in modern China.

Useful Advice

2010-02-01T22:18:00.002Z

Do not go shopping after consuming a strawberry daiquiri closely followed by a cosmopolitan.

There is a danger you could come back with 5 pairs of gloves and a superfluous stripy hat.

Stuck in the Middle (reading 'Real Simple')

2010-01-27T23:34:00.008Z

Before Christmas I had the good fortune to hang out with some friends from university, four gorgeous shoe designers and one artist. We hadn't all been in the same place for about 3 years, so much excitement ensued, and the cocktails kept coming. Fifi came home from Italy so it was a treat to see her in real life, although her emails are the best ever.

Afterwards we all exchanged emails and which blogs we read so we could share. I say, 'we' everyone else did - I was distracted by 2 emergency operations my Mum ended up needing in December (she is doing much better now) but when I had time to give it some thought I realised I was too shy to share my beloved blogs with my friends. I have the blog habits of a mid 30s mom, of someone who owns a car, probably a house too, and is married and shops for kitchen items.

I can't drive even drive yet.

Everything I read online is related to either a) recipes
b) babies/parenthood c) People magazine online (shhhhhhh!) d) the news e) more recipes f) fantasy shopping.

I seem to have completely skipped the 21st century stage where you use the internet to aid finding someone to have a baby with. I thought my real life had that figured out for me, then when it turned out it hadn't yet, my Dad looked at me with half sympathy, half amusement 'I can't imagine having to date!' he said, with a smirk. Tell me about it.

I never used to shy away from the idea of dating. Your next boyfriend is not coming to your house to find you. He better not. You don't want to date a stalker do you?! I always made an effort to meet people if I felt like meeting people (even if it meant going to salsa classes alone when I first moved to London) and it always worked, even if I had to meet leather clad snake-hipped salsa instructors to do so.

Right now meeting new people is wholly unappealing. I have managed to scare up half an interest in Mr.Engineer because he literally walks by me every day, smiling cutely and saying hello in a vaguely interesting accent. Actually making an effort to date does not hold as much fascination for me as doodling all my clothes and creating new outfit combinations. You wouldn't believe the amount of money I have felt obliged to squander on clothes now that I don't need to visit Nugget anymore, after a year and a half of saving every spare penny for flights 6000 miles away....I now have shiny new boots, sky high heels and an array of silky things that are waiting patiently for me to put them on and go somewhere.

In some ways then, I am prematurely aged especially for my responsibility level (i.e. pretty low right now, for example, my friend Shak just asked me to go to Paris with him for dinner the week after next and it involves very little preparation, I booked it before I mentioned it to my work or my family.) Then in some ways, I realise that here in suburbia I have been left behind. In the big city (in any of the 3 big cities I have recently lived in) I am still one of the youngest out of my friends, and living out of a (very large and cumbersome) suitcase was not considered weird. I have mixed feelings about the pasta machine my Mum gave me last Christmas - I still haven't used it. I think I resent it because to is SO heavy, and therefore, not portable like the rest of my life.

In the suburbs this lifestyle of mine IS kind of weird. Most of my friends do not live here anymore, in the town where we grew up. Those that do have children. One girl I have known since playschool now lives in a house in the street I used to babysit in.

Even though it freaks me out living here with my family among people who seem light years ahead of me, I still feel pretty lucky to be doing whatever I want for a little time longer. That includes plucking my eyebrows for 20 minutes at a time, writing lengthy blog posts about ME and drawing my outfit selections for random weekends in Paris, things I know I will not have time for when I finally have my own little family.

I can't wait to shop for pretty tea cups though.

Afterschool Cultural Exchange Program/Breastmilk

2010-01-27T23:22:00.004Z

I have been single for 8 months now. This is what it feels like:

Fine.

Completely normal, and fine.

The great thing about having a long and interesting romantic history studded with swooning and drenched in disappointment is that when you're suddenly alone it's actually not as bad as you thought it would be. Even when the last person you lost was the only one you could truly have stayed with (forever?) you are, vitally, still the same person after, and it really isn't the end if the world. You're just going to miss someone's face for a while. (forever?)

Ok, so being alone is getting a bit boring now. This is maybe why I have developed an almost-crush on an engineer I see in the reception of my work, most afternoons, while I wait for my ride home. It does not count as an actual crush, it is not as developed as that, but it is a minor glimmer. I have actually noticed someone! I must be still alive in there somewhere! Although, that space inside my chest where my heart used to pound up and down when Nugget was around, remains resolutely numb.

Anyway, I must segue from this deep and sappy train of thought into the real issue here. I may have a mental disorder which causes me to talk to everyone I know, including mere acquaintances, about breastmilk. It happened at work last week when I offered J a milk sweet (the yummy, hard Japanese kind) and said absentmindedly 'They taste like breastmilk.' It would be true to say that I have spent much of my life on a quest to find food that brings me back to the loving comfort of my first nourishment. I did not realise this until Crumpet pointed it out to me after becoming aware that I LOVE anything vaguely reminiscent of breastmilk, like bananas in coconut milk at Thai restaurants (or in my kitchen now I have a great recipe from Ching He Huang's book, I put a lot less sesame seeds in it though) and panna cotta and the aforementioned milk sweets.

Mr. Engineer has only been in England for 3 months, he has been sent from an office of the same company in China to test materials or something. Today he sat and chatted to me until my ride arrived. He has never done this before. There were only a couple of pauses that were quickly filled up as he told me about the taxes incurred on the people of China to pay for the 16 billion dollar Olympic games in Bejing, how much he appreciates the architecture of England, and historical stories from the Tang Dynasty. Apparently one Chinese Emperor washed his face in human milk, in order to remain young looking. This led to me asking whether women in China usually breastfeed their babies. He claimed that it is usual there, and added 'I think it is a good thing. It is a natural gift.'

That made me love him a little bit.

Then when he said that the concubines of the Emperor would fight for his attention, I was pretty surprised especially since he'd mentioned that the Emperor selected the concubines by picking their names from little papers on a tray. Mr. Engineer countered that they fought because they wanted the attention of such a powerful man. 'A good husband is very important.' said Mr. Engineer.

Hear hear Mr. Engineer! What a shame he's only 24.

p.s. if fond memories of breastmilk is an idea that grosses you out, you probably won't want to be friends with me as it is one of the least gross things I find enjoyable. I was breastfed till I was 4. I don't remember doing it but I remember the taste, and that my mother met her best friend at La Leche League, an awesome, and quite avant garde American association that started in the 60s to promote breastfeeding awareness/acceptance of feeding in public, which is still rather lacking in my home country in my opinion.

Blogging is like Pringles

2010-01-22T18:27:00.005Z

Once you pop.....

I have been thinking all day at work about getting home to re-visit this little internet universe, populated so far by just me. Now I'm here I don't have much to relate, my Aunt is in town and we are going to eat Indian food with my parents and brother. Indian food hates me, it always attacks my pathetic little stomach later on, but it's oh so delicious!

I have just painted my nails for the first time in a month, and did a really bad job of it. Fifteen year old me would be disappointed, I spent most of my youth painting my nails and talking on the phone. I can't wait to visit New York in March where I can get a manicure without needing a bank loan! (NY mani-pedis cost $25 if you don't mind a den of a 'spa' in Soho, which I don't. Here in lil old England they cost more like 60 quid.)

It's Friday, the wine is cracked open, and I'm hungry. Something very exciting happened this afternoon, I bumped into Crumpet online while reading my emails (Crumpet is the aforementioned Nugget's little sister, and my very dear friend). Crumpet said since she'll be out of a job soon she's looking into heading to Seoul this summer to teach English. I thought you could only go for a year but apparently they have summer programmes! Crumpet's beloved Fred wants to go too.

So it would be very convenient if I got another 3 month contract after this one ends at the end of March and then spent the summer eating my way round Korea, swapping languages with some school children. I haven't actually come into contact with anyone under 22 recently, that would be a nice change. Actually tomorrow we are having a little family reunion and some of my cousins will be there, and then next week I am going to meet my colleagues recently adopted baby. But more on that another time. Did I say I didn't have much to relate?

I talk too much. I'm going to listen to Augustana instead, and re-do my nails.

A Subject Close to My Heart...

2010-01-22T00:20:00.003Z

I just had about a foot of hair cut off. I look like 2nd season Felicity. Except I'm not glowing as much as Keri Russell. I am not glowing at all, despite a real attempt at water drinking and yoga. (Ok one home yoga session this year is not yet a 'real attempt'.)

Anyway, all I have to report on this is that now my neck is really cold. On the plus side, my weird few inches of hair that had ben flattened to death by straight perming at the Korean salon have finally gone. It only took about a year to grown out, so I have my fast growing hair to thank for that. I must say, for a naturally curly bonce like me, the straight perm really lost it's lustre after a couple of months, my head was just so very flat, I felt sort of vulnerable. (Heh, I only cried about it once.)

I will always remember however, the feeling of taking a 20 minute walk in the Santa Monica mountains just as the wind was whipping through the trees, then getting back in the car (with freshly cut bangs* and everything!) and looking exactly as I did when I got out of the car at first, with not a hair out of place. My silken straight-permed locks just fell back into place. For those brief few moments, I had movie star hair. Trust me, if I had done that with my natural hair, and not put if in a pony tail for the walk, or brushed it in the car, I would have looked like a complete and utter bushwooly. My ex boyfriend (henceforth known as Nugget) would not have waited another 6 months to decide our time was up, he would have fallen out of love with me right then, at the scary sight of my hair on steroids.

* I know I am English and bangs is actually a fringe, but how can you not want to use the expression 'bangs' instead? It's just so...appealingly inappropriate sounding.

Office Politics

2010-01-22T00:13:00.004Z

Today work irritated me intensely. It was really me irritating myself because I have been feeling fairly 'whatever' about everything in the last couple of days, I haven't been bothered with what I eat (HIGHLY unusual!) and certainly haven't been bothered to remain sweet, good tempered and smiley in the office.

It's true that the office is not like Mad Men, it is not actually part of my job description as an employed woman to remain sweet, good tempered and smiley at all times, but I aim to do the best I can. I mean why pitch up to work just to behave like a miserable bitch? * If things are that bad, consider other options.*

What really irritated me today was that I was failing to be able to do my best, and my real personality was starting to show. Please don't read that as a sign that I am not a good tempered person, I am. But then I am also averse to being told what to do, (ever, by anyone - really handy for getting ahead in civilised society right?!) I do not appreciate, and very rarely accept without retaliation being treated rudely or as if I am a dumb ornament that makes tea. My job does involve some dumbing down, because what I am good at is of no use here. Subjects I know plenty about rarely, oh wait, never come up here. Likewise, there's a lot more I could know about statistics and manipulation of excel spreadsheets, as well as employment law, that would be useful in this job. So whatever; my talents, ( such as they are - being crafty (in every sense) art history debating skills, and pulling off red lipstick) are wasted here. That doesn't generally get me down. What gets me down is that I usually go to the trouble of not being a persnickety bitch at work, even if I'm having a troublesome day, but evidently not everyone adheres to this philosophy.

Seriously, if I let all my liberal non-slave labour approving ideas and non-Company Woman personality out of my mouth at work, I'd be kissing that contract extension goodbye. More on this delightful subject another day!

Coming of Age

2010-01-22T00:02:00.000Z

It's time this blog got off it's butt and got stuck into the new year. It's not even shiny and new any more, we're already three weeks in. I'm finding it difficult to commit to blogging because this will turn out so differently from the blogs I enjoy reading. It seems like no one would be interested in an aspirational blog - it's much better to read when people are writing about the meat of their lives, when they're right in the middle of things.

Why don't I feel like I'm at that point in my life? Surely the blog would benefit, perhaps I should knuckle down? The thing is, I am something of a commitment-phobe. Not a caddish commitment-phobe like 50 year old single men are often purported to be, but an actual commitment-to-anything-ever-phobe.

I'm getting nearer, I'm reaching the time when I feel ready to commit to my own life, rather than dancing round the edge of it, dipping my toe in every now and then. This might come as news to my real life friends, it's not as if I've been shy about getting out and about, trying new things, new places, getting a taste for little adventures. But that's just the point, I haven't committed to anything yet, except to the pursuit of finding the right thing for me to do, the right place for me to be.

I think the pursuit is drawing to a close. I suddenly feel I have earned my age, like I'm not a 20 year old thrown into a 28 year old's skin (I am aware having 'earned' those extra eight years will seem paltry to many, older, wiser people).

I know what's really important to me, and what I can cast aside. It's actually exciting if I really think about it, can you actually come of age at the ripe old age of 28? I mean all those teenage viewings of Stand By Me were really just about checking out how cute River Phoenix was at 14 (I was even younger so I was definitely allowed to be thinking that.) I wasn't coming into anything back then, not my age, barely even my own boobs.

Things to talk about

2009-12-13T17:08:00.000Z

baking:
- mince pies
- chocolate peppermint candy cane cookies
- gingerbread

making:
- printing cards
- illustrations for the circus book
- jewelry, exploring silks and ribbons

mulling:
- wine (mmmmm)
- boys
- babies
- adoption
- accidentally working in HR
- family
- feminism
- home
- away