Band of Cheeseballs

You guys! Last night was epic, and not because I went out and got crazy. It actually started out pretty classy with a selection of fine cheeses and nibblies like quicos (fried corn kernels covered in dark chocolate and cocoa… my new favorite thing!) and Sangiovese salame. And yes, enough wine to make it a non-classy night, cuz what else would I do with some of my closest friends in the whole wide world?

What is it about people who get you? Like, really really get you? They allow you to relax and be yourself. Your weird ass wonderful self! I hope you know that feeling. If you don’t… I’ll have you over for cheese and wine someday to help you find it. You may end up wandering the streets with no pants and only one shoe, but hey! That’s life, baby.

Some things that still have me laughing today (through the hangover haze and cleaning jag):

When I brought out the heart-shaped napkins we’d gotten on a girl trip to Iceland (best bachelorette party ever!) and we all unfolded them and put them on our heads as pretty flower petal hats. And then bullied the one who didn’t until she gave in. And then pointed at her and laughed that she gave in. (Oh. Maybe we’re mean girls. Oops.)

Calling the wedge of Tomme Krayuse (a delightful raw cow’s milk cheese with soft, chewy texture and lovely full, yet mild flavor), Tom Cruise all night. And laughing that it was short.

Remembering the set of tiny forks and spoons that Mama Channypants gave me, and getting to eat while pretending we were giants.

Getting slapped away when I try to put my awesome massage vest on people.

The impromptu intervention about my Fab shopping habit when I show off my collection of gourmet salts (rosemary, lavender, and truffle, you guys!!). The abrupt ending to the intervention when I serve up a trio of popcorn made with the different flavored salts.

The ill-advised showing of my Tinder dating app, which leads to their drunken gleeful rejection of many, many guys who probably deserved better. Many. Umm. Seriously, ladies, do I get to date any of them??

I have to admit: it was scary when all three of the other girls (women? gals?) got married. In. The. Same. Year. (Maid of honor for all. Only in charge of bachelorette parties and first dance choreography. They know me so well.) Through most of our 20s, I was the one in a long-term relationship. That was MY thing. Yet, there I was: single, drinking champagne like a champ, and wondering if I’d be left out of “married people only” things.

Yeah, turns out there aren’t any married people only things. Just really amazing friends who didn’t change personalities (or drinking habits) just because they had super fun amazing weddings. (Oh, you didn’t get the invite? …this is awkward.) They’re still the ones who can turn a busy, stressful week into something wonderful, just by being there. I’m not religious, but I can recognize when I’m blessed beyond belief to have friends like these. And hey, maybe someday they’ll help me find that man who’ll wait patiently for me to come home at 3am after a night out with them!

The Grapes of Wrath

Every time I order from my local Chinese take out place (which is often, I have a fried chicken wing addiction) they include a free can of grape soda.

I’ve tried asking them not to. I don’t drink soda that often and when I do, it’s never sugary florescent purple stuff. But when I say “no grape soda,” they somehow think I’m ordering grape soda. And when that happens, I get two cans: one I pay for and one that they insist on giving me. They must really think I love that stuff.

Which, of course, must be why they get so confused on the rare occasions they understand I’m saying no grape soda. They get so sad. “NO grapesodaaa?” And I feel like I’ve wronged them. So of course, the first time that happened, I relented. My words echo in my mind to this day. “Oh no, it’s ok, you can give me the grape soda.” And then the nice old man on the phone laughed as if we’d shared some sort of private joke.

That should’ve given me a hint of what was to come. The next time I tried to request no grape soda, desperately, he recognized my voice and he understood me. God help me, he understood the words I said, but he laughed off my request like some cosmically funny inside joke that the two of us had created together. “Ah yes, ‘no’ grape soda,” he said with a wink that I could hear over the phone.

Nooooo! I screamed (in my head). “I mean it, no grape soda.” “Ok, ok,” he replied, sounding tired of “our” joke but committed to humoring me. When I got my order, I knew what I would find. A pristine, frosty cartoon purple can tucked to one side of my greasy bag of food.

Desperate and running out of fridge space (because I guiltily stored every can I got), I tried a new tactic. I started ordering gingerale. I was hopeful that they’d match the free soda to the one I ordered. But no. More grape soda.

At this point I’d run out of shelf space. I was starting to stack bright purple cans on top of each other, to fit in the fridge. I started offering them to people. This destroyed both friendships and my foodie cred. How could I be offering this stuff to people?

The truth was, I didn’t know what else to do. I had tried every possible way of refusing them, short of throwing the cans at the innocent delivery man when he brought my order. So one day, I gave in and did this.

Might as well start enjoying them however I can. Olé!

A Day of Overindulgence

Oh dear. When I said I’d go out less, I guess I meant less days but somehow the same amount of actual out-ness. I managed to pack 15 hours of partying into Saturday this weekend. I swear I didn’t mean to.

It began with brunch and unlimited mimosas at 121 Fulton. Look at this gorgeous plate! I ordered the brunch sampler, which included a mini steak & egg (with the most adorable fried quail egg on top), bacon & hash, and baked eggs with tomatoes, spinach & bacon. Obviously, I had to toast my genius designer friend repeatedly over our delicious meal. Down the hatch, mon petit mimosa. Oh and there was a second reason for us to gulp down cocktails. We needed help to ignore the strange couple sitting next to us and making out noisily. At one point, I said loudly, “We are trying. To. Eat.” However, this statement seemed to turn them on because the kissing became even slurpier. Eeeeeeeww.

I took a break from the retoxing to meet another friend visiting from Londontown. We strolled along the Highline in the oddly springlike weather, sipped cappuccinos at a place so French that the service took forever (that’s how you know it’s authentic), and then played dress-up in the Anthropologie shop in Chelsea Market. Feeling virtuous (and super girly), we headed over to Basta Pasta for dinner.

It’s going to take me a while to wrap my brain around the amazing meal we had. When I do, I fully intend to do a complete write-up. For now, just feast your eyes on how gorgeous the plates are. Basta Pasta is an Italian restaurant with a strong Japanese influence. The food is comforting in that deep soul-satisfying way that pasta is, while the service and decor are so calm and clean that it felt like the world had come to a stop. In a good way. Dinner was a pocket of quiet enjoyment with some very good friends.

Well. Until we’d had a couple bottles of wine, that is. Then I think the staff gave up hope of maintaining a calm ambience in our presence. At the very end, they figured out how to quiet us down. This is a delightful slice of ricotta cheesecake getting sprinkled with freshly grated parmesan. We watched in awe as the waitress covered the plate in what looked like fluffy snow. It may sound odd, but it was an utterly delicious combination. The saltiness of the cheese offset the light crumbly sweetness of the cake perfectly.

Glowing from that amazing meal (and eagerly making plans for our next visit back), we traipsed across Union Square and ended up at Pierre Loti for a nightcap. Or five. One by one, the ladies made their escape. Laura, draped in shiny Marc Jacobs accessories galore, was off to a party in the exclusive Soho House. We fawned over her until she told us firmly that she could not bring us with her (pout). Then Rits said something about not wanting to be hungover while skiing the next day. Wimp!

It was up to me, Little Miss Hussy, and the Brit to keep the night going. Luckily, our friendly waiter was headed off duty and brought us along on his afterhours party crawl. At this point, the Brit threw in the towel. (To be fair, I think it was 5am in London-time at that point, so she was a trooper.) Not sure why this always happens when I go out with the Hussy, but we found ourselves dancing in the secret back room of a bar for a private party where bartenders were winning trips to Disney World (??). I know how surreal that last sentence sounds, but for once I am not hyperbolating (real word) for humor’s sake. We really were in a secret bartender party. I hope they don’t kill me for telling.

I’m realizing that it’s not realistic for me to stop going out. I mean, it’s just too damn fun and there’s always something amazing to be discovered in this great city. However, this week is most certainly devoted to eating veggies and cooking some homemade soup to recover. Cheers!

In Search of Snacks

Searching for snacks in my parents’ house is an adventure. There is no shortage of healthy food. Fruits and vegetables abound in the fridge, and there is usually a pot of homemade soup or congee on the stovetop. However, my dad delights in subverting my mom’s dietary saintliness with occasional visits to McDonald’s and purchases of candy and potato chips.

"Pop" chips, cuz my pop got 'em. Get it? Yeah, I'm ashamed of myself, too.

My mom is equally sneaky when she finds any caches of junk food. She has befriended half of the families within their neat little condo village and will insist they accept gifts of random snack foods when she goes to visit them. Since many of her visits last 5-10 minutes and consist of her pushing food items on them and then hurriedly rushing off to her next errand, I have to assume she amassed this network of friends solely to crop dust my dad’s junk food all over town.

As a countermeasure, my dad maintains secret stashes in unexpected places. On the second day of my visit, I discovered a small pile of snack-sized bags of Doritos nestled behind a large unopened burlap sack of white rice in their basement. I gleefully seized a bag and munched happily until I was down to the last chip.

In the distant background, my mom caught sight of the bright red-orange bag and approached quickly. “Where did you find that?” she asked, right as my dad walked around the corner. His face morphed into a trio of very round O’s. I didn’t want to become a part of their junk food war so I regressed into an uncommunicative sullen teenager. I tossed the last Dorito into my mouth, crumpled the thin foil bag noisily, and shrugged. Surprisingly, the tactic still worked after all these years. I walked away unscathed.

The least helpful storage system ever.

Even when the snacks are sanctioned, it can be a bit of a quest. My parents have taken to using large metal canisters from a candy called Almond Roca to store a vast array of food items which are not Almond Roca. Somehow, I experienced a pang of hunger on the third day of my visit. I’m not sure where I found time in between the meals (my parents eat like Hobbits, elevenses and all). I came upon their collection of tins in my search for something to nibble on.

The first tin I opened contained pretzel nuggets. I ate a handful and moved on. The second tin held coconut flavored egg roll pastries (not the fried egg rolls that you would get at a Chinese take-out restaurant, but a wafer thin cookie rolled into a cigar shaped that crumbles deliciously into your mouth when you bite it) and several pieces of individually wrapped fun-sized* Snickers. I ate one of each and moved on to the third tin. This one contained a bag of uncooked red beans.

At this point, I looked around for the hidden camera. Somebody had to be punking me. To this day, I have not tasted a single Almond Roca. But I hear they’re great.

*After pondering the small snack/fun sizes of the Doritos bags and Snickers, I theorized that my dad had taken to buying those versions to make them easier to hide from my mom.

These Magic Moments

Somewhere between studying the tiny brush strokes of a Seurat up close and dancing on top of a bar at 3am, it hit me. I’m having the frickin time of my life!

I think I’ve done well as a community manager because I love taking care of people. Even before I worked in startup land, friends would come to talk out problems with me. Amateur therapy sessions followed by hearty home-cooked meals can solve most anything!

The last couple of weeks have been a revelation because I’ve finally turned that attention to myself. If something sounds interesting to me, I try it. And I find so many things interesting.

Skillshare is a major enabler for my binge. So far, I’ve taken classes about branding, content curation, building partnerships, biz dev (what we cool kids call business development), and SEO. I learned a lot and also realized how much I already know. Some of my experience just needed some context. A class about making ice cream without an ice cream maker is coming up soon, too. The plan is to make a special peppermint holiday flavor!

MoMA is another source of inspiration. A very dear friend gave me a membership for my birthday this year, and I have been taking advantage of special members-only hours to view exhibitions without being bumped by enthusiastic tour groups. The picture above is a close-up of a Seurat. I love practically smushing my face into paintings by him and Van Gogh, to the chagrin of the security guards. Even though their techniques are very different, their works still hold tangible traces of their dedication and passion. I look at the thick slabs of paint in a Van Gogh and almost touch the extreme emotional range that led this man to cut his own ear off (don’t worry, I’m not interested in trying that out).

Lest you think I’m only doing classy stuff, please know that I am giving partying some serious attention as well. Last night, I celebrated a friend’s big three-oh at Crown Vic in Billyburg (what the cool kids call business development, I mean, Williamsburg).

The night was pretty epic! In between copious amounts of whiskey (Johnnie Black on the rocks, please), I got to pretend-drive a tractor, listen to an impromptu bluegrass session, and dance on the bar with the bartender. No, I didn’t fall off the bar, and yes, we are BFFs now (what we cool kids call… oh forget it). If you look for the bottle opener in the picture above, you’ll get an idea of their sense of humor there.

By definition, a binge is anything taken to excess, so I know I can’t keep this up. And honestly, it’s only fun to be selfish once in a while. I still want to take care of the people I love and work hard to build things that make me proud. I’ll just indulge a little while longer and invite you guys along for the ride. Beep beep!

Chansvestite

I began my weekend visit to the Parents Chan by riding a series of commuter trains up to Connecticut with the Princeton Madam (not her real nickname… yet!), 2 bottles of red and a cheap corkscrew. Sadly for the commuters, the quiet reading car was the only one with room for us. Amidst the sombre library quiet of paperback pages turning, our styrofoam cups did a poor job of concealing what we were doing. After a while, we didn’t hear any pages turning. I’d like to think that meant we were saying (yelling?) some pretty interesting stuff. Or at least cursing in a fun enough way. Pros that we were, the Princeton Madam and I finished our first bottle of wine just before we had to switch trains. We congratulated ourselves as we deposited the bag with empty bottle into a recyclables bin on the platform. Remember those shape-sorting toys for babies? That bin had a glass bottles hole that was perfectly shaped for a wine bottle. I guess if any commuter train catered to winos, it would be the Connecticut commuter train! It wasn’t until we were comfortably ensconced in our seats on the new train that we realized we had thrown the cheap corkscrew away. It had been in the bag with the first bottle. Luckily, we were part of the MacGyver generation and not to be deterred by the mere lack of real tools. Using an ingenious combo of a ballpoint pen, a tube of lip balm and a plastic bag (don’t ask), we were able to open our second bottle for the rest of our ride up to family-land before we parted ways.

At first, my parents seemed like they would be a much better influence on me. I helped the mama water and sun her potted bamboo plants, picked fresh veggies from my aunt and uncle’s amazing terraced, hanging garden and relaxed by the pool. But I quickly found out where my partying genes came from. Out at dinner the first night, my parents pulled out a flask of Remy Martin X.O. and poured it into teacups while whistling innocently. I don’t think it fooled the waiters since the air above our table was wavy from alcohol fumes, but they knew better than to question the mama and the papa! They were a teensy bit better behaved the next night since we dined at home. They did, however, bust out a fancy pants bottle of wine (so fancy the bottle came in its own sleek silver canister) which they had saved for this weekend. One glass in, we got inspired to dress up in tradish garb for dinner because a family friend had just given me a cheongsam for my birthday. My mom almost stabbed me in the head while excitedly sticking chopsticks into my hair to “decorate” me. Whoa mama! (Come on, I had to say that.)

Partying wasn’t the only thing I inherited from these crazy cats though. At the end of the day, they are both astoundingly good cooks. For the joint birthday dinner (my daddy’s and mine), mommy-pants went all out. She sauteed green beans and pale eggplants freshly plucked from the hanging garden, made simple-but-scrumptious salted fry ups of shrimp and steak and tested a new chicken with seaweed dish. Feast your eyes on the pics below. My goodness, life is beautiful!

Food, Glorious Food!

Big ups to Restaurant Week in New York City and my happy tummy, last week was a great one! First off, the fire in my office building last Monday made the whole place smell pleasantly of crackling campfire wood. Despite my pleas to stay put so I could flirt with the FDNY (something along the lines of “But you’re so hot, how could you possibly put OUT a fire?”), we evacuated and had a team lunch at Dos Caminos, where I calmed my nerves with a watermelon margarita and a platter of chicken on fragrant cilantro rice. Dessert was some genius riff on mint chocolate chip called the Grasshopper (god help me, I can only say that in a Mr. Miyagi voice in my head) from Emack & Bolio’s.

Despite the full day (yup, that there’s a pun), I found room for dinner at David Burke Townhouse with my fellow Ambassadorette. Before we were even led to our table, a bartender dressed like a member of some old-school barbershop quartet slid a carved purple quartz vessel full of twisted and spicy cheese sticks within reaching distance and followed that up with dainty little dishes of ricotta and herb spring rolls in a warm honey sauce. Fortified with frosty cocktails made alternately of rose water and pomegranate juice, we were ready to just live at the bar when the hostess popped up behind us and announced our table was ready. For our first course, we selected the Sea Scallops Benedict, which consisted of two large, soft scallops draped in poached quail eggs and lobster foam, all resting atop a thin layer of chorizo, and the Pretzel Crusted Crabcake, which was shaped like a delicious treasure box with a big, beautiful shrimp on top as an ornament. Somehow, the pretzels were incredibly easy to cut without having to mash the crabcake, but crunchy to the last bite. Our main courses had a lot to live up to, but I’m happy to report that they did (even the next day when we had leftovers for lunch). We had Roasted and Crispy Seawater Soaked Organic Chicken (let he who doubts the power of words read that last bit and not drool) and a Pan Fried Branzino. The name says it all for the chicken and yes, oh god yes, it definitely lived up to its billing. Ah, but the branzino! It was one perfect elongated rectangle of crispy silver-gold-brown skin which broke apart easily underneath my fork into moist soft flakes of white fish. It had the texture of al dente pasta where it resisted a little as I bit in but then, suddenly, just gave in and glided piece by tender piece along my tongue as if it were swimming. I’m not quite sure what happened outside of the universe between me and my plate, but I think my friend had a silent communion with her dish as well. After all that, I would normally forget to talk about dessert. But David Burke has the kind of whimsical approach to sweets that can win even a grizzled old savory-tooth like me over. We ended the meal with a Cheesecake Lollipop tree with branches of raspberry white chocolate and ganache served with bubblegum whipped cream, a miniature ferris wheel of Drunken Donuts, which were donut holes covered in cinnamon sugar served with vials of fruit, chocolate and caramel filling which could be plunged into the donuts, and chocolate covered strawberries for good measure. We cried a little from the beauty of it all. A little from the pain of eating so much, but mostly, from the beauty of it all.

Still with me? Good. Cuz that was just Monday. Tuesday rolled around (another pun, yes, I make of myself when I eat a lot. I’m my own sorority.) with plans to meet a friend at the Clover Club, that lovely bastion of classic cocktails and spirits. We sipped single malt scotches and ryes poured over iceberg cubes in highball glasses and scoffed gently at the world until it was time to sup (yeah, old timey lingo, that’s what ‘sup!) at Buttermilk Channel. First course was a bottle of light, fragrant red which smelled like roses at our table. The waitress saw us enjoying the wine a little too much and quickly brought over a small bowl of complimentary popovers which were light and fluffy and dunked in a shallow pool of warm, sticky honey. Our entrees came out soon after, linguini coated in a creamy, nutty brown butter sauce with mushrooms and the bright pop of corn, and medium rare skirt steak sliced to show off the deep glistening pink of its meat. Dessert was more wine and a welcome stroll in the balmy summer night (or should I say waddle?).

Thursday gave the ladies of Quirky a chance to have lunch together at Lure. Taking my cue from the porthole windows and shipshape surroundings (groan!), I fed my seafood cravings by ordering a Salmon Tartare starter and Sushi Combo entree, and then ended with a summery lemon tart served on top of blueberries. Everything was light and refreshing, which was what I needed at the end of such an epic eating week. Viva la belly!!

Chan-ting

Good morning, Shirl-keteers!  In case you couldn’t tell from my last post, this week has been crazy bonkers.  The move went well, once I actually got to packing.  I swear, I get more done when I’m procrastinating.  If only there were some way to harness that power.

Anyhoodle, I’m at a loss for what to report.  It’s been all work and unpacking/cleaning when I get home.  And for some reason, I am constantly lugging heavy bags of things everywhere.  I have no idea why!  Maybe I’m getting punished Sisyphus-style (do not call that guy a sissy).  Even hobos have shopping carts.

Ooh!  Speaking of hobos (and when am I not?), lately the weather has been so nice that I get a little jealous when I see them setting up their sleep-spot for the night.  Urban camping.  Maybe I’ll try it this summer.  But where would I plug in my auto-inflating Aerobed?  I guess I’ll just ask a seasoned homeless person for advice when the time comes.

Now that my life is settling down again (maybe??), I’ll be writing more.  In the meantime, check out the Quirky blog.  I’ll be adding a new post later today!  Plus, umm duh, we’re just like, the coolest company ever!!

Movin’ On Up

This post is a departure from my usual meticulously researched and edited content (cough). I’m a rebel.

1:15pm. Have decided live blogging my day of packing is the way to go. Productivity levels increasing already.

1:16pm. Ooh. Hello clothes from bottom of my dresser. I missed you. Better try you on.

1:17pm. Can’t tell if I should keep this shirt. Better make a whole outfit to test it. Hair and makeup too.

1:21pm.  Technically, it is an act of patriotism to look up the history of Memorial Day.

1:27pm.  Oh wow, Marilyn Monroe shot glasses and Lolita heart shaped sunglasses!

1:29pm.  Sadness pangs.  Realized I left my blonde Marilyn wig in Vegas.

1:30pm.  Gaga dance party of one to cheer myself up!!

1:39pm.  Dizzy from head bopping to Hey Ya.

1:39:07pm.  Ooh.  Sean Paul is telling me to shake that thing.  Ok.

1:53pm.  Jewelry individually wrapped in baggies, check.  Feel like a fashion drug dealer.

1:59pm.  Didn’t know I was running a dust bunny farm in that corner.  Hai floofy bunnies!!

2:14pm.  Dancing around in everything I try on.  Testing functionality is key.

2:26pm.  Coffee induced spurt of productivity.  18 new outfits accomplished.  Wait, what was my goal??

2:55pm.  Am I still listening?  Oh Pandora, you don’t really want to know the answer to that.

3:04pm.  Did you know that T.J. Maxx is called T.K. Maxx in London?  Just found a skirt I bought there in ’02.

3:20pm.  Meticulously curated piles of clothing = progress.  Question mark?

3:31pm.  Oh.  Flo Rida was born in Florida.  That shouldn’t surprise me as much it does.

3:31pm.  I can’t believe technology has progressed to the point where talking to myself is publicly sanctioned.  And yet, I can’t get a few damn boxes packed.

3:35pm.  No, Kesha.  Stick to singing dance songs.

3:38pm.  I have so much black in my wardrobe.  So cliche.  (accent mark)

3:39pm.  Yeah yeah yeah (Ur-sher in da haooouse) yeah yeah!

4:01pm.  Damn you, American Apparel!!  Stop making me think I’m growing when you’re the one that’s shrinking.

4:02pm.  OW.  Eyeball snagged on button.  When fashion attacks.

4:24pm.  What IS that??

4:25pm.  Omggg, it just moved.

4:32pm.  What UP??  Violent Femmes to the rescue.  Lemme go oooon, big hands I know you’re the one!

4:36pm.  Steak Break!

5:15pm.  Meat. Is. Awesome.  Game on!!

—

Sun, 5/30.  It ain’t over til it’s over, baby!

3:13am.  Woke up in puddle of steak sauce.  Confused.  Pleasant somehow.

3:49am.  Two more boxes packed.  Meat + nap = action!

4:12am.  Left dresses on hangers.  Tied them up in sheet like giant bindle.  Fashion hobo!

4:78am.  Brain numb.  Belly growls.  Best time to organize paperwork.  Obvs.

5:34am.  Soup break!  Plus new episode of Top Chef Masters to watch, ooh!

5:47am.  Rooting for you, Chef Obi Wan!!

6:17am.  zzzz…  wha??

7am.  Ok, sleep.  But only for an hour.

8am.  Snooze.

8:09am.  Snooze.

8:18am.  Set alarm for one hour later.

11am.  Hooray!  Office organized.  Categories include freelance materials & info, contacts (the people kind, not the eyeball kind), sewing materials, art retreat supplies, stationery and toys.  Toys is the biggest category.  Ooh.  Hello smiley, dancey plastic thing!!

11:08am.  Omg, sunshine buddy trance.  Must.  Break.  Free.

11:34am.  Eep!  Coffee time!!

12:47pm.  Surely it’s ok to take a brief Haute Look break?  Oh.  Surely.  Haha, I just got that.

3:25pm.  Home stretch.  Am I insane or do I just play one on tv?