Saturday, March 18, 2006


I've finally uploaded some pictures onto this thinger. If you've got the stomach for it, check out the archives for Dutch Food in all its Inedible Glory.

Friday, March 17, 2006


That platonic dinner date? The one I was supposed to go on last night? Uh, it wasn't exactly dinner. Unless three green, pit-in martini olives count as dinner. Which they don't. Maybe to an anorexic. Which I am not.

But it was fun, nonetheless. In my enthusiastic research I read some positive reviews about a new bar in my neighborhood called Blue Owl and thought it might be nice to start the evening with a cocktail. I thought that because I am sophisticated as well as socially anxious. The two are not mutually exclusive.

Blue Owl is one of those bars that has the air of a speakeasy, or at least desperately wants to. I was impressed with the abundance of seating, the lack of loud, irritating music, and a clientele that was neither too hip nor too douchey. Maybe the other patrons seemed a little bit old, but if I say that about a bar in the East Village I'm pot-kettle-blacking it.

What was most impressive about Blue Owl was their cocktail menu. Though more gin-heavy than I would prefer (my single memory of gin includes getting terrible spins in a bar bathroom and vomiting into the sink... and having my boyfriend at the time scoop out said vomit into the toilet. Thus, I do not drink gin), there were some inspired concoctions. I ordered something called Between The Sheets but not because I am slutty: because it sounded delicious. The two are not mutually exclusive.

It was a drink made with calvados (apple brandy), white rum, cointreau, and finished with a sugared rim. I LOVE A SUGARED RIM! This drink: it was delicious and dispensed with the way a man with ED dispenses with sex. I may have drunk it too quickly, but only because it was so tasty! Sorry, Between The Sheets, I swear this never happens but I can drink you again much more slowly...just give me five minutes and I'll be thirsty, I swear! You are really yummy.

Actually, I didn't drink another Between The Sheets. It was a bit sweet so I tempered it with a savory Ketel One martini, extra olives please. An almost perfect martini: smooth, not too dry, very cold, and with the slightest hint of dirtiness from the extra olives. Deeee-licious! And those olives: the first one was the appetizer, the second the entree, and the last...dessert.

And after that the sleepy feeling kicked in, and my platonic dinner date, in which no dinner was had, was over.

Thursday, March 16, 2006


Would it be a bad idea to take myself out to dinner? This has been a slow week for me socially, and I predict it will stay slow unless I take matters into my own hungry hands.

WHOA! I wrote the above before lunch today, thinking that I really might just take myself out to dinner. It's quirky, it's lonesome, but I'm quirksome so I can do it. But now, as I get back to this post at 6:35pm, I have plans to go out to dinner, and THEY INCLUDE ANOTHER PERSON!

What a difference a (half) day makes!

I am going on a platonic dinner date, and I am VERY excited. I'm excited because A) I LOVE GOING OUT TO DINNER IN NEW YORK and I haven't in such a long time and B) I DON'T HAVE TO DO IT ALONE!

The idea that I might really force myself to take myself out on a date just so I could have a nice meal surrounded by real ambience was enough to give me the nervous sweats today. But those nervous sweats only lasted a couple of hours, because I got struck by luckning, which is like lightening but luckier. DUH!

The unfortunate aftermath of the aforementioned neurosis is that I now smell like aged, nervous sweat. Thank goodness the date is platonic!

So now I'm doing RESEARCH on where I will eat tonight, and bah-bah-bah-bah-baaaah I'm lovin' it! My stomach is already watering at the thought of yummy food and drink. And my mind is watering at the thought of yummy conversation. Basically, I'm a puddle of water over the potential of the next 3-5 hours.

Cut to: me getting food poisoning and/or shrimps stuck in my eye. Here's a phrase I need to acquaint myself with: MANAGE EXPECTATIONS.

But isn't that something pessimists do?

Wednesday, March 15, 2006


I'm on the verge of hunger. I don't physically need food, but I just want something.

I don't want hot chocolate because I've already had two today. We get free packets of Swiss Miss at work, and Yours Truly loves to take full advantage of a freebie. Does that make me come off as cheap? I see it more as a gentle exploitation, like having sex with a mature seventeen year old.

Which brings me back to my original point: I want something!

Not dinner. Not an apple. Not a bag of Bugles Corn Chips. But something.
Not pizza. Not ice cream. Not a Snickers candy bar. SOMETHING!

When life gets this undefinable, nothing will satisfy.

Ugh. I just totally Forest Gump'd that last sentence.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006


It's amazing how quickly one gets back to one's routine after one has been away from it. Or, to be more precise, it's amazing how quickly I have gotten back to MY routine after just one week away.

Case in point: last night's dinner. It was, yet again, a bowl of cereal taken at 11pm in my bedroom. Healthy cereal, at least; it was a flaxseed and quinoa poor-man's version of Cheerio's sans sugar but with more crunch. Please don't take that last sentence as bragging, as I am not proud of myself. I mean I'm proud of myself, but not about that.

Being back in Manhattan has accelerated my life, and while I like a fast pace I do appreciate the slowness of vacation, the only time when I've nothing pressing to get to, which allows me to actually luxuriate in my meals. And by "luxuriate" I mean to say that I still wolf down the food before me with all the speed of a cruise missile, but at least I sit at the table for awhile afterwards, digesting like a proper lady.

I don't really mind the late-night cereal dinners. While perfunctory, they ARE satisfying, and I see them as a mildly unfortunate but temporary phase, like puberty. Maybe this is me paying dues; I hope so, because if it's not temporary but instead an omen of how my life will ultimately play out, I'll just go adopt one thousand cats right now and stop plucking my eyebrows.