Big Eat Challenge -- 2 for 1

Dear No One in Particular,

I've always been a little intimidated by the Ferry Building; there are so many delicious, interesting-looking restaurants nestled under its glass and steel arches -- not to mention the bustling, legendary Farmer's Market on the sidewalk outside -- that I get overwhelmed and end up leaving for more familiar territory.


A couple of weeks ago, I decided to bite the bullet and sink my teeth into some delicious food from the Ferry Building.

#40: cheeseburger from Taylor's Automatic Refresher:
I can't remember where I first heard of Taylor's Automatic Refresher, but after a cursory glance at their yelp page, decided I was, in fact, in the mood for a gourmet burger.

I'm really more of a patty melt girl, so I opted for the patty melt over the top 100 list making cheeseburger. The jury's still out on whether or not this was a wise decision. Then again, I'm just looking for any excuse to visit again.
In addition to the patty melt, I demanded an order of sweet potato fries and an espresso shake. I was stupid enough to be starving when I visited Taylor's, which is a lot like volunteering to have my fingernails pulled out. I'm such a slave to my hunger, it's ridiculous.

I sat at my table, inhaling the splendorous scent of their garlic fries. I began to worry that I picked the wrong side. Then I began to wonder if I could kill the couple who so disrespectfully ordered the garlic fries, but didn't eat them. I'm 99% sure I could have gotten off with minimal jail time.


As soon as my order came up, I grabbed a fistful of the gorgeous, bright orange sweet potato wedges and crammed them into my mouth. At that moment, I reached nirvana. Heavenly choirs sang hallelujah and the sun danced in the sky.



You guys, Taylor's sweet potato fries are THAT GOOD. They somehow lack the starchiness of regular fries, and are seasoned perfectly. Per. Fect. Ly. The slight heat of the chili powder, coupled with the light dusting of regular ol' salt and pepper cuts through the gentle sweetness, creating a symphony in my mouth. If I had ordered nothing else, I would have been so happy with Taylor's I would have run through the Ferry Building singing its praises.


The patty melt was more than a bit disappointing. To be fair, I was so hungry, I barely tasted the first couple of bites. They use a nice dark rye bread, which is a welcome change from the usual light rye. The burger itself is obviously of good quality, but it's sadly overshadowed by the liberally applied condiments. There is way too much mayo and mustard on the damn burger. Granted, I hate mustard, and truly believe the spice and tang of the rye is more than sufficient to cut the fatty goodness of the Swiss cheese and beef. Still -- they overpowered the yummy dead cow, which knocks it down a peg in my book. The meat should sing in a burger, not the sauces.

The shake was equally disappointing. It was made wayyy before the rest of the meal ( I know because I was sitting near the end of the bar and watched it being made) so it melted and became a runny mess, rendering it no more than melted ice cream. Tasty melted ice cream, but not a shake.

Overall, it was a decent meal. Sure, the burger fell short, and the shake was laughable, but those fries -- THOSE FRIES -- were delicious enough to forgive puppy kicking. My biggest issue with Taylor's is the overinflated prices. Maybe if everything was perfect spending $20 on a burger, fries, and shake would be worth the cash, but not if my meal was the best they could offer.

The sweet potato fries, though. They were miraculous.

#49 -- ginger snaps at Miette
Miette is somewhat legendary in the confection/baking world. Bakers and major sweet teeth make pilgrimages to the adorable bake shop in search of their notoriously delightful cupcakes. Or so I've heard. I don't think I've ever had one of their cupcakes. I'm a snob, you see.

Anyhoodle, I was a little surprised to see their ginger snaps as the list-maker over their more well-known cupcakes or macarons, but I jumped at the chance to try a new ginger cookie. I love ginger confections, and ginger snaps are some of my favourite cookies.


"Adorable" is the best way to describe Miette. Everything, right down to their shopping bags, is tooth-achingly darling. I didn't get any photos of their Ferry Building location, but it's a nice French girl respite from the stark architechture that predominates.


The ginger snaps were ... well, there's a reason their cakes are more famous. That's the kindest way I can put it.
The cookies, despite looking lovely, were disgustingly stale. They lacked anything resembling the "snap" necessary to make a good ginger snap. They had a strange bite; soft, yet tough and chewy. I took a bite and had to chew for a good 5 minutes. My jaw was aching so bad I couldn't get through an entire cookie.

I made the Boy try one, and I wish I had taken a picture of his expression. His entire review: "Ew. God, ew. No." A couple days later, he informed me that they made impressive Frisbees.

But! I am no fool. I was wary of the ginger snaps, and had heard incredible things about Miette's macarons. I snapped up a classic raspberry for the Boy and a chocolate-lavender for me.


Let me tell you, the macarons should be on the Big Eat list, not the ginger snaps. They were the most perfect macarons I've ever eaten. The meringue had a slight crunch, yielding to a soft, melt-in-your-mouth fudge/jam centre.


The raspberry tasted true to the berry, without being overly jammy or sweet. The chocolate was a study in unfolding flavours: the fudge melted across the palate, giving way to a gentle lavender flavour, which, miraculously, didn't taste a bit like soap.

I could have eaten a million of them.

While the actual entries on the Big Eat Challenge fell short of my expectations, they pushed me in the direction of some really great food. If the rest of the challenge continues in this way, I'm going to be very fat. Very happy, but also very, very fat.

--amanda

The Big Eat Challenge

Dear No One in Particular,

I have long established that I am a foodie of the highest order.

Once upon a time, I thought about starting a food blog of my very own, but decided that a) try as I might, I am not nearly pretentious enough and b) I am too picky an eater for most food snobs to take me seriously.
To be fair, I will try just about anything twice. I came up with the theory that it takes two bites (or sips) to get the true measure of a dish (or drink). If it's still gross beyond that, then I can refuse to eat it ever again.
This theory has gotten me pretty far and added some interesting dishes to my love/hate lists. Pork blood stew? YUM. Barbecued chicken intestine? Meh; a little too chewy. Wasabi? DO NOT WANT.
Naturally, there are somethings I absolutely refuse to eat under most circumstances. I very rarely eat fish or pork. I refuse to eat any melon or cherry, and mashed potatoes make me gag. Seriously, just thinking about them makes me dry heave. I hate pickles and their slightly-less-evil kissing-cousin, the cucumber. Beyond that: what's for dinner?

Luckily, I live in the gastronomic capital of the universe, so I can happily entertain my taste buds whenever a craving strikes. Given my intense love of food and of the Bay Area, you can imagine my total delight at finding the 7x7 list of 100 Things to Try Before You Die, San Francisco edition.

I had been knocking around the idea of adding a weekly foodie feature here on Blog for No One, but didn't know exactly what it would entail. Now, thanks to 7x7, I do. I'm going to eat my way through the list, blogging as I go. Very Julie/Julia, only with more eating and less dish washing.
I've eaten quite a few things on the list already (soup dumplings, spring rolls, prime rib -- tangent: I had my 21st birthday dinner at the House of Prime Rib and got spectacularly drunk on lemon drop martinis), but I'm going to start with a clean slate to better aid the blogging. I also reserve the right to switch up menu items, so long as they maintain the spirit of the original recommendation; I don't eat pork, so I'll be trying the carne asada tacos at La Taqueria, I'm more interested in Humphry Slocombe than Bi-Rite, etc.

I technically started this challege 2 weeks ago with a quick trip to the Ferry Building, but I think I'll save that for a later post. Like the Julie/Julia project, this will most strongly impact my wallet and my waistline. Unlike the Julie/Julia project, I will keep whining to a minimum and not regale you with tales of visits to my gynecologist's office.

Bon appetit!
amanda

Working for the Weekend

Dear No One in Particular,

I've been in a foul mood recently.
I often find myself suffering from a case of the grumblies for no reason other than I want to feel as though the world owes me a living, but that really isn't the case this time. Believe me when I say I wish all my problems were in my head and not out there in the real world, poking at me and pestering me.

I try not to take things for granted -- after all, my health is relatively good, I have a solid job and (for the most part) fantastic coworkers, lovely friends, an even lovelier boyfriend -- but you know how things can just snowball and all of a sudden you find yourself tumbling in a world of white and the only way out is to spit and pray for Beethoven to pop up with a case of brandy?
Speaking of which, do you know how much it costs to register a vehicle in California? Enough to make me want to go back to Hawaii, where their vehicle registration process makes sense and is inexplicably cheaper. And smog inspections? On a car that is less than 3 years old and is made to produce low emissions? Give me a fucking break, California. By the time I'm done paying to have my beloved car re-registered here, I'll have personally taken care of the state budget's deficit.

Honestly, I could go on all day, bitching and moaning about how I am now broker than broke (THANKS A LOT, CALIFORNIA. I wasn't saving that money for rent anyway), but then you'd probably want to strangle me with your bare hands, and really, I wouldn't blame you. Not one bit.

I've been told over and over again that "when God shuts a door, he leaves open a window". Can we just discuss for a moment how utterly impractical this is? Have you ever locked yourself out of a house? I have, and climbing through windows may sound like fun, but breaking and entering is not an adventure worth exploring. I feel like a more apt description would be God put the key to the locked door in a hide-a-key rock and he didn't tell you where it's hidden. And you're in a Japanese rock garden. Start turning stones over; you're bound to find it, so long as you look carefully.

This is my roundabout way of saying "Life kind of sucks right now, but I'm going to focus on the positive and try to make things better, especially since it could suck so much worse". So, let me tell you about my fantastic weekend.

Normally, my weekend could be summed up in a couple short sentences: I slept in late. I watched a movie and read blogs. I may have eaten something delicious. The end.
But this weekend was different! It was adventure-filled and fun! I socialized with real people instead of hiding in my room! I took pictures!

Friday:
The Boy took me to the Sonoma Mission Inn, which is apparently owned by Fairmont Hotels. Can I just say I had no idea the Fairmont was a chain? Not that it matters.
The hotel spa offers a "good neighbour discount" to those that live within 100 miles of the Mission Inn, allowing them to use the spa facilities for a meagre $25/day.

Knowing I would be in bougie-yuppie territory, I dressed up like Doris Day.

We brought a picnic lunch to share while lounging poolside, but never ate it. Apparently, the hotel's small cafe that serves overpriced salads and smoothies frowns on outside food being consumed in their midst.

Lounge chairs on a balcony overlooking the pool.

I did nom on some of the snacks we brought up here while reading book 3 of the Southern Vampire Mysteries (a.k.a. the True Blood books). This is also where I realized that the girl that best mirrors my mental image of Sookie Stackhouse is, in fact, Kendra from Girls Next Door. I know.

Just about every doorway/arch had some ivy creeping through:

So romantic.

I didn't take any pictures of the hotel's mineral-hot spring pools, mostly because I didn't want to be a creeper skulking around, snapping photos of middle-aged yuppies.
I spent the majority of the day floating around on water noodles, my head tipped back into the water so warm it felt like a bathtub, listening to a string symphony playing underwater.*

Later that night, I got a message from my favourite cousin, Mel**, asking if I wanted to go out. Naturally, I said yes; the last time we went out, a Berkeley hippie asked us if we wanted half of his watermelon. That's not a euphemism: he was sitting in the back of his pickup truck, eating a watermelon and genuinely wanted us to have the other half.

The Boy and I met her at Butter, my new favourite bar in San Francisco. Located in crazy-popular SOMA, Butter is a genius white trash bar. They serve drinks like the Tang-tini and snacks like deep-fried pb&j and Twinkies. You want to go now, right? Unfortunately, the "ironic" nature of Butter means it's insanely popular with the hipster crowd. Apparently, a gaggle of the hip were throwing a moustache party that night. I would ask if anyone knows the significance of a moustache party, but I figure we're all better for not knowing.

Regardless, the unwashed irony of hipness didn't throw off the night. Mel ended up getting me my first ever Jello shot for free, after trying (and failing) to help one of the bartenders. Related: I don't like Jello shots.

I figure this picture is fair game, since we both look like idiots.
(Also, don't try to enlarge it. It won't work. )

The best -- and most blasphemous --conversation of the night centered around us talking about getting fresh ink.
Mel: I'm going to get 'redemptor' tattooed.
Amanda: Oh God, you're serious about that?
Mel: Why the hell wouldn't I be?
Amanda: *shakes head in disbelief*
Mel: I AM THE REDEMPTOR. That makes you John the Baptist!
Amanda: Why, because I'm six months older?
Mel: You should get a John the Baptist tattoo! That way, we match.
Amanda: I'm going to pass on that. Does this mean some bitch is going to have my head cut off?
Mel: *shrugs her shoulders* I'm just saying .... pave the way. 35 is coming up real fast.

Saturday:
Wine and Cheese Parties are something of a tradition with my girlfriends and I. For the past 5 years we've been flung across the country, meeting only when school breaks for summer and winter vacations. Every summer we would have a Wine and Cheese Party every week, weather permitting. Now that we're all back in the Bay Area, it's been oddly difficult to schedule a party, since it's now our job schedules that get in the way. Miraculously, we were all free Saturday evening, so we celebrated by throwing our first party of the summer.

We always hold Wine and Cheese parties at the Berkeley Albany Bulb. Apparently, it's a landfill? I obviously know nothing about the pretty little peninsula that I've been frequenting for years. It's a wonderful place to walk your dog or throw an outdoor picnic; it's quintessentially Berkeley, filled with grafitti and makeshift art.

We always -- ALWAYS -- hike out to what my friend L calls "The Castle". It's a bizarre mishmash house-like structure made of rebar and concrete.
It's difficult to get to, unless you know exactly where it is.



One of the better shots I got of The Castle. Up top are my gorgeous friends, N and L. M is the lovely girl waving from the doorway and ... the back of the Boy. Uh, none of these people know about the blog (Boy excluded), so let's not tell them, kay? Good deal.

Anyway, we always eat on top of The Castle, since the inside is small and usually littered with broken bottles. Every surface is painted in bright, bold graffiti, even the small concrete bench sitting below the sole window.



We sat and talked, eating bread and brie, watching the sun set across the San Francisco Bay.

M: "I like the way the clouds look sun-dappled. Like a palomino.
*laughs*
The sky looks like a dirty horse's hindquarters!"

It was a lovely couple of days, and a wonderful way to end the week.

I hope to have more of them.

--amanda


_______________________
*You read that right -- one of the pools plays music underwater!
**Quick warning: while I find Mel's blog HILARIOUS, her writing can -- and probably will -- offend more sensitive readers. Everything's SFW; just don't read it aloud while children are in the room. ***
***I'm pretty sure hers is the only food blog that requires such a disclaimer. (You're totally interested now, aren't you?)

Wear Some Flowers in Your Hair

I woke up this morning with an intense bout of homesickess.


I don't know what brought it on. I suppose I had a dream about San Francisco, and the emotions that came to me in sleep carried over into wakefulness.

My friends and I jokingly resent the fact that we were lucky enough to grow up in the Bay Area. To us, it is the perfect place to live: temperate weather, incredibly diverse population, a city nestled between the sea and mountains surrounded by former hippie enclaves. There's no way we can move away and top that. (And we have tried. Trust.)


I also blame the Bay Area for making me a food snob. I see San Francisco as the gastronomic capital of America; the incredible diversity of Bay inhabitants leads to an incredible diversity of restaurants: some serve up deliciously authentic ethnic foods, some are on the cutting edge of culinary trends, some are hole-in-the-wall mom & pop operations serving up French toast so divine you will see God.

Of all the things I miss about the Bay Area -- Chinatown in all its morbidly hilarious glory; gold and red cable cars rumbling up the hills; former hippies mingling with "ironic" hipsters in notorious neighbourhoods; the chill, slightly salty air; stinky, barking, bellowing sea lions; The Palace of Fine Arts's terra cotta dome; passing over the salt flats as the plane dips into SFO; the Berkeley Bulb and the hidden, graffitied castle, perfect for wine and cheese parties -- I miss the food. Cheeseboard, Fentons, Citizen Cake, Kan Zaman, Sol Food -- oh, God, I miss Sol Food! I dream about their tostones. I wish I were kidding -- the entire Ferry Building: I could travel around the Bay Area and never eat the same food twice.

I have rituals whenever I go home; I have to eat at specific restaurants, eat certain foods I can't find in Honolulu. I have to have burritos, I have to visit Sol Food at least once, I have to have Cheeseboard pizza. It doesn't matter who I go with, I just have to eat these things -- these foods -- that I can't help but associate with home.
There is one restaurant, one ritual, that I absolutely have to do with my mother. As soon as I get home -- like, as soon as we get in the car to leave the airport -- we make plans to go to Out the Door. We must share a MANGO PUDDING as soon as possible. That's how we talk about it, in all caps: MANGO PUDDING. "Are you free Friday to get some MANGO PUDDING?" Naturally, they serve other things -- they have the most delectable summer rolls I have ever eaten. Seriously, I hate peanut sauce, but I just about lick the bowl when I order their summer rolls -- but for us, it's all about the MANGO PUDDING.

[all photos via: The Boy]

I haven't lived in the Bay Area for about 3 years now and sometime this summer, I'll be moving back an unemployed college graduate. I don't know what the future holds for me, but I know there will be much eating. Who knows -- I may find myself yearning for Honolulu.

So, no one in particular, is there a place your heart yearns for? Home? A favourite vacation spot? A fantasy home or vacation spot? Share with me and we'll pine together.

--amanda

Le'chayim!

Dear No One in Particular,

Am I the only one who thinks hamentaschen look vaguely yonic?

[source]

That? Is not a man's hat.

--amanda

[ETA:]

Not the only one! Here's a blog that discusses the ridiculousness of tri-cornered hats in ancient Shushan and how the characteristic "hidden" filling of the hamentash mirror the theme of hiding in Esther's story. Another blog links to a Jewish feminist take on the Georgia O'Keefe of cookies.

Also: apparently, if you google the phrase "yonic hamentaschen" this blog appears in the oh-so-covetable 5th position. Needless to say, this will amuse me for DAYS.

T-Day minus 4 Days

Dear No One in Particular,

Thanksgiving is bearing down upon us and I couldn't be more excited. Which is weird for me, since I normally hate this particular holiday. I've come to realise that I'm super-juiced about Thanksgiving this year because it's all mine -- no cooking for people I don't like, no cooking foods I won't eat. I'm calling the shots this year, and damn it feels good.

I'm also really looking forward to the cooking itself. I love to cook, but I've been so busy recently I haven't had much time to really experiment with new dishes. I'm looking at Thursday not just as another food-laden holiday, but as a chance to get back in my element and whip up some tasty eats. I have a ton of work bearing down on me right now, and I'm trying desperately to finish the majority of it before the holiday, but all I can think of is brined poultry and mulled wine. Obviously, this train of thought does not translate well when writing about Fatimeh and Ali Shariati.

The Boy and I finally put together a finished menu for our Thanksgiving dinner, and we're going grocery shopping tonight. Normally, I hate grocery shopping, especially here in Hawaii. It's pretty depressing, really -- everything has to be shipped from either Asia or the mainland, so what we get is usually half-rotted/beaten to hell and expensive. Milk is $8 a gallon! Lemons are $1.50 EACH. It's ridiculous.
But! Whole Foods has arrived! And it is glorious. Yes, it's expensive, but it's quality organic food -- something Honolulu is severely lacking. Something about wandering the aisles of a Whole Foods is soothing to me, knowing that there is no ingredient I won't be able to find. Having such a store is invaluable, and it seriously eases the tedium of grocery shopping.

Anyhow, here's the final menu for our Thanksgiving dinner:

Starter:

• Spinach salad with cranberries and goat cheese
• Mulled wine
  

Entree and Sides:

• Chicken, roasted and brined
• Bourbon-glazed sweet potatoes
• Rosemary and sage stuffing
  
• Spiced cranberry relish

Desserts:

• Pumpkin gooey butter cakes
• Maple apple crisp with vanilla ice cream

Good Lord I'm excited. How about you? Any fabulous Thanksgiving plans? Or perhaps you would just like to talk food. Let's chat!

--amanda

T-Day minus One Month

Dear No One in Particular,

I am sitting on my couch watching Paula Deen make fudge with Max Brenner, and I can't bring myself to think about anything other than cooking. Specifically, cooking Thanksgiving dinner.

I love cooking, baking especially. I bake to reduce stress, which means that there's almost always cupcakes or brownies in my fridge. As much as I love my Boy, he can't cook. Like, at all. I once caught him trying to boil sausages in a frying pan. Natch, I do pretty much all the cooking for the both of us.

We're both stuck in Hawaii for Thanksgiving this year, which isn't a big deal so far as I'm concerned. I really don't like Thanksgiving -- I know, there are people out there ready to shoot me for such an admission. Honestly, I hate most traditional Thanksgiving foods: turkey repulses me, cranberry jelly with the can ring-imprints terrify me, and I HATE pumpkin pie. That leaves a handful of side dishes for me to munch on, so I don't really get that food-coma that most of my family self-induces. And don't get me started on the Pilgrim-Indian nonsense.
I've slowly started to come to terms with Thanksgiving. I've realised that this is a holiday that most people really, truly enjoy and look forward to; in order for me to enjoy it as well, I had better take the reins, culinarily speaking.

That said, I'm getting more and more excited about this Thanksgiving. While I know the Boy is disappointed that there won't be any turkey or pumpkin pie, he trusts that I can pull together a great meal for the two of us.
I've created a preliminary menu; it looks like a ton of food, and well, it is. Especially considering that I'm cooking for just two. But! I believe that if we're going to have Thanksgiving dinner, we may as well have the 3-weeks worth of leftovers, too.

Amanda and the Boy's Thanksgiving dinner (so far):
--mulled wine
--roasted chicken with sage and herbes de Provence
--cornbread stuffing
--bourbon sweet potatoes
--spiced cranberry sauce with pear
--brussels sprouts au gratin/green bean casserole*
--maple apple crisp a la mode
--pumpkin gooey butter cake**

So, internets, what are YOU having for Thanksgiving?

--amanda


-------------------
*I haven't decided which one to make yet.
**Just because I don't like pumpkin pie doesn't mean I don't like pumpkin -- quite the opposite! And we need a pumpkin dessert.

Survey Says ....!

(yoinked from Heather of Bewitched Style/Tango Pirates)

WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING? The Book Thief by Markus Zusak, lent to me by the Boy’s cousin.

WHAT TIME IS IT NOW? GAMETIMEWOO.

WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? n/a

FAVOURITE BOARD GAME? Scrabble or possibly Cash Flow, but only because I won the first time I played.

FAVOURITE MAGAZINE? Nylon or Bust. Speaking of which, I need to figure out what’s going on with my Bust subscription…

BABIES? Are one of those things that are good in theory, but are invitations for disaster in reality.

FAVOURITE SMELL? Freshly baked apple crisp. Jo Malone’s Orange Blossom perfume. Old Spice.

WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD? Anxiety.

FIRST THING YOU THINK OF IN THE MORNING? WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

FUTURE CHILD'S NAME? I’m seriously tempted to name my son Giacomo Alessandro, but I know that pretty much no one can pronounce it. Talia Bella for a girl.

FAVOURITE COLOUR? Burgundy, or deep purple.

WHAT IS MOST IMPORTANT IN YOUR LIFE? Love -- for others, from others, for myself, to do things out of.

FAVOURITE FOODS: I’m an incredibly picky eater, but: Amici’s pesto pizza, super dragon rolls, Champagne Bakery’s raspberry almond croissants, warm Krispy Kreme doughnuts, fresh summer rolls (no pork) and mango pudding from Out the Door (/The Slanted Door).

IF YOU COULD PLAY AN INSTRUMENT, WHAT WOULD IT BE? Piano. I wish I hadn’t quit.

DO YOU LIKE TO DRIVE FAST? Yep.

WHAT TYPE WAS YOUR FIRST CAR? A turquoise 1978 Ford Mustang named Jack Fairy.

FAVOURITE ALCOHOLIC DRINK? Irish Car Bombs.

DO YOU EAT THE STEMS OF BROCCOLI? Nope, just the crowns.

IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY JOB YOU WANTED WHAT WOULD IT BE? Good question. I think I’d like to continue to bake, but owning my own bakery seems too stressful. I’d like to be a wandering anthropologist. I love listening to people tell stories, and telling stories of my own. If that’s not possible, then maybe a restaurant reviewer.

EVER BEEN IN LOVE? Fo’ sho’.

DO YOU TYPE WITH YOUR FINGERS ON THE RIGHT KEYS? No, I don’t hold my hands in the correct position, but I type pretty quickly.

WHAT'S UNDER YOUR BED? Good question. I think a bunch of plastic boxes filled with shoes and purses.

IF YOU COULD BUILD A HOUSE ANYWHERE WHERE WOULD IT BE? I would love to continue to live in the Bay -- especially if my house has a view. Victoria Island in Canada would be pretty great.

WHAT'S YOUR FAVOURITE ARTICLE OF CLOTHING? A tatty olive green sweatshirt I stole from the Boy.

BEACH, MOUNTAINS OR CITY? All three. (Hello, SF Bay Area!)

FAVOURITE PHYSICAL FEATURE OF THE OPPOSITE SEX? Hands, forearms, eyes, smile.

WHAT'S YOUR FAVOURITE PLACE TO BE MASSAGED? Ok, oddly written question. In terms of body parts, my head and neck.

WHAT'S MOST IMPORTANT, STRONG IN MIND OR STRONG IN BODY? Strong in mind.

WHAT'S YOUR FAVOURITE KITCHEN ITEM? Nigella my KitchenAid, hands down.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN AFTERLIFE? I’m not sure how to answer this succinctly. My heart tells me that there is. I need to believe that something happens to us when we die; that there is no void, but something comforting on the other side. My head tells me there is nothing, that there is nothing but a void, yet I shouldn’t worry, since I’ll be dead anyway.

IF YOU COULD HAVE ONE SUPER POWER, WHAT WOULD IT BE? Teleportation is a damn good answer.

DO YOU HAVE A TATTOO, WHAT IS IT? Yep: the words for “beauty” in Tagalog and Italian on my lower back. Not quite tramp stamps, but there they are.

WHICH DO YOU PREFER SUSHI OR HAMBURGER? Depends on the day and where the food comes from. Ichiraku’s Super Dragon Rolls vs. In-N-Out’s Double Double? Toughie.

WHAT'S YOUR FAVOURITE SOAP? Lush’s Alkmaar.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE MEAL? I’ve recently become enamoured with breakfast. Strange, I know. I used to HATE breakfast, but I’ve realised there are so many great things to eat first thing in the morning!

IF YOU COULD TAKE A VACATION ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD WHERE WOULD IT BE? Oh, I have such dreams! Argentina, Colombia, Guatemala, Zimbabwe, South Africa, Thailand, Bali, Turkey, Israel, Iceland, The Netherlands.

Captain's Log

Dear No One in Particular,

A short break from my Kauai vacay to update in bullet form. In the past 3 days, we have:

• Visited the emergency room once.
• Driven around the island twice.
• Eaten some amazing meals, including taro hummus (!) sandwiches and Brazilian food.
• Gotten really, really drunk.
• Gotten really, really drunk within 10 feet of Pierce Brosnan.
• Been woken up by roosters crowing.
• Met two young siblings named Phoenix and Dayton (yes, really.)
  
• Hiked 1/2 a mile of sandy beach at midday.
• and I have gotten 2nd degree burns on my feet.
  

Not exactly the relaxing beach vacation I had in mind, but it's only our 3rd day here. Then again, it's only our 3rd day here, holy God why do these things happen to us.

Tomorrow: a short trip to a lovely nearby beach, a farmer's market (and hopefully liliko'i), shave ice, and a sunset dinner with drinks. And if we see Pierce again, all the better.

--amanda

Feed me, Bubbe

Oh, and I forgot to mention:

The Boy's birthday is tomorrow, which makes the 24th an interesting day for the two of us. We decided to keep the birthday festivities going by heading to Bubbies aka THE Best Ice Cream Parlour Ever. It doesn't have the sophistication of, say, Fentons, but it far surpasses it in terms of flavour. I'm sure that many of my fellow Bay Areans* would be up in arms if they heard me say that there's a creamery better than the beloved Fentons, but Bubbies wins hands down. They serve mochi ice cream and orgasmic ice cream cakes which is what we usually get, but their fudge is AMAZING. Again, better than Fentons, in my opinion.

Anyway, to celebrate our birthdays we got the most novelty ice cream confection we could: the bathtub sundae. It's essentially a small sundae (1 generous scoop of ice cream, fudge, nuts/sprinkles, whipped cream, and a gummy bear in place of a gross plastic maraschino cherry) in a small ceramic bathtub. They also serve up a toilet version, which the Boy thinks is hilarious, but I find disturbing. I took a few pictures of the bathtub; they'll be up soon.

It was a nice way to round out my birthday and gear up for the Boy's. Plus, we now have a bathtub dish to commemorate our 22nd year.


--amanda


*how would one refer to people from the Bay Area? I'm genuinely curious.

Happy, happy birthday

Dear No One in Particular,

Yesterday was my 22nd birthday. I strongly believe that I've already passed up all the "good" birthdays, and have nothing but blah and/or scary birthdays ahead of me. There's something inherently worrying about that sentiment, and I know I'm far too young to be fretting about my age, but if I'm not anxiety-ridden over something stupid, I wouldn't be me, now would I?

Anyway, my Irresponsible Cousin called me at about 11 pm my time, and I spent a good hour talking to her about my birthday plans -- well, the lack thereof, to be completely honest. This was the first birthday I've spent away from home, so I was a little sad, but mostly nonchalant. Like I said, all the good birthdays are done and I really wanted something quiet. She convinced me to go to the beach instead of class, so that's what I ended up doing.

My mom called and woke me and the Boy up at about 6:30 in the damn morning to wish me happy birthday. After I hung up, we slept until about 10:30, which was soooo nice. I love sleep.

We made it to Ala Moana Park -- which, if you're ever in Honolulu and want to go to the beach, skip Waikiki and head to Ala Moana: it's always almost empty and so beautiful -- and spent a couple of hours there. I loved it. I'm not really a big beach person, but the weather was so magnificent, I couldn't help but be thankful for such a great day. It was about 82 degrees, with not a cloud in the sky, and the slightest breeze. I even got in the water! Which is huge for me, since usually it's too cold, and I have a minor fear of deep water. It was kind of neat, actually; it stormed a lot last week, so the beach was a little rocky, but there were little fish and tadpoles that swum really close to the shore.

When we got home, I picked up a package from my parents. Apparently, they sent me a huge gift basket like the one that Michael Scott gave to his former clients. I took a million photos of everything in the basket: caviar, coffee, caramels, truffles, 2 sparkling ciders, brie ... a ton of really yummy food. I've already eaten the caramels; they were perhaps the best caramel candies I've ever had. So. GOOD.
My mom also sent me a really beautiful bouquet Flowers are a huge tradition in my family; my dad sends my mom flowers for her birthday and their anniversary, and my mom has a history of giving me flowers on my birthday. Apparently, the bouquet was supposed to look like a cake with candles, but, uh, it just looked like a really pretty bouquet. Whatever, it was a nice gesture.

The Boy had taken me out the day before to get my birthday presents: new bras! I hadn't been fitted for a bra in about, oh, 2 years. I've gained and lost a lot of weight in that amount of time; plus, my normal bras were in really bad shape -- they were losing a lot of elasticity and were just awful. We went to Nordstrom's and I got fitted. Um, apparently, I was wayyy off ... about 2 cups off. Holy hell, I had no idea how great wearing a bra could be. Really, head to your nearest Nordies and get fitted. They have an amazing selection (Betsy Johnson's are the cutest damn things in the world) and fabulous customer service. Miles ahead of Victoria's Secret in terms of selection and service, Iamtellingyou.

We had a nice late dinner at Buca di Beppo. I'm always a little surprised at how amazing Buca's is; it's a chain restaurant, and a little schlocky, to be 100% honest, but the food there is amazing. We had chopped antipasto salad and chicken saltimbocca for dinner and apple crostini for dessert. Normally, I wouldn't pick out either antipasto salad and chicken saltimbocca -- they both contain ingredients that I wouldn't normally eat, but oh, are they heavenly. The chicken was so perfect ... delicate, perfectly balanced flavours. I dream of entrees so well executed. The apple dessert was not so delicious; the caramel sauce was terribly off, and it completely ruined the dish. The almond crust, though, was delish.

I had a great birthday, all things considered. It was nice and quiet, and I got to spend some quality time relaxing and just enjoying my time here in Hawaii -- something I don't get to do, since I'm always in school.
The downside: the Boy and I are painfully sunburnt. I normally don't burn, but in the past few years, I've been burning like nobody's business. The Boy looks terrible: his shoulders are lobster red. Just looking at him makes me hurt. I, on the other hand, have the strangest sunburn I've ever encountered. I thought I had tanned my stomach and legs nicely; but as the night went on, my skin started to burn and itch like it had been burnt. My skin is pretty tan-looking, although it's starting to get redder. The itch is unbearable, though; every time I scratch, though, it gets red and begins to burn like hellfire.

Ah well. I had a great birthday, and don't regret a thing! I will however, invest in self-tanners from now on.

Pictures are coming soon. There aren't many, but I had a wonderful day, and would like to post photos of the fantabulous basket and dinner I had. In the meantime, enjoy Bud Light's Real Men of Genius. My favourite is Mr. 80 SPF Wearer, but they're all winners.

--amanda

Death by Chocolate-Covered Peanut Butter

Dear No One in Particular,

Have you ever tried Trader Joe's Mini Peanut Butter Cups?

They're little nuggets of crack. Delicious, delicious crack that I'm currently inhaling by the handful. I don't get it -- I don't even like peanut butter cups! Really, I don't even like peanut butter all that much. I'm not all that sure that I like chocolate that much. But there is something about these bite-sized candies that keeps me going to to fridge and digging out handfuls.

I first tried them when I went home for spring break. There's no Trader Joe's in Hawaii, something I am both grateful and infuriated about. Grateful, because if there were, I'd be replenishing my stock of Mini Peanut Butter Cups, Spanikopita, and Orange Sticks every couple of days. Infuriated because health food stores here are pretty awful. At any rate, I had chalked up my infatuation with these bitty confections to a case of the munchies. But when the Boy brought some back to the islands with us, I was assured that this was love. Fattening, chocolaty love.

I highly recommend these candies, unnamed reader. I can't tell you why they are so damn good, but they are. Oh, they are.

--amanda