Gosh

I don't know if you ever have those times when you're out doing and you come home and you just take a minute and put life on pause and ruminate for a little bit.  I do.

I just got to thinking about my life, what I value, what I don't, what makes me happy, what doesn't; that sort of thing.  Sounds harmless enough, I know, but here's where I want to go a little further (I'm hoping I can pull this off without embarrassing myself).  I think if we're all brutally honest, we have things in our lives that we're a little...proud of.  You know, something that makes us secretly puff our chest out a little?  Maybe we have really good legs, or the best serve on the volleyball court, or a real knack with the boys, or we can hit the highest note in the choir, or we're known for our peanut butter pie...  Not bad stuff necessarily, and in many cases, kind of cute or downright endearing.  We'd probably laugh embarrassedly or vehemently deny it if we got called out, but these things are true, whether we admit it or not.

So here, I'm going to blow my cover and admit for all the world to see (or anyone who cares to read this blog, LOL!) what my secret vanity is.  

So I have this collection.  I treasure it and I add to it whenever and wherever I can; in fact, I'm always on the lookout for new specimens, and nothing tickles me more than when I find one.  I'm not particularly picky about style or substance - my thing is quantity and variety.  The bigger my collection gets, the prouder I am of it, and the more joy it brings me.  I love to bring it out sometimes, when I have some quiet moments to myself, and just look at it.  Line it all up, piece by piece, hold each one in my hand, turn it and let the light reflect on it, admire it and, hey, high-five myself for finding it!  You see, the collection I speak of is my friends.

When I get to thinking about it, I realize every time that I'm truly one of the most blessed girls alive.  I have a sample of every different kind of age, size, gender, socio-economic status, education, interest.  Mine are old and young, boys and girls (big ones and little ones), entrepreneurs and students and housewives, world travelers and homebodies, city friends and country friends, straight shooters and colorful creative types; some talk a lot, some talk a little.  Some are feisty, and some are more gentle than a lamb.  Some make me hurt and some make me happy, although I've noticed that even the ones that hurt end up being pretty worth the bother in the long run.  

What's the use, you ask?  What can you do with them?  Well, let's see.  I can go hiking or I can go shopping; I can see a play or hear a concert; I can deep-sea fish, or I can put my feet up and talk politics and economics and world history.  I can wander a flea market or an art museum or build a fort in the woods; I can learn about blacksmithing and bread-baking and really cool music; I can play tennis or play Uno; I can watch sappy movies and shoot-em-ups; I can go paintballing and ziplining and on excursions to exotic places, or I can sit in one spot for hours and do nothing but talk.  I can laugh until my sides hurt, and I can share something so deep that the only release is to let the tears pour down the face.  All of this, and so much more, and I have somebody to do it with.  See, that's the cool thing about the variety in my collection - all of these incredibly amazing, colorful people, and me, little old me, I get to reap the benefits.  

In fact, sometimes I feel a little smug, especially when maybe one contingent turns up its nose at another.  "Silly people," I think; "little do you know what you're missing."  See, my friends are so wonderful, all of them, that I start to feel sorry for anybody who doesn't have a collection like mine.

Sometimes, I wish I could find a way to tell each one - I see you, I remember you, I treasure you.  Some of you know who you are; some of you might not.  It's no matter, you all are a part of the most valuable thing I own.

The fun thing is I'm still on the hunt.  My collection is in no way complete, and I get excited thinking about what I might find around the next corner. 

Anyway. It's refreshing to do a heart-dump periodically. Thanks for enduring! :)

Since there isn't a picture big enough to contain the whole shebang, and I do think a blog post is better with a little shot of color, may as well post one of my favorite pictures of all time!

This and That...

I stumbled upon this amazing innovation that has forever revolutionized how I make banana bread.  I'm going to share.

I've grown up, like everybody else, eating banana bread, also known as that great savior of overripe bananas.  I mean, banana bread is ok, but I've always seen it as kind of...eh.  My sister Ashley gave me a recipe a few years ago that was definitely the best yet (probably due to the fact that it relies heavily on a buttery, nutty streusel topping), but it still just has never really been something I crave.  The other day, I had the requisite black, semi-rotten bananas on hand, and I've developed a virtuous, non-wasteful streak, so I dutifully pulled out my mixing bowl and whipped up a batch.  As I went to bake it, though, I had an epiphany.  Figuring I had nothing to lose, I tried it out.  Voila!  At long last, craveable banana bread!  (And yes, it's easy and extremely low-maintenance.)

Behold...

Banana Bread Unplugged

A Joint Collaboration

2 eggs

3/4 cup - vegetable oil (no wonder it's so moist...)

2 teaspoons - vanilla

3/4 cup - sugar

2 or 3 overripe bananas, mashed

2 cups - flour

1 teaspoon - salt

1 teaspoon - baking soda

1/2 teaspoon - baking powder

Streusel Topping:

1 cup - brown sugar

1/4 cup - butter, melted

1/2 cup (or more) - chopped pecans or walnuts (if you want to rock this, lightly toast them)

1/4 teaspoon - nutmeg (or you can use cinnamon.  I get bored with cinnamon after awhile.)

A good shake or two of salt, preferably kosher

Combine eggs, oil, vanilla, sugar and bananas and whisk until combined.  Stir in flour, salt, baking soda and baking powder and mix well.  In a separate bowl, combine the streusel ingredients and set them aside.  

NOW for the fun part.  Heat your oven to 350, grab a 10" cast-iron skillet (no need to get too picky, a little bigger or a little smaller is no big deal) and toss two tablespoons of butter in it.  Stick it in the oven while it's preheating and get it nice and hot.  Pull it out, spread half of your batter in it, then sprinkle half of your streusel over that.  Repeat with your remaining batter and remaining streusel, and stick it back in the oven.  Bake it for, oh, 20 to 30 minutes, depending on your oven.  The center should be firm, and the edges dark, golden brown.  When it comes out of the oven, you can tip it out of the pan onto a plate.  Good luck, then, not burning your fingers, snitching.  All that streusel gets all melty and oozes down into the bottom of the bread, where it caramelizes against the hot pan...  Gosh.

Side note, I've developed a crush on soft-boiled eggs.  All I do is boil a little saucepan of water, stick an egg in it and let it boil for five minutes.  Then I run it under cold water so I can peel it without burning my fingers.  Sprinkled with salt and coarsely ground pepper and eaten with a toasted and buttered slice of good bread, accompanied by a glass of orange juice or a cup of fresh, French-press coffee, it's seriously one of the most comforting breakfasts (or lunches or dinners, especially when recovering from the flu) around.  Plus, it's totally the sort of breakfast I imagine someone like Amelie (as in the movie), dressed in a cute little skirt and cardigan combo, eating in her chic little flat before she saunters outside into the Paris morning light and sails off on her adorable bike (probably with fresh flowers in her basket).  Me, I eat it dressed in button-down and jeans, at my living room coffee table or desk, surrounded by textbooks and half-read magazines before flying out the door to work, but still.  Such a lovely little dose of Continental-ness.  Plus, I never get tired of the minimalist artistic quality of the plate...

Side, side note.  (Obviously, I feel chatty this morning.)  Nicole has developed a baking bee in her bonnet.  She went and invested in a couple of Thomas Keller's cookbooks (Ad Hoc and Bouchon, I believe), among other things, and has been experimenting in her kitchen.  This is, like, SERIOUSLY the best development.  Why, you ask?

THIS is why.  Buttery homemade croissant, soaked in almond syrup, slathered with almond butter, and topped with sliced almonds.  One of the best things that has ever entered my mouth.  (And anyone who reads this blog has a rough idea of the sheer amount of good food that has entered this mouth.)

I think she needs way more practice.  Wink, wink.

Reunion!

It's 7 AM; I'm stuck in a hotel room and desperately homesick for my family.  I've been meaning to sit down and chronicle my last weekend in Atlanta for awhile now.  I think it's a good time to do it - maybe writing about my sisters will make them feel closer.

A couple of weekends ago, it was time to run up to Atlanta and see Kate and Andrew again.  This time was extra special, though - school was out for the holidays, so my other sister Ashley and her family were able to sneak away, PLUS my brother let me bring one of my favorite nephews along, resulting in a regular family slumber party!

Al and I hit the road early Saturday morning.  Our first stop was The Deconstructed House.  In addition to being a really terrific brother-in-law, Ashley's husband Isaiah is also the contractor for the absolutely fab house I plan to build soon, so the plan was for him to meet me at a couple of places and do some idea-generating slash house-planning.  The Deconstructed House is a sort of a salvage yard for home fixtures I had found online and I wanted to check it out, see if I could find any cool stuff for my house.  The place turned out to be a little smaller than I anticipated, but it contained loads of pieces full of charm and character.  In fact, I got so caught up browsing, I forgot to take pictures!  Check out the site here though.  (Side note: one of our family legends has to do with my dad honing his sales skills selling a quirky piece of baby furniture years ago.  Lo and behold, we found an antique one!)  Isaiah and I found some great old doors, plus some pretty cool ideas.  (Let's just say that when this house gets built, you're going to want to come visit me, wink wink.)

After we left, we hit the gigantic superstore that is Ikea, and we spent a couple of hours roaming its cavernous halls, harvesting more ideas.  One of my favorite things about Ikea is the fact that they create these little simulated living spaces.  I'm not always (sometimes, but not always) totally crazy about their wares themselves, but I love love love looking at the spaces they create and furnish and "stealing" ideas from them.

My consultant.

(How cool is it when your sister marries an incredibly talented person?  Talk about windfalls!)

The world's cutest shopping companions.

It was now high time for lunch, PLUS it was time to connect with the real reasons for the season.  After a flurry of phone calls and texts, a meeting spot was arranged - JCT. Kitchen, located in the Westside Urban Market.  I liked the looks of the place based on their Yelp reviews but I nearly squealed with delight when we pulled up.  The place is located in this amazing little foodie/shopping area, full of hip little boutiques, home furnishings stores, artisanal food markets and restaurants.  (Check out Star Provisions.)  It was cold and rainy and we weren't able to stay very long (dudes and kids are not conducive to leisurely browsing, just saying) but by golly, I intend to go back there and stay for a very long time.

I loved JCT. Kitchen from the moment I walked in.  Food is the primary focus of a restaurant in my opinion, and the ultimate yardstick by which I measure a place, but when the owners get both the food AND the look right, I fight the urge to applaud.  JCT. was like that.  I dug the vibe of the place immediately.

Look who we found!  (Doesn't he look glad to see me?)

 Shots of a joyous family reunion

Oh, and the food was really good, too, from the salty, spicy, sweet popcorn we started with, to my lamb banh mi, to Andrew's lobster roll, to the grilled cheese and tomato soup for the girls and the kids, to Al and Zay's utterly superb chicken and dumplings (that's what I'd order next time).  

Of course, when we were done, we had to hit Jeni's Ice Creams.  Homemade and good, with flavors after my own heart.  I did a scoop each of the Biscuits with Peach Jam and the Brambleberry Crisp in a waffle cone, and was pretty darn contented by the whole shebang.  

Babies and ice cream are a potent combination...

Check out those flavors!

Now, let me point out, we had my baby sister along.  Where my baby sister is, there is shopping.  Lots and lots of shopping.  So, next stop...the Lenox Mall, where else?  I have to say, it felt good.  Juggling a full-time job and a full-time courseload doesn't leave much time for that wonderfully relaxing, rejuvenating pastime that is wandering a mall.  Poor Al the Pal, hauling around with me from Anthropologie to Zara and all points in between.  My dude should get an award, he was such a great sport about the whole thing.  Never a word of complaint; our only mishap was a misplaced cell phone.  (Well, technically, he did get an award.  A multi-faceted award, called Apple Store/Brookstone/Nike/etc.  I am a nice aunt.)  Oh, and a note to the wise, the scenery at the Lenox Mall is...quite pleasant.

We grabbed a quick dinner at a local Mexican place Kate and Andrew knew about (I wasn't hungry, but the bowl of chicken soup I got was pretty good, anyway) and then we moved on to the best part of the whole trip.

 I could eat that.  Just saying.

She loves her auntie and her auntie loves her.

I speak the truth when I say that the times in my life when I feel like the richest, most blessed woman alive are the times when those that I love are gathered around me.  I don't crave money or power or fame or thrills; I crave my people, and when my people are close to me, it is more satisfying than anything else the world can concoct.  So yes, an evening gathered around, playing Monopoly and Scrabble, chewing the fat and loving on the kiddos, was pure heaven.  (Except for the fact that Andrew whupped my hide in Scrabble.  I'm still chafing at that.)  

Really, our Sunday was a continuation of the same.  We got up late, leisurely ate a killer breakfast (one sister married a genius builder, the other married a fantastic cook.  You done good, girls), loaded up, hit another mall (my baby sister was still with us), chilled at Fuddruckers with burgers and milkshakes, wandered Dick's Sporting Goods, and then it was time to part ways.

It's always a little hard to say goodbye, but we play all tough and, with an insouciant wave and a jovial "oh yeah, we'll be seeing you!", we sail off into the sunset.  (Don't tell her I said this.)  But, in the end, we always do see each other again soon, and in the meantime, we do our stuff and group-text and look forward to these good times.  

Oh, and on the way home, Al's last Awesome Nephew Award: a stop at the World of Coca-Cola.  (If I am being completely honest, I like it every bit as much as the kids do.)  We had but just enough time to watch the cute Polar Bear movie short, ride the 4-D theater (the memory of the sight of two little people, 3-D glasses perched on their wee upturned faces, completely enthralled, is one I cherish) and hit the sample room, where Alvin was utterly grossed out.  The dude who is usually the picture of chill was filled with horror at the monstrosities masquerading as sodas that filled his cup and attacked his palate, and it was a complete riot.

And then, me and my sidekick and the family in the black truck aimed our headlights south, towards home.  A good weekend it had been, a good weekend indeed.

Andaz

Wow, the ol' self-expression juices have obviously been on hiatus!  School started again, though, so it's time to crank it back up a little, just so the brain doesn't turn into a dull gray soup full of nothing but numbers and formulas...

So last weekend, we took off on an Adventure Eating excursion.  This time, we were accompanied by our favorite Tyler and our favorite Rebecca.  (This always adds a certain zest to an event...)  We decided to hit this new Indian restaurant in downtown Gainesville that I've been eyeing for awhile.  Now, let me start by saying I LOVE Indian food - love the complexity and power of the flavors, not to mention just the overall change of pace in comparison to other genres.  But my experience with Indian food has been limited to strip-mall joints, cheap buffets and the like.  Andaz Restaurant is a little different; more of a fine dining experience.  Suave host, thick, leather-bound menus, swanky bar and chic decor is not what I'm used to when I eat Indian food, to say the least.

(I mean, check out this silverware!)


In addition to the traditional crispy cracker things (I don't know the name of them) and their accompanying tamarind and chutneys that you usually get at the start of your meal in places like this, we started out with Vegetable Pakora and Aloo Tikki Chat as appetizers.  Pakora is basically various vegetables (ours included spinach!), dipped in chickpea batter (Indians apparently dig chickpeas in a big way) and deep-fried.  This was good, but I liked the Aloo Tikki better.  (Chat or chaat is just another broad term for snacks, by the way.)  Aloo Tikki Chat was a sort of potato dumpling, filled with spices and other tasty stuff that I couldn't begin to identify, fried, and then topped with this delicious combo of tomatoes, chickpeas, and a yogurt, mint and tamarind chutney that was just freaky good.  I could have eaten that all night and been happy as a lark.

I love Marc's expression here.  This is Adventure Eating in a nutshell.

Our entrees were terrific - we all got something different, so the Roving Fork got a great workout.  (Have I ever mentioned that no plate is safe when I am at the table?)  Sum total, we had a couple of chicken dishes, a couple of lamb dishes, and a fish curry, plus a really delectable onion and black pepper kulcha (bread).  Every single one of them was delicious, but my hands-down favorite was Marc's lamb dish.  (I wish we could remember the name of it, because I would order it, it was that good.)  Me and Ty opted for some heat, and it was a nice, friendly burn.  (We went with medium - I tremble to think of what the Indian Hot might do, and I like heat.  Just saying.)

Look at the pure, blissful abundance.

Love that crazy girl!

I do believe we ate well...

We were left with loads of leftovers; unfortunately I accidentally dumped mine on Tenneboes' driveway, more's the pity.  I noted with some trepidation that the place was extremely not full; either traffic needs to pick up (please eat there, friends, please!) or I need to hurry back before they close. Because seriously, I want to eat my way through the menu.   

The Book Thief

I went with a pal tonight to see The Book Thief.  It's the story of a little girl, raised by adoptive parents in World War II-era Germany.  It's a quite simple story; at it's heart, it relates the dawn of the girl's love affair with books and the power of the written word.

There has been a lot said about all that happened in Europe during those years, the late 1930's and 1940's - so many books have been written, so many movies made.  This one was a little different from some of the others - it lacked the grand scale or sweeping perspective of Schindler's List, Saving Private Ryan, or even The Pianist.  This was a much more intimate story - told from the perspective of a child, and offering a glimpse into what the life of an ordinary German family might have looked like during that time.

Still, though; it's nigh to impossible to come face-to-face with the horrible reality that was Hitler's Germany, even in cinema, without doing some serious soul-searching.  It's quite a thing to see an entire community, a whole nation, really, stand shoulder-to-shoulder, shouting in agreement as their leaders spew messages of hate and violence.  It's perhaps not such a surprise when death and destruction is perpetrated and endorsed by the vile and the weak, but to witness the average and upstanding among the citizenry stand idly by, ignoring or excusing evil rather than risk standing out from the crowd; it just never ceases to stop me in my tracks.  Imagine a world where an entire lifetime of belonging can be swept away in but a moment; where friends turn away one by one, preferring the safety of betrayal to the risk of loyalty; where simply acknowledging one's neighbor becomes an act of selfless heroism.

I think we all tend to do things like read the Bible or hear stories of the Holocaust and assure ourselves and the ones around us that had we been there, we never would have stood for it.  We would have recognized Jesus for who he was; we would have refused to stand idly by while our loved ones were dragged to their deaths.  It's interesting how time and distance lend a certain clarity to these things - how obviously, glaringly, horribly wrong were those who crucified the Savior, or who allowed the wholesale murder of innocent civilians?  And yet, sometimes, while we do such a great job spotting the huge failings of those who came before us, those same shortcomings can lurk, hidden in our daily interactions, and we don't even realize it.  Sure, nobody's dying now, but if a person lacks the guts to refuse to participate in casual mockery, or can't speak up when unjust accusations are being bandied about, or drops the head rather than acknowledge a less-than-popular friend, one starts to wonder where the great burst of heroism that would supposedly stop a more dramatic carnage would come from.

I'm left feeling pretty sober.  If I intend to fight and win the big battles, I sure as heck better make sure I nail these smaller, everyday skirmishes.  Every single time.  Until making the right choice becomes as natural as breathing, a part of the very fiber of my being.  There's a lot of work to do.  But one thing is certain, I want to win, with everything I've got.  When I'm faced with the choice of whether to honor or deny my Lord, I want to stand straight and tall, and call His name without fear or shame.  So I think I'll start by caring for my brother and my sister, straight and tall and without shame.  It'll be good, good practice.

Anyway, feels good to vent a bit.  It was a great movie.

The Big Apple: Day 2

Well, I think we all had a pretty fantastic night's rest, traffic noise notwithstanding.  Nothing like sheer exhaustion to make that pillow feel mighty good.  (You know that saying about hunger being the best sauce?  I think the same applies to sleep.)  Anyway, I really hate alarms so some of the great joys of life are the mornings when I can ditch them.  We were footloose and fancy-free, so the executive decision was made to wake up whenever we woke up.  Poor Tunie though; her alarm clock rings every single morning by 5 AM and she can't escape it because hers is internal.  (I can't decide whether to feel sorry for her or to be a little envious...)  So Mom and I woke up about 7 or so, rip-roaring and ready to go, only to find out that Tunie had been awake, quietly waiting for us to get done sleeping, for two hours already.  OUCH!

We girded our loins and hit the road, ready for Day 2 of our adventure.  Lo and behold, the rain had passed in the night, and a clear blue sky greeted us!  Still brutally cold, but it's amazing what a bit of sunshine can do - the city took on a whole new energy.  We hit Fluffy's Diner for breakfast.  It was great - you walked up to this big glass case containing the fixings for any sort of breakfast you could want - eggs, meats, rolls and bagels, waffles and pastries, spreads, cheese, gosh, a little of everything.  You told the guys behind the counter what you wanted to eat, they grabbed the appropriate items and slapped your breakfast together in a matter of minutes.  No time for nonsense, let me tell you.  Just the ticket to prepare us for the day ahead.

After breakfast, I graciously allowed my co-travelers to shop for souvenirs.  (I say that extremely tongue-in-cheek.  These two ladies were tremendously good sports to put up with my flying around - I had to be reminded to slow down and smell the...fake Louis Vuitton purses.)  After a few purchases, we headed back to our tour bus headquarters.  Yesterday, we took the Downtown tour, which covered the southern half of Manhattan Island - the Financial District, the Garment District, the Flatiron District, SoHo, TriBeCa, Greenwich Village, Chelsea, Battery Park, the Statue of Liberty, Chinatown, Little Italy, Hell's Kitchen, the Brooklyn Bridge, etc.  We even saw Five Points, like in the Gangs of New York movie!  

That was yesterday, though.  Today was different; today we did the Uptown tour.  Think Central Park, the Upper West Side (residential areas full of old brownstones worth millions), Harlem and the Upper East Side, Lincoln Center and Juilliard, the Met, the Museum of Natural History, the Frick, the Guggenheim, the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine (um, wow), Columbia University, the Apollo Theater, and let us not forget, the projects and the barrios!  I couldn't tell you why, but I bonded with Uptown, even the grungy areas (Harlem has its moments, to say the least) a lot more than I did Downtown.  This kind of disappointed me, to be honest; I always fancied myself a Downtown sort of girl - I know places like SoHo and Greenwich Village and Chelsea are supposed to be where all the cool kids hang out, and who doesn't want to fancy themselves a cool kid?  But when I actually saw those areas, I was kind of...underwhelmed.  When you're in Midtown Manhattan, everything is slick and new and just oozes wealth.  Then it's almost like you cross this line.  The buildings get shorter and older and show increasing signs of disrepair; the streets get dirtier, and the advertising gets tackier.  I think it was this combined with the sense of history I felt Uptown - having read so much about the Harlem Renaissance, so many rags-to-riches stories set in the projects, not to mention, let's face it, I'm a museum geek, so I just felt more at home.

I think the one unifying theme that I just couldn't get over, though, regardless of which part of the city we found ourselves in, was the architecture.  I just couldn't get tired of the constant variety, the juxtapositions of old and new, the restored and the crumbling, the various styles and personalities of the structures.  It literally never got old.

The following are not great pictures; nothing more than my attempts (from the top of a moving tour bus) to capture just a few of the sights and structures that we saw.

The Museum of Natural History

I really like this one on a few levels - the water towers and gardens on the roof, and the pretty building jammed up against the bland, mid-century looking ones.

This is a side shot of the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine.  There was no way I could fit that whole structure in my viewfinder.  This is, after all, the fourth largest church in the world.

The entrance.  This thing has been under construction since 1889.  Seriously.

The projects!  I really can't explain why these hold so much fascination...

What a thrill! One of the great hotbeds, along with the Cotton Club, of the Harlem Renaissance.  Buddy Holly was the first white man to play here, and it still pulls in the legends!

Harlem Brownstones

If I remember right, they say there are around 500 churches in Harlem alone.  Gosh, I'd really, really like to experience a Sunday morning in that neighborhood.

Spanish Harlem, aka The Barrio!

Central Park

The Guggenheim!  My dad always used the term "guggenheim" in a slightly derogatory way, when describing something mixed up or not making any sense.  Now I know why. Notice the structures surrounding it?  Yeah, Frank Lloyd Wright got a pretty rough time for this one.

Ahhhhh, the Metropolitan Museum of Art!  And my heart goes pitter-patter... Oh, to get lost in your many splendors!

So, yeah, there's the nickel tour.  I bet you're wishing I was a better photographer about now!  It was pretty awesome in real life, though; it really was.

We finished this tour right around lunch time, so it was off to Gray's Papaya for the city's best hot dogs!  Nestled into a warm, toasted bun, providing a satisfying snap when bitten into, these critters really did hit the spot.  Granted they were just hot dogs, but hot dogs do have their own charm, and these were good specimens.  We washed them down with the house specialty papaya beverage (weird, with a yeasty funk).

Then, females that we are, it was time to SHOP!  Mom had heard ahead of time about this great store that offers designer brands at steep discounts, so when Century 21 was pointed out to us by multiple tour guides, it was the final straw; we just had to check this place out.  Oh, it was great.  We loaded up on designer jeans and tops and sweaters, all at a fraction of normal retail.  Girls plus bargains equals one happy couple.  Oh, and Tunie got the coolest hat...

OK, so our time in the big city was beginning to run out.  (Don't forget that two-hour commute back to the airport.)  We still had time for one more adventure, though.  This was pretty fantastic.  So Tunie has this book she picked up, kind of a memoir or biography of sorts about a celebrity chef (Marcus Samuelsson for anyone interested in this sort of thing).  In the book, he describes this little place he opened in Harlem called the Red Rooster.  Behold, I present...

TA DA!

Tunie noticed it while we were on the tour bus, so being that we had some extra time, we decided we simply must eat there.  We took the bus back around and were deposited on the sidewalk a few blocks away.  We felt pretty cool strolling the streets of downtown Harlem, let me tell you.  (Although it did feel quite a bit like the streets of downtown Lake City anthropologically speaking, if not architecturally speaking...)

The place was booked up, but we were told that we could look for an opening at the bar.  We are not easily diverted when in pursuit of a great eating experience, so wait we did, until, one by one, three spots opened up.  (I must pause for a moment and celebrate my mother.  When I travel, I tend to like to blend in a bit; I generally shrink from doing things that make me visible.  My mother is not so afflicted.  She is always the first to march up to random strangers and ask for directions, ask for recommendations, or in this case, insert herself right up front, ready to grab that open bar stool.  I become mortified in these situations.  That is, of course, until her boldness saves the day, procuring whatever it is that we are in need of, at which point I slink forward to reap the benefits.  I decided on this trip once again that she is a rare jewel of a woman, and I would do well to strive to be more like her.)

One other thing I'd like to get off my chest.  If your policy is to serve walk-in guests, it is in poor taste to treat those guests as second-class citizens.  If you can't provide the same welcome to walk-ins that you do to your reserved guests, then don't accept them.  Certainly don't treat them like a bother or a nuisance.

OK, anyway.  So we got our spots and we ordered.  Keep in mind, Red Rooster is soul food, done by an Ethiopian chef raised by Swedish parents.  Sounds crazy, I know, but this dude is passionate about food, and that comes through in every bite.  Not to mention, the vibe is just crazy hip.  We ordered fried chicken and waffles, steak and frites, and Swedish meatballs, accompanied by cornbread and tomato jam, and followed by sweet potato donuts and a cookie sampler.  Ladies and gentlemen, if you ever find yourself in Harlem's neck of the woods, do yourself a favor and stop.  This place is a can't miss (unless you're nitpicky about the whole service thing).  Even the sweet tea was like momma's, only better.  That fried chicken?  The best I've ever tasted, hands down.  And I only got a bite, more's the pity.  So yeah, this was a winner.  All things considered, just the whole neighborhood, feel of the restaurant, quality of the food, topping off a great weekend, I think we all agreed that this experience was one of our favorites.

The lighting was bad for photos but good for scene...

That was it, then!  Fat and happy, we walked a few feet to the subway and began our long, arduous journey back to the airport, and then home.  In summary, it was a great weekend.  I got to spend time with two ladies that I love very, very much, seeing so many amazing sights, eating such a variety of great foods, and having a boatload of great experiences.  Many memories were made, and they will be savored for a long, long time to come.  

Oh, and just to mention, if anybody wants to head up there and needs a buddy, I am SO available.

:)