Scrabble and Fried Things

As I mentioned in an earlier post, on Friday Mr. Ass stopped by for dinner. He brought lychee fruit, which I had never seen not in a can. I liked peeling the stubbly red skins and exposing the strange lychee insides. In some ways, texture and color, the fruit certainly shares a resemblance to eyeballs...but doesn't taste like any eyeball I've ever eaten (I think I've only ever eaten fish eyeballs). This obvious correlation between the lychee and eyeballs can be demonstrated in no better way than by Mr. Ass's decision to replace his own corneas with the succulent fruit.

I had gone to the farmer's market the day before and had a nice array of produce to work with for an impromptu dinner. I had four little baby eggplants that I sauteed with smashed garlic, spring onions, sesame and olive oils, soy sauce, sriracha, a pinch of cumin and a tad bit of sugar. I also had tofu and green beans. Mr. Ass suggested we fry them, I got behind that idea. We had a difference of opinion as to whether the soon-to-be-fried items should be egged and floured. Mr. Ass's skepticism to my insistence on egging was quite clear, so I suggested we do it both ways. Mr. Ass made the seasoned flour for the meal, and floured all of the tofu and some of the beans. Once that was accomplished, did my own flour egg flour combination.
A agreed that, in the end, egging was the way to go. His seasoning really was able to announce itself in the egged up form, which was interesting because my seasoned flour never really adds much to the dish. Something to work on. I made a little dipping sauce out of ponzu sauce, sugar and the juice of half a lemon.
Mr. Ass suggested Scrabble. We played a good game. At the end of it I was victorious. Heh.
This was an unexpected get together and nice and chill. I was glad that it happened, even if our conversation about writing threw me into a spiral of ughadoo. That's a word now.

Out and About

Last week we welcomed four new members to the office. In celebration of this we went to happy hour. Then we went to my deck. Then B. and I went to The Green Room. I was going to include the photographs that L. took of more of the crew on the deck, but I can't make the link work at the present moment.
The bartendress was kind of enough to take our photograph.

Luxury Eggs

On two separate occasions last week, one lunch, one dinner, I made the same dish because it was just that good. Simple, but powerful. Three eggs, scrambled with chopped tomatoes, sea salt and chopped cilantro, with a few slices of truffle cheese strategically placed throughout.
Absolute heaven. I find eggs continue to be my go-to foodstuff. There are just so many great things about them. I mean really.

Dinner c/o Rembrandt's

Last Monday E., her boyfriend B. and childhood friend A. came to Philly for dinner. E. and B. were on the east coast for the fourth and, it seems, at least two surprise birthday parties. After sitting on the deck for a bit we walked over to Rembrandt's for dinner. We sat outside. I had a beer.
I asked the waitress whether, if she were me, she would have the crab cake or the pork sandwich. She said crab cake. I asked if that decision would change if she, as me, were from Maryland, which, in a way, I am. She stuck to her guns and said yes, she would still have the crab cake if she were me and from Maryland.
She was wrong. Seemed more filler than crab. Not so succulent or fresh. It wasn't bad, most other people would probably be happy with it. I am, if anything, a crab snob. Except that I never went to the Chesapeake Bay regularly, so it's not like I was right by the water. I would guess that people who live near the water probably are bigger crab snobs, or at least know more about what the difference between good and bad crabs and crab cakes. Inland, that's where I was.
It was nice to see E. so soon after and in a different context than the reunion.

Crossbreed

Reading in Philly

M.Lady and J. are part of this. You should come.

Fireworks in Philadelphia, 2009

The photographs no longer have errors. I knew it was a lie. To see the fireworks we just walked to 22nd Street. While I'm sure some closer to the parkway had better views, it was still a nice show. Everyone and their mother was in the street and crowded on the sidewalks, cars were just stopped and people were standing, hanging on their car doors and looking up and talking.






And then, from my deck, the scene after the fireworks stopped. It was celebratory.
I do love me some fireworks.

Photo Errors

Well, I was going to post the fireworks photos I just spent half an hour photoshopping, but supposedly they have internal errors, which I think is a lie.

Mr. Ass came by for an impromptu dinner on Friday, the contents of which I will keep a secret since it will eventually have its own post, and asked me (as he always does) if I was writing. I said no, not really. That I had plenty of ideas with potential, but the actual sitting and writing of them escapes me, and has done so for months and months and months and months. He asked me what conditions were best for me writing and my first answer was this: 9 am, three years ago. It was a glib answer, but not entirely untrue. I have always written or had ideas for projects for my own pleasure and brain, but the school environment has proved itself to be where I am most productive. This, of course, suggests I'm a better student than I am a writer.

Years and years ago I acquired a photo album of a family from Chicago, most of the images from one of the two sons' younger years up through high school. The ebf, at a later point in time, bought the companion album to the first, with photographs of this young man as an older son. Something about the fact that these albums ended up in a junk store in Farmville, Virginia struck me. There had to be a story about how how this, seemingly loved, boy who, like them all, must have grown up to be a man didn't have any one to care about keeping this record of his youth. It was also clear that his mother was French, and I conjectured that his parents met through the war. So, I began to construct a story about the mother before she married an American and moved to Chicago. That, in turn, led me to begin the process of researching that era. To see if what I wanted her life to be would make sense with the actual conditions of time and place. I started her narrative in the first person, never sure how it would lead to what I considered the main thread: the boy. And I continue to do research and look at these images, but the narrative, the actual prose on paper or in the computer, doesn't exist.

My novel. The beast. So topical, four years ago, is quickly becoming less and less so. What I considered the whole story, I now feel, is in some ways just the beginning of another story, another story I don't know how to write. Not to mention the gaps in the existing document that need to be plugged. It is a sinking ship. A sinking ship that I love, and don't want to let go of because I see its merit, I see its worth, I see how much it could be if only I could get my act together.

Then there are the essays about photography and memory. K. and C. were in town Saturday until an hour ago, and when they first came I showed them my room and pointed out where they were in the mosaic of photographs and images I have pinned to one of my walls. I also mentioned that I had plenty of photographs from our college and post-college years, in nice little photo albums, for their perusal if they wanted. They were excited and I don't know if it was C. or K., but one of them used the descriptive label of archivist to my person. And that is certainly true, I do archive things (perhaps not up to a librarian's standards) but at what cost? Because, lately, I have been feeling that my memory and my insistent need to remember people and places is, at this point in time, working against me. This was something I touched on in an essay back in grad school, but more in terms of my days as a more creative/precise/driven photographer.

Things I'm thinking about, pretty much the same things I've been thinking about forever but getting nowhere with. And the feeling of getting nowhere, on so many fronts, has, I think, been wearing me down for so long that I think it's funny. Except, really, I think it's sad. And the obvious thing to do, in every aspect I am thinking of (writing, reading, meeting people, losing weight, publishing etc) is to just get on with it. Just start changing. And yet, my need to remember my past (successes and/or failures) takes up so much time and energy...that and I am quite stubborn and lazy when it comes to the present.

Down in Humanity

I live especially near the Philadelphia Art Museum, which was particularly useful on the fourth. It was in front of the museum that a lot of the holday hullabaloo was taking place. For instance, The Roots and Sheryl Crow playing their music and, of course, fireworks. So, after all that grilling, a group of us went down to see The Roots. It was really, really crowded. I saw at least one spray of vomit on the asphalt and constantly found myself boxed in by the sheer weight of others' breaths.

The dude in the blue hat and basketball jersey was sooooooo into The Roots' show that it was hilarious. Pumping his fist, doing a little white guy shuffle. I kind of wanted a picture with him, but I was afraid he'd take it the wrong way and punch me in the mouth. L. and I did find that one way to stop getting constantly bumped and jostled around, treated like a wall on one side of a freeway. This technique to stop the madness was simple: dance with a passion that frightens other people. While my passion may have been feigned, the results still were amazing. Other members of our group observed individuals trying to find a way through the crowd and seeing us and turning the other way (the way ants go around an obstacle instead of over it).
And once, when we stopped the exuberant dancing? The stream of people started up again...until we started the dancing again.
The songs I stayed and listened to by The Roots were great, but even with the dancing strategy, I got overwhelmed by the number of people around me...and it wasn't like I could actually see the stage...so, I walked back home.

Independence Grilling

On the fourth a number of the worker friends came to the deck for some sitting and grilling. I, in my own brain, came up with a very successful hummus-like dip (chickpeas, chipotle peppers, adobo sauce, garlic cloves, cilantro and lemon juice). L. brought a cucumber, tomato and feta salad.
B. brought corn to grill and I also prepared some burgers (marinaded with a whole slew of things including soy sauce and green olives).
Corrrrrrn. Grilled corn is way better, somehow, than boiled corn. That's a truth.
It was a great afternoon that morphed into evening pretty quickly.

Soft Shell Crabs c/o Myself

The Friday before the fourth was a holiday at the office. I woke up and knew that I had to buy a vacuum cleaner and I wanted to buy soft shell crabs. Of course, those are, in some ways, opposing desires. Practical v. Magical. In the end, I did both. The crabs were delicious, but I should have let the oil get a little hotter before throwing in the crabs. They weren't as crispy as crabs I've cooked in the past. Green beans and a tomato, with lemon wedges, were the crabs' accoutrements.

Adieu to B. and L. c/o Belgian Cafe, Fairmount Pizza and Kite and Key

So, changes have been afoot in our office for a while now. In May, M. left to the shores of Hawaii while L. and B. had plans to leave in July. This Wednesday, in fact, was L.'s last day. L. will be going to Brown to pursue a Ph.D. in history this fall while B. will soon be departing to the Iowa Writer's Workshop. So, in honor of these two girls' (at that time) imminent exodus, our office went to the Belgian Cafe for a goodbye happy hour. I had a Rogue Chocolate Stout.
We all shared fries (my boss is a particularly good fry-eater).
Then a Duvel.
Then photographs were taken.
Then I spilled water all over B.'s lap, which caused her to turn into a flying nun.
Then we went to Fairmount Pizza for substandard (compared to Luigi's) slices.
Then off we went to Kite and Key, where Lemon Drop shots seemed like a good idea.
And more photographs were taken.
I, in an amazing feat of sensibility, decided that it was time to go home. So home I did go.

Pizza Night Miracle

Last week A.S. suggested we have a repeat mushroom/pepperoni pizza night. I, a sucker for all things pizza, happily agreed.
Luigi's, as usual.

Sketches

So this is just a sketch for a series of vampire currency I believe I will start doing. This one is
the 'Spike Isn't-He-Dreamy? 1,000 V-Bill'. It is, as I told a few friends recently, valid currency in Bloodtown mainly for the purchase of, well, blood. I hope to improve it with better text and more platinum hair. Spike, for those of you not in the know, is a dreamy vampire featured in Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Portobello Mushrooms, Spinach and Spring Onions With Red Wine Vinegar Finish

Every Thursday my coworkers and I walk to the nearby farmer's market and buy ourselves produce. Most often I find myself at the Mennonite/Amish stand. At one point I bought spinach, spring onions and green beans. And later on, with the help of Whole Foods Portobello mushrooms, I made a little red wine vinegar garlicky goodness spinach, spring onion and mushroom stir fry. Seriously, it was much better than I thought it would be. I was quite pleased with myself.
Also, have I mentioned my most recent obsession? Battlestar Galactica, that's what it is. Shame, I feel none of it. Saul Tigh's wife is a bi-atch.

Chicken Taquito

After witnessing the dancing, A. and I drove over to Northern Liberties for our weekly bowling league game. There, we met Ak and, eventually, her brother and his girlfriend. Our bowling started off strong...our practice rounds were all strikes, our first game, pretty successful. I ordered the special buffalo chicken taquitos as substenance...but they, sorry to say, were pretty much a total let down. The let down of the taquitos, I have decided, accounts for my poor second game. At one point, as I was trying to visualize a strike as walking towards the line, the ball slipped out of my fingers and behind me...it was quite embarassing.
I'm enjoying the league for the most part, though I thought it would be a better opportunity to meet new people. Frankly, it turns out that teams pretty much stay to themselves, so the possibilty of branching out isn't as easy as I had thought. But, I do like improving my bowling game? I do. I do. I do. And the tater tots and $2 pints of PBR (as well as the rather random musical choices of North Bowl) make up for my lack of prowess with a ball with three holes. Sigh.

Choreographed "Spontaneous Dance Party"

After driving back into Philly, I made my way over to the Art Museum to support my co-worker L. and her spontaneous dance party. The girl got it into her head that she wanted to do it a few months back and choreographed a youtube video for the masses. I poo pooed the notion quietly, thinking that the organization and people power she would need was not possible for one person to accomplish.


You can see video footage here.
Damn, this is one of the best and it's upside down.
She said there were at least fifty people behind her. I think there was closer to 30, but still very impressive. The local NBC news station interviewed her live the next day and there may even be an NPR story about it at some point later in the month.

Strawberry Shortcake

For Sunday's breakfast S. prepared freshly made scones, whipped up some cream and (I think) sugared strawberries. The scones, fresh out of the oven, were t-a-s-t-y and the freshness of the fruit and the sinful nature of the whipped cream made it a perfect last meal for a lovely weekend.

Thanks to S., M. andd A. again for the good time.

Alpaca Lacka Loo

On Sunday morning I strolled on down the the barn where M.'s grandmother keeps her sheep and alpaca. I believe this is a rhododendron?


Whenever I really look at an alpaca's face I remember reading The Sparrow. I think this is because one species in the book is described as alpaca-like. Or maybe not? Oh well.
Crazy blue-eyed alpaca, the most fascinating of all.

Catan and Sunset

Upon our return to the house, we sat outside and watched the sun set (which happens way faster than you might think) and then got down to the game at hand. Well, it wasn't really at hand, I brought it with me (along with my bocci set, of course) in my car.
We played two games. The first was a straight up Settlers of Catan game, no bells, no whistles...and M. had her first win. The second game we played Seafarers of Catan, I built myself a little gold island and won the game eventually.

Dinner c/o Bolete

For dinner, M., A., S. and I went to Bolete Restuarant. M. and A. have mentioned the restaurant the last few times I've seen them, or at least they did at Easter, and I was definitely intrigued by the restaurant's on-line menu.
We sat in the outdoor area at the back of the building, which was quite nice for us...though one must walk around the building to use the restroom, which is a little inconvenient. M. had, if I recall correctly, the Diego (blueberry puree, cucumber water, fresh lime, sauza commemorotivo anejo tequila) as a starting cocktail. A. tried the Ghost of Mary (ketel one, spicy tomato water, tomolives).
I had the Lehigh Lemonade (corona, ketel one vodka, house-made lemonade), which was pretty much an upgraded model of a drink I've always known as Skip and Go Naked. It was refreshing.
Fresh and warm bread was delivered to our table.
M. and I both ordered a rendition of the Bolete Asparagus Salad (egg, asparagus, periwinkles, and truffle vinagrette). I'm a sucker for any salad with a yolky element, and this was, on the whole, a good salad...though I didn't really pick up on the truffle element in the dressing at all, and the periwinkles were more chewy than particularly flavorful.
A. tried the special appetizer: scallop sashimi. I tried it and was surprised, I was expecting to be weirded out by the texture or taste, but this was not the case. But one bite is different than a whole plate; I'm not sure if I would have liked it more and more or less and less.
For my main course I ordered the Seared Dayboat Sea Scallops (lobster fettucini, English peas, pea tendrils, lobster butter, morel mushrooms and pea puree). The scallops were perfectly cooked and just delightful. The peas were definitely fresh and the pasta and its liquid was quite lovely. I'm thinking about it, and I think I would have liked the pasta even a little more if I had added just a touch of salt or pepper to it. Wah, wah.
S. had the Maine Lobster Roll (lobster salad, crème fraiche, house made roll, pickled shallots, house-made potato chips).
M. had a squash blossom tempura with mussels...I think. It was a special, so I can't refer to the menu to figure it out.
A. had the salmon, which doesn't look anything like the description on-line...this is true for most all these dishes...because they use only the freshest ingredients, so things change depending on the availability of the product (whatever that might be).
We concluded the meal with coffee and shared three desserts. The butterscotch pudding was surprising in its awesomeness.
I didn't actually try the brioche component of the brioche donuts, but the blueberry ice cream that accompanied it was out of this world.
The chocolate two ways (milk chocolate "pop," toasted hazelnuts, white chocolate pot de crème, grapefruit, candied grapefruit ) was fun.
The company, the food and the night was delicious and lovely (I know that a night and company can't really be delicious...unless you're a cannibal or a night vampire). Serious thanks to S. for the dinner and all three just for being themselves.

A Woodsy Walk

Early Saturday afternoon M., A. and I took a walk in the woods near their house. They were hoping to see Jack in the Pulpits. These flowers were not in the woods.
Panda high stepping.
A. and M. are knowledgeable about plants and were quite pleased to see trilliums popping up all over the place. So pleased, in fact, that they asked me to take a photograph of the plants. I suggested that it would be a better picture with them in it, I'm not sure they agreed. While I appreciated that the trilliums are a native species, I didn't think they were all that pretty to look at. M. later showed me pictures of trillium flowers and I came around a little.
Serious off-walking, no paths and tall, lush undergrowth. I loved looking behind us and seeing the clear line (perhaps not a straight one) of where we had walked...knowing that the grass would rebound quickly, leaving no sign of our presence. Quite pretty. I was glad that S. keeps a full line of boots for guests. It wouldn't have been half as pleasant a walk if I was relying on my sneaks.

Under one trillium we saw this. A. began to wonder if the trillium and Jack in the Pulpits were the same thing in different stages of growth. M. declared this an impossibility....a few hours later we learned that A.'s hypothesis was exactly on the mark.
I was using my laser eyes on the ground when I saw this tiny little toad hopping. I picked him up even though I knew he was going to pee on me. And pee on me he did.


S. was generous enough to let me do some laundry while at her house, which meant that during our walk the majority of my wardrobe was in a dryer. So I wore my dress and a large pair of sweats and then the life-saving boots. I felt like I looked properly ridiculous, so I had my photograph taken.
We saw a number of different kinds of mushrooms and each time at least one of us would suggest that we eat them...though clearly that would be unwise since we know, collectively, pretty much squat about mycology.
Then we went to a stream.
And I took this picture of myself.
Then photoshopped it. It's the same and yet kind of different, yes?


A lovely, lovely time.

Milestone

After nearly four years of blogging I finally have used all of the 1 free gigabyte of space that Google gives its bloggers. I think Picasa only started automatically storing photographs in 2006, so really it took three years and approximately 4,000 photographs for me to hit this magic mark. Maintaining this blog has become an integral part of who I am and how I shape my days. I always took a lot of photographs, but the blog has replaced physical photo albums and, to a certain degree, journals for me. I can't imagine the circumstances under which I would cease my obsessive need to document what I eat and what I do. People say children manage to suck up a lot of one's time...but I imagine I would just start blogging about the baby/toddler/kid. Maybe not. Cart and horse, have you met? Because it seems unlikely that this blog will become obsolete, even if my readership drops to, well, myself, I went ahead and gave Google $20 for an additional 10GB of storage space. I had hoped this would come into effect immediately, because M., A. and I took a nice walk in the woods that I wanted to share. Alas, a delay is the name of the game.

Break That Fast

I brought a grapefruit with me when I went to the country. Mainly because it needed to be eaten or else it was going to go to waste. A. suggested squeezing it and having juice. I liked that idea very much; the juice was sweeter than I expected but with a tad of tart.
For breakfast we had eggs and bacon.
And really delicious Earl Grey Tea. Each morning I was there I drank an entire pot all by myself. For the longest time I didn't get why one would want to put honey into Earl Grey...but the combination of really good honey and really good tea, well, now I get it.

A Take of Gyros in the Pretty

It was nice to return to M.'s mother's house in what truly resembles summer after spending Easter with them. The warmer weather makes it much more pleasant to take photographs of setting suns.
M.'s mother marinated and cooked steak and warmed up naan for a particularly tasty version of gyros. The meat had a nice dose of cumin, which I don't think is typical for gyros (or at least not the gyros I have had?). It was addictive. If I didn't know better, which I do, I'd say she threw in some monosodium glutamate because kept wanting one more bite of the meat.
Oh sun, how pretty you are when you set.
This is a series of photographs tracking Pandora the dog's progress back to her owners. She, on occasion, smells or hears something and goes tearing off and then A. and M., in varying tones, start calling her back, she does always return but I sometimes think she only returns once she has determined what the sound or smell was, not because A. or M. use their 'I'm serious' voice. The point is that she comes back, running and happy.


Mmmmmmmmmm. S. also baked a strawberry rhubarb pie, but my photographs didn't turn out so great.
Thanks goes to M., S. and A. for a lovely dinner and evening. While S. went to bed, M., A. and I stayed up and I saw my second ever shooting star! And M. pointed out a satellite, which I learned is way different from a plane. It was a great night, most needed after another extended stay in the city.

Well Howdy There Pretty, How You Doin'?

Last Friday I left work a little early (by coming in a little early) in an effort to get to the Bethlehem/Lehigh Valley region before rush hour. I failed, utterly, in this attempt. Leaving work at 4:25 and hitting the road at 4:48 really doesn't give one any advantage on 476 or 276. After more than an hour in stupid, stupid traffic and another hour of relatively smooth driving I was faced with quite a conundrum: the googlemap's directions told me to take a road that was closed. After a conversation with a woman who had clearly been giving directions for a few days (her house was right by the giant signs declaring the road closed), I was back on track. Fittingly, a ridiculous thunderstorm began as soon as the directions were given. I'm talking hard rain, little visibilty, frighteningly close and loud thunder...and lightning (they go hand in hand, you know). At one point, as I was crawling along, a lighting bolt hit a telphone pole directly in front of me. The entire time I was hunched over, driving like my mother drives in that kind of weather. In fact, I believe I was channeling my mother throughout this stretch of the journey. Or at least imagining how much she would be uncomfortable with the conditions, and imagining what she would say if she knew what I was doing ('oh my word' comes to mind, though my mother doesn't actually say 'oh my word'). The storm ended as quickly as it began. Leaving steaming asphalt and pretty views.
Something about these images reminds me of the drive from Dublin to the Kilkenny area that my parents, the poet, his son and I took back in 2006.

My destination was M.'s mother's house. M. and A. were taking a break from the city and invited me to come up and I enthusiastically accepted. Soon after my arrival there were spinach and gorgonzola spring rolls and fireflies...both of the insect and drink variety.

Work Salad

I made this salad for lunch at work at some point in the past. Farmer's Market Lettuce, tomatoes, a boiled egg, spring onions, artichoke hearts, green and black olives all harmoniously existing in my bowl.
The dragon looked on from a distance.

Taquitos and Enchiladas c/o Pura Vida

Last week L. and I made plans to have dinner. I walked over to her building, which is the building I started out in when I first moved to Philly, and took the elevator to my old floor (L. moved into the apartment I moved out of). A number of months back a water main of some sort broke on the hall and flooded a good amount of L.'s apartment and, obviously, the hall itself. So, what was always a pretty ugly hallway now has this wonderfully water damaged look. So. Glad. I. Got. Out.
We went to Pura Vida, a Guatemalan place that L. and her boyfriend C. were very enthusiastic about. It's byob and in a sort of funny neighborhood...near Northern Liberties but still extremely rough around the edges. In another five to ten years, however, it'll probably be prime real estate. We started with the taquitos, which were so far superior to any microwaveable food item with the same name that I can't even begin to fathom it. They were stuffed with marinated chicken and the fresh salsa had a lovely cilantro kick.
I ordered the chorizo enchiladas. Definitely a generous portion and the green sauce that came with them really differentiated this dish from many other enchilada plates in my life. I did, however, remember that I prefer the Spanish form of chorizo over the South American version. L. had the chicken enchiladas, our plates looked pretty much exactly the same.
C. had a dish with 'gaucho' in its name. Steak and shrimp and potatoes and another really lovely sauce. If I were to go back, which I would because it was cheap and the food was tasty, I might try this...the vinegary element and the crunch of the shredded red cabbage (C. constructed a perfect fork for me) showed how much the cook/chef actually thinks about every element of the dish.
L. ended up buying the dinner. And I thank her for that, and them both for their eatmate companionship.

Double Time

I joined a summer bowling league a while back. Thus far I have been able to make two out of the three games that the team has played. Each week the team plays three games against another team. Our team isn't particularly excellent but I don't think it's too embarrassing on the whole. Note my double strikes (I'm Car) in the final frame of this round. I was on fire. It's a shame that the next week I had the ball slip out of my fingers backwards in front of everybody. You can't strike them all. Heh. Our team name is Hole In One.

Pho and Serious Coffee c/o Pho Ha

Two Sundays back C. and I went to Pho Ha for pho. This was C.'s first experience and I felt pretty confident that she would enjoy it...but you always worry when introducing an unknown anything to someone. We were seated quickly. I recommended that, for her first pho experience, C. start with the basic pho with steak, nothing fancy. I, on the other hand, went with the moderately more interesting pho with steak and fatty flank. I requested less noodles and fatty broth...and was delighted when that came to pass.
Mmm.
I also ordered a Vietnamese iced coffee...or something with a similar nomenclature. What arrived was a little freshly brewed cup of coffee with condensed milk in the bottom, a tall glass with ice and a can of soy milk. It was eye opening coffee in a major way. I don't really drink coffee all that often, but this was particularly potent stuff. Even C., a frequent coffee drinker, said so.
C. liked the pho, I liked the pho and for $8 (before tip) each it was affordable to boot.

Rolls and Noodles c/o J. and J.

Last Saturday I went over to J. and J.'s for hanging out time and dinner. They have officially sold their house, which means that their departure from the Philadelphia area is even more imminent. This bums me out, as I like their company and value their friendship. He-J. made dinner. There were freshly made dinner rolls.
And a noodle dish with spinach and tuna (I think it was tuna?) and peppers, and I should really ask what else.
Lovely company as always. I stayed and watched a little of The Incredibles with J., J. and the kids. Great to see them too, S. and N. have grown up a little since I first met them in May of last year. I love that Sarah Vowell is the voice of the daughter in that movie. Thanks to the whole famly for a lovely evening.

A Little Wine, A Little Pizza

Two Fridays back, the first full weekend I'd be in Philly in nearly a month, I found myself wondering what the heck to do. I decided that drinking white wine on the deck would be nice...and knew it would be made much nicer if others were involved. I knew L. might stop by once she was finished with her work day, and A. had communicated that she was available for some 'hang time', so I called A. and suggested that we put this plan into action. She agreed. And that's what happened. The pizza, as it usually is, was care of Luigi's Pizza Fresca, the wine, I believe, was Corbet Canyon, and the company was fantastic.