Key West is about four miles long and two miles wide. This dude caught a giantfish in its waters.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Fun Facts
Key West is about four miles long and two miles wide. This dude caught a giantfish in its waters.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Two Parts
So, there's the whole framed photographs part of this essay (that once I get a few more pieces written won't seem so much to be all about boys...actually, even now I don't think it seems all about boys) but there is also the element I had been working on last year--which is all about how I learned to take a photograph and, yes, boys. Specifically boys I had crushes on or kissed on the lips. Below is an excerpt from the boys/learning to take photographs section. Another framed photograph section too. This latter entry is still new and needs work. Is it too personal without being universal? Am I repeating my thoughts too much? Is it creepy?
First:
Some photographs were not very successful. I photographed T and J in their dorm rooms and none of the photographs are very good compositionally and their exposures are ridiculously thin. I made out with J my sophomore year of high school for two nights while at my parents' house in Maryland. The year before J had asked me out and I said no.
I had been in some sort of love with T at the beginning of college. The misplaced variety of love, I think. I am slightly embarrassed by the depth of my feeling now, but that's how it was. It was a waiting kind of love. I knew a secret and the secret was we'd be great together. But if it took two to make the secret true, well, then it was never really a secret as much as wish. I believe that these two boys were the first four rolls I shot for the project. There is one photograph on J's contact sheets that has a silhouette of me in the background while J is in the foreground. It's an awful photograph. Compositionally, technically and conceptually it stinks. I don't really remember what J and I spoke about while I took his picture. I just remember that I should have had him sit away from the window for better light on his face. I also don't remember what T and I spoke of, though I know it felt awkward. I would have a hard time including these photographs in a collection. Though both boys played relatively significant roles in my life (without knowing it, of course) the photographs are amateurish and vague in focus and intent.
And the other:
I look overly pleased with the paper and situation around me. T, sitting cross-legged next to me, looks more miffed or bemused. I should say that my overly-pleased look can be easily notched up to, and understood as, sarcastic enthusiasm. But I don't think my smile is sarcastic, as easy as it would be to say it was. No, if the smile is overly large or verging on falsehood it's on account of the fact that I don't want T to think it's a big deal; that it means anything. We had spent a few hours in my pink walled room writing, longhand I guess, some kind of story together. Except it wasn't a story. It wasn't anything except two kids captured in their exact pre-occupations of the time. T's words are definitely prettier but mine are more honest. My printer was running out of ink, or perhaps it was when its laser printing brushes got fucked up forever, whatever the reason the sheets of paper we are holding with both hands in front of our bodies have a slight grey stripe down the middle.
Central to the photograph is the writing we hold in our hands. And yet I remember very little of the writing session. We were talking about change and loss and the people we had just spent the last four years getting to know and care about. We were writing about being outside of that space, knowing the future was going to be big and final. That what we held closest was going to seem small in short order. Maybe that's not what we were thinking. I remember deciding to include a poem I had written about a different moment spent with T. It verged on romantic but wasn't, at that time, exactly intended to be. But I put it in and T never said or wrote word about it. Either it wasn't as obvious as I thought it was or he simply had such a different outlook on the world that he didn't recognize my descriptions as something that applied to him. Who knows? Only him. Could I ask him? In theory, yes. But, really, I probably wouldn't go into that level of detail. I'll email him to make sure we were drinking and to what level and hope a little hope that he'll a) respond and b) give me pertinent details/remember what I'm talking about (which I did, he thought we hadn't been drinking…but in the 'manuscript' there is mention of booze). But it's equally feasible that he will simply not respond. I read his blog and he, on occasion, reads and comments on mine but we haven't been actively involved in each other's lives for years. And that, right there, is what is so strange about having a photograph of him displayed in my house. It's not that for a short amount of time I felt I was in love with him and that I thought we'd make a good couple, no: it's the fact that I still remember the moments that we shared outside of that emotional grip. No, that's not it. Well, it's partially it. There are people I let go of and not mind. Because what I thought we shared was rather surface level. But T made me laugh but also had relevant responses to my occasional seriousness and I'm pretty sure that, at the very least, I amused him. Youth just isn't that fleeting.
The photograph itself is in a hinged, two-sided, frame. The frame contains five photographs, three from high school and two from my freshmen year of college. It was a frame given to all graduates of the class of 1999 on the night of our dinner dance (aka prom). In theory I think we were to put photographs of ourselves with our dates and friends from that night. I do, in fact, have one such prom-friend photograph on display (which I will address soon enough). But somehow my date and I missed the formal posing platform and, frankly, if I think it's weird to have a photograph of T in my house it would be even weirder to have a photograph of my date and me (we weren't dating nor were we even friends, really).
It makes sense. Once in college, T ran away (distanced himself perhaps is a better phrase) from many people he had known in high school (or perhaps 'distanced himself from who he thought he was in high school' might be more accurate). I was immune because he didn't see me as a girl-girl or some remnant of a bad self-perception. But, eventually, he felt that-like so many others-I was no longer a relevant or positive part of his life. Is that what happened? Or did I get a boyfriend and start to think better than to see or talk to T? Either could be true. It's what the phrase "drifted apart" was made for…when both people (friends or lovers) can equally be seen as the active member of that drift.
It's embarrassing that I remember so much about T. I own how I felt. I do. But seeing that our friendship hasn't lasted, how can I not regret remembering so many stories or small occasions we shared? I haven't actively been his friend since, maybe, 2002? Five years. And yet I still feel like if he was open to it, we could still have a nice chat. I wouldn't have any desire to express my no-longer-existent feelings of love and he could admit that I've never been all that important in his emotional life. We could also catch up. He could tell me about how he's still friends with his ex-girlfriend and I could tell him that I was too! And maybe, if I were really brave, I would tell him that that was a lie. That E and I aren't friends. That I pretend like I'm capable of being his friend in the hopes that he just needs time before realizing he's made a really bad mistake. Basically, due to the fact that we have a shared bit of history, I would feel comfortable having a relatively honest conversation with T about my life and his own. I believe we had those kinds of talks earlier in our lives. But I know that, somehow, I'm missing something. Maybe we never had those kinds of talks? The fact that I still find him a valuable part of my past somehow makes me wonder if words like pathetic or delusional apply to me a bit more than I'd like.
Sigh.
I have a whole other framed photograph that T is a participant in. Who else is in it? J.R. (a crush of mine at the time), E.H. (no longer in contact with her but I hear she has a flower shop), M.M. (no idea what happened to him but he took me to his junior prom), K.C. (we went to the same college but weren't buddies, last I heard he had married a Chinese woman in China), S.P. (I don't keep in contact with him but whenever I see him it's comfortable and familiar), T and me. The photograph was taken by T's mother at my insistence on the weekend of the Tibetan Freedom Concert in D.C.. I am standing in the front of the group, one hand across my belly and the other in the air. I have a similarly unattractive but smiling crazy look on my face. I am beginning to recognize this face as "the face I make when I think something is a lot of fun and worth remembering but that the others around me don't feel as enthusiastic about and definitely don't want to take a photograph over".
It's a strange thing to be connected by a thread. Or even several threads. These days a thread equals having someone's physical address-or being their 'friend' on MySpace- a double thread is having someone's email, the beginning of a rope is a blog and an actual rope is a phone number. I guess. Maybe the blog is more of a thread and a physical address is more of a rope? Most of the people I want to contact, I have enough information to find them. I think that the communication time for T and C is over. I have to admit that we're not friends now nor will we be in twenty years and write about our friendship as it is: over, pleasantly enough, but done nonetheless. So looking at these photographs I have to acknowledge that I'm looking at something dead. Something that nothing I could do or say would change…only make more, and unnecessarily, awkward. The number of words I have for this whole thing makes me feel like I'm still "in love" with the guy. Or makes me see how others could think it. But I have just as many words for others who I never fancied. And what's so bad about being acquaintances with someone you used to be friends with?
And what about those I remember who do not have corresponding frames? Those I have to search out in my many shelved and undusted photo albums? Photographs I remember without having them on display. So many people.
First:
Some photographs were not very successful. I photographed T and J in their dorm rooms and none of the photographs are very good compositionally and their exposures are ridiculously thin. I made out with J my sophomore year of high school for two nights while at my parents' house in Maryland. The year before J had asked me out and I said no.
I had been in some sort of love with T at the beginning of college. The misplaced variety of love, I think. I am slightly embarrassed by the depth of my feeling now, but that's how it was. It was a waiting kind of love. I knew a secret and the secret was we'd be great together. But if it took two to make the secret true, well, then it was never really a secret as much as wish. I believe that these two boys were the first four rolls I shot for the project. There is one photograph on J's contact sheets that has a silhouette of me in the background while J is in the foreground. It's an awful photograph. Compositionally, technically and conceptually it stinks. I don't really remember what J and I spoke about while I took his picture. I just remember that I should have had him sit away from the window for better light on his face. I also don't remember what T and I spoke of, though I know it felt awkward. I would have a hard time including these photographs in a collection. Though both boys played relatively significant roles in my life (without knowing it, of course) the photographs are amateurish and vague in focus and intent.
And the other:
I look overly pleased with the paper and situation around me. T, sitting cross-legged next to me, looks more miffed or bemused. I should say that my overly-pleased look can be easily notched up to, and understood as, sarcastic enthusiasm. But I don't think my smile is sarcastic, as easy as it would be to say it was. No, if the smile is overly large or verging on falsehood it's on account of the fact that I don't want T to think it's a big deal; that it means anything. We had spent a few hours in my pink walled room writing, longhand I guess, some kind of story together. Except it wasn't a story. It wasn't anything except two kids captured in their exact pre-occupations of the time. T's words are definitely prettier but mine are more honest. My printer was running out of ink, or perhaps it was when its laser printing brushes got fucked up forever, whatever the reason the sheets of paper we are holding with both hands in front of our bodies have a slight grey stripe down the middle.
Central to the photograph is the writing we hold in our hands. And yet I remember very little of the writing session. We were talking about change and loss and the people we had just spent the last four years getting to know and care about. We were writing about being outside of that space, knowing the future was going to be big and final. That what we held closest was going to seem small in short order. Maybe that's not what we were thinking. I remember deciding to include a poem I had written about a different moment spent with T. It verged on romantic but wasn't, at that time, exactly intended to be. But I put it in and T never said or wrote word about it. Either it wasn't as obvious as I thought it was or he simply had such a different outlook on the world that he didn't recognize my descriptions as something that applied to him. Who knows? Only him. Could I ask him? In theory, yes. But, really, I probably wouldn't go into that level of detail. I'll email him to make sure we were drinking and to what level and hope a little hope that he'll a) respond and b) give me pertinent details/remember what I'm talking about (which I did, he thought we hadn't been drinking…but in the 'manuscript' there is mention of booze). But it's equally feasible that he will simply not respond. I read his blog and he, on occasion, reads and comments on mine but we haven't been actively involved in each other's lives for years. And that, right there, is what is so strange about having a photograph of him displayed in my house. It's not that for a short amount of time I felt I was in love with him and that I thought we'd make a good couple, no: it's the fact that I still remember the moments that we shared outside of that emotional grip. No, that's not it. Well, it's partially it. There are people I let go of and not mind. Because what I thought we shared was rather surface level. But T made me laugh but also had relevant responses to my occasional seriousness and I'm pretty sure that, at the very least, I amused him. Youth just isn't that fleeting.
The photograph itself is in a hinged, two-sided, frame. The frame contains five photographs, three from high school and two from my freshmen year of college. It was a frame given to all graduates of the class of 1999 on the night of our dinner dance (aka prom). In theory I think we were to put photographs of ourselves with our dates and friends from that night. I do, in fact, have one such prom-friend photograph on display (which I will address soon enough). But somehow my date and I missed the formal posing platform and, frankly, if I think it's weird to have a photograph of T in my house it would be even weirder to have a photograph of my date and me (we weren't dating nor were we even friends, really).
It makes sense. Once in college, T ran away (distanced himself perhaps is a better phrase) from many people he had known in high school (or perhaps 'distanced himself from who he thought he was in high school' might be more accurate). I was immune because he didn't see me as a girl-girl or some remnant of a bad self-perception. But, eventually, he felt that-like so many others-I was no longer a relevant or positive part of his life. Is that what happened? Or did I get a boyfriend and start to think better than to see or talk to T? Either could be true. It's what the phrase "drifted apart" was made for…when both people (friends or lovers) can equally be seen as the active member of that drift.
It's embarrassing that I remember so much about T. I own how I felt. I do. But seeing that our friendship hasn't lasted, how can I not regret remembering so many stories or small occasions we shared? I haven't actively been his friend since, maybe, 2002? Five years. And yet I still feel like if he was open to it, we could still have a nice chat. I wouldn't have any desire to express my no-longer-existent feelings of love and he could admit that I've never been all that important in his emotional life. We could also catch up. He could tell me about how he's still friends with his ex-girlfriend and I could tell him that I was too! And maybe, if I were really brave, I would tell him that that was a lie. That E and I aren't friends. That I pretend like I'm capable of being his friend in the hopes that he just needs time before realizing he's made a really bad mistake. Basically, due to the fact that we have a shared bit of history, I would feel comfortable having a relatively honest conversation with T about my life and his own. I believe we had those kinds of talks earlier in our lives. But I know that, somehow, I'm missing something. Maybe we never had those kinds of talks? The fact that I still find him a valuable part of my past somehow makes me wonder if words like pathetic or delusional apply to me a bit more than I'd like.
Sigh.
I have a whole other framed photograph that T is a participant in. Who else is in it? J.R. (a crush of mine at the time), E.H. (no longer in contact with her but I hear she has a flower shop), M.M. (no idea what happened to him but he took me to his junior prom), K.C. (we went to the same college but weren't buddies, last I heard he had married a Chinese woman in China), S.P. (I don't keep in contact with him but whenever I see him it's comfortable and familiar), T and me. The photograph was taken by T's mother at my insistence on the weekend of the Tibetan Freedom Concert in D.C.. I am standing in the front of the group, one hand across my belly and the other in the air. I have a similarly unattractive but smiling crazy look on my face. I am beginning to recognize this face as "the face I make when I think something is a lot of fun and worth remembering but that the others around me don't feel as enthusiastic about and definitely don't want to take a photograph over".
It's a strange thing to be connected by a thread. Or even several threads. These days a thread equals having someone's physical address-or being their 'friend' on MySpace- a double thread is having someone's email, the beginning of a rope is a blog and an actual rope is a phone number. I guess. Maybe the blog is more of a thread and a physical address is more of a rope? Most of the people I want to contact, I have enough information to find them. I think that the communication time for T and C is over. I have to admit that we're not friends now nor will we be in twenty years and write about our friendship as it is: over, pleasantly enough, but done nonetheless. So looking at these photographs I have to acknowledge that I'm looking at something dead. Something that nothing I could do or say would change…only make more, and unnecessarily, awkward. The number of words I have for this whole thing makes me feel like I'm still "in love" with the guy. Or makes me see how others could think it. But I have just as many words for others who I never fancied. And what's so bad about being acquaintances with someone you used to be friends with?
And what about those I remember who do not have corresponding frames? Those I have to search out in my many shelved and undusted photo albums? Photographs I remember without having them on display. So many people.
Ongoing
Another excerpt from the unwieldy photo essay (those who were in the essay class will have already read this). I think it needs more detail and whatnot. I am going to post a few more excerpts today. I think.Here:
M and I worked together in a small New York town's attempt at a coffee house, for six dollars an hour plus measly shares of the tip jar (every other week). He was the only boy on staff and when he wasn't around we all made our conjectures about his sexual orientation. He didn't seem gay but he didn't seem all that straight either. Cute, in a distracted pianist kind of way, he was just someone I worked with.
Another coworker was getting married and she invited the entire staff to drive the four hours to Wilmington, Delaware and witness her nuptials. Four of us drove down together in my blue Volvo, listening to Ludacris, Aesop Rock and Phantom Planet. Weddings have a very interesting effect on me. Or maybe it's the alcohol consumed the night before weddings that have an interesting effect. We arrived in Delaware and went to our coworker's rehearsal dinner. We drank wine and white Russians and made friends with people from other wedding parties. M and I found ourselves the last ones up; playing silly games in the hotel hallways and attempting to climb the stairs until we got to the roof. We never got to the roof but we did start a brief non-relationship. We shared the sofa-bed while our other two co-workers slept in the other room. There were Eskimo kisses that led to real kisses and I couldn't believe it was happening. This is true for almost every kiss I've ever had, that I wasn't sure it was going to happen until lips were on lips and hands were on hips, shoulders or wherever. It's a magical thing, realizing you're being kissed by someone you actually want to be kissed by. We returned to our small town and continued 'hooking up' for about a month. It wasn't me that ended it and, though I knew we hadn't been heading in the direction of true courtship, I was sad.
M and I worked different shifts so it was relatively easy not to see him. We were friendly when we did work together but it didn't happen often and then, suddenly, M made plans to leave town. I realized that it would be far easier to track M down for a photograph while he still lived in my vicinity, so I called him and he amiably consented.
Taking M's photograph was probably the hardest. Our non-relationship hadn't been over long and I found myself unable to play the role of C, the confident photographer. I regressed and didn't pay enough attention in framing my photographs or properly reading my light meter. There is one photograph of M, he's standing in front of the big field by his house. The road is in front of M and I'm on the other side, a safe distance away to take his full measure.
Saturday, December 08, 2007
Bestest Sammitch
For the last two nights I have made myself an almost identical sandwich. The first night I couldn't find batteries to make the camera work. Last night I had a functional picture maker. And so, behold: a sandwich of perfect proportions. A bit of Fromartharie distributed herbed salami, some of their goat gouda, smoked ham, tomato, butter lettuce and mayonnaise. Simple but amazing in the ratios.
Friday, December 07, 2007
Squeak
Jason Lee's involvement with this Alvin movie makes me think it could be, maybe possibly, not so bad. Like Elf, only with high voiced singing, animated chipmunks and Jason Lee. Could be? I mean it's not impossible, technically speaking.
Ziti-Rrrrific
The other day, because I had all the ingredients and was jonesing pretty hard core for carbohydrates, melted cheap cheese and tomato sauce. So I made myself some ziti. A lot of it, actually. There was a day that I would make the same amount of baked ziti and it would be eaten within three hours...or mostly eaten by three hours and completed in 48-72 hours. What? Anywho the ziti was eaten in slightly smaller portions but, thankfully, it was not all eaten by me (tonguethrust, wayward and lh). Not all that special but a perfectly satisfying meal with a little salt and red pepper flakes. Oh, and a dash (gluttony of gluttony) of truffle infused olive oil.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Deluxe Diner's Turkey Club
Yesterday it snowed and it was my day off. A wonderful, never to be underestimated, pairing. I can't say it was a very productive day. And I know very well that I have a lot of logistics and planning to do. Lounging and knitting. Talking about Tennessee with, geez all these people without blog monikers, I think Tonguethrust calls him lh. Then some time with No Longer Wayward. We watched some television and sandwiches delivered from Deluxe Diner. I had the turkey club. We were surprised that it wasn't deli style turkey....which so soon after Thanksgiving was what I was actually hoping for...but the turkey itself was reasonably moist and there wasn't any surprise piece of fatty skin. The bacon was good and crunchy. Could have done with a bit more mayo and the option of mustard. They had some other thing on their menu that I'd like to try before I leave Chicago...it involved chili and other things in a tortilla wrap.Wayward had the same sandwich with waffle fries. The waffle fries didn't live up to the challenge of delivery. I ordered jalapeno poppers and they did a bit better, I think-but I didn't try any of the fries so I can't be sure.
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Not So Amazing Penny's...I Keep Coming Back
I was on a bit of a work-lunch roll for a few days that ended with soup and gyoza at Penny's Noodle Shop. Tom Yum was good with a kick but seemed not much different than the starter paste I have in my refrigerator. And the gyoza weren't all that amazing either. Best thing by far I've had at Penny's is still the Tom Kha soup.
Snow Recap Before Snow Now Cap
Last Saturday it snowed while I was at work. It was not so great but okay.
Then my coworker and I ordered sandwiches from the Bourgeois Pig. I had the Chicken Parmesini Panini. It was quite good. A little less cheesy than I had hoped...but that's probably for the best. They have a number of other sandwiches that I very much want to try before my time at the company/Chicago is over. Like a giant magical BLT. Mmmm, magic. Steep $3 delivery charge but the delivery guy was on bike in a snow storm, so maybe not so steep. Sandwiches are all about 7 bucks but the quality of bread seems worth it.
Work Cheese
The wonderful thing about getting a lot of cheese in the mail is obvious (except to vegans and lactose intolerants) but there is a down side....mainly that one needs to then eat all that cheese in a timely, calm fashion. We made a dent at Thanksgiving but it's been a bit slow going since then. So, I thought it might be nice to bring a little tip of the cheese-berg into work...and boy was I right. I suddenly went from being largely unknown and dull to being called a 'renaissance woman'. The cranberry roule is not all that tasty in my estimation. It's a little too sweet. Nice and creamy, I'll give it that, but just a little overwhelming. If they had kept the cranberry sweetness to the cranberries and let the cheese have a little more saltiness they would have been in better cc-cheese-lovin'-business. The other cheese, a Manchego aged for three months, was much, much, much more to my liking....especially when wrapped with a slice of the herbed salami I also received/brought in.
Monday, December 03, 2007
Not Especially
On Friday I took my lunch at Salt and Pepper Diner. Sausage, egg and cheese sandwich with a side of tater tots. Unfortunately, for all the aesthetic and locational appeal of the diner, the sandwich lacked a certain basic goodness. The sausage was dry, dry, dry and they (as far as I"m concerned) skimped on the egg and cheese. Tater tots were good, but really, how can you mess up fried frozen potato cylinders? You can't.
Turkurry
Last week I made curry out of the left over Thanksgiving turkey...and some risotto...finished it yesterday. Good. Not spicy. Definitely gringo curry (way to mix cultures, yeah?). But good with a bit of parsley, boiled egg and craisins.
Saturday, December 01, 2007
Thanksgiving Blister
While I cooked Thanksgiving dinner I had two unfortunate run ins with the hot hot metal of the oven. Only today did the blister lose its overwhelming girth and breadth. I almost miss it. I don't miss it...just almost.
Birthday Dinner at David Burke's Primehouse
For my birthday the 'rents took me to David Burke's Primehouse. I started with a glass of champagne.
Then there were fancy popovers (but it wasn't all that good...rather it wasn't as delicate) with tasty butter with Himalayan salt.
They had a special appetizer that my father was all over...which was a good move on his part...stone crab, stone cold. It was accompanied by three sauces but, frankly, the meat was so succulent tasty wonderful that just a little lemon was all they really needed.
We also had the surf and turf appetizer. Not bad...but not as amazing as I expected. The lobster side of the dumplings were very creamy rich. The short rib side was disappointing. But disappointing in the way that high quality food is still good, just not exactly as mind blowing as you expected.
Speaking of mind blowing.....the Louisville Ribeye I had was just that. Like no steak I've ever had: tender, melty tender. Medium rare amazing. Oh my.
We also ordered two sides to share: truffled french fries and tempura green beans. The fries were good, beans not as much...or maybe they shouldn't have called them tempura.
20 ounces of amazing steak is a lot of steak. I didn't finish mine...but I did have room for dessert...below you can see me wooing a glass of Courvoisier. Behind me is the man who brought a surprise complimentary piece of birthday cake. He doesn't look all that amused.
We also ordered a trio of sorbets: chocolate raspberry, salted caramel and (this one was the ONE) peach rosemary. I would recommend Primehouse for special occaions. Our server was unpretentious and knowledgeable, as was the sommelier, but all the food (even the near misses) was great and I would definitely go back and try an even more aged cut of meat. Of course, I didn't pay for this meal and most of us under 30 probably couldn't. But if you got a special occasion and a parent who loves you, well, go and be happy!
For my birthday I got a new hat.
And kind of for my birthday I got a new flippity phone. These photographs are proof of the new phone and hat!
Beer in champagne glasses. Classy to the maxi.
Then there were fancy popovers (but it wasn't all that good...rather it wasn't as delicate) with tasty butter with Himalayan salt.
They had a special appetizer that my father was all over...which was a good move on his part...stone crab, stone cold. It was accompanied by three sauces but, frankly, the meat was so succulent tasty wonderful that just a little lemon was all they really needed.
We also had the surf and turf appetizer. Not bad...but not as amazing as I expected. The lobster side of the dumplings were very creamy rich. The short rib side was disappointing. But disappointing in the way that high quality food is still good, just not exactly as mind blowing as you expected.
Speaking of mind blowing.....the Louisville Ribeye I had was just that. Like no steak I've ever had: tender, melty tender. Medium rare amazing. Oh my.
We also ordered two sides to share: truffled french fries and tempura green beans. The fries were good, beans not as much...or maybe they shouldn't have called them tempura.
20 ounces of amazing steak is a lot of steak. I didn't finish mine...but I did have room for dessert...below you can see me wooing a glass of Courvoisier. Behind me is the man who brought a surprise complimentary piece of birthday cake. He doesn't look all that amused.
We also ordered a trio of sorbets: chocolate raspberry, salted caramel and (this one was the ONE) peach rosemary. I would recommend Primehouse for special occaions. Our server was unpretentious and knowledgeable, as was the sommelier, but all the food (even the near misses) was great and I would definitely go back and try an even more aged cut of meat. Of course, I didn't pay for this meal and most of us under 30 probably couldn't. But if you got a special occasion and a parent who loves you, well, go and be happy!
For my birthday I got a new hat.
And kind of for my birthday I got a new flippity phone. These photographs are proof of the new phone and hat!
Beer in champagne glasses. Classy to the maxi.
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