Breakfast c/o Little Pete's

C. and I awoke early enough on Friday that we had time for breakfast before she went off to help her dad with the project that brought her to town and I went to work. Little Pete's is a surprise. I think A.S. told me about their deal some months back, but I didn't really understand it. My two eggs, sausage, hash browns and coffee were $4.95 and entirely good, not amazing but sturdy in their goodness.
They do an egg sandwich for $2.95. Totally (or 'totes') going to look into this sandwich in the future. Seeing C. was lovely. I have decided to convince her to move to Philadelphia even though she never will. My most convincing argument is: because I want you to and it would be fun!

Truffled Egg Toast and Smoked Salmon Salad c/o Tria

On Wednesday C. emailed me to let me know that she was going to be in my fair city for the weekend...and the next weekend. This was very exciting. We made plans to have dinner and slumber party it on Thursday and so I braved the Septa-strike traffic to pick her up in my car (the strategy behind this seemed sound until I was actually out on the streets) then, since Duckie was already out and about, I figured why not just find a parking space and go directly to dinner (originally the plan had been to return to my neighborhood, drop C.'s bags off and then walk into Center City for dinner, but once basically in Center City this seemed really dumb). Of course finding a parking space was challenging, but we managed (stupid kiosk system stole two of my dollars and didn't take credit cards, but whatever). We went to Tria. L. has been praising the restaurant for as long as I have known her, and I never doubted that Tria was going to be great...it just took me a while to finally get there. I ordered a glass of First Drop Wines' 'The Red One' a Shiraz blend that was entirely pleasing to my palate, the truffled egg toast and the smoked salmon salad. We had a prime seat by the window, which helped with the lighting for photographs only slightly.
The egg toast was just lovely. A nice thick slice of bread with melted fontina cheese, a perfectly centered and intact yolk, salt, pepper and a nice drizzle of truffle oil. Oh man, I was pleased.
The salad was much larger than I had dared to hope, and so very extremely tasty to the groovy maximus. I mean read what was in it: Smoked Salmon, Asparagus, Caper Berries, Citrus Mascarpone, Arugula and Lemon-Pepper Vinaigrette. And the salmon? The salmon was of a pretty good quality, not all slimy and zapped of true salmon flavor...and liberally spread throughout the salad, not plopped in one little spot. And caper berries? Well, you might know how I feel about caper berries, but in case you don't: I like them, I like them very much. The dressing was also spot on. The mascarpone was a nice touch though, frankly, I would have been happy with the vinaigrette and salmon. Mmmmmmm. Oh man. I messed with these images in photoshop a lot, the greens were far more green than this.
C. ordered a panino with: Grilled Artichoke, Spicy Tuscan Pepper, White Bean and Bulgarian Feta, and seemed to greatly enjoy it. I also ordered a glass of Rioja Blanco, Bodegas Ostatu, which was a step up from the wine I drink most of the time.
It may have taken me a long time to actually get to Tria, but there is no way that I won't be going back with increased regularity.

Last Game and Burger c/o Kite and Key

I went and met up with L. and S. for the last game of the World Series. Ordered myself an O'Reilly's stout and began to watch the game with optmism in my heart.
L. and I both ordered our own Kite and Key Burger (burger, caramelzed onion, applewood smoked bacon, smoked gouda cheese on toasted brioche). It was hefty and a little difficult to keep together, but I was hungry and managed to consume the whole thing. Unfortunately that's the best thing that can be said about the evening. By the fourth inning things weren't looking too good, and I was tired and belly-full, so I left.
Left, but forgot the camera, so L. took a picture of this....I left when it was 4-1, Yankees, but it clearly got worse from there on out.
And thus ends a completely different kind of World Series, one in which the people of Philly are not jubilant enough to flip cars or scale greased poles.

Oysters c/o Sansom Street Oyster Bar

Last week I went to Sansom Street Oyster House and got my oyster and dirty martini fix satiated. This time I sat at the oyster bar proper, which allowed for much better light, and far better photographs, than the last time around.
I ordered half a dozen of the Pemaquid and a half dozen of the buck a' shuck of the night, the name of which, like a jerk, I have forgotten.
Wholly satisfying.

Apple Picking c/o Solebury Farms

After about an hour of auctioning, Mr. Ass and I headed towards my car and then, separately, on up to Bucks County. We were specifically headed to Solebury Orchards, as I wanted to do some apple picking (I just realized that I said this happened on Saturday, but it was Sunday). I had hoped that maybe there would be chickens, but there was only kale. And apples, of course.
The apples to be picked that day were Keepsake, Fuji and Braeburn. We never quite located the Braeburn, so stuck mainly to Keepsakes (lovely finish) and Fujis. Here I am trying a Keepsake and laughing about it.

The preceding days continued in the form of rainy and not pleasant, and the morning made it uncertain whether we would actually see any blue skies/sun, but, as Mr. Ass predicted, half way through my drive north the clouds broke and there was hope. On the drive to the orchard I saw a horse running around its field just for fun, and I thought that was pretty great.
The apple to the right is the perfect apple.
Mr. Ass was a little more skeptical about the apple's perfection, but shoot, it was perfect.

Because of all the rain the entire orchard was muddy. Seriously muddy. My shoes still haven't recovered, and might not never get better.
So pretty. My neighborhood has its share of trees, and they are not without their fall beauty, but driving around the country and seeing (a little on the late side) the splendor of massive numbers of trees in all hues of red, yellow and orange was just what I needed. I could be wrong, but I think the last time I left Philadelphia was Labor Day weekend, and that is just too long to go without getting out (damn you busy season/inertia!).
Sun!
Cider donut? Yes, please.
In the end I picked a little under 15 pounds of apples, which I had every intention of immediately turning into apple sauce and pies....but then I got home, and I was tuckered out from such a full day of activity, and didn't. Still haven't. Will. Do. Tomorrow. Maybe. It's the peeling and coring that really bums me out, I feel like the last time I did this I had the company of J. Is that possible? Probably. Yes, the last time I went apple picking was when I still lived in Chicago, and I do think J. came over and helped me with the crusts, maybe not the peeling and coring.

Pretty. Pretty. Pretty.

Dim Sum c/o Joy Tsin Lau, Part 6, and an Art Auction

Last Saturday I walked on over to Chinatown to meet up with Mr. Ass for dim sum. We got a much better table than on any previous eating experience at Joy Tsin Lau, which was nice, and we stuffed our faces as well as we could. Shrimp dumplings, shumai, bean curd etc!
Oh how I have loved shrimp dumplings since forever. I used to easily eat four to six of them with no problem, now there are so many other things that I like that I usually keep it to two to three, but the glory days were still glorious.
Their fry cart dumplings continue to wow me with their crispy outsides and well seasoned insides.
After dim sum Mr. Ass wanted to go to the Freeman Auction House to see the Lehman Bros. art collection get sold off. He was also considering a purchase. The space was packed, and it seems that this isn't usually so, that it was the particular draw to the circumstances of this sale. A reporter from the Philadelphia Inquirer asked Mr. Ass and me questions about it, but it seemed he already knew which angle he wanted his story to take.
An interesting experience. The first painting sold went for $16,000, and many other pieces were getting $6,000 or more. Later, it seems, a painting went for $30,000. That was a lot of money.

Game 3 c/o McKenna's

Last Saturday Ak and I met up and went on over to McKenna's to watch the third game of the World Series. We expected a challenge when it came to getting seats, so we got there a good hour before the game was to start. This was a wise move, except that the game was then delayed an hour, which meant a lot of quality time at the bar. We shared wings, which were good and I ordered half a cheesesteak, which didn't have half as much cheese as I would have liked. Ak also had cheese fries that she said hit the spot. We also drank $8 pitchers of Budweiser.

The game did eventually start, and I thought that this Philly might need a sip of beer. It didn't help.
I developed a very, very strong dislike of Pettite's face. This is me smooshing his face out of the picture. I also started calling him things like 'stupid fucking face go home mgee.' That, also, didn't seem to help the Phillies all that much.
I think we're into our third pitcher by this point, maybe just the second?
At one point there was a blinking spider to play with. It was Halloween after all. I do not care about Halloween, but the spider was cool.
The bar gave us all free shots of blood, or some sort of cranberry vodka concoction.
Ak and I liked them, the shots, and the bartendress.

While the night was entirely enjoyable (except for maybe the drunken 50+ local dudes who were, at first, interesting to speak to but, as the night went on, far less interesting and more annoying and wasted-face) on a social/eating/drinking level, the fact that the Phillies lost was not as pleasant. I mean, I am a fairweather fan, so only truly enjoy it when the team whose bandwagon I have jumped on, actually wins, which, you know, didn't happen that night...or last night. Sad face.

Hawksley Workman: The Bestest Ever

So, in 2001, Hawksley Workman came and played at Bard College and he rocked it hard. His performance and his music made me a fan, and I have remained one ever since. Problem is that he never played in the states, or at least not south of Buffalo. So, last week when I just happened to think about looking and seeing where he was touring, I was was blown away to learn that he was playing in Philadelphia that very night. I agonized over the distance it would take to get me to the show, the fact that I would be going alone, the fact that I was pretty broke, and that in going to his show I would be missing the World Series. But, after countless back and forths in my own head, I decided to go. It was a very good idea. Jenn Grant was the opening act, and she was truly good. She had a nice stage banter, and her songs are pretty, pretty, pretty; the girl can sing. I don't think I realized what a fan of Hawksley I had become until I realized that I could sing along with all but one of the songs he played during his set. This, coming from a girl who can barely remember the chorus to, well, anything. Seriously, the man can sing like some sort of crazy sexy beast. It was funny to think that the the only other time I had seen him I was 20 years old, maybe 19, and he was, hm, 24? So much living in between. I can really only speak for myself, of course.
I did gather my courage to tell him how great I thought that Bard show was, and that I put a certain song he wrote (Your Beauty Must Be Rubbing Off) on mixes constantly, especially for boys I liked...I remembered his encouraging us all to dance with people we had crushes on at that show and thinking what a great idea that was...oh it was a good show. He remembered that the show was just a few days after September 11th, which may explain why it is such a crystallized memory (that or because I was on acid...sorry mom). I even braved the 'can we take a picture' fan-dom, and it was worth it, even though I look a little crazy...he looks crazier! Sigh. This night made me realize that I can totally go to shows without a friend, and that, if I'm truly a fan, I will be able to come up to a musician and not make a complete ass of myself. Well, maybe I did make an ass out of myself, but it's not like he's going to tell anyone. My word, that is the only word you have to go by.

This Is My New Favorite Thing Of the Day

Boys & Lists

So, my cousin K. and I were talking on the phone the other day about this, that, and the other thing. And, as often does, men (or boys, as I like to call them) came up. I have long been compiling a list of relatively broad traits I would hope to find in a future partner. But they're funny things, lists (and boys), because you need to be careful that you're not simply making a list of traits boys you have liked in the past embodied, as that would be totally counterproductive and self-defeating (you can't/won't/don't want to get that one person you had back, nor would you really want to chase after someone you never had in the first place again, if that makes sense). There are some exceptions, I would think; we cannot entirely avoid definite trends we all have when looking for and choosing mates, from aesthetics to interests, and to say 'well, no, I no longer will date anyone who likes cheese because X ate cheese' would be pointless, but on the flip side you can't really start finding yourself attracted to a completely different looking/acting person (I don't think I could fall in love with someone who thought poop jokes were funny, for example). Do you like how my first example is about food? Yeah.


My list these days is both very simple and clearly not simple at all:

1. He must like me. I must like him.
2. He must want to make out with me. I must want to make out with him.
3. He must be as smart as me (not saying that I'm a rocket scientist or anything but, you know), perhaps, actually, just a tad smarter ... but not in a way that makes me feel dumb all the time. This would, in part, mean that I wouldn't necessarily trounce him in Scrabble (people make all sorts of crazy jokes about couples and Scrabble, but I don't care) all the time, and that would be good.
4. He must be patient and kind.
5. He must be funny, to me, I don't really care if others think he's funny.
6. He must be capable of silliness.
7. He must enjoy lying in bed, for any number of reasons (sex, sleep and movie watching being the main ones). He also must not mind a little cat hair in the bed (I have been thinking about this a lot lately, Zul is a shedder and there is no way that he's not going to spend a portion of each day on my bed...not because I need him to, it's more like I would have to construct some kind of crazy cage around my bed to prevent him from doing so, though he does keep my feet warm at night...sooooo...).
8. He must find me utterly entertaining (this could fall under liking me, but I feel it is important enough to have its own number).
9. It would be highly preferable that he is taller than me and not morbidly obese.
10. Considering the fact that I like alcoholic beverages, it would probably be for the best if he did too.
11. Not being a vegetarian would probably also be for the best (I can't imagine not getting to cook for my man/going out to fancy steak/oyster/foie gras/whatever dinners).

And that is my list. In some ways I think it could be any number of people's lists, and that seems, on the whole, like the better option. Any more specificity, I think, would tip me into the too picky category of list maker. One's exact career, favorite band, dream vacation, preference for dogs or cats, well, that's the sort of thing that maybe you can find a compromise with. Politics and religion? Well, I guess I consider it a given that any person who liked me, wanted to make out with me, and found me utterly entertaining would naturally share the same belief system as me (or would have a belief system that could happily coexist with my own). Perhaps that's not something to take for granted, but no girl really wants a list of qualities a boy should have longer than 11, because more than 11 is crazy, while less than 11 is entirely sensible. Astute even. Okay. Not astute.

What's on your list? You know you have one. Unless you don't, which would make me feel really crazy for having one...so if you don't have a list, keep it to yourself. I accidentally uploaded this photograph that K. took last May and I'm keeping it on this post even though it has nothing to do with lists or boys. I don't know why. Mainly because it's my blog, and I can do whatever I want.

Pizza c/o Luigi's and Brutus, the Lobster Puppy

On Wednesday I headed on over to C.'s for laundry, wine, pizza, puppy and the first game of the World Series. The pizza was ordered and literally arrived within 15 minutes, which was absolutely insane, but in the best possible way. Also? C. and I both felt that this was, by far, one of the best Luigi's pizzas we'd ever had, and that, folks, is saying something.
Brutus is growing like a crazy dog.
C. and I had a conversation earlier in the week about lobster costumes for dogs, and then she told me that she had gone with the lobster look (a personal favorite of mine), so I insisted that she had to pull it out and show me. Easier said that done, Brutus was not a willing participant in this process.
Lobster puppy! Now if we could just get a big enough pot (not to actually boil him in, just to put him in and then take a picture, geez).
The Phillies won that night, which was good. Since then things have not been that good. Here's hoping Lee will do some sort of crazy magic pitcher's thing and trounce the Yankees. We'll see.

Chicken Hash

Last Monday I cooked up a batch of chicken hash. I marinaded the chicken in lemon and added a little bit of chopped garlic chives to the mix.

It was quite good. I ate it for days, sometimes adding cheese or green tabasco sauce, and topping with fried egg. What will I eat this week? Probably apple sauce.

A Better Walk

Last Sunday finally gave us a break from the rain, so I took myself on a proper walk (off leash). I passed by Rittenhouse Square which was washed in beautiful, and, these days, rare sunshine and smattered with couples, babies and dogs. It was good to move my legs a little bit without becoming drenched.