I am addicted to chocolate. I don't mean that I just like to eat
chocolate, I have to eat chocolate. There is no twelve step program,
there are no support groups but I know it is genetic. My mother is also
addicted to chocolate as are two of my six little nieces. Sometimes the
four of us sit around the kitchen table in silence eating chocolate. I
am the enabler. I buy chocolate every time I pass through a duty free
store in an airport. I stop in every bakery I see to buy anything
chocolate they have. I know exactly where all the nice chocolate shops
are in New York City. You get my point?
Love
Love
Guppy Love
It's no secret that some of us urban dwellers face commitment issues. Embrace them, even. The greener grasses and more infinite infinity pools are a form of optimism. Some of us arrested developers avoid opportunities (read: obligations) by holding out for the perfect job, the perfect relationship. But perhaps getting stuck between a responsibility rock and a commitment place isn’t so bad.
In my case, that place showed up at midnight in West Hollywood on my birthday. Now I'm the kind of girl who can't keep a pet rock alive and can barely assemble a PB & banana sandwich. So in acknowledgment of another year of supposed maturity, I’m imbibing elderflower champagne at the Palihouse. I mean I’m really not expecting any sort of responsibility. And suddenly, there it is. A responsibility-filled, Ziploc bag containing a tiny goldfish (translation: my birthday present). The carnival winning of two friends back from the San Gennaro Italian Festival.
The Life of a Foodie
I considered myself a food lover: a zealous, open-minded, and
studious consumer of food. My tastes ran the gamut from Chex Mix to
Chez Panisse, and I felt this to be charmingly, almost wittily,
indiscriminate of me. I read cookbooks, restaurant reviews, and food
writing. I cooked. I baked. I ate out. I would have, without
hesitation, claimed to be well versed, at the top of my game even, in
the Art of Eating.
I was, needless to say, a recent college graduate and an unfounded know-it-all. I look back on those days with an indulgent fondness for my younger self, and her survey-class approach to eating. There she is, I think in my memory, burning garlic and liking it. I smile, knowing that soon enough she will be introduced to someone so enamored of food that in his presence one begins to question their own passion for almost anything else. To my student’s eye, meeting Ryan was like being introduced to Edward Said after a steady diet of Cliffs Notes: there is, after all, much more to be found in the details.
See's Kisses
Candy has been a bond between me and my pal Joy since we first became
best friends in sixth grade at Beverly Vista Elementary School in
Beverly Hills, California. Sure, there’s been humor, loyalty, shared
heart-throbs, and tears…but from the get-go, there were shared Nestle
Crunch candy bars filled with crinkly chocolate that we bought every
day as we walked home from school together. It became a ritual,
peeling off the blue and white wrapper, then the foil, and eating the
crunchy bar while hysterically laughing over some inside joke that was
funny only to ourselves. But it was better that way.
The First Puppy
Dear Mr. President Elect Obama,
Senator Ted Kennedy, the Lion of the Senate, had the right idea. As he
convalesced on his boat in Hyannisport I saw him beckoning to his dog
Splash, a Portuguese Water Dog.
If you’ve never heard of this breed, they have a remarkable story.
Bred as working dogs, they carried messages back and forth
between boats for the Portuguese fisherman. But what was even more
impressive was that they were trained to herd fish into the nets and
could dive under water at considerable depths to retrieve tackle and
pull the nets in.
This breed is very old and although they are often mistaken for Standard Poodles, Porties (as we owners like to call them) are the source of the Poodle breed. They can be black, brown or white with either a curly coat or a wavy coat. They have hair, not fur, and that’s why we have two of them.
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