It Wasn’t a Cold: Spring Break 2012

Well the last Spring Break I’ll get for at least the next few years has come to an end and of course my brain isn’t functioning regularly yet even though I’ve been back at school since Sunday.  To make things worse, Andrew sent me the following clip from this past week’s Saturday Night Live, which I missed, that has to be one of the all-time funniest things to come from SNL and features one of my favorite people and America’s answer to the Two Fat Ladies, Paula Deen:

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Now, aside from the sheer brilliance that are”That’s as stupid as fat free cream cheese,” “It started with me gettin’ what my mamma calls ‘the sugars'” and the ‘n’ word being nutrition, Kristn Wiig’s spot-on impersonation of my favorite hillbilly left Justin, Andrew and me wondering something: how does one spell my new favorite saying, “hot butter and oil” in this Southern dialect that is just too Southern for me to apparently comprehend.  Now, I figured out this unique pronunciation of butter is “booter,” but the way Kirsten Wiig says oil is just so bizarre.  Andrew thinks it’s spelled “aayl,” but Justin feels that spelling is wrong and offered “aaieyl.”  Grace, meanwhile, is convinced that both are wrong and that it should be “awl.”  I’m still trying to figure out how I think it is properly spelled so if anyone from my beloved SNL is dumb enough to read this, A, my mother thinks I should write for you (but her opinion doesn’t count because I’m her only child and like all Jewish parents, she secretly thinks I’m the Messiah) and B, (and more importantly), can I get the correct spelling, please.  Thanks, y’all!

It should be noted that  while writing about this, I came to the sad, and overly disturbing realization that is the tenth time I have mentioned the beloved Queen of Butter and the third time in 2012 alone!  All I can say about this is “Hot booter ‘n’ oil [since the correct spelling yet to be determined, I will be using the actual English spelling of oil], y’all!”

Moving away from “hot booter ‘n’ oil,” Spring Break was nice, until I woke up 48 hours after arriving in Palm Beach sniffling like a teenage girl watching “The Notebook” (which, for the record, is a movie you couldn’t pay me to see).  The only difference was that I wasn’t watching anything depressing.  Now, I will not come out and say that I had a cold because I had dinner reservations every night and like hell was I staying in to eat a baked chicken from Publix!

So what did mother and I do once we dropped off our Lady Madonna at the airport on Sunday?  We took two of the three free movie passes some moron gave him and drove down to Boca, Land of the Jews, to see the other Madonna’s new movie, “W.E.,” the movie about the love affair between the Duke and Duchess of Windsor while showing the blossoming love affair between a married woman named Wallis (because her mother and grandmother were obsessed with a woman who looked like a man and nearly brought down the entire British Monarchy; that right there is what I would like to call a great role model) and a security guard at Sotheby’s in 1997 during the historic auction of the personal items belonging to the Duke and Duchess of Windsor.

If that doesn’t make sense to you, don’t worry because the movie doesn’t make any sense at all either.  Sadly, the trailer makes it look half decent, but in reality, I actually left that theatre thinking one thing: I would like my free ticket back!  Madonna, just go into retirement.  The music career is over (I think the Superbowl Halftime Show confirmed it since you’ve now joined the league of such illustrious performers as Ashely Simpson and Kid Rock), you haven’t acted in ages; just let the 80, 90s and early 2000s music you made define your career.

Harvey Weinstein, as much as I have enjoyed many of your films over the years (I even bought an Adult ticket to see some of them, including my favorite movie of 2011, “The Artist”), I cannot believe you associated yourself with this overly confusing, poorly-made, recorded nightmare.  I would call it  a film, but that wouldn’t be fair to actual directors who know what the hell they’re doing!

Aside from visiting old Palm Beach restaurant favorites, mother decided that since I’m of legal age, it was finally time for her to do what she has wanted to do for years and that is go to get drinks before dinner at restaurants and hotels all over the island.  See, aside from mother and I, no one in our family really drinks alcohol, aside from the occasional glass of wine with dinner so there has never been anyone who has wanted to go with her before me and hey, I wasn’t paying!

The Tapestry Bar at the Breakers is one of the most magnificent rooms in the world.  There will never be rooms of that scale and grandeur ever built again and to be able to experience even a taste of what it was like back when Henry Flagler’s hotel was a second home to everyone who mattered for decades is just remarkable.  Plus, they have a Happy Hour from 17h0-19h0.  Mother and I each had a glass of wine, plus the trio of dips to go with the chips that accompanied our drinks (the Port Wine Pommery was our favorite because of its very subtle taste and smooth texture) was less than $20, including gratuity.  And they validated the parking ticket!  For Palm Beach, that is a bargain, people!

For non-hotel bars, we preferred Buccan, which is right on County, across from the one gas station left on the island.  We’d never been before (because some people don’t like to try new things anymore) and decided to give it a shot.  I’d heard that it’s more of a place to go for appetizers than it is for dinner and so we sat at copper-plated bar tables that glistened just like a freshly-polished copper pot.  Again, Happy Hour exists in Palm Beach, which is odd because one would assume that every hour in paradise is happy.   In addition to a glass of wine each, we shared the featured cheese and the prosciutto & fontina arancini, which I really enjoyed.

What I enjoyed even more though was knowing that I’m not the only guy who has to put up with his mother constantly trying to take photos of her “baby.”  Two bar tables away from us sat a guy about my age, maybe younger, with his very thirsty parents who did what mother loves to do more than anything else: take embarrassing photos of young adult sons in restaurants with the flash.  Do y’all know how annoying that iPhone flash is?  I swear, I hate the flash, so when we were in Florida this time, I just started carrying my Leica around with me because I’ve come to the conclusion that if someone is going to be taking a photo of me, it’s gonna be taken with a real camera!

The highlight of the trip for me, though, was not having cocktails every night before dinner, but it was our final evening when we dinnered at Palm Beach’s newest restaurant, Imoto, a sushi bar with a limited Asian-inspired cuisine menu located right next door to Buccan.  Despite probably belonging more in South Beach than in Palm Beach, a place that kind of shuns change of any kind, especially pennies because nothing in Palm Beach has ever required the need to even contemplate using a penny, Imoto is capturing a market that until now has been dominated almost exclusively by restaurant-turned nightclub after 22h0, the always popular Cucina Dell Arte.

Aside from not having a website as promised on the business card and matches, Imoto’s only flaw is that it’s only open for dinner.  If they opened for lunch, that stupid Pizza al Fresco off of Worth Avenue would finally realize that you can’t charge $20 for a salad and not have service to match it.  My only complaint with the dinner itself was that I would have preferred that the rice on top of which my fillet of beef was placed was a bit too spicy for my liking.  That, and we didn’t get the orange slices like everyone else at the end of the meal.  Mother’s rock shrimp tempura with spicy aioli sauce, which was not spicy at all (thank you very much), was so good the next morning cold before we left for the airport!  The non-spicy, spicy aioli sauce gave it this invigorating kick that just took the overall flavor to a whole new level!

I highly recommend this place, but warn that if you happen to be over the age of 47, don’t be there past 21h0 because you will definitely be the oldest person in there.  This might be the only restaurant in Palm Beach that won’t have a single customer on ventilation and that is impressive!  In my opinion, Imoto might just be the new Cucina becuase it’s hip, it’s fun, the food is amazing, and most importantly, I wasn’t the youngest person there!

Mother’s highlight was a bit different from mine.  She and Jean went to a charity luncheon at Mar-a-Lago for the American Humane Society because of a dog dressed in a pink gown and wearing a tiara.  I’m not making this up.  This year, the society was honoring Candy Spelling with their humanitarian award in recognition of her philanthropic efforts.  Sadly, I think Princess Zelda, the tiara-wearing dog, got more attention because well, it’s a dog wearing a dress and a tiara vs. a woman who had three gift-wrapping rooms in the house she finally sold after being on the market for over two years.  In all honesty, I’d being paying more attention the dog too.

Meanwhile, Andrew spent his final Spring Break on the Coast (I love saying that) doing whatever it is people in LA do.  The high point of his trip came on the flight back, though, because Andrew was seated across the aisle from legendary actor Sam Waterston, better known as District Attorney Jack McCoy from Law & Order.  Yes, cue the music:

Now, of course, because it’s Andrew, he refused to just make my life complete and casually make that infamous noise in Mr. Waterston’s presence during the plane’s descent into JFK , but he did tell me that he watched an episode or two of the show, so I guess he gets something for doing that.

Back in Florida, Justin, who continued to remind me over Spring Break that some people don’t get a week off for Spring Break anymore, to which I should remind him that he volunteered to graduate a semester early so it’s his own doing, is moving.  He’s leaving his apartment not far from the Rollins campus and heading to a new apartment near my beloved Whole Foods in Winter Park.  This was where I developed a disgusting obsession with the two-bite brownies, which I then topped with Betty Crocker vanilla frosting using a knife I took from the prepared food section.  It was so delicious, eating from a trash can after discarding the evidence in an effort to stop inhaling anymore of them.  And don’t judge because this is something that happened in college and everyone does some weird stuff in college!

Back to Justin, his move-in date is on April 22nd, when the average daily temperature will be 84°F, so you have fun with that one, Justin!  He realized it was time to leave his current apartment, which he has had since this past summer, because the cinderblock chic decor that was provided for him and the noise from the house parties his college student neighbors make nightly was too much for him to handle.  Having stayed there, I’m just so thrilled to see him leave that dump and move into a place more fitting with the 21st Century.  I say this because in his on-going efforts to pretend like it’s 1975, Justin lacks something even my 90-year old grandparents have: internet access!  Justin, the 21st Century can’t wait to see you again.

In a more serious note, today marks the 12th day since Justin smoked his last cigarette, cigar or pipe which is very impressive, especially since he’s too cheap to buy Nicotine gum or patches!  I’m so proud of you, Justin, but at the same time upset because now I actually have to put thought into your graduation present!

Finally tonight, before I head to a “I’m Not Irish and Therefore Not Celebrating Tomorrow” party, I whipped out the Leica and took some photos of my dog, Buddy, when I was home last weekend before returning to Charlottesville to prove to Andrew that I do in fact use my new camera.  However, His Royal Buddness (which is a name to which he will respond) is useless.  Out of about 45 photos, maybe ten came out well because he refuses to stay still.

I would like to note that I’m fully aware that everyone who has a dog is convinced that they have the cutest, most handsome dog to have ever been brought onto the face of the earth, but I’m just saying that HRB looks like the cutest dog on the face of the earth in these photos.

Look at that 11-year old puppy!

He gets away with murder because of this face.  I would pay millions to learn how to make it but he’s stubborn and refuses to tell me.

Alright, I’m off to go die of heat stroke here in Charlottesville while trying to imagine the same temperature with a breeze from the Atlantic Ocean in Palm Beach.  It looks like this:

Until next time…

-JD

How Are People Surprised That Paula Deen Has the Sugars?

So as many of y’all may have heard, Paula Deen, a woman who no doubt uses butter in place of soap, sat down with Al Roker, not exactly the world’s skinniest person, to reveal that she has Type Two Diabetes on “TODAY” yesterday and well, let’s be honest, when you spend your entire day making such delicacies as Sweet Chicken Bacon Wraps, Cheesy Shrimp on Grits Toast, Deep-Fried Squash, and my personal favorite, The Lady’s Brunch Burger—a “hamburger” that Miss Deen recreates using two Krispy Kreme doughnuts in place of hamburger buns, among other things—it’s a miracle it took so long for her to realize she has Diabetes.

Of the entire six-minute interview that Miss Paula conducted, it was most entertaining to hear her say that she will continue to make the… whatever one calls Ultimate Fantasy Deep-Fried Cheesecake, but with smaller portion sizes.  Well isn’t that nice, she’s going to continue promoting death as a hobby!  Oh I’ll never forget the night I stayed in Savannah on my way back to Virginia from Rollins in May of 2010; my own little butterball refused to let us eat at her infamous The Lady and Sons Restaurant for two reasons: first, it has the worst ranking of any Zagat-rated restaurant in Savannah and secondly, the people leaving the Savannah dining establishment looked as though they have swimming pools filled with margarine.  Ah, memories…

Moving on, I stayed at Camp Justin last Friday night on before catching the Auto Train on Saturday and before we had dinner at Prato, which was absolutely amazing, we got drinks at Spice and well, I think we’re still confused as to what happened while we sat in the unseasonably cool weather.  So one minute we were complaining about how bad the service was and then the next, a woman who looked not unlike a fan of Paula Deen walked past with her cat on a leash; that was the most normal part about this scene.  The lady had the restaurant staff prepare her a bar table for two and then proceeded to not only place the cat in one of the chairs, but she then gave the cat a blanket and food and acted as if nothing was wrong.  Now I’ve got nothing against cats; Jean’s cat, Lily, even has a special place in my heart after spending a month with her when I lived with Jean, but this was just unusual.  I think it was the cat’s owner who made the situation so odd.  her eccentric behavior was just something one doesn’t see every day, I guess.

After brunch with Justin, I departed Sanford and arrived into Lorton on the Auto Train last Sunday afternoon after a slight delay due to a freight train ahead of us on the track and immediately upon detraining, I checked to see if there was room left on the train leaving that afternoon for Florida because it was cold, bone-chilling cold!  And so 36°F isn’t THAT cold, but when you’ve spent a month in a place where the coldest it ever got was 55°F, then yeah, it was a big shock!  Alas, I didn’t get on the train, even though there was in fact room, and now I’m back in Charlottesville, where my building decided it was time to repaint the hallways some rather unusual colors.  While some floors received very glossy versions of normal colors such as Royal Blue and some unique version of Camden Green, the floor that my friend Lindsay and I live on has been given two colors: a very glossy grey and then an equally-glossy TRAFFIC SIGN YELLOW!  Bad is one way to describe how it looks; I’m going to go with overtly grotesque and nauseating.

Unfortunately, something else tragic occurred while I was away, though this is rather serious.  Grace’s little maltese, Oliver North, passed away.  It was so sad to hear about this, especially since it happened over the holidays and while she still has Henry Flagler, things won’t be the same without Oliver.  I think I’ll most remember the time Grace and I sat in her truck in a parking lot with Oliver going between our laps as we drank Diet Coke (that’s all she had) and listened to some disturbing show on Cosmo Radio.  It will be hard to imagine life without Oliver lurking about Grace’s apartment or living in her purse, but I guess all good things must come to an end.

That’s all for now, but until next time from a very cold Charlottesville…

-JD

PS: I guess this quote I have from Grace on Facebook about Paula Deen might actually be true: “I think Paula Deen poops mayo.”

The Rum Diary, Aging, My Rekindled Flame with the Ice Cream Maker, Andrew’s Sleepless Nights, and Justin Got a New Car

On Friday, I braced the unseasonably cold weather here in Charlottesville and went out to see the first movie I’ve deemed worth seeing since this summer, The Rum Diary with Johnny Depp, Aaron Eckhart, Michael Rispoli, Richard Jenkins, and the breathtakingly beautiful Amber Heard.  Based on the Hunter S. Thompson novel of the same name, the movie follows the life of “journalist” Paul Kemp (Depp) as he leaves New York and journeys to the less idilic 1950s Puerto Rico, which at the time was in the midst of some not so great relations with the US, but we don’t need to go into details.  In Puerto Rico, Kemp gets a job at the struggling San Juan Star and picks up a healthy-yeah, I think that’s the word I’ll use-appetite for rum, lots and lots of little bottles of rum.  While there, he falls for Chenault (Heard), the fiancée of Hal Sanderson (Eckhart), a wealthy, influential and a bit cocky American millionaire who plans to develop a virtually untouched island that the military is about to sell so his wealthy friends can have a place away from the chaos and bowling alleys (which I’ve been told are no longer all the rage).

Kemp’s infatuation with Chenault leads to a most interesting and rum-filled story of corruption, racism, a wild night in St. Thomas, sex, and a bizarre Hitler connection that sadly not too many people seemed to have enjoyed.  That said, I found the movie intriguing and entertaining.  The Rum Diary, in theaters now, came in 5th place at the weekend box offices on its opening weekend.

So for some reason, this semester seems to be busier than any other semester I’ve had at college, hence I haven’t been writing as much as I’d like.  Since last chatting, I ended up receiving a second gift from Andrew, Assouline’s new book,”Maxim’s,” giving his gifts a French theme.  I also received the incredibly heavy “Tachen’s Guide to London” from Justin with a note saying that I’ll get a second part when I see him in December on my way down to Palm Beach.  Honestly, I’m terrified of knowing what that second part is.  Grace, who has recently decided that she wants to fly to Switzerland and attend a finishing school for a few weeks, which could be both interesting and highly entertaining to hear about, has been granted an extension, once again, since my late birthday/Hanukkah present from last year, also known as the greatest thing ever, has finally been ordered and will be in Charlottesville before Winter Break!

Grace serenaded me at Midnight while we ate dessert at the C&O restaurant in Charlottesville, which I feel we’ll be going back to simply for the late night menu they have there.  All in all, this birthday felt more mature and less juvenile as there wasn’t this sense that one has to drink to a near blackout state, which was nice.

In the two weeks following the celebration of my life, I’ve rediscovered the love I have for my ice cream maker.  Last year, I believe I used it a grand total of two times.  This year, I’ve used it about twelve times, with three of those twelve times in the last month and a half!  See, I bought the Sarabeth’s Bakery cookbook from Rizzoli, although I honestly have no recollection of buying it, and have yet to make anything that requires my mixer.  So far, I’ve made rice pudding (milk/heavy cream heaven) and butter pecan ice cream, which has to be the most amazing thing I’ve ever made!  I’ve also made chocolate sorbet and chocolate ice cream, but they were from François Payard’s “Epiphany.”  By the way, the chocolate sorbet left cocoa powder all over my kitchen (I found more three days ago) because instead of being a user-friendly container, the cocoa powder I bought comes in a box so it is absolutely impossible to get a measuring cup in it!  I don’t know why, but I just love having my ice cream maker more than ever.  This week, in honor of the fact that there are only twenty-three days until Thanksgiving, I’m making maple ice cream!  Sarabeth, on behalf of my soon-to-be-rapidly-expanding waistline, thank you!

While I’ve been eating way too many pints of homemade ice cream, Andrew has been losing sleep to the point of waking up in the middle of the night because he has been busy organizing a special screening of the upcoming movie, Grassroots, directed by Stephen Gyllenhaal, father of Jake and Maggie Gyllenhaal.  If you’re at Duke, or for some reason decide the Durham in November is just the place you need to be, it’s at 19h0 in the Bryan Center and is followed by a discussion with M. Gyllenhaal and his wife, Kathleen Man Gyllenhaal, who is c0-producing the film.  It sounds like fun and if I didn’t have a class at 9h0 Wednesday morning, I’d probably be going down to Durham (the things I do for my friends) as a way to escape from what will be way too many “Sleepless in Charlottesville” nights leading up to Thanksgiving, just without a cross-country romance and ice cream in place of Rosie O’Donnell’s character.

Finally tonight, Justin has gotten a new car!  This is car number three, though we can count it as two since the last one, a very used Volvo, isn’t worth remembering.  In a move that I never thought imaginable, Justin broke his rule of never even considering an Asian car (or box, whichever word you want to use to describe them) and got a new Hyundai Accent SE, which is… I’m not going to judge it until I see it in person in six weeks.  That said, I still like my little workhorse of an Audi!  It gets the job done and unlike everyone who has ever heard me sing, doesn’t complain when I do!

Well, after what’s been a crazy weekend with Halloween parties that we don’t ever need to discuss, snow blanketing the Northeast in October and the fact that I wore socks before mid-November for the first time since 2007, October seems to be going out with a bang and November is coming in for landing at Mach 2.0!  I believe that this clip of Michael Douglas as Gordon Gekko in Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps does a pretty good job at summing up what my month is going to be like:

Thanksgiving can’t get here soon enough!  Until next time…

-JD

PS:  This past Friday night was Global Champagne Day and so of course Grace and I celebrated!  Personally, I think we should celebrate this holiday more than just one day a year, don’t y’all?

I Think We’re Well Past Counting the Number of Glasses of Champagne I’ve Had By This Point: Spring Break in France, Part Three

So last Thursday, after visiting Château d’Yquem, Mother, SPARKY and I began our seven hour car ride to the Champagne region.  Have I mentioned how much I love having an iPod and a Kindle?

We made a slight detour about halfway there while in the Loire Valley to visit the town of Chenonceau, home of the UNESCO World Heritage Site Château de Chenonceau.  It was a breathtaking home, with a kitchen I’d want even without all of the modern appliances because the wood-burning bread oven is all I need to be happy!

What I think impressed me the most about the Château, however, was the fact that fireplaces were actually in use and it had the feel of an actual home with few ropes to keep you five feet from the item.  I wish other places did that because it makes you feel as if you’re in someone’s home and not a museum.  Beneath is a photo of the Gallery, which spans the width of the river upon which the Château sits:

The gardens are also breathtaking, both the formal and informal.  The formal gardens look like what you’d expect any château to have while the informal garden, which is really a vegetable and flower garden, was more impressive in my opinion.  While it is very formal, with everything labeled and in perfect rows, there are some parts where the grounds staff seems to be somewhat creative:

There were also tulips planted for everywhere, which created this amazing rainbow of colors:

These flowers are actually used in floral arrangements inside the rooms of the Château, which is really interesting because it adds to the sense that this is someone’s home and not just a museum.

Now, as if any of our homes look like that unless it’s photo shoot day, but still, it’s a nice touch.

The Formal Gardens:

Before leaving, I got this photo looking down the main drive to the Château:

If only that driveway weren’t dirt.

Even though it is kind of a schlep to get there, I really enjoyed myself and again, that’s really because you feel as though you’re not in a museum, but really in someone’s home that is open for the garden tour.

We finally left as everything was closing and continued driving toward our destination in Vinay.  Again, I’m so glad I have a Kindle and an iPod.  I made it about nine chapters of my book, “I am Charlotte Simmons,” by the time we arrived in Éparnay for dinner.  I’ll discuss that book at another time; even though it’s about things that aren’t new to a college student like myself, reading about them seems to make them sound shocking.

Our hotel in Vinay left me with mixed emotions.  On one hand, the staff was very courteous and made our stay lovely, but at the same time, for what we were paying, I was kind of shocked about the hotel itself.  We stayed at the Relais & Châteaux Hostellerie La Briqueterie and for a company that prides itself on being a luxury brand, the hotel was old and looked more than ready for a renovation.  That said, we weren’t there to see the hotel since I didn’t see a champagne vineyard in the backyard.

In case y’all don’t know, there isn’t a town called Champagne.  Rather, it is a region about three hours from Paris that is the only place in the world where sparkling wine can actually be called Champagne.  Unlike Bordeaux where the vineyards are where everything takes place, the grapes used to produce champagne come from vineyards that are spread throughout the region and so bottling takes place mostly in the towns of either Épernay or Reims.  What visitors to the region see are the caves, which is where the champagne is stored in the bottle while it matures.  It may not sound that interesting until you realize you’re staring at 2,000 bottles of champagne just sitting there in one alcove and then you get a sense of just how amazing it is.

Our tour on Friday was in Épernay and it was to the biggest Champagne house in the region, Moët & Chandon, one of the cornerstone companies in Bernard Arnault’s LVMH.  Also located at the Moët & Chandon house is Dom Perignon, which what we thought we were signed up to see.  Apparently, we were wrong.

You don’t see the production in person at the Champagne houses; instead, a video, this one narrated by the actress Scarlett Johansson and is actually available to watch on their website, tells you a brief history of the house and then of the production of the champagne before ending with a lengthy spiel about how the house’s champagne is so luxurious, it’s associated with the most luxurious events and people; it stands for luxury.  Y’all, we know that if you just want to half-ass it with champagne, you buy someone a bottle of Moët and that if you want to actually go all out for someone, you go for the LVMH brands of either Dom Perignon or my favorite, Krug, which isn’t open to the public.

After the video ended, we proceeded down into the caves to see where the bottles are being aged before being sent around the world to be sold.  All those magnums!  To say I had a an out-of-body experience down there would be a gross understatement.  Let me be perfectly open with y’all and say that in my mind, this is what Heaven looks like.

While on the Moët tour, I did get to see something I’ve wanted to see since first learning about it since November, a Nabuchadnezzar, which is the largest size bottle of Champagne, roughly equivalent to twenty ordinary bottles of champagne.  SPARKY said no.

After downing a few glasses of Moët, the traditional Impérial and then the Rosé Impérial, which I had never before tasted and rather enjoyed, we entered gift shop.  Now, I went into this whole tour planning on purchasing a bottle of Andy Warhol-inspired POP ART 2002 Vintage because I just loved the idea and the colors on those labels were so outrageous that I just had to have one.  Then I realized that I had purchased so many other bottles of wine that I was fast-approaching a limit of some sort and decided that the set of six glasses with the Dom Pérignon logos from each of the six pop art colors would be just fine.

So, after my purchase, we said goodbye to the statue of M. Pérignon and headed a block down the road to lunch at La Grillade.

(The man who stole my heart over 300 years ago by inventing champagne, the monk Dom Pérignon)

La Grillade was so much fun.  First of all, the chef and owner, M. Christophe Bernard does a little bit of everything; he’s part chef, part server, part bartender, part schmoozer and just plain fun.  It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced and y’all would think it’s because maybe the food isn’t so good so he has to do something to get you to have a good time, but in reality, the food was divine!  If memory, and my stomach, serves me correctly, I had duck, which was prepared in the fire place in the dining room and then an ice cream sundae, which was so good!  I know, it’s sad, but the chef recommended it to me personally, so how could I say no?  Since we were in the Champagne region, I decided that only champagne would be drunk so why not have a glass with lunch after just having two at the tasting?  We’re on vacation!  To show that I’m clearly not the only one with that brilliant idea, the mantle of the fireplace in the dining room has eleven very tall vases filled with corks and the name of each month of the year on them.  On the prep table for the dishes cooked in the fireplace, was April’s vase, already on its way to being filled up just two days into the new month:

So glad I could help fill it up!

After lunch, we drove to the nearby city of Reims, which has more than just a history with Champagne.  Reims is actually home to one of the best preserved gothic cathedrals in the world, the UNESCO World Heritage Site Notre-Dame de Reims.  What I found more interesting than its gothic architecture, which doesn’t really do a lot for me, was that this was the cathedral where the Kings of France came to be crowned.  This makes sense though, because if you have to spend all day in one of those get-ups with that two-foot-tall wig on your head, you would need some champagne just to celebrate not blowing over in a breeze!  Just across from the cathedral was a champagne store where I finally got to see a sabre in person!  If only it weren’t 34,000€!  The store’s owner, after I explained to him in French that SPARKY thinks its dangerous and blah, blah, blah something about glass getting in the bottle, me swallowing glass and dying, the owner, who looked not unlike the Agatha Christie-created detective Hercule Poirot, proceeded to explain to me, who then translated for SPARKY, that the pressure inside the bottle is so powerful that when you do in fact break the top off, the pressure forces all of that glass out away from the bottle, making it impossible to re-enter the bottle.  That’s all I needed to hear!  While there, we bought a demi-bottle of Krug since it’s my favorite champagne and it wasn’t possible to tour this trip (it’s only open to actual Krug lovers, which SPARKY and Mother are not; plus, you have to buy a lot of it in order to be considered a Krug lover, which I don’t, yet).  Dinner that night was back in Épernay at Bistrot le 7, located at 7, rue des Berceaux (how fitting).  I think we all had the sole, but the duck tar-tar before hand was excellent.  The evening was a lot of fun and it’s not pretentious, but simple.

Saturday morning arrived and it was onward to Reims to visit Taittinger and Veuve Cliquot before returning to Paris for one final night.  Now, I’m not a Taittinger man myself.  I prefer Veuve, Bollinger, Dom, and mon amour, Krug, but Mother planned this so I just went along with it.  Like Moët, there was a video, but no Scarlett Johansson and a much larger group of people, with children and the parents from Larchmont, so of course they thought their little shits were the greatest things since sliced bread.  Though I do hope those idiot parents realize that their children need to be a lot smarter than they are if the goal is even a mediocre prep school in the city, so sorry.  The visit in the Caves was interesting, but the champagne didn’t do a whole lot for me.  It was just so-so.  I blame the kids.

Between tour, we had a phenomenal last lunch in France at Le Jardin Brasserie on the grounds of Les Crayères hotel.  It was warm enough to sit outdoors, which the restaurant had every single patron doing, and look out onto a private world that makes you forget you’re in a major French city.  Wait, that might have just been the champagne talking.  Mother and I had the Cod, which was so good (oh the butter) with a side of parmesan cheese-coated frites and haricot-verte while SPARKY I think had the salmon, which he said he liked; he eats so quickly that no one has a chance to try anything.  Oh, and of course there was another glass of champagne pour moi!

Following lunch, we headed just down the road to visit the Veuve herself.  Veuve Cliquot is a huge part of why I even wanted to visit the Champagne region.  At the end of last year, I read Tilar Mazzeo’s biography of Barbe-Nicole Ponsardin Cliquot and the champagne house she created with her husband before his death and how she turned it into the multi-million dollar empire it has become today.  “The Widow Cliquot” was what brought me to Reims and I was determined to get the most out of this visit.  the caves, which Mother decided she didn’t need to see, where the grandest of them all, beginning with a grand staircase that was under-lit in Veuve Cliquot orange:

Okay, so maybe it isn’t quite Titanic, but I bet Kate Winslet would have walked down these steps to see Leo.

Even the floors have the Veuve’s seal on them:

Okay, that’s a little gauche, but I’ll let it slide.

Unlike the other houses, which seemed a bit stuffy, Veuve Cliquot was a bit more animated with everything done at the house somehow making its way back to being related to the Veuve.  Even this new tunnel that was dug in 2005 has a painting of the Veuve facing it so that every employee there can be reminded of all of her hard work and brilliant ideas:

I’d call this a tunnel of love, but it leads to booze, which is more important.

The tour of the caves ended with some rather unique features though.

I still have no words to describe this hot mess and I’ve had a week to think about it!

The stairway back up to the tasting room was done in a really neat way because they have listed on every step the years that there have been Vintages champagnes.  I found a 1989 so I guess now I need to get a bottle!

The champagne we tasted at Veuve Cliquot was also unlike the champagne we had at the two other houses since this was not the regular blend, but instead a glass of the 2004 La Grande Dame.  It was the perfect end to the perfect tour.  I bought a towel to wrap around my bottles at home.

One petrol station visit later and it was au revoir, Reims, au revoir, Champagne and bonjour, Paris!  Since we had to be at the airport early in the morning on Sunday, we stayed at the airport Hyatt, which despite being very nice, didn’t even give you free wireless, which I found to be a bit tacky.  But as if I had time to check my email.  Paris awaited so we dropped off our bags and headed back into the city for one last night.  I must say that SPARKY did a good job of driving in Paris, considering that those wild freaks on the motorcycles zip through and don’t pay any attention to anyone or anything in their way.  We headed to Bon Marché’s new food hall, La Grande Epicerie de Paris, which may have been a trip highlight for me!  Dozens of different types of sea salts (they even had citrus-infused sea salt), pâtes galore, desserts, the largest white asparagus any of us had ever seen, and then I saw my love; my favorite chocolate in the world, Cailler.  The first Swiss chocolate company may today be owned by Nestlé, but it’s almost never seen outside the Swiss border so for me, this was such a treat!  Naturally, I bought some.  The food hall may not have the same beauty as Harrod’s infamous one, but it has the feel of a place where you can actually go and see real Parisians buying groceries to make dinner for that night.  It’s not prissy and overdone, but simple and well-designed to suit the needs of the 21st Century shopper.  Even if you don’t have anywhere to cook the food, just walk through and observe all the delicious food that the FDA won’t let us import!

As it was getting late, we headed to get dinner at La Cigale Récamier, which is known for its soufflés.  We only had one for dessert, but it was divine.  After dinner, we barely made it out of the parking garage since our car was so damn big and proceeded to leave Paris.  This is where SPARKY showed his true stupidity.  So while parked at a traffic light, I could see that he had a better view of the Eiffel Tower than I did and so I asked him to take the photo for me with his iPhone.  This is what he gives me:

This isn’t a joke at all and when I asked him why he took a photo of a Paris traffic light, SPARKY honestly said, “Well it was lit up!”  What’s worse is that I know he’s been to the top of the Eiffel Tour before because I schlepped him up there when I was nine!  HOW IN THE HELL DO YOU MISTAKE THE EIFFEL TOUR?

At least he got the Arc de Triomphe right:

When we arrived at the Avis return area, it was closed and we had quite a difficult time returning the car, but we finally did, only to be nearly locked inside one of the terminals, which was closing for the night.  Then, the hotel’s shuttle was nearly twenty minutes late arriving at the airport and so we didn’t get to sleep until very early Sunday morning because everything had to fit in the suitcases!

After a few hours of sleep, Mother, SPARKY, seven bags, and I boarded the shuttle back to Charles de Gualle.  I got them checked in for their flight, said farewell, hopped the shuttle to Terminal 2G, and flew back to Italy exhausted, 5lbs heavier, hemorrhaging money like never before, and very, very happy!

This trip, more than all the others I’ve ever taken in my life, was probably the most rewarding because for the first time abroad, I wasn’t treated like an American visiting France because I used all of the French I learned over the course of the seven years I spent studying it and surprised not only myself, but SPARKY, Mother and a whole lot of French people, who all said that my accent was perfect (which is good to hear, especially since I spent four years getting that to where it is now).  In all honesty, being told that I had a perfect accent and spoke French beautifully by French citizens was without a doubt the highest compliment I have ever received.

Do I think the trip was worth it?  You bet.  Any regrets?  Yes, I should have gotten the bigger box of macarons at Ladurée and the other pair of Tod’s I tried on.  Would I do it all over again tomorrow?  Oh yes indeed.

Of all the friends I had when we sat around my kitchen table that night and talked about what we were going to do when we turned Twenty-one, I’m now the only one who actually carried it out and being able to say that is something I’ll always cherish.  I wouldn’t call this the trip of a lifetime because I’d already been to Paris before this, but it was certainly my favorite trip I’ve taken because for once, I was able to show my parents something that interests me and introduce them to a part of France they would have otherwise never visited.  Yes, we didn’t go to Spain, but that’s okay, because I don’t remember enough Spanish to get by and while it will be some time before we take another family trip to Europe, we’ll get there eventually, just as long as it comes after we see Asia, which is up next.

Until next time…

-JD

It’s Okay That You Just Ate That Much Food Made With Butter, You’re on Vacation in France… Yeah, Not Ten Days of It: Spring Break in France, Part One

When I arrived in Siena, my Italian roommate, Andrea, told me that everyone goes home weighing at least ten pounds more.  I thought that by maintaining my fruit-filled lifestyle combined with bi/tri-weekly running I would be able to keep this from happening.  Well, it turns out that this freak method worked until I left the Prada Boot and flew to France.  If buttermania herself Paula Deen weren’t such a complete hick/utter embarrassment to America by being a perfect example of why we’re looked down upon as nothing but fat freaks, fluent in  French, and able to probably fit into a normal airplane seat, she’d probably be living in France permanently because it’s got to be the only country in the world in which its citizens use as much butter as she does on a daily basis.  Now, while I’m beginning my first diet (there’s a word I never thought I’d ever have to equate with myself) in an attempt to shed the five pounds I managed to gain in France in only ten days, allow me to tell y’all how Spring Break 2011 went.

So in order to make my 10h10 flight from Florence to Paris, I had to wake up at the LOVELY hour of 4h30 since I’m slow in the morning and because my bus to Florence left at 6h20 (first one of the day), followed by another bus to the airport (longest twenty minutes of my life).  Then, I checked the Italian with the bag and proceeded to spend the next ten days acting as an unpaid translator for Mother and our own Clark W. Griswold (yes, SPARKY came).  Landing at Charles de Gaulle, I rather hoped I’d get to see the stunning Terminal 2E or 2F, but no, instead, I, along with all the other Air France passengers arriving from EU-zone nations that don’t require passport control, were taken to the bizarre-looking Terminal 2G.  To be honest, it looks like a make-shift building that was constructed with the intent to be torn down in a week.  The windows are tinted pink, blue or yellow; it’s just a freaky place.  Oh, and did I mention you have to take a bus to get to the rest of the airport?  Of course, I was actually in a surprisingly good mood considering that I had only managed to get two and a half hours of sleep and just spent nearly six hours getting to Paris.  I was in this surprisingly good mood obviously because I was in Paris!  I was so excited that I nearly screamed when I saw the Arc de Triomphe!  It looks great eleven years after I last saw it.

So Mother had told me that she was thinking about taking a taxi to our hotel, which even our hotel’s concierge said was a stupid thing to do since it would cost at least 65€.  Thankfully, she took my advice and after enjoying the perks of the Air France Arrivals lounge, boarded a «Les Cars-Air France» bus headed to the city.  I arrived a few hours later and met her in front of our absolutely charming hotel.  Instead of going for one of the horribly over-priced hotels like the George V (not that I didn’t want to stay there, but I can wait until I can expense the 1,500€ a night room), we stayed at a little place in the 3rd Arrondissement about which Jean told us called Pavillon de la Reine.  Aside from being in such a charming part of Paris that is separated from the freaky, touristy/overpriced parts of the city, the hotel staff and everyone was just so friendly.  Even the lady at breakfast was so sweet and remembered the way Mother took her coffee after only one day!

So that Friday was spent largely just strolling around the 5th.  Since we’re fast-approaching Easter, all the chocolate stores are displaying some version of eggs, but nothing compared to the stunning window display that Patrick Roger had in his boutiques all over Paris:

Now as if I could pass that up so 7€ later, I was in heaven!  If only all brown eggs could be real egg shells (oops, I ate it) that are filled with chocolate praline!  We also saw the new Hermès near Bon Marché, which I must say is stunning and showcases the Hermès furniture collection so well, but like the Prada in SoHo, you don’t go there to buy anything.  The window display was also quite amazing:

Now imagine having that as a child!  Dinner Friday night wasn’t memorable, but Saturday, oh Saturday.

So, upon realizing that we slept through our alarms and didn’t wake up until 11h13, my first and only instant reaction was to say, «Oh my gosh!  We missed breakfast!» (it’s all about the important things in life)  Thankfully, the hotel sent it up at no extra charge!  So before I explain what happened that day, let me preface this by saying that I sold SPARKY on this trip by promising him that there would be little to no shopping.  Oops!  So I haven’t done any sort of self-indulging that I usually do at least once a month and that hasn’t happened since January and so I was desperate to blow my money and fast and as if my mother’s going to object.  So anyone who knows me well enough knows that I am in love with my light-brown leather Tod’s Brooklyn Moccasins to the point that I have bought a new pair each year for the past four years almost as they only last a year of hell with me.  Well, that was until  they stopped making them and I couldn’t get any new pairs at any of the outlets.  I was so desperate that I even tried to go retail for once!  Alas, my current pair’s time expired in August and they’re barely holding up today.  Well, I didn’t get a new pair of those, but mother (only child, just remember that; also, imagine if I had been the Caroline they were originally hoping for!) got me my first pair of suede shoes.  Sadly, they’re not blue, but they’re a variant of the Chuka shoe, which is favored by polo players (as if I’m one of those bros).  Because of the extreme wear and tear I put on my shoes, I opted for the Brooklyn-style of those as well because it has a rubber sole and lasts a lot longer.

Then, as Jean would say, we went across the street to attend Mass.  Where do we go to pray?  That’s easy, the Hermès flagship store.  Now, this was probably the WORST decision of my life to enter this store considering the forest fire burning in my wallet.  After buying Grace a little something for her birthday (she bought me shoes that say Screw You on them so it’s the least I could do), I bought the one thing I went in knowing I was going to buy, a new bow tie, which is green and just so not something I would ordinarily buy.  Then, I told Mother that I just wanted to LOOK at belts and that there was no way in hell I could justify spending so much money on something that expensive at this time in my life.  Well… the buckle matches my watch band’s buckle and it looked so nice in the display and even nicer around my waist, then the sales lady was so sweet and she and Mother thought it looked so nice on me, and then Mother said the one thing that just sold me, «It’s so gorgeous and you have to get it.»  Thank you, Mother for offering your credit card?  «Oh no, you’re paying for that one.»  I get that it’s outrageous for a parent to spoil a child with an Hermès belt (which I didn’t originally plan to buy), but when the parent goes on about how gorgeous it is, well you kind of expect they’d at least contribute to its purchase.  I’m now paying SPARKY in installments for my 22nd Birthday Present to myself.  I still can’t justify buying it, but I did.  Grace, who never tells me I shouldn’t buy something unless it’s truly hideous, said that I was at the Hermès flagship and that I needed to buy something worthy of saying I got something there.  I love that she can always tell me why it’s okay!  Thankfully, it doesn’t have that big H on it like everyone who just buys that belt because it’s the cheapest one they sell.  You should only buy that one if you don’t take it seriously, which only a few people I know can do.

When we emerged from the cathedral with our wallets much lighter thanks to our very generous confession plate donations, it was pouring down rain, which was unexpected for Saturday.  So, as always, I had to put our purchases’s well-being ahead of my own and get soaked while running to the nearest taxi stand.  We got side-tracked at the best place though, Ladurée.  Since it was pouring down rain and cabs were not available at all, we figured what’s wrong with lunching at 17h0.  However, there was a line to get in and the incompetent moron manning the door refused to extend the awnings so the patrons wouldn’t continue to be soaked to death because, «They’re only for the sun.»  This lead us to buy overpriced umbrellas at the news stand and the following photo to be taken by Mother because it was apparently funny:

Thanks, mommy!  Love you so much!  Y’all can’t see this, but my ENTIRE back was drenched!

Lunch at Ladurée was heavenly!  Mother had the Smoked Salmon Sandwich while I opted for the Ladurée Club Sandwich, which were both out of this world.  That entire meal was such a daze that for one of the few times in my life, I don’t know what I had to eat for dessert!  Don’t worry, though, I didn’t leave empty-handed:

The box went back to America empty.  It was so ornate that I just couldn’t bear to throw it out.  Saturday night was supposed to be spent dining at Les Papilles, a little bistro in the 5th, but there was a slight problem because the new food trend in Paris seems to be having menus that change nightly depending on what’s fresh that day and well, it was the one thing Mother won’t eat: pork.  Saturday night’s dinner was at a little café and again, not memorable.

Sunday, the one day of the week when the stores are closed and we can’t do any more damage.  We began cultural day by going to the most culturally important place in Paris: the flee market!  Unlike normal flee markets, the Paris one is more of a giant antique furniture hub and well, we figured that considering past success (our dining room chandelier) we’ve had there, why not go back.  It was almost depressing to see the limited quality and the high amount of tourist traffic there now.  Apparently, people need to hire guides to take them in search of the perfect antiques.  I guess Mother counts as a guide since she does hold a degree from RISD, but at least I didn’t have to pay her an hourly rate to show me things she’d schlep me to see anyway.  So we left and headed over to the 6th for as about as American of a meal as I will have until May.  Welcome to Ralph’s, the very hyped restaurant opened by Ralph Lauren this past year in his new, breathtaking store on the Boulevard Saint-Germain.  The space was stunning.  So Ralph Lauren, with the paintings and the animal heads and the hints of the English country manner that grace the New York flagship Rhinelander Mansion.  The staff was so attentive and friendly.  Yet, that wasn’t enough to help the food.  It was good, not great, just good.  Personally, I wouldn’t make a special trip to eat there because the food is nothing like that at Lifshitz’s Rugby Café in Georgetown, which is where they make the BEST hamburgers!

We left Ralph Lauren and headed for the Musée d’Orsay, which we prefer so much more than the Louvre, which has just too much to see.  Besides, I’ve seen the Joconde before so no need to wait in that freak crowd to see it again.  Note, if you’re a student studying abroad in Europe, show your Visa/Student ID from your European school and you can get in for free.  Mother had to pay 8€ for herself.  After the museum closed, we ended up across the street at the most surprisingly interesting museum.  It was the Musée de la Légion d’Honneur and I urge everyone to visit it!  First off, it’s free to everyone so no one can complain that it’s too expensive.  Then, in addition to seeing the medals that French Heads of State have had made for them over the centuries (Kings, Napoleon, etc…) but also the hundreds of medals that France has received from the Heads of State of other countries, which was truly fascinating.  Mother and I are both sad we didn’t have time to see the whole museum as they were closing, but it was certainly a highlight of the trip.

So Mother wanted to see some hotel that used to be Napoleon’s brother’s home or something like that and we looked at the map and it looked walkable.  It was the longest mile and a half of my life!  Plus, we ran into Mr. Jefferson:

Look at that pose!

Sunday night brought the best meal of the trip, courtesy of our concierge, Jonathan, an English ex-pat now living in Paris.  He sent us to one of his favorite little places after I explained we didn’t need English menus and he dropped the tacky restaurants that they send tourists.  This restaurant was called Fish la Boissonnerie and it’s located in the 6th.  In keeping with the new movement in food in Paris, it too only offers what’s fresh that day, but it was the best cod I’ve ever had in my entire life.  We couldn’t stop talking about that meal for the rest of the trip!  If you’re going to Paris, TRUST ME ON THIS ONE!  GO!  You will not be disappointed.  Now, I will be disappointed if I can’t get a reservation next time I’m in Paris because of all the publicity I’m giving it, but I’m not too worried.

Monday meant it was our final day in Paris so we started off going to the Galerie Vivienne, which is this neat little arcade that just has boutiques and small cafés.  It was very relaxing to say the least.  I snapped this photo while there:

Then, I saw this:

In case y’all don’t know, Le Grand Colbert is where Jack Nicholson and Diane Keaton reconnect at the end of Something’s Gotta Give, which is one of my all-tiem favorite movies!

Following that fun stop, we moved on to lunch at Baccarat’s Cristal Room.  Don’t go for lunch.  The food, aside from being insanely expensive, is too heavy for lunch and much better suited for dinner.  The space, though, is out of this world.  Where there should be ornate portraits now rest empty picture frames that go from floor to ceiling with the bare brick behind them exposed, the Baccarat everything, the attentive staff; don’t get me wrong, it was delicious, but just too rich!  We saw the museum there and then the shop (didn’t buy anything) before doing a marathon shopping dash for Mother.  We celebrated a great trip to Paris by having drinks at George V’s bar and then a visit to the speciality food store, Hédiard.  Dinner was at this fun seafood restaurant two blocks from our hotel named Le bar à Huîtres.  My platter of clams camed was served with dry ice in the middle.  It was so much fun.  Also, they had olive oil that is in a perfume bottle and you spritz it on your food.  That was the highlight of the night, me spritzing my food with olive oil.

That’s all for tonight, but tomorrow, y’all can find out what happened once our trip went from classy to SPARKY in just a matter of hours because our very own Clark Griswold arrived and if he doesn’t look like an American!  Until then…

-JD

I Saved a Family from India from the Tipsy Tower in Pisa

And here’s the picture to prove it:

I figured that if I don’t save them, who else is going to answer the phones when I call tech support?  Yes, I know that is a horrible and racist thing to say, but y’all know you were thinking it!  Don’t act all high and mighty.

So here’s the deal on Pisa in as much detail as I can possibly provide: you go at dawn, make sure you’re the first person in line for that tower or don’t bother buying your 15 € per person ticket because your otherwise waiting about two hours for an open tour (I just checked and you and you can buy your tickets for the Tower online).  Side note: I was told by six of the eight girls who also went to Pisa on Saturday that they couldn’t believe I would ever waste that much money on something like that; did I say anything when they overpaid for all those tour guide restaurants?  No!  Besides, it’s a once in a life time thing so why shouldn’t I take advantage of this?

After you either you get a ticket for a tour that starts in thirty minutes or decide it’s not worth waiting around for two hours to climb to the top, break through the moving Great Wall of China (with matching jackets and shoes) and enter the Duomo (which is free).  Spend about ten minutes in there and manage to slip on the marble floor from laughing about saying “Jesus Christ” in church and have another moving Great Wall of China just stare at you with that “we’re a superior race” gaze.

Then, you get the hell out of the Duomo before more shame is brought upon you/your nation, skip the Baptistry (it didn’t look worth its price), take the photo (or two) and expect to have other people in the photo, exit stage left, walk past the Africans trying to sell you fake watches and Gucci wallets you don’t want, past the guys selling all that hazarai you don’t need like a two-foot-tall miniature Tower of Pisa (don’t waste your luggage space or weight limit on something like that; instead, you can take some of my wine home for me) until you reach Via Giosuè Carducci.  Turn right down that street and shop, eat decent food, walk down any one of the little side Vias for an amazing, relatively priced lunch.  I ate a lovely lunch at a little place whose name I can’t remember on the Via D. Cavalca just off the Piazza Vettovaglie.  After lunch is done, run as fast as you can for the Pisa train station and pray you never have to return.  Sadly, I have to return so I can tour the tower; I’ll bring the Kindle.

Below are some of my soon-to-be- award-winning photos (anyone want to give me an award so they can become award-winning photos?) from Pisa and get ready because Lucca, probably my favorite place in Italy thus far, is up next.  Until then…

JD

If you had to stand for this many centuries so poorly dressed college students from America and massive tour groups from Asia could take your photo and then get the hell out of town, you’d be trying to go to bed too.

Well at least it wasn’t termite damage that did this building in!

Let’s just call it artsy and move on.

Oh marzipan!

Paula Deen, they’re ready for ya!

Jump for joy when you make it back here because that means you survived Pisa!  Now buy something strong to drink in the bar inside the station and don’t sleep through your stop!

It’s Official, I am my Grandmother’s Child

Why you ask?  Well it’s simple, because like her, the first place I went after arriving in Siena was a supermarket.  The Conad grocery store right near my apartment here is one floor down from the street level into a whole new world:

I feel you can learn so much about a culture from the foods they eat and I spent about an hour just walking through the store to see everything they sell.  From the most colorful fruits and vegetables I have ever seen to an endless array of pasta and sauces, pizza kits, jams and preserves with names that just sound so glamorous.

The cheeses come from all over Italy, and Europe with names that make you just want to buy them so you can say, “I just bought some Pecorino di Pienza Stagionato cheese.”  Prepared foods make the ones sold back in the States look like mystery meat and the breads, oh the breads.  I’m gonna get so fat here.  Then, there are the American products: French’s mustard, Hunt’s Ketchup, Philadelphia Cream Cheese, and Activia among others sat there while their European counterparts were scooped up because of what I imagine are better ingredients and let’s be honest, Hunt’s Ketchup is kind of nasty and NO ONE BUYS ACTIVIA, PERIOD!

The meats and seafood are so fresh and just make me want to open a restaurant so I can serve squid and octopus; the fish still have eyes they’re so fresh!  Even the frozen seafood looks better than whatever the Gordon’s Fisherman products could ever hope to look like!  Juices go well beyond the basic orange and grapefruit here.  Pear, apricot, blueberry, and peach are only some of the types I found while perusing the aisles.  So far, the apricot is beyond delicious; it’s naturally sweet from the fruit with just a hint of sourness and I’m completely hooked.  Wine is cheap and seems to mostly be from the Tuscany region.  Among the more unique items there was this:

That is a hamburger made with prosciutto and must taste either disgusting or amazing, I can’t decide.  Finally, I have found Italy’s answer to Paula Deen, Cristina Lunardini:

Do y’all know how much butter is in one of those little bombolinis?  I don’t either, and since I enjoy eating them, I don’t want to know.  That’s all for now from Siena, but until next time…

-JD

Meg Got Food Poisoning Because She Didn’t Wash the Celery!

Yes, my screw-up partner in crime, Margaret Jean, got food poisoning from eating celery she didn’t wash.  We both agreed that the outcome was too sad to be from celery; now if it had been swine flu… well that would have been more impressive.

So this weekend, I returned home for Yom Kippur, the Jewish day of atonement, which involves fasting for a lovely period of twenty-four hours.  It was a treat as well, because I got to see my dear friend, Carra, Friday night as she was in town for services as well.  She also has the new iPod Touch and we’re going to try out the FaceTime feature sometime this week.  Mother and I spent the whole time in temple wondering why our holidays can’t be as fun as gentile holidays, with child molesters in  red suits, bunnies that lay chocolate eggs (that are sometimes filled with peanut butter, so in case anyone is listening, I like those the best!), a ham or some other sacrificial delicacy that is sometimes topped with a pineapple slice (never understood that, but they don’t get Jewish humor, so it’s a wash), all those presents, and of course, Jesus!  Robin Williams describes the gentile messiah best:

While neither mother nor Skinny Mao could make it until sundown on Saturday; my friend Sydney (a much better Jew) didn’t make past 15h30, while I made it ten minutes past sundown.  While it may not sound that impressive, when you can’t eat for twenty-four hours, call me and see if I show any compassion.  I probably lost 5lbs just on that one day.  As I told Justin one time, if you ever want to go on a diet, just become a Jew.  Meanwhile, I’m reading the prayer book and it says that I have to apologize for stoning people.  Isn’t that a bit dated?  I mean today, stoning to Jews really means smoking a joint.  I feel that one just needs to be removed because I don’t know of too many places where we throw stones at people.  Just a thought.

So on the drive home, Andrew, who doesn’t believe in fasting because otherwise he’ll pass out after about twenty minutes, sends me this photo of his dinner:

I just found it so funny that someone who eats such great food in New York is eating fried chicken, mashed potatoes, beans, and a biscuit for dinner in Durham.  Andrew also told me how I can determine what my name is in «socialite terms».  My socialite name would be Stanton Tyler Vanderbilt, which is very respectable so long as I get full access to the Biltmore Estate.  Andrew’s name translates to Paul Topper Santo Domingo, which is a good thing because the Santo Domingo family is LOADED!  Grace would be Blakeley Bitsy Spencer, which would make us relatives since that’s my grandmother’s maiden name.  Finally, Justin’s socialite name would be Stanton Dexter Spencer, also making me relatives with him.

Speak of Justin, he started working at a jewelry store this week.  His qualification for working there: I said he was the so Jewish that he might as well have a Bar Mitzvah.  Just remember Justin, if this pays off, the next thing you have to start saying is “I know a guy on 47th Street who can get you a great price.”  Plus, add the beard, the curly hair, the all-black outfit complete with black trench coat (it’s a little Columbine, I’m just saying), and a Brooklyn accent and you’ll fit in perfectly.  By the way, I’d like to go ahead and wish Justin a Happy Birthday since his big day will have come and gone by next Monday.  Perhaps you could send a photo of you with the present I sent you.

Grace has become rather ill this weekend and for a while was unable to even speak.  This following a rather hysterical evening last week when Grace, Annie, Annie’s roommate, Sarah, Rachel, our friend Abby, Isabelle, and I all went out to celebrate Rachel’s Twenty-First Birthday.  Grace and I have concluded that I need to produce a manual providing people who don’t know me that well (Sarah) with some basic warnings, safety instructions, a Yiddish-English phrasebook, and more technical data than my 500+ page Psychology book!

Finally this evening, I’d like to mention that in the coming weeks, there will be a new segment appearing on Thursdays in which I will follow a new person every Saturday night to see where he/she goes, what he/she does, with whom he/she hooks up, and where he/she ends up by the end of the night.  It’s still in the final planning stages, but expect the first Saturday Night Out With… to premiere on Thursday, the 7th of October.  And I would like to thank my two guinea pigs for this in advance.  I’m off to read myself to sleep, so until next time…

-JD

PS: Here is a look at the Basil eggs this week: