Polo: A Spectator Sport That Suits My Lifestyle

A few weeks ago, as I waited for my valise at baggage claim in Palm Beach, I saw the ad for the weekly polo matches that take place in Wellington and thought that maybe, after all these years, it was time to see what Grace has been talking about for so long.

So that Sunday, I left Palm Beach after being there four days and ventured to the land-side Palm Beach offshoot, Wellington.  This little gem about thirty minutes from the Breakers between the hellish nightmare of those gated communities and strip malls filled with bad chain restaurants and an awful TJ Maxx in West Palm Beach and the swamp-filled fun fest that is the Everglades is the self-proclaimed horse capital of the world.  The distance (and exposure to really grotesque architecture) aside, Wellington is a perfectly wonderful place.

The planners of its gated communities decided that golf courses were too Boca for such an equine area, so they replaced the fairways and sand traps with polo fields and stables.  And you thought a precocious twelve year-old at golf camp on summer whacking a golf ball going into your living room window was bad; imagine the mess that a polo ball makes when that same  kid sends one through the window after hitting it with that mallet!  All I can say about that is, well… you’re the idiot who volunteered to live on a polo field.

Anyway, aside from these gated polo communities, Wellington is home to the world-famous Palm Beach International Equestrian Festival, which is so much nicer than the dumps Grace used to go for horse shows. But I wasn’t there to view faux-Italian architecture or to find a horseback-riding wife.  No, I was there for polo.

It’s been called the sport of kings, and rightfully so.  It’s expensive beyond belief (those horses don’t come cheap, you know), potentially dangerous, can only be played in spectacular settings like the Great Windsor Park at Windsor Castle or on snow in St. Moritz.  Oh yeah, and did I mention that it’s actually played by some members of royalty?  That and one of the few loves of Grace’s life, Nacho Figueras.  Polo is so much more than the logo on the shirt that made Ralph Lipchitz Ralph Lauren.  It’s given us the chukka, the most outrageous hat since Oddjob’s bowler hat and well, the polo shirt.  To put it quite simply, polo is a lifestyle, and it’s a lifestyle I very much enjoy.

Now I went to my first polo match at the International Polo Club of Palm Beach thinking that it would be just like that scene in the original Thomas Crown Affair with Steve McQueen and Faye Dunaway.  Aside from the addition of a “grandstand” that makes the Rollins grandstand on the soccer field look big and more corporate sponsorship, it kind of was just like the movie:

The few tailgaters at the match were clearly doing something right with their bottles of champagne (which I quickly discovered was the unofficial official drink of polo), real linens and actual cutlery, china and crystal while the rest of us non-members were seated on benches literally two feet from the field.  Members were seated behind us mere mortals in the small, more luxurious viewing stand that offers them a much better view of the playing field.  But so what it wasn’t that easy to watch what was happening throughout the match.  It’s so much more about the experience of being there.

So there I was in my Stubbs and while the match was taking place, I began looking around the field and there were the most tasteful corporate sponsor signs I’ve ever seen.  Instead of the Home Depot, Bud Light and Dodge ads, there were tasteful signs for Aston Martin, Piaget (who also sponsors the home team), the Four Seasons of Palm Beach, and Veuve Clicquot.  It was like a dream come true, only it kept getting better.

After the first three of the six chukkers, it was time for the time-honored polo tradition called divot stomping.  As an incentive to get us all out on the field, though, the wonderful folks at the International Polo Club lured us all out there with champagne!  That’s right, THEY GIVE YOU FREE CHAMPAGNE JSUT FOR WALKING OUT ON A FIELD.  Just make sure to mind the horse manure, though.

It’s clear that the level of “enthusiasm,” which is a word I use very loosely as this is the same crowd that does the golf clap, dips a little during the final three chukkers but it was nonetheless entertaining.  The announcers reminded me of those local news sports anchors with the random jokes that make sense to only them.  That said, they made the whole game lively.

What was most surprising was that for a sport that on the outside seem so pretentious, it didn’t really seem that way at all.  In fact, it was very relaxed and fun and something I think everyone should give a shot.  Heart-racing it is not.  It will not have y’all screaming and crying during the last 30 seconds (college football) because it does move at a slower pace as there are men on horses with sticks and things stay in the same little area for long periods of time.  But there are moments when you wonder if he’s gonna get that ball into the goal and they can get Muffy to put her G&T down and watch with some intensity to see if the home team Piaget will score that goal.

If y’all would like to see what all the WASPy excitement is about, then head out to the International Polo Club of Palm Beach in Wellington.

For the 2013 season, matches open to the public will be played every Sunday through April 21st.  Matches start at 15h0 and it’s $5 to park and $30 for a seat on a wooden bench down in front of the “grandstand,” just a few steps from the action on the field.  And if y’all choose to go, just remember that this is the satellite branch of Palm Beach so casual dressing is really an oxford and colored shorts.  Now if you want to get a  better view, you have to either be a member of the club or you can try and get invited to join the club.  If anyone who belongs is reading this, please feel free to contact me in the comments section below because I would LOVE to join!

In conclusion, Grace, I’m so sorry I waited so long to finally go to a polo match because it was a life-changing event.  I may not entierly understand how it’s played yet, but I’ll get it, eventually.

Until next time…

JD

Grace and I Revisited Our Youth Last Weekend

It was better in the 90s.

Grace and I realized that it was more fun to be a child in the 90s than today when we decided to return to a place where we spent much of our summers: Busch Gardens.  Well apparently, they decided to make some changes that we didn’t like, specifically regarding nostalgic rides that were probably too dangerous anyway.  They’ve also added some Sesame World something that just… it’s not the same.  Plus, because people kept taking photos of their ride photos with their mobiles, it appears that Busch Gardens is retaliating by eliminating the photos entirely.

That said, the magic was still there in New France where the Trapper’s Smokehouse, despite being enlarged from its original size, still has the best ribs on earth!  Yes, I know that I just said that the ribs at a theme park are the best I’ve ever had, but it’s kind of true.  I don’t know what they do to those ribs, but they rock my world and I spent two days salivating over just the thought of them.  Grace, being the team player that she is, joined me in polishing off a few spare ribs which is a big deal because I’m the only guy with whom Grace will eat ribs.  Seeing as we each grabbed about four moist towelettes, there is no photographic evidence that we were there.  The $23.39 charge on my credit card is the only proof I was there, and that’s the way it should be!

In addition to avoiding a Fabio moment on Apollo’s Chariot, the most enjoyable moment of the evening (yes, we were smart and went at 18h0 on the Friday before Memorial Day because people with little children had already left to go home and people who had been there since the park opened at 10 were exhausted and not riding the major attractions (aka: the roller coasters) so it was just us and Middle School bands) was by far as we were on the Griffon, the tallest, most enjoyable roller coaster at the park.  before dropping you 205 ft at a 90° angle while going 75mph, you’re treated to this most serene view of the park, the adjacent Anheuser Busch brewery, Williamsburg, and the James River.  It was during this ten-second little pause that gave Grace way too much pleasure because I went from talking about how peaceful it was up there and asking what a certain ride was that I had never before seen to screaming my little tuchus off like it’s no one’s business without missing a beat.  She just loved the transition from serenity to insanity.  I was more highly entertained when we went on the 3D attraction Curse of DarKastle, a ride which had graphics and special effects that were SO pre-Avatar, Grace was actually terrified and holding on to me as if this was real!  It was just one of the many reasons why I’m so glad I went to the “Most Beautiful Theme Park in America” with Grace!  Plus, we got to judge the poor decisions made by families who came in matching teeshirts they had made specifically for their trip.

Meanwhile, these past few weeks have been interesting.  Andrew and Justin have graduated from college and Andrew is already gainfully employed.  Unlike Justin, who did the full graduation bit, Andrew skipped the Duke graduation, which I can say from first-hand experience is a a full on spectacle.  On the football field, they build miniature Duke buildings with scaffolding and large printed images that creates this:

I’m so glad I attend a school that doesn’t have to do that.

Justin’s graduation was more… normal, taking place in the gymnasium at Rollins that Justin and I got class credit for learning how to fence.  Justin’s parents came down for the ceremony and nearly drove him insane after four days, so it basically all went according to plan.  Though I must say, the male graduates from Rollins are the most well-dressed graduates.

The female graduates always try to look perfect regardless of where you go, but at every other school, the majority of the male graduates either look okay, drunk, or drunk and high (hence they’re wearing shorts, tee-shirts and sandals) with only a few exceptions.  At Rollins, however, the daily fashion show that the students unintentionally put on as they appear to be heading to or from classes seems to be elevated to new heights with guys dressed sharper than ever and sporting the most entertaining Stubbs & Wootton shoes.  I’d be lying right now if I said I didn’t miss the sheer entertainment value of that school.

Back to Justin, his laziness is “studying” for the LSATs while still trying to perfect that perfect George Hamilton orange glow, which is different from Snooki orange because, among countless reasons, it can hold its liquor.  Unfortunately, Justin now has to drive to the pool/beach area at Rollins since he’s moved further into the bowels of Winter Park.  But it’s not all bad news because finally, after years of holding out, Justin bought a television.  However, back to the bad news, he refuses to get cable/satellite.  It’s for watching movies because apparently, television is too lowbrow for him.

At the sam time, digital images are no longer good enough for Justin, who, in the last six months, has purchased three old-fashioned film cameras.  Interestingly, The New York Times today wrote about the resurgence of the old-fashioned medium over the last few years, which unfortunately didn’t come soon enough to save Kodak from bankruptcy earlier this year.

Justin, meanwhile, is determined to do his part to help this grass roots movement by starting a website to showcase his work while also documenting his entry into medium format photography.  For those of you as confused as I am, medium format photography is some fancy form of photography that thanks to Photoshop and Instagram, is no longer necessary.  He claims that this is wrong because the image quality is better than even the most expensive Hasselblad camera.  All I know is that is my Leica takes a great image, even if it decides whether or not it wants to take the photo I want.

That said, the site, which he is keen to point out is still in beta, does have one of my favorite images that Justin has taken since we met.  It’s of a headless mannequin in a store window in Winter Park that makes the headless horseman look so boring.  I normally don’t like paisley, but in the black and white image, it just looks so glamorous and so effortless.  It’s also SO something Justin would buy, which is really why I like the photo!  The photos are all very Justin in that they require one to really think about each image which shows the seriousness of Justin’s love for photography that I’ll never have because I simply see them as a way to capture an image for when I’m old and can’t remember a damn thing!  I just hope he doesn’t put those bad photos of me on there.

Meanwhile, back in the land of Jefferson, it’s been a painful month with finals, papers and little rest for the weary.  Unfortunately, the University of Virginia won’t let me graduate until August after I finish two final courses so I’ll get to walk next May, which is fine because most of the people with whom I’ve become friends here in Charlottesville will be graduating next year anyway.  The week leading up to graduation weekend, my friends Hannah and Lindsay came over and we celebrated the end of the semester in style by making pizzas and then sabering a bottle Veuve!  It was so much fun and we just had the best time.

Forgive me, but it’s been a really long time since I’ve made pizza dough from scratch so they didn’t turn out as well as they should have.  As for the Veuve, well Hannah got the bottle, as is the case with all but the first bottle I sabered.  I think it makes for a fun party gift.

The fun continued that Friday when I began my drive up to Baltimore for the Preakness.  Unlike Mother, who along with my grandfather, spent six hours in traffic on the Beltway and other DC metro area highways, I had the most relaxing drive to Baltimore I’ve ever had in my entire life!  I took Route 29 from Charlottesville up to the DC area, making a stop in Lindsay’s hometown of Haymarket where I unexpectedly visited one of Lindsay’s favorite places, Pickle Bob’s, an ice cream place whose specialty is called a Pickle Bob which is half soft serve milkshake and half soft serve sunday in cup topped with a mountain of whipped cream and the necessary maraschino cherry.  It was my idea of nirvana because in addition to loving soft serve in ways that shouldn’t be possible (at Rollins, I spent a ton of the money on my meal plan on soft serve) and I live for a good milkshake so the fact that they were able to combine both in the same cup is absolutely brilliant!  And here I thought I would only want to visit Haymarket to see Lindsay.

Following this most enjoyable break in the drive, I then ended up deciding not to take the Beltway, but instead to take a ferry from Leesburg across the Potomac to the actual Maryland countryside.  It was amazing!  The historic White’s Ferry is actually the last ferry still crossing the Potomac River and though it looks rather rickety and ready to take on water if the waves get even a tad bit rough, it was fine and so well organized.  They take your money once you’ve been directed onto the ferry and then within a flash, you’re on the move and before you blink, it’s over and you’re in Maryland, a state that takes much better care of its roads than Virginia.

The highlight of the weekend, though, was the Preakness.  Now, I’ve been to enough Preakness races to know the difference between just a normal race when the winner wins by a long shot and then a race like that Saturday when it’s neck and neck right up to the very last second.  I mean that was an absolutely stunning race!  But let’s be honest, how could you not want a horse named “I’ll Have Another” to win?  That is such a fantastic name and, according to the drunk seated next to me at the race, this horse performs better the longer distances it has to go and with the Belmont next weekend being the longest track of the three races in the Triple Crown, we really might have a chance at having the first winner since Affirmed in 1978.

Alas, Summer is here and though much has happened already, we’ve got thirteen weeks until Labor Day, which means I’ve got thirteen weeks to wear my off-white, white pants without staining them!  Until next time…

JD

Dorothy Clicked Her Heels to Get Home. I Called Amtrak and Took the Auto Train

First of all, greetings from the pool in Palm Beach. Let me tell y’all, not only does it beat not having that stupid tree to disassemble and then toss, I love that it’s 82°F right now as I begin writing this!

Now, I also love that Auto Train!  This year, I traveled “economy” without a cabin and it was quite a different experience!  Unlike last year where I had the privacy of my own cabin and a bed to sleep on while we zipped our way through the South, I spent my evening next to a Cuban-American, who no doubt swam the 90 miles from Fidel-Land (an amusement park closed to Americans since 1962) to Miami back during the Johnson Administration.  The man took up half my seat, which was fine because I managed to read nearly every magazine I brought with me on the train (all nine of them).  Plus, I met some fellow Wahoos at dinner, which was pretty exciting since when I was at Rollins, I would have to spend 20 minutes explaining where Rollins was to people before we could move on.  Y’all, I had never been so excited to see a palm tree in my entire life to the point that when I disembarked the train in Sanford, I took the following photo:

It was 80°F, so I’m excused.  This year, I decided that before heading down to South Florida, I’d spend a little time in Winter Park, so naturally I stayed with Justin, which was so much fun.  Justin lives in a most unique one-bedroom apartment not far from his alma mater, Rollins, where we exchanged gifts (he gave me “Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim” by David Sedaris, which is great because I need a non-Kindle book every now and then.  I gave him an obscene number of unworn shirts that were all the wrong size, and he accepted them gladly, so nobody needs to give me any grief for admitting to re-gifting!  It was either him or Goodwill, and the Goodwill in Palm Beach wouldn’t take Brooks Brothers seriously enough!

Following the “house tour” and gift exchange, we headed off to Park Avenue where we lunched at Barnie’s CoffeeKitchen, which has completely redone itself in an attempt to mirror Pain du Quotidien and isn’t half bad.  We then strolled up and down the Avenue looking into all of the little stores before heading back to Justin’s to change for dinner at old favorite, Luma.  We did, however, have dessert at an amazing new restaurant called Prato, which I’ve just learned is owned by the same people who own Luma.  We tried so hard to get in, but clearly we’re not important enough for them.  Divas!

Sunday morning was spent brunching at the Eola Wine Company, which we could never frequent when I was at Rollins due to the fact that it’s a wine bar and we were under 21 at the time.  Brunch was delicious, with both us having the Lox.  I had a mimosa, since that is what one drinks at brunch, while Justin, who feels anything involving champagne or wine to be emasculating for some bizarre and  unknown reason, opted for an Austrian beer.  The visit, although short, was great fun and I’m so glad I was able to see Justin for an extended period of time , seeing as our last encounter was for dinner in New York four months earlier.

Well, three hours of I-95 later, I arrived at my idea of heaven, Palm Beach!  I don’t know if it’s the air, the Waspyness, the fact that our Publix offers valet parking, getting to walk on the beach every morning, or knowing that it’s not Boca, but Palm Beach is without question my sanctuary; it is the only place where I forget what day of the week it is.  I’ve never gotten work done here and it’s as if time seems to stand still for me, which, given the hectic life I generally lead, is a welcome thing.  My earliest memory is of this island and it’s the most special place on earth if you ask me.

Since arriving in paradise, I’ve done a lot of nothing, which has been terrific!  I get up at 7 for either a walk on the beach or a run on the bike path, spend the rest of the day trying to read the eight books I brought with me, but unlike years past when I could do this poolside with only Brooklyn accents interrupting the birds, our building has been invaded by workmen who jackhammer from 9-5 every day! Our balcony has been commandeered by our building as they attempt to stage an invasion not seen since Operation Barbarossa in World War II.  And just like the Nazis, the construction company redoing our balconies didn’t really think about what would happen after they started.  Ah the joys of home ownership!

Meanwhile, I’ve spent a great deal of time at the movies this past week, seeing Sherlock Holmes, Young Adult and Mission Impossible IV, which were all great movies, but of the three, I found Mission Impossible to be the most captivating because for some reason, little Tom Cruise makes an entertaining movie, and judging by the ending, there’s going to be another movie.  Though, I don’t know if anyone, myself included, is going to believe that an over 50 Tom Cruise is going to perform all those stunts because once you hit 50, the back goes nuts, the hair officially goes, you’re blind as a bat, can’t run nearly as fast as you could when you were 30, and most likely arthritic.  Now you tell me how a blind, obese, arthritic, out of shape, balding, back-spazm prone guy is supposed to do all of this:

I rest my case.

As for Sherlock Holmes, I loved it (my mother loved Robert Downey Jr.), but it was so much longer than I expected.  Also, I thought the era of drag was over, especially after this lovely moment in 2000:

As for Young Adult, it’s a dark comedy that really requires the viewer to be in the seat and watching the whole time (I hate people who leave in the middle of a movie; it’s so tacky and annoying).  Although very humorous, the movie was very serious and somewhat sad, which was not expected.

Tonight, assuming Andrew ever calls me back, we’re seeing The Adventures of Tintin, which I read in French classes and want to see so badly.  In fact, Justin, who rarely goes to see movies made during his actual lifetime, wants to see this movie, so it has to be good if it’s good enough for him to pay to see it!  As for The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, I’ll get to it this week.  The movies I really can’t wait to see, though, is The Iron Lady with the greatest actor of all time, Meryl Streep, and for reasons I don’t know why, Madonna’s W.E., which looks so much better than everyone claims it is!

Moving away from movies, the big news down here in Palm Beach is that our “beloved” Publix re-opened after seven months of being demolished in April so that it could be greatly enlarged.  Although I will continue to frequent the Whole Foods in Palm Beach Gardens for weekly provisions because of their greater selection locally-grown food and use of independent suppliers, the new Publix is going to be great for things I need immediately.  As for the store itself, it’s beautiful on the outside; so beautiful that I think it could be mistaken for the Neiman Marcus on Worth Avenue!  However, on the inside, it’s without question just another grocery store with that awful florescent lighting and hideous white title flooring that makes everything look so sterile!  Why can’t people learn from Whole Foods and create warm, inviting places as opposed to hell hole that is the modern grocery store we know today?  Obviously, that would require money to be spent, but I feel it’s worth it so that we can all have a more pleasant shopping experience.  Plus, the Whole Foods in PBG has a smoothie bar, which tops anything I’ve ever seen in a grocery store!

I know, my obsession with the design of grocery stores is beyond disturbing, but what can I say, I feel it matters!  This past Wednesday, I also did something a bit interesting in Miami, which for some reason I can’t even begin to explain, I now associate with this:

I’m actually ashamed by this.  Now, I did not go to Miami to see the Kardashians, who are ruining the world, but to instead visit immigration officials at Miami International Airport to complete the process to receive my Global Entry pass which will enable me to avoid this when I return from overseas trips for the next five years:

After being finger-printed and photographed, I left the airport and headed straight to my one true love in Miami, Shake Shack!  Danny Meyer, I blame my future obesity on you, but it’s okay because that sauce you put on the Shake Burger is amazing!  Also, that Shark Attack Concrete is out of this world!  Of all the locations, that one concrete is my favorite!  Next time I go there, I’m also buying that “Miami Has a New Vice” tee shirt because that is such a great line!

Well, that’s all for now as I’ve got to go celebrate Christmas the Jewish way by getting Chinese food and then going to the movies, but I wish y’all a Happy Christmas and an even happier Sixth Night of Hanukkah!  Until next time when we discuss why I have only received only two presents, one of which was from me to me…

-JD

Justin is Graduating and Somehow NOT Going into Plastics. I’m Actually Surprised

Yes, the time has come for Justin to bid adieu to his formidable college days (overachieving nut) and follow Ben Braddock into the real world of tanning by the pool, shtupping older women and spending the next year avoiding the inevitable question of, “So, what are you going to do now that you’ve graduated college?”  I’m so glad I get an extra semester before I have to answer that question.

Yes, on Wednesday, our dear Justin walked out of the last final of his undergraduate career.  I’ve been dreading thought of Justin graduating, not because of the the fact that it means my time in college is also nearing its final days, but because I really just don’t know what to get Justin as a graduation present.  Thankfully, he knows this and is giving me an extension.  That said, I’m so proud of little Justin, even if the first thing I thought of him when we met was, “Oh Christ, it’s the over-achiever!  Well, at least I know who I can blame the bad grade curve on.”

Back then in the Fall of 2008, Justin would spend his Saturday nights in his dorm room writing papers that weren’t due for weeks while his equally “unique” roommate, Travis, a certifiably insane young man from Central Florida who hated both of us, did whatever people who look and talk like hamsters do.  Thankfully, Justin managed to get out and leave the paper writing for the night before/morning it was due like every other college student.  I’ll have more on celebrating the end of Justin’s undergraduate education next week as I will be staying with him at Camp Justin for the night on Saturday as I make my way to Palm Beach for Winter Break!

Y’all, I’ve been going to Florida my entire life and I have never been so excited to see a palm tree in my entire life!  It has been a painful semester that has left my entire body tired and stressed.  Worse is that as I’m writing this, I still have a final to write and then another to take before the Audi and I get to board the Auto Train for sunshine and happiness!  Yes, that’s right, I was so impressed by my experience back in January that I’m taking the Auto Train again, and there is no need for any old people jokes because my BlackBerry did that for me already!  The BlackBerry Travel App automatically scans your email to find upcoming trips and then keeps a record of them, but it seems to lack the capacity to realize that some people still take the train to get places because it asked if I needed a hotel reservation, a car reservation and a plane reservation for my trip on Friday.  And here I thought Siri was the only thing that could judge me.

Meanwhile, I’ve always found people who read fashion blogs to be a bit special, largely because I dated someone who went on to start a fashion blog that’s become something rather successful.  Regardless, I think they’re a bit weird.  Unfortunately, like my thoughts on Tweetie Bird (we celebrate our one-year anniversary together on the 17th), there has to be a reversal of that mentality now that I have stumbled upon two blogs: Unabashedly Prep and then Social Primer, the later of which was started by former Bottega Veneta VP, K. Cooper Ray.  Through these two blogs, I have found all of these nobody preppy companies that have such nice things that are all made in America (because I think we’re all sick of overpaying for things that cost $5 to be made in China and would like to finally get our money’s worth for a change).

Turing from one F to another, I came across to an article in the New York Post, which I usually turn to just for Page Six (the only reason anyone reads it), this week about one of my favorite desserts: the Whoopie Pie, a unique item of food with which not enough people are familiar.  Fortunately, the Post reports that the whoopie pie has become the it dessert of the season, thus making me a trend-setter as I have been acting as their unofficial spokesman since Summer 2010!  If you don’t believe me, ask Justin, Andrew, Grace, Jean, Mother, or read the following email I sent while interning at New York after being sent out to a food truck while preparing for the Cheap Eats issue (if you click on it, it’ll get bigger):

I’m kind of in love with the whoopie pie, but what can I say, it’s a fun dessert that’s easy to eat while on the go or while writing a paper.  Also in food tonight (what I have written below will actually make me worthy of entering a mental institution), I had read an article in the New York Times Magazine that offered a recipe for making ketchup from scratch, which is naturally something I would insist upon making.  So over Thanksgiving break, I actually attempted this only to be met with utter failure.  Instead of ketchup, I got a spicy, tomato… something.  Determined to know what went wrong, I found the email address of the recipe’s author, former Saveur editor and James Beard Journalism Award-winning writer, Kelly Alexander, and sent her an email asking what I did wrong.  Y’all, I received the nicest response ever:

What distressing news! I want to assure you that not only do I test my recipes completely before I submit them for publication, but that a trained recipe tester and developer did so as well. Which is not to say that problems don’t arise even with the most trustworthy of recipes, and I’m happy to help troubleshoot it because the result should be a rich, flavorful, and sweet-tangy ketchup. My guess is that the problem has to do with the ketchup not emulsifying properly. I wish there had been more space in the Times for a little more instruction on this. 

Try this: Dissolve the cornstarch in *warm but not hot* water (the amount given in the recipe) for five minutes before combining with the other ingredients in the food processor (it will foam up, which is what you want it to do). Make sure you’re using real maple syrup–it’s much, much thicker than any low-fat, fat-free, or imitation version. And, finally, you could add a tablespoon of tomato paste to the ingredients if it’s still not thick enough. Please let me know what happens. I wish I could stand next to you in your kitchen, but failing that I’ll troubleshoot as long you like to make sure you get a good homemade ketchup.

Best wishes,

Kelly Alexander

I haven’t gotten around to redoing it yet, but I’m going to attempt it again tomorrow when I go home briefly because I have never received an email that sincere before in my life.

Finally tonight, before I somehow manage to write nine pages in three hours (which should be fun?), I came across this video that Tory Burch, this year’s fashion it designer, made in which she talks about her love for New York and unfortunately, the Times won’t let anyone embed it anywhere, so you’ll have to follow the link to it, but it’s a beautiful homage to the city and I thought y’all might like to see it.  Okay, I’m off to spend the next three hours writing a three-part final that should be roughly nine pages in total by the time I’m finished.  I swear, these professors should be paying us because these finals make people do weird things.  Hell, I told Grace I knew how to solve the problems in Washington!  Alas, until next time from Home Sweet Palm Beach…

-JD

PS: This photo was taken from my second, and last “Lighting of the Lawn,” the which is just so sad because I had so much fun with my friend Lindsay.  I especially enjoyed watching the most unusual group of young ladies rolling across the terrace in front of the Rotunda’s entrance while student choirs were singing on the steps just in front of them!

Spring Fever Struck Early in Siena, But Not For Me (What a Surprise)

So while out on my run this past Wednesday in the fortezza, it was kind of hard to notice that there were all these extremely sexually active teenagers doing everything but actually having physical sex.  Now I know that American PDA is quite tame when compared with that of the more openly romantic Europeans, but this was on a completely different level!  I saw a couple with the guy seated on a bench and his girlfriend practically in a sex position with her legs locked around his body and their lips not separating for what seemed like hours.  I could see them for a large part of my run around the fortezza (which I circle six times each run) and I only counted two times when they actually “came up for air.”  Then there was this other slightly younger couple that moved around with him always pulling a Justin Bieber hair flip:

On my third loop around the fortezza, this couple was literally dry-humping on the grass!  In total, I believe I counted at least twelve couples out and it’s not even spring yet!  Seriously, this is worse than Rollins, where those kids have spring fever everyday of the year.

Speaking of things that are blossoming, the number of tourists visiting Siena seems to have increased since the start of this month, which I guess is expected since Siena’s famous Palio is in the summer and it’s kind of dead during the winter months.  So inevitably, this means more people following an idiot waving an unopened umbrella in the air being paid more than he/she deserves to take a group of picture-taking obsessive tourists to see where they filmed part of the Quantum of Solace:

This is the same place where 007 drove that gorgeous Aston Martin DBS V12 at the end of that fantastic opening scene:

Anyway, this week coming up includes a midterm and many more phone calls to vineyards in Bordeaux and the Champagne region of France because instead of making reservations to tour the vineyards, our hotel in Bordeaux, a place kind of known only for its wine, has simply suggested we pay 600€ per person to do some over-priced guided tour.  Personally, I’d rather spend 1,800€ on Pétrus, Latour, Mouton, and Haut-Brion instead.  Then in the Champagne region, I’m just trying to see if Krug and Bollinger will be kind enough to even let me in since they don’t mention anything on their websites about tours.  Alors, a bientôt.

-JD

To the People of Los Angeles: GET OFF THE ROAD!

I’m sure the lovely three million, plus legal (and countless more illegal) citizens of Los Angeles would like to know why I’m suggesting they stop driving altogether so suddenly.  Well, it’s because Andrew, someone who has said on countless occasions that driving is for other people to do for him while he sits in the back, is driving between the University of Spoiled Children and the land of the purse dog, expressionless faces and people made famous from sex scandals multiple times each week from now until May.  This is also scary for another reason: Andrew has only driven a few times (if y’all recall, I have let him drive my car on more than one occasion, but there were barely any other cars on the road and he didn’t drive on heavily trafficked roads).  To comply with that stupid hands-free law in Califronia (I’m sorry, but it makes us all look like we’re mentally unstable if we appear to all be talking aimlessly to no one), I’ve sent him my BlueTooth headset since I never use the thing and clearly won’t need it in Italy.  While in LA for the semester, Andrew is interning for ICM, a talent agency that represents such stars as Frank Langella, Beyoncé and Woody Allen.  The only problem I have with Andrew spending the semester in LA is that instead of being six hours ahead of him, which is what I would be if he were back in Durham, I’m now going to be nine hours ahead of the only person I know who actually gets eight hours of sleep at night.  Therefore, the only time we can talk is at the end of the day, which has already been an adjustment since he’s been in LA for two weeks.

Since our last “chat,” (I feel like that’s the write word to call these posts, since I do know most of the people reading them) I have left Florida, but not after some final moments of fun!  I made it down to Miami (yes Will Smith, in the city where the heat is on, all night on the beach till the break of dawn) to see my friend, Monique, after only three and a half years since last seeing each other, in Coconut Grove, where we had a great French lunch.  From there, it was off to the Bal Harbour Shops to pick up a little something “special” for Grace and a birthday present for Dr. No (of all the evil villain/Soviet Premier/Dictator names I have given him, that one is the most fitting I think).  Y’all, that place is just scary because while Palm Beach is just the land of the WASPS where Worth Avenue has all the glitz and glam of yesteryear with old money, Bal Harbour Shops screams “I just sold a kilo of coke and have to get the money out somehow so what better way than through Dolce & Gabbanna underwear and Prada suits.”  The people there don’t buy one thing at a time; instead, they take my grandmother’s rule of buying in bulk, which is done exclusively at Costco, to a level that is simply obscene.  Though the absolute highlight of the trip to Bal Harbour was when a five-year-old kid looked at my watch and went, “oh, that’s so cheap.”  It was a low point in my life knowing that a child sixteen years younger than I had a watch that was probably three times as expensive as mine, which was not cheap I might add.

Following that little arrogant child’s remark, I drove down to South Beach to spend the evening my Rachel, who was in town for the weekend with her dad and brothers.  While I already knew that one never has a dull moment when going out with Rachel, little did I know what would be in store for me.  First, we headed to the South Beach outpost of Danny Myer’s hugely successful Shake Shack.  We sat outside in the cool evening eating burgers and fries while I introduced Rachel to my love, Loni Love, on my iPod.  From there, we strolled up and down the always-exciting Lincoln Road and wandered into a rather eclectic vintage shop.  While there, Rachel tried on a very revealing (not sure if that’s the word that properly describes it, but that’s the word I’m sticking with) corset, while I tried on an old Burberry’s rain hat.  Then things got kinky when Rachel tried to get me to try on this:

In case you’re not sure as to what it is, let me fill you in: it’s a pair of leather shorts with zippers on either side of the crotch for “easy access.”  While the thought of wearing leather shorts was an immediate turn off, what really grossed me out was the fact that someone’s gentiles had touched that entire thing and that’s not exactly something I would want to put on, while still wearing my pants, and maybe a hazmat suit.

As the day in Miami came to a close, I was then faced with the realization that my stay in Florida was also coming to an end and the arduous task of returning to Virginia was fast approaching.  The question was how to get home because Dr. No was saying hell no to driving, mother was not prepared mentally to do the trip again and neither would allow me to do it alone, which is perfectly understandable.  So, my options were as follows: leave the Audi and everything that couldn’t fit into my suitcases and do the drive back to Virginia in May, convince mother that the Audi had to come home immediately and force her to take the drive with me or the hail marry pass: let me take the Auto Train (LINK) home.  Amazingly, she gave in and let me do the Auto Train, but only after going through a list of about two-hundred reasons as to why it’s not safe/why I’ll get shot onboard.  The list was so long that my initial departure date of Tuesday, the 10^th of January, was pushed back to Wednesday because a certain someone was going absolutely insane over the fact that I would even consider this option.  Yet, on Wednesday, the trip was approved and after a brief stop in Winter Park to see Justin and my friend, Jackie, it was a twenty-minute drive up to Sanford to board the train to Virginia.

Unlike traditional Amtrak trains, which could use a huge revamp in order to better compete with the great railways of Europe, the Auto Train is essentially its own separate railroad within the mighty Amtrak.  The people who work on the train only work on the Auto Train, the stations are exclusively for the Auto Train and the entire experience is one that can only be found on the Auto Train.  Despite being located in a rather grimy, somewhat dilapidated area, the Sanford departure point is actually very convenient because of its close proximity to Orlando.  Once you arrive, you’re car is issued a number which is used to identify it upon arrival in Lorton.  From there, it’s straight to the valet who takes your car from that point on while you and the two bags per person that you’re allowed to take with you head inside the recently renovated terminal for check-in.  They’re very strict about time and anyone not checked-in for the train by 15h0 is not allowed to board because they have to position the auto cars onto the track and connect them to the passenger cars for an on time departure.  I booked a roomette, which seats two people without a bathroom, but offers the privacy that an ordinary seat doesn’t offer.  Plus, with the roomette and cabins, you get a real bed at night to sleep in, which I was told means you actually get to sleep by my fellow passengers at the pre-departure wine and cheese tasting in the lounge car.  My sleeping car attendant, David, welcomed me aboard and showed me to my upper roomette and told me when dinner would be served.  Then, about ten minutes ahead of schedule, we pulled out of a nippy Florida and began our sixteen-hour, thirty-minute journey to Lorton, which is located in Northern Virginia.

About two hours into the ride, dinner was served in the dining car on china and white linen tablecloths.  I was seated with two other passengers in my car who were also traveling alone in roomettes and were much more experienced in traveling aboard the Auto Train than I was.  For dinner, I had the Beef Tenderloin with a baked potato and steamed vegetables followed by a massive chocolate cake with the biggest scoop of vanilla ice cream I have ever seen in my life.  While the food well exceeded all my expectations, the wine wasn’t exactly the greatest on earth.  In fact, I opted out of having any at dinner because I was so disappointed from the wine in the pre-departure wine and cheese tasting.  By the time I returned to my cabin, the sun had set and so I changed into my pajamas (yes, I wear pajamas) as we zipped through Georgia.  Unaware of the movie being shown on the train, I rented Annie Hall on iTunes, which was good because the projector wasn’t working that night.  Around 21h30, David came to make up my bed for the evening.  Just before closing my eyes, I remember peeking out of my curtain to see a sign that said Charleston, South Carolina on it.

Despite being a very smooth ride, I ironically woke up three times during the night because we had stopped moving; once because by law, the engineers can only work twelve hour shifts and had to be changed out in Florence, South Carolina of all places (so ironic because that’s where we usually stay when making the drive down), and the other two times because we had to let a CSX train pass (CSX owns the rail lines on which Amtrak operates in the South and therefore they have seniority).  At 6h15 and somewhere just outside of Richmond, the conductor made his first announcement saying that breakfast was being served on a first-come, first-serve basis and that we were an hour ahead of schedule.  The mood in the dining car was a bit more subdued than at dinner as not everyone was fully awake.

When I returned from my continental breakfast that included juice, coffee, assorted muffins/bagels, and cereal, my roomette was already made up for seating again.  I opted out of taking a shower as I didn’t have any shower sandals to wear, but someone with whom I sat at breakfast said it was very relaxing and kind of neat, which I imagine it is.  Then, at 8h30 on the dot, our journey came to an end as we pulled into the Lorton station.  Within a matter of minutes, the journey ended and I was faced with the fact that it was no longer 57 and sunny outside.  Instead, it was more like 29 and cloudy; I immediately considered just taking the train back to Florida and not leaving for another week.  But just as I thought of doing that, my car’s number was called and two minutes later, I was on I-95 South headed for home.

Despite costing around $400 with the emergency insurance, which mother insisted I have in case the people at the station seemed “sketchy,” the trip wasn’t that much more expensive than driving once you factor in the stops for food, gas and the hotel.  Plus, there’s much less wear-and-tear on your car and your body.  Looking back on the experience, there were a few things I will be doing differently this coming December when I take the train south this time.  For starters, I’ll pack much less food because Grace saw the wrong menu online and feared for the worst.  Next, I’ll have my bed made up earlier so I can get to sleep sooner because the train does lull you to sleep quite easily.  Next time, I’ll definitely bring my own travel pillow because the one provided by Amtrak was a bit too hard for my liking, and finally, I will definitely bring shower sandals so I can bathe while onboard a train

On the whole, the trip exceeded all my wildest expectations and was one of the most amazing experiences I have ever had in my life.  Everyone from David, my cabin attendant, to the server in the dining car who told a man at breakfast to eat more than a muffin because she was going to have to drive on I-95 as well and didn’t want him on that road without a real meal made the trip so memorable, as did the people I met along the way.  The conversations with these fellow passengers, despite their vagueness in order to not give too much of one’s personal life away to complete strangers, was genuinely interesting.  One of the two people with whom I had dinner told us about the log cabin he had built for his now late-wife and of the experience he had building it.  The other person at the table started us on a twenty-minute chat about our dogs and how we love them so.  Sure it was fluff, but it was interesting nonetheless.  I highly recommend the Auto Train to anyone who doesn’t feel like driving to Florida, being raped by the TSA or to anyone who wants to experience a way of travel that to many has long since been forgotten.

My time home was spent visiting my grandmother, seeing Grace and Annie before they left to return back to UVa, resting, and preparing myself for the upcoming semester in Italy.  I did finally get to see The Social Network, and I must say that I was not impressed at all with the movie.  Yes, the writing is exceptional and Aaron Sorkin is a fantastic writer, but the movie just didn’t do anything for me.  I don’t know if it was the built-up hype or what, but I was not impressed at all, which I’ll admit was a bit disappointing.  Grace, meanwhile, has been faced with a bit of a dilemma as her Hitler for a landlord is not thrilled with Henry Flagler’s ever-increasing size and is now on the hunt for a new residence in Charlottesville.  Justin has returned to the daily grind of homework, paper and parties at Rollins, even misleading campus security into thinking he was on acid because he was running outside nearly naked looking for his phone at 4 in the morning last week.  Ah, to be young and carefree…

Last night, I landed in New York and had an absolutely amazing dinner at Pastis, which even made Andrew jealous because he can’t get that delicious burger in LA!  The mousse au chocolat was so rich that even I, someone who has never before not finished a desert in my life, couldn’t finish the whole thing.  Plus, for wine lovers, I recommend a carafe of the pinot noir that they have by the glass because it was beyond words.  This morning, I braved the below 0 with the wind chill weather for a four-mile run in the park, which was BEYOND exhilarating, despite wearing seven layers!  Then I spent some time getting last minute items before heading of to MoMa for an hour where I saw this really great exhibit on kitchens from the 1940s and 1950s.  It was so neat seeing the “kitchens of tomorrow” and all the very interesting innovations they had.  There was also a Warhol film exhibit, but seeing a guy’s facial expressions while receiving a blow job didn’t really do a lot to get me to stay for very long.

So now, as I come to the end of this conversation while seated at Newark waiting for my flight for Rome,  it has just dawned on me that the next time I sit down for one of our conversations, I’ll be in the land of wine women and song, with an emphasis on the first two, regaling y’all with tales of my journey to Italy and the start of my semester in Siena.  Fino alla prossima volta…

Ciao,

-JD

PS: Congratulations to Annie and Sarah on being made members of the Tri Delta sorority at UVa!