They Broke The Mold When They Made Me

Well, obviously the title of this post is true.  Good or bad, I am a unique individual.  I emboss my books with my monogram after I finish reading them, in 7th grade I memorized the description booklet that comes with Godiva chocolates (for fun), and I can't sleep without my treasured stuffed animal, Bella.  The aforementioned quirks - along with many others - make me a tad...different.  I realize this and embrace it.  But I didn't really grasp how I stood in a league apart from my peers until a monumental event about 7-10 days ago: celebrity doppelgänger week on facebook.  If you don't know what this is (Mommy), last week, everyone started changing their profile pictures to feature the celebrities they're told they resemble.  Jake Gyllenhaals and Blossoms started popping up all over my newsfeed. 

Now, I am not a crazy facebooker by nature, and in recent months/years the toy has become a little less shiny in my eyes.  I don't do applications, status updates, or any of those games.  (I don't understand Mafia or Farmville, and if someone tries to explain them to me, I probably won't even pretend to listen.)  Needless to say, celebrity doppelgänger week is not my cup of tea, but I felt completely ashamed of my unique-ness upon realizing that I couldn't participate even if I wanted to.  I don't look like any celebrity.  I couldn't even pass for a cartoon character.  How embarrassing!   

At first it made me kinda sad realizing I wasn't cool enough to look like a famous person.  Now I realize that while I may not share a famous mug, that just means this face is all mine...unless, of course, someone wants to use it as their celebrity doppelgänger on facebook - in which case, I'd be flattered.

P.S.-If you do think I look like a celeb, please post in the comments

Heya Paella

I love the new trend of specialty restaurants: places that only serve mac & cheese, meatballs, and now a paella restaurant.  Socarrat Paella is a tiny Chelsea restaurant with one looong table seating about 26 people.  They don't take reservations, but the attached Socarrat Bar is a great place to wait with a glass of sangria while munching on some tapas. 

We started with a few items off the tapas menu: fried artichokes, roasted pepper stuffed with a creamy cod mixture, pan tomaca (toast topped with tomato and garlic), and hanger steak that had been marinating in something magical.  Then it was onto the main event: the paella.  We ordered two for our group of three, which was most certainly too much, but with a list of eight paellas, we found it impossible to narrow it down to just one.  We picked a vegetarian one (filled with snow peas, artichokes, beans, mushrooms, zucchini, and tomato) and [my preferred] meat option (packed with pork, chicken, duck, chorizo, and mushroom sofrito).  They also have fish/shellfish, meat/fish combo, and rabbit/duck versions.

When the waitress set down our plates, they gave us the rules (Rule #1 of paella club: you don't talk about paella club): let the dish sit for two minutes before digging in, when serving, only take from the top so the bottom continues to cook in the special paella pan, and when you get to the bottom, scrape the now crunchy rice dish for a new flavor.  This crunchy, carmelized rice is called the socarrat and is what separates paella from a normal rice dish. 

We couldn't leave without a little dessert.  We tried the vanilla flan and a dish with a name I can't remember but that was described as a Catalan cheesecake.  It tasted like creamy cinnamon toast crunch flavored pudding with crème anglaise on top.  Yum. 

The food was delicious and the service just as wonderful.  The waitresses were very smiley and bent over backwards to scrape the socarrat for us.  Hint to all the fellas: if you want to take a gal to a cute date place and don't mind some sharing, I guarantee this one will be a hit.

Super Duper Bowl

In my mind, "Superbowl Sunday" equals "sinful food with a side of commercials."  Because I'm a college football fan who has yet to really get into the pros, food and advertising is pretty much my focus on the most famous Sunday of the year.  This year, we gathered at Richy and Lauren's apartment to watch the Colts and the Saints throwdown; however, I didn't really see this game as Saints vs. Colts.  To me, it was more Kim Kardashian vs. Kendra Girl Next Door.  It was the battle of the E! reality stars.

I love Superbowl food.  It's all about dips, beer, and greasy-ness.  In addition to the usual suspects (pigs in a blanket, salsa, and chili), there were a couple of standouts.  Hopefully my contribution was among them.  I brought lamb and goat cheese sliders in puff pastry with a roasted red pepper aioli sauce for dipping.  Way easier and less messy than it sounds.  Lauren made an amazing hummus layer dip.  I plan to get the recipe and pass it off as my own at my next party.  I kid; I'll give her credit.  I couldn't stop eating.  I made the mistake of placing my chair too close to the buffet and was slightly embarrassed when Dave looked at me wide-eyed and said "wow, you really are hungry."

Onto the ads:

• Tebow's pro-life ad: hated it.  This has NOTHING to do with my stance on abortion (my views on which I will not state here).  I just didn't want to see Tim Tebow on the screen while I was watching the Superbowl.  The boy plagues me throughout the college football season and now invades the one day I care about the pros.  Get outta my face.
• As always, Bud/Bud Light (particularly T Pain - because he makes an appearance in everyone's songs, why not their Superbowl commercials), and Doritos were solid
• Boost Mobile Shuffle: left me confused
• Why were there two no-pants commercials in a row (Dockers and Career Builder)?  Slightly disturbing.  Has ANYONE heard of boxers?!
• Charles Barkley's Taco Bell rap: he just looked uncomfortable, which made me uncomfortable - not a good cycle
• Hyundai's 2020 Favre MVP: Ha.  Because it's true.
• Google's Parisian Love: This one made me go "awww".  It was pretty much as cute as a box of puppies.

Co-workers at Crispo

Last night my co-workers and I headed to the West Village for dinner at Crispo (a restaurant I've wanted to check out for a while).  Once again, we picked an Italian place, which is perfect because the apps lend themselves to sharing, my boss' favorite dining activity.  I find this odd because he is a raging germaphobe, making sharing complicated; but as long as he takes his portion first, we seem to be ok. 

Don't be discouraged by the neighboring storefronts; Crispo is a beautiful space.  As we walked to the very open back room, I noticed the décor is a nice mix of old world (rustic cast iron pots, brick) and new (bright, abstract artwork).  It was nice to see that they didn't take design inspiration from the sex shop next door.

We started with a cheese plate, risotto balls, and delish carmelized brussel sprouts.  The brussel sprouts were the first of several veggies we tasted last night that blew me away.  The cauliflower and spinach we ordered with the meal were amazing.  Sounds boring, but so full of flavor.  For my entrée, I couldn't decide between the duck and veal saltimbocca, so I deferred to the waiter.  Although the duck sounded more interesting, he convinced me that the saltimbocca was the best in the city, and I'm glad I went with his recommendation because it really did "jump in my mouth". (Yes, that's right, I know the translation of saltimbocca.  Impressed?  You should be.  This is reason #762 why I'm a great catch.)  For dessert, we tried the crème brûlée, chocolate pot de crème, tiramisu, and berries with marscapone.  All food was yummy and I plan to return, but considering it's not the cheapest of restaurants (particularly if you want to order like we did), I'll have to build up some cashola first.

Groundhog: Least Favorite Animal of the Moment

Today, the groundhog is #1 on my shit list (pardon my French, Mommy).  Six more weeks of winter?  Are you kidding me?!  It was 13 degrees when I woke up on Saturday.  13!  My Southern body temperature does not handle 13 degrees well.  I'm ready to stop covering my body with bulky sweaters and coats.  I have a constitutional right to bear arms.  

That groundhog better be careful because if I have six more weeks of hibernation to look forward to, that's plenty of time to plot my revenge against the groundhog.  I've already got one retalliation scheme in mind involving an anvil, bunch of radishes, and an electric razor.  Watch your back, groundhog.

The Story on "The Story of Edgar Sawtelle"

Last night, I finished reading The Story of Edgar Sawtelle by Dave Wroblewski.  It was a *nice* novel about a mute boy who has suffered a tragedy and his loyal dog companion.  Though enjoyable, it was very slow.  It picked up around the halfway point, but when you're dealing with a 562 page book, that's a lot of reading to do before it gets interesting.  I also felt the author left a lot of loose ends.  Hint to writers: if you're going to tease me with a new character or plot line, do it all the way. 

The novel was a modern day Hamlet, a fact I didn't realize until I checked out the interview with the author in the back of the book.  Of course then it became absurdly obvious.  Silly Tess.  After absorbing that bit of info, I found the story much more interesting. 

Oprah, this wasn't an awful pick, but not your best.  Next up: The Help - stay tuned.

Question of the Day

Why is there no phrase to be said after someone hiccups?  You could sneeze in the middle of the street and a complete stranger will lean over and say "bless you" or "gazundheit".  Let me remind you that a stranger in New York City saying anything to you other than "outta my way" is something of note.  But suddenly I sneeze and they're blessing me!  It gives me the warm fuzzies.  Meanwhile, I hiccup - an act that brings any conversation to an awkward pause - and nobody says anything.  I can tell they want to, they just don't know what it is they're suppposed to say.  Any suggestions?