skip to main |
skip to sidebar
man, a lot of birthdays this month. three of them had fireworks (if you count queen victoria as a friend) and two occurred on a long weekend. my store, for whatever reason, was open on the holiday monday so i wasn't able to get three-night-hammered... bummer. i did, however, witness a four alarm fire just a couple doors down from my apartment. i swear to god there's like a fucking bat signal that goes off as soon as any sort of disaster happens. the photographers were out in droves. soooo many nice cameras outside my window, many in hands of the inept. morons with money make me jealous.
in other news, we made pizza again! i'm really getting the hang of the pizza stone thanks to some great online tips. (parchment under the pie makes it so much easier to get into the oven and after five minutes the browned paper slips right out) there is a place on the east side of town that serves their pizza with an egg or two cracked on top. we were always curious about it and could resist the urge no longer! (in posting this i found a name for such a creation - pizza bismark) i chopped up montreal smoked meat for the top, cracked an egg in the middle, dressed the finished pizza with lemony arugula and never looked back. so, so good. we'll definitely make it again. perhaps for breakfast next time?
phil found an old desk in the garbage last week and after hours of sanding, dismantling, staining with tung oil and sawing - it's ready for a reveal. the feet cost us $2 at the hardware store down the street, the tung oil was super easy to use and gave us the exact look we wanted and thankfully the side panels weren't load bearing so we popped them off no problem! so stoked about the new table. thanks for all the hard work, honey!
*update: this post was featured on design*sponge for before & after thursday. fuckin' eh!
i love karaoke. i love rock band and guitar hero and singstar and generally just being the center of attention. i hosted my own karaoke night when i was in theatre school (whole other story dude, whole other story) and frequented so many karaoke joints, so regularily, that i would get recognized at drive-thrus (a cop at a country style in oshawa once said to me, "i saw you at five different karaoke bars last week!") and regulars would submit songs (from my expansive roster) in my honour. this sounds fucking crazy i know but, an 18 year old girl with a fake id, musical theatre pipes and a penchant for bad 90s rap is (apparently) what every drunk old man at every dive bar is dying to see.
the karaoke phase may have passed as i became legal age and starting singing in a real band but my desire to do something at a bar other than drink couldn't be sedated. i started a guitar hero night at a bar called the queenshead (rip) in 2006 and it really took off. at the height of it, patrons would be forced to sign up and wait an hour for their turn. you fail: you're out. no second tries on my fucking night. oh, and, if you're boring... i'm taking over. the phase passed, as they do, and it turned into a straight up dj night that slowly withered and died.
these days, ten years later, i'm more into rock band. i go to kimbot's place, we get bombed, blitzed and bawl through classic rock, old no doubt and hilarious renditions of dragula, chop suey and battery. she recently bought the american idol game and it has opened my eyes, man. never did i picture myself, pbr in hand, singing 'my heart will go on' for all it's fucking worth with tears in my eyes and a flutter in my heart. i could just picture my 15 year old self crying and clutching the radio while sound clips from titanic played through the bridge of the song (anyone else remember when they did that?) fuck man, teenage girls are whiny little attention whores but boy, can they entertain the barflys.
i love trying new restaurants. i especially love places that i discover through a friend who happens to be 'in the know'. i used to live in on the little italy/little portugal border but was too intimidated to enter the family owned churrasqueira and barbecue joints that seemed to be everywhere. the smell was intoxicating but the large, rowdy families out front always freaked me out (because i am usually high) so i'd pass right by and end up eating chester chicken from the starbank on the corner.
recently however, we got a posse, our bicycles, a trumpeter and rolled up to the barbecued meat party. we had queijo fresco (fresh goat's milk cheese) with an incredible fucking hot sauce. the sausage was brought to our table, ON FIRE, and tossed around like a baton at a parade. oh, right, we were outside, on a huuuge patio, on a warm spring night with grilled sardines and mammoth quails and sweet portuguese wine and a goddamn rock garden with ivy covered fences to block out the dirt of the city, the wrath of real life.
it felt like another universe on that bench. that yard without pretension; just stories of back home. i was covered in grease and brine with wine staining my teeth and i was happy. there is nothing better than food with friends. beers with bros? coke with confidantes? roofies with roommates? sex with superhero sidekicks? ok... that last one sounds fucked but intriguing.
my mom is the bravest broad i know. she taught me to never be ashamed of who i am or where my interests lie. she taught me that black clothes hide pit-stains (we're natural sweaters) and laying flat on your back to zip up your jeans (with pliers) is no big deal. she told me that women can accomplish anything and don't let that fucking man tell you what's what. my mom makes me feel smart, creative, beautiful and strong. i couldn't have asked for a tougher bitch to guide me through my childhood nor a more loving friend to help me through my maturation into women-hood.
thank you, tobey wan-kenobi. you've been a mother to many but a true inspiration to me. i love you, mom.
it's weird to plan meals as a couple. i mean, eating has always been a solitary thing for me (up to and including eating two pounds of chicken wings, in bed, drunk in the dark, alone) but lately sundays are spent discussing what we'll be cooking next week and who will have kitchen command on which night. i wanted to try my hand at homemade stock so we bought a whole bird. the chicken store in kensington was sold out of single birds but the adorable, tiny clerk ripped open one of the wholesale bags and said, "i chop off head and feet for you, okay?". after she lobbed off the extremities, we walked away with a fresh, local chicken for $6.50. how many days will this feed us? let's find out! come along!
the first night we gently seasoned the chicken with sea salt, cracked pepper, thyme and promptly shoved a can of pbr up it's ass. i acquired one of those stands that helps in the beer-butt chicken process from my old roommate and i don't know what i would have done without it. what was formerly a useless kitchen gadget has been deemed essential. good for you, metal rack thingy! i digress. the chicken roasted beautifully in a couple hours and we had legs and wings that night. after allowing the rest of the meat to, literally, fall off the bone i covered the carcass in carrots, celery, onions, a couple spices (secret blend!) and water and let it simmer till we went to bed. the stock was a beautiful golden colour and smelled like grandma's kitchen during the holidays. perfect!
the next night we used the shredded meat and some stock for a corn and chicken chowder that turned out even better than expected. roasted chicken sandwiches were had the following night and the frozen stock is continuing to prove useful. i would recommend buying an extra ice cube tray or popsicle mould (if you can find one with a lid - bonus) for storing the stock in the freezer. it'll be easier to dole out portions and you won't have to hack at two litres of frozen soup base with a knife... not that i have any experience doing that. nope. i'm a fuckin' old hat at this.
where do i fit into this blogosphere? as a reformed party girl i'm mostly grossed out by tit-flashing, misspelled, poorly edited "lifestyle" blogs but completely bored with run-of-the-mill, my husband builds things while i cook "food" blogs. i don't provide recipes and i don't gossip. i'll never post links to things i want to buy or talk about people i met at church (because i'm a proud heathen). i can't put up recipes because i usually wing it, when stoned, and don't remember what the fuck i put in the food (let alone measurements of such). i dunno.
lately, i feel like an anomaly. sure, i've been listening to beach house and best coast (as well as the new dillinger escape plan, old bikini kill and everything julie christmas is involved with) non-stop too, but i don't feel the need to tell you about it because that's what EVERY OTHER BLOG is talking about. i bake a lot and eat out at delicious local restaurants but, really, do you care? my apartment is filled with vintage housewares and i shop at urban outfitters for cheap dresses. i like records and film photographs and cupcakes and beer and, fuck... who doesn't?
it's coming up on a first birthday for this blog and i think i've settled in. there'll continue to be photos of friends blacking out, clouds looking pretty and food i've made to quell the hangovers, heartaches and hungry house parties.
thanks for being around if you were. thanks for staying if you did. talk to me. tell me where you, i and all the other in-betweens belong.
