Keep Breathing

It's Friday afternoon as I write this. I'm sitting in a little coffee shop at the corner of Boulder street and Tejon (pronounced Tay-hone) - and two of my favorite locals just happened upon me and asked me to go across the street for a drink. As I've already settled in with my latte, I'm going to make them wait a bit.

There's no place like a coffee house on a cold day, and while it is certainly still T-shirt season in CSprings, my house was a too-cool 60 degrees when I got home from work today. Since Retriarus (the god of the internet) has cast a lingering stigma over my house, I decided to suit-up Zach-style (those Vans that I've owned since senior year of high school, my Gerber Scout Camp '99 t-shirt, my too-tight laundry day pants and that brown zippy thing that I wear, you know the one I'm talking about) and head to the local shrine of Retriarus to start picking up what he's putting down.

Oh and Brad, I want to you to know that I just started an Ingrid Michaelson station on your Pandora account, you were already logging in on craptop....

My Life in French

As I mentioned yesterday I've been reading Julia Child's memoir My Life in France. For those who don't know, Wikipedia tells me that Julia's resume includes several cookbooks, a number of Food Network-type shows, and acting as a spy for the OSS in Indochina. Rock on. Also at 6'2" she's pretty much the most intimidating homemaker to ever walk the earth.

My Life in France recounts the years spent with her husband in post-WW2 France that led to her personal and professional interest in cooking. Overall she's a bit pretentious and we've had our disagreements about politics and art, but I'm 150 pages in and I'm honestly enjoying the book. Not only do I enjoy translating the French that she's too pretentious to translate into a variety of dirty words , but I have a pretty good feeling that reading Julia Child while I eat my own dinner makes it taste better. If Julia Child is the garlic and shalots of dinner-reading, then Aristotle is definitely the "crap, the top fell off the seasoning salt mid-shake". Some books are just better spices than others.

I've never seen the value in biography/autobiography, but it's refreshing to read writing with an entirely different aim and tact than I'm used to. I also found out that she did some work on the newest edition of The Joy of Cooking which has recently come into my possession. Really, I was just starting to like the old bag when I read the back flap of her book's dustcover this morning and realized that she's been dead for four years.

Also, I've actually been reading certain excerpts from The Joy of Cooking, including the chapter on wine which, in its description of Pinot Noir, states that: "If the Holy Grail were ever found, Pinot Noir would be the wine they'd drink from it."

Wow. That's a pretty bold statement. I'm pretty sure that if The Holy Grail were actually discovered, nobody would drink from it, and if they did it would be reserved for Easter mass given by the pope at the Vatican. Bold and brazen words from the ever blasphemous and anarchical world of professional gourmets.

Also:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MIKE!!!!
I vividly recall Mike's birthday freshman year when I, attempting to please the palate of my culturally diverse new roommate, got a lasagna dinner to-go from Savarino's and brought it back to Galloway while Mike slept off his first week of college classes.

Have a good one Mike; I trust that the ethnicity of your birthday dinner is the same, but that the quality and the company greatly improved.