EastGirlsWest

“We’ve been married for almost three months!”

“Hmm. Really? It feels longer.”

“Oh my god, those look GREAT.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not happening.”

“How much are they?”

“Ninety dollars.”

“Oh.”

“I told you, we should have gone to Charlotte Russe and fucking Express!”

Angela and I go to Vagabond in South Park for the basil martinis. The sweet, green, citrus cocktail comes with floating flakes of it’s namesake herb, and is unexpectedly delicious. Additionally, I am addicted to the frites, supremely skinny and seasoned perfectly, served with some kind of tasty aoili that might have crack in it. Once I’ve chased the frites with a second basil martini, I’ve reached a near nirvana. Other menu highlights include the Thai calamari, salad nicoise, and mussels that come with…frites.

We try to arrive early enough for seats at the bar, where we can order food and immerse ourselves in the warm, social buzz of the room. It’s loud enough to feel happy and comfortable, and to have a private conversation even while seated right next other customers. Quiet enough to hear each other spill our stories and secrets and not have to shout. The space is electic and welcoming, and we almost always end up chatting with a friendly stranger while we’re there.

At the end of our last visit we locked ourselves in the ladies room together to take turns draining our bladders and reapplying lipstick. While standing in front of the mirror, side by side, we quickly realized there was a problem.

“Is it the lighting? Or maybe my hair looks bad?”
“No, your hair is good. It’s not the hair.”
“Oh no. It’s a fat mirror.”
“Yes! Michelle has told me this. Definitely a fat mirror!”
“Fat like fat.”
“Let’s get out of here.”

We fled the scene, dashing out past the poor pregnant woman who had been patiently waiting her turn outside the ladies room door.

In summary: Vagabond, we love you. We’d love you even more if your bathroom mirror did us a few more favors than the dreaded dressing room at The Gap.

Les Simpsons

So when The Simpsons Movie opened last week, it wasn’t just released in the U.S. While most films are distributed internationally after the domestic launch, The Simpsons Movie “premiered simultaneously on millions of screens worldwide. And while the film took in $72 million in the U.S. over the weekend, the foreign take was in excess of $100 million.”

The film’s promotion was inescapable in France last month. The photo above wasn’t taken in Paris - but a tiny, quiet town near the Pyrenees called Mazamet. (I walked amost every street in the central village and didn’t even see a movie theatre.)

So why do they love Homer so far away from home? Well, funny is funny in any language, and our Simpsons are nothing short of hilarious. Another theory: our European friends adore the way “The Simpsons” mocks America, holding up a funhouse mirror to our politics and pop culture as we laugh and laugh and beg for more. If you’ve seen the movie, the scenes in the White House say it all.

I finally saw it last night, and think I’ll be singing “Spider Pig” for weeks to come.

Left Banker

Are up on my Flickr site. They’re not great, but they prove we were there.

New Haircut

And I couldn’t be happier! Photo evidence for all my faraway friends.

My favorite line from “Hay Fever“, the Noel Coward play I saw on Saturday night at The Old Globe:

I want to kiss you and kiss you and kiss you and then break everything in the house and go jump in the river!

Which makes me a duck and cheese filled croissant drizzled in chocolate and a rich butter sauce, with a side of frites, a bottle of wine and a beef tart with more cheese on it for dessert. (this explains my previous post)

People keep asking how our honeymoon was. To which I reply:

“Food, wine, sex and scenery.”

Sometimes adding, “not necessarily in that order.”

Since my mother AND mother-in-law read this blog, I’ll skip writing about all the hot honeymoon sex. And the scenery? I mean, it was outstanding. But how many ways can I describe the beauty of an endless field of blooming sunflowers? Or the charm of a fairytale medieval village nestled in the hills? See, I just did.

The reasonable cost, wide availability and uniformly delicious taste of modest, local wines is one of the treats of France. And if my sister joined us on our honeymoon she’d have kept a wine diary, recording the vineyard, region, grape varieties and tasting notes of each bottle. There would be words like “plummy, smoky and cherry.” Maybe “soft tannins and a fruity finish,” or even “cedar aroma and medium body.” She also would have stoppped me from eating that sixth macaroon, but that’s another story.

Much to The Husband’s delight, my sister was NOT with us on our honeymoon. So I am limited in my ability to describe the Bacchanalian beverage I overindulged in. My summary might be:

Damn that was some good wine! Especially when combined with a block of gruyere, confit de canard, hot honeymoon sex and a walk through the cobblestone streets of a charming 15th century town.

Not necessarily in that order.

While we savored many gastronomic feasts, I can’t say there was one meal or dish that warrants exhalting above all others. From the street cart crepes to the duck carpaccio at Lard et Bouchon, it all made me sigh with delight and satisfaction. Really, any place with the word “lard” in the name has GOT to be good. Can you imagine that flying here in Southern California?

Now, back to the elliptical. Because currently, the lard and the wine seem to be preparing to settle in for awhile and make themselves comfortable on my thighs.