Thoughts on Eating Octopus

It was a chilly spring evening in March. The kind we anticipate wearing lighter sweaters and no tights but instead throw on wool coats and closed toed heels. Tammy and I arrived at Brasserie Beck five minutes late. Unusual for us as we always arrive right on time, the first ones to every party. The hostess directed us to our group, most of whom where already waiting at the table. The lovely ladies of Gilt City were hosting us and six other bloggers for a night of fine dinning and a little getting-to-know-you conversation. We all warmly greeted each other, I was so happy to see such familiar faces and looking forward to what the evening held. As we chatted one server took my coat and helped me with my chair, and another offered me a glass of Sauvignon Blanc to start our dinner. I like to start a multi-course meal with this varietal as it usually appeals to many taste buds and goes nicely just about anything usually served to first. It pairs particularly well with cured meat and cheese (including bleu cheeses) and oysters, which is what we were generously served to begin our communal meal.

I realized mid first course that we were in a Belgian restaurant specializing in seafood. I hoped my fear wasn’t detectable on my face. Since I was in the womb I have not had a taste for any creature from the ocean. And by that I mean - if I smell fish I get nauseated and I certainly don’t eat it.

The story starts when my mother was pregnant with me. She is a seafood lover. She loves sushi, grilled grouper sandwiches, scallops in pasta, steamed mussels in butter sauce, raw oysters, and most of all, crab cakes. An ideal meal for her would be a 4 oz. piece of grilled fish with a huge pile of grilled veggies to accompany it. She would eat this meal outdoors in the fresh air with perhaps a glass of chardonnay in hand. It would be near sunset and the landscape would have a golden hue. As if being ripped out of fantasyland and much to her surprise, when she was pregnant with me, she was sick at the mere suggestion of eating seafood. Lucky for her, she was back to normal after I was born. Now, it is common knowledge in my family that I will throw up in a fish market and I cried once when I saw a live lobster thrown into a boiling pot of water.

When I was a little girl, my parents tried to get my sister and I to eat fish sticks. My sister gladly ate them while I could barely gag them down – even though they were fried with delicious breadcrumbs and slathered in ketchup. I went through a phase when I was between 6 and 8 when I would eat Blue Crab legs if we were in a restaurant where they only served seafood. The taste of the ocean lingers in the air in those types of places and overpowers all other flavors. Even the burgers taste like fish. My eating the crab legs was a relief for my parents because my sensitive palate could be accommodated. Then suddenly one day, I hated Blue Crab legs and I haven’t had them in twenty years.

At the age of 16 my family took a trip to the Grand Canyon. We flew out to dude ranch then spent three days rafting down the Colorado River and camping on the banks of the canyon, an incredible experience. There were four college-aged kids in charge of 40 people on our expedition. They cooked everyone three meals a day and set up camp every night. We all slept on cots in the open air and went to the bathroom in a metal bucket that was somehow private while always having the most magnificent views of the canyon. For lunch every day we got tuna salad sandwiches. It was the only choice and if you didn’t eat it you would be mighty hungry when dinner rolled around five hours later. So I ate it. And it was fine. I didn’t gag or whine or embarrass myself. And I thought, maybe my palate changed with adolescence and I like seafood now? Unfortunately, it must have been a time and place type of situation because when I tried to recreate the sandwich at home, I was so disgusted that I ended up giving it to my sister.

As I consider myself a lover of food, I don’t like being limited by my taste buds. I want to be able to participate in life and all of its abundance. At least once a year I try to have something I’ve never eaten before. This usually happens easily when I’m put in similar situations like I was in the Grand Canyon. I’ll be on vacation in an unfamiliar place and sometimes have to order food in an unfamiliar language. There have been times when I’m not even sure what I ate but I was glad to have a warm meal.

At Brasserie Beck I got away with not eating the oysters. It seemed like everyone around me really enjoyed them but I was afraid to. I ate my weight in cured meats and cheese to compensate. My glass was refilled with Sauvignon Blanc at least twice by the end of the first course and the conversations were flowing like a glacial stream on a hot spring day. I wanted everyone at the table to be my best friend and for the night to never end. Several waiters cleared the table and presented the second course. The head chef, Robert Wiedmaier, paid us a visit at this time. He asked how everything was and encouraged us to enjoy this next course. I looked down at the table to find long charred octopus tentacles staring back at me.

I noticed Tammy watching me from across the table. We locked eyes as my new friends gobbled up the sea creature. I could no longer get away with quietly not eating. She outed me by shouting, “Jamie, are you ok with this?” All attention was turned to me. I felt my cheeks blush as someone said, “do you not like seafood?” I didn’t know what to say.

It is universally considered rude to not eat food that is served to you by your host. If you are visiting friends and they spend the day cooking for you, it is insulting to say, “oh sorry, I don’t eat that.” You don’t turn your nose up at someone’s generosity and hospitality. The same rules apply if someone hosts you at a restaurant instead of their home. The last thing I wanted to do was offend the kindness these women were showing us. So finally I said, “I don’t usually have a taste of seafood. But I’ll give this a try.” Then as the words left my mouth, I received an influx of encouragement from everyone at the table, “the texture is like a tender grilled meat” “try it with the salsa on top, it’s a nice combo” “just take a little bite” “let us know what you think.” I was terrified and shaking as I took a piece off of the platter. I smiled and did my best to divert the conversation back to someone else.

The words around me faded to white noise. All I could see was my plate in front of me. I cut into the tentacle. It was tender, a white meat, slightly flakey and softer than a scallop. The salsa was fresh and bright, a combination of cucumbers, roasted peppers, and shaved red onions dressed in oregano and caper vinaigrette. I balanced a quarter-sized amount of meat onto my fork and with as much salsa that would stay on. Then put it in my mouth. It was good. Great actually. It didn’t have an “of the sea” flavor at all. In fact, it was fresh and new and interesting. The combo of the wine, salsa, and octopus made me want to sit on a sun drenched porch somewhere on a beach with white sand and crystal clear water. It made me feel like suddenly winter wasn’t clinging to the air outside. I ate the rest of the portion on my plate and went for more. I surprised my companions and myself. They applauded my efforts discretely as we all commented on how lovely the meal had been thus far.

I couldn’t help but smile. I was so proud of myself. The table was cleared again and the salad course served, arugula with one large prawn. As I looked at the prawn, a wave of excitement came over me. I thought about an episode of Anthony Bourdain, No Reservations where he and his travel companion were eating prawns. They stared by sucking the brains out, and then devoured the bodies. I shivered, then cut the body from the head with my knife and ate it in small pieces with the salad. I left the head alone, baby steps. I felt like a champion. I felt like I climbed a mountain, and a steep one at that. Adrenalin pumped through my veins.

It was now time for the main course and our wine was switched to red. A Pinot Noir to accompany the Thursday night special: roasted Moulard duck breast with brandied sweet potato puree, fricassee of winter vegetables, kumquat marmalade and Madeira jus. By the time dessert and dessert wine came, I was in a state of pure bliss. My taste buds and stomach were sufficiently challenged, then rewarded. Conversations lingered past the table being cleared and check paid. We were making plans to see each other again, to reunite over happy hour or the next blogger event, and vowed to run a 5K together. We put our coats on and dispersed in cabs back to our homes, still squeezing in one last bit of gossip as we parted ways.

That night I realized something. For those of us who have a curious soul and traveling mind, we don’t always have to go far from home to experience the rush of encountering the unknown. Sometimes, all we have to do is choose something different on the menu.

That one time I went to a gay bar on ladies night

Although this isn't my normal story about travel or fashion or observations in wine and art, with new experiences, whether from travel or just opening our minds to a new way of thinking, come challenges to our culture and personal constitutions. So as a deviation from the usual, here's a story about that time I went to a gay bar on ladies night.

Drawing my own: Jamie Hurst, Torso (self-portrait), 2008, charcoal on paper

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine from out of town asked me if I’d go to a gay bar with him. Rather, he asked me if I could take him to the “good” gay bars in Dupont Circle. As if I’m an expert. We started at Larry’s Lounge on the corner of T St and 18th (across the street from Lauriol Plaza). I’ve always liked this place because happy hour consists of beers less than $5, a great patio area for people watching, and you can bring your doggie. We both enjoyed it there and I patted myself on the back for a good choice.

The only other gay bar that I know of is Level One/Cobalt which is on the corner of R St and 17th. It’s the starting line for the Dupont Drag {Queen} Race and they often have drag shows there as well. So after a tour of the ‘hood we arrived at Cobalt around midnight. Just in time for the ladies night wet t-shirt contest.

I could see the disappointment on my gay male friend’s face when we climbed three flights of stairs only to stumble into a lesbian only dance party. But since we paid a $10 cover we decided to make the best of it and dance our little hearts out. I got ballsy to the tune of outdated rap and house music and decided to take the platform for a spin, just like old times. Although one might be embarrassed to dance on a platform, one must keep in mind that you can usually feel the AC better from a higher vantage point. Besides, I always feel confident in my leopard booties. Slightly bored after a song or two, I jumped down into the parting crowd. “Please tell me you’re gay,” begged the first lady in earshot. I imagine I broke a few hearts that night, sorry about that. But the attention paid to me was momentary and fleeting as soon as the wet t-shirt contest began.

I’m not sure how familiar you are with wet t-shirt contests. I’ll assume you know nothing and that you only go to classy events and you did not participate in one in college. Wet t-shirt contests for male viewers usually consist of a number of women standing on stage who resemble the closest version “normal” women can get to professional fashion models and Playboy bunnies. These fantasy women are either hired for the event or chosen with strict standards. They are scantily clad in bathing suit bottoms (and in some cases jorts) and the t-shirt is cropped at the bottom and very tightly fitting with no bra. They are as close to naked as they can get without actually being naked. To the tune of very energizing music and a DJ encouraging the contestants, they are soaked from head to toe to ensure the t-shirt is properly drenched and breasts exposed. The contestant with the most cheering (i.e. the best breasts) wins cash or free drinks all night at the fine establishment in which they have provided entertainment. (Editor’s note: Gman observed that it sounds like I have a lot of experience participating in such contests. I do not. I have witnessed many of these events as I lived across the street from fraternity row for many years in college. His fraternity, in fact.)

The structure for a wet t-shirt contest geared towards a female audience is similar but with a few variations. At the event I attended, the contestants seemed to be randomly chosen on the street or perhaps amongst the crowd earlier that evening. These women had no professional experience on a stage nor were they trophies of stereotypical beauty. They wore whatever they came out in that night. Only their top was switched out for a baggy white t-shirt, leaving the rest of their outfit intact. They were judged one at a time, versus a row of women being hosed, as an assistant gently sprayed only the breast area with water. No one got their hair wet. The show was less energetic and many contestants wore their bras underneath their t-shirts. It was like amateur hour at a cheap strip joint. A pair of thin, young women, one blonde, one brunette, ended up winning the prize of $200.

It was the worst wet t-shirt contest I’d ever seen. My general reaction was that I could have won standing backwards on stage. I was mad that I didn’t know about it ahead of time. But then after making fun of it, I got to thinking about why it was so bad. It seemed like this women’s only wet t-shirt contest was a botched version of a male erotic fantasy. It seemed like the female gaze was defined by a male one. Only slightly adjusted to accommodate what? Convenience? Time? Budget? Less experience? I’m not sure. It did not celebrate the female body or a woman’s erotic fantasy. The tone was slightly shameful, bored, and not at all empowering. Empowered is how I would expect to feel when in the company of women who love women.

I appreciated the fact that the women were “normal” looking and from various ethnic backgrounds. But the crowd wasn’t that into it and the whole thing seemed forced. Not only that, but the winners exuded the male fantasy of two Playboy bunnies going at each other. The other contestants seemed embarrassed in comparison (with the exception of a few who were too drunk to have any sense of self-consciousness).

When the contest began my first thought was perhaps the female gaze is grounded in diversity and attainable beauty. But then as soon as the usual suspects jiggled around the stage, I was disappointed. Of course they were beautiful but did it all boil down to lesbian women having the same erotic fantasies as men about women? Was a woman’s sexuality still objectified despite attempts to ratify it? Is there a way to have erotic female entertainment for women that doesn’t play off of the male fantasy (whether or not the female fantasy is about men or women)? Or is the male perspective so engrained into our culture that it is unavoidable? And is that “bad”?

What do you think? I’d love to know.

Exploring Wine: Pinot Grigio

Garganega, Pinot Grigio, Italy 2011 $14.00
My rating for this bottle? I would drink a glass.

I enjoyed this bottle with some visitors out in the garden. And by visitors I do mean out of town guests and the rats that seem to stop by when we have company (le sigh, the problem with living in the city I suppose).

Pinot Grigio is one of my summer time white go-tos. It's always fresh, light on color, body, and nose, and will go with pretty much anything we throw on the grill. This varietal, grown in the delle Venezie region of North-Eastern Italy, has a lemon-y apple flavor with notes of a metallic or tin. I enjoyed drinking it and it was a good bottle for the price, but it wasn't mind blowing. I've had better and worse.

Exploring Wine: Blue Crab Blanc

Blue Crab Blanc, white table wine, Virginia, $12.99

My rating for this bottle? I would drink a few glasses.

When I was hosting friends a few weeks ago, we had a very long day of touring the National Archives, lunch of fresh tarts, sandwiches and treats at Paul, then hours of antique shopping in Old Town Alexandria. It was 100 degrees out and at the end of the day we were happy but exhausted. On our way back to the metro this gourmet shop, Butcher's Block, caught our attention. We stepped in to check it out and were delighted with the selection of rare jams, fresh meats, cheese, and more treats. The best part about this place is that you can choose a bottle of wine and they will open it right there so you can enjoy immediately. I felt like it was our own secret little happy hour spot.

This wine we chose was just a simple white table wine from Virginia. It had a soft, fresh, bouquet and tasted like stone fruits-pears, apples, and peaches- and had a slightly spicy finish. It was perfect for such a hot day!



Exploring Wine: Pink Cat Rose

Pink Cat, Rose, 2011, less than $10

My rating for this bottle? I would drink a sip.

I choose this bottle because two of my cat loving friends were coming to town to visit and I thought they would get a kick out of it. This is a not a reasonable way to choose wine. I could not distinguish any flavors besides a flat fruit-punch like taste. Others commented that it "was not special but good." If you want to buy cute graphics of kitty cats and mice, I recommend buying a print instead of drinking this wine.

Discovering Art and Art History: Garth Fry aand ArtSee DC

Garth Fry and Elizabeth, founder of ArtSee DC

 

What does a print maker do when he moves cross country without his beloved studio? Garth Fry faced this predicament when he traveled from California to Virginia. Without a full studio immediately available he began to examine his materials in order to determine a new course for his work. Inspired by the graphic look of printmaking, Fry created sculptural images of intricately torn, glued, and rolled paper, a material usually more comfortable taking a background role.


I imagine it’s an isolated, time-consuming experience to meticulously coil bits of paper for hours on end and that the practice would elicit such emotions and energies as patience, frustration, eagerness, and delight (and quite possibly rage when your fingers get stuck in the glue and rip the paper, or is that just me?). The three-dimensional images of flowers, spirals, and landscapes of tightly wound coils are charged with the artist’s process of creating them. I enjoyed looking at them in the changing light as well as the shadows and light fell across each desolate sculptural landscape. Fry titles the works Jaded, Sprig of Doubt, and Memories which further connect the emotions expressed throughout the creative process. Fry delivers a body of work that is both relatable and attractive.


I had the pleasure of meeting mixed-media artist Garth Fry two weeks ago at ArtSee DC’s Artist Showcase at Local 16. Visit Garth Fry at his website to see details of his work and purchased by contacting Elizabeth at contact@artseedc.com.

These stylish ladies were there too...

Tammy of A Loyal Love, Cenita and Salome of aTypical Day

The next Arist Showcase at Local 16 is Wednesday, July 11th at 6pm. I hope to see you there!

Exploring Wine: Merlot

Toasted Head, Merlot, $15 (approx. I did not purchase it)

My rating for this bottle? I would drink a few glasses

I can't believe I haven't reviewed a Merlot on here yet! Well, today's the day. We drank this Toasted Head Merlot as an alternative to all the locally brewed beers we explored. It is my mother's go-to for parties and buying in bulk.

The color is a deep, dark, almost purple-red, like a ruby or garnet. I couldn't smell it too well due to allergies and altitude sickness (more on how to deal with that next week) and so the taste was also muted. However, I did notice soft cherries with a little tiny hint of spice and either chocolate or vanilla - something dessert-like without being sweet to balance the spicy. It was all really subtle and smooth and easy to drink without being completely un-interesting.

We drank this with all of our meals but I thought it went surprisingly well with good ol' fashioned pizza. There you go, a wine to drink with pizza. Now, we just need to find the perfect partner for Oreos...



Exploring Wine: Chardonnay

La Crema, Chardonnay, 2010, Monterey CA, $16.99
My rating for this bottle? I would drink a glass


Chardonnay is arguably one of the most popular wines in the world. Whether you've only had a few glasses of wine in your life or you're a expert, you probably recognize Chardonnay on a wine menu. And just like any other varietal, there are the good, the bad and the ugly. I've had so many terribly Chardonnays that I have generally banished them from my repertoire (hello, college). However, such a popular grape deserves a second chance.

This La Crema had typical characteristics of Chardonnay - straw like color, light, slightly fruity bouquet, and it tastes buttery, lemony, and slightly metallic. It was smooth with a short finish. All delightful qualities.

It wasn't my favorite but it did convince me to add Chardonnay back in as an option. I can see why hosts serve it at parties, it was light, easy to drink, and would pair nicely with most finger foods. I drank mine with 7-layer bean dip and chips... for dinner. It had been a long day.

Discovering Art and Art History: A few reviews

Despite traveling almost every other weekend, Gman and I have managed to see a few exhibitions here in DC. I'll review two of them for you today, I highly recommend both!

First up is a show at the Phillips Collection: Snapshot: Painters and Photography, Bonnard to Vuillard. The focus of the exhibition is to demonstrate how the use of photography, which was in it's infancy, influenced painters of the late 19th century. The work of Pierre Bonnard, Edouard Vuillard, and others in the group now called the Nabis, is of particular interest. They painted directly after the impressionist and their brushwork as a loose, painterly quality that I'm absolutely in love with.

In the exhibition photographs taken by the artists to document their daily lives and subjects for their work are compared to their paintings. I loved getting a glimpse into someone's life who lived 100 years before me. What did they look like? What did they do? What was important to them? It turns out people then were pretty much the same. Photographs show the artists, their wives, children, and friends having picnics, sick at home in bed, bathing, and drinking. One of my favorite images was of an artists wife breastfeeding their baby. The mother was unposed, unguarded simply doing what she did everyday, the photo captures her sweet loveliness in that moment. I also liked this series of pictures of an artists lover in various states of undress posing in their garden.

The paintings are exquisite too. You can see the artists working through the problems of translating photographs to paints and how the compositions of the photographs are directly transferred. The scene becomes the subject of the painting instead of just a person, still life or landscape. It's all of that together, cut off where the photo wasn't captured. Figures aren't fully represented, perhaps only their leg made it into the shot, and sometimes vast open spaces fill the frame. I learned in college that photography influenced painting, but I didn't think of it as quite profoundly as I did in my visit to this exhibition.

The exhibition runs until May 6th.

Second up, a tribute to the centennial celebration of the Japan's gift of 3,000 Cherry Blossoms to the United States. The National Gallery presents Colorful Realm: Japanese Bird-and-Flower Paintings by Itō Jakuchū (1716–1800). The exhibition highlights some of Japans most beautiful masterpieces by 18th century painter, Itō Jakuchū. His exquisite handing of the paint is immediately apparent in the graceful details throughout the 30 scrolls.

I was very much impressed by the virtuosity of the brushwork, the brilliant colors, and elegant compositions of each of the paintings. I also liked that even though I don't know much about the history of Japanese painting, nor the saturated symbolism of Buddhism throughout the works, I was still able to appreciate and understand what I was looking at. It was difficult to choose a favorite.

This exhibit is only up until April 29th so go now to see it! Washingtonians, go pop in on your lunch break. It is located almost directly inside the 6th Avenue and Constitution entrance. It's free too, so you have no excuse not to check this out.

* I'm in the midst of figuring out how to secure the proper image credits for art before I post images of exhibitions on the blog. In the meantime, I hope you don't mind a few more pics of the Cherry Blossoms. :)

Also! I've been a busy blogger and am guest blogging over at The Yuppie Files today while she is on spring break. Must be nice right?! We'll I'm reminiscing about the good ol' days. Go check it out!

Exploring Wine: Grüner Veltliner, Kamptal, Austria

Loimer, Grüner Veltliner, 2009, $20.99

My rating for this bottle? I would drink the whole thing

I've had this brand once before for Thanksgiving in 2010 and the Riesling was so delicious and memorable that I never forgot the taste nor the label. However, it was a Riesling with an orange label and our wine store did not have Loimer with an orange label. I grabbed the green one but it wasn't until I got home to open it up that I realized it wasn't a Riesling. I had no idea what a Grüner Veltliner was...

Grüner Veltliner is a white-wine grape varietal mainly grown in the Kamptal region of Austria. Kamptal isn't a city but one of the newly formed appelation (system of classification) regions in Austria (formally called Districtus Austria Controllatus or DAC). It has a characteristically pale color with a crispy, slightly spicy, medium-bodied taste. Loimer's website was fantastically helpful in my tasting experience. Check out this fact sheet for the vintage. I liked this one a lot more than any other white I've had. Ever.

This varietal was light in color, smell, and medium in taste but it was by no means un-interesting. It was dry, slightly minerally with touches of faint pear and pineapple. There was a slightly alcoholic, medium finish, meaning my tongue would tingle a bit and the lingering flavors lasted more than a few seconds. Besides the slight alcoholic notes, it was otherwise nicely balanced. It was delicate but had enough structure to stand up to our spicy pork and rice dinner with ease. I didn't taste any spicy notes in the wine, like the fact sheet said, but I will buy some more bottles to look into it further...

It was totally worth spending a little bit over budget for this one (if you recall, the budget is $20 a bottle from the store). If you have red wine lover friends coming over, they might enjoy trying this Grüner for a change of pace. It was not at all sweet. Perhaps it would be perfect with some light cheeses and cured meats in the garden underneath the Cherry Blossoms? Yes, yes it would.

If you are in the mood for something a little different - check out the rest of the wine series here.



Review: Baguette Box; Seattle WA

I went to Baguette Box last fall during my trip to Seattle with Gman. It's a fun little place with a doggie themed interior and casual furnishings. Located in the hip Capitol Hill neighborhood, it's near great vintage and home furnishing shops. The menu is simple - just a few sandwiches and light sides. The sandwiches consist of traditional Vietnamese style meats and veggies served on French style baguettes. The bread is perfectly soft on the inside, flaky on the outside. I ordered the pork belly with hoisin sauce and cilantro option and I'm pretty sure I was drooling as I ate it. And am again now as I remember its savory goodness.

They offer delivery, to-go, and dine in so this a great spot for the busy commuter or leisurely tourist. It was one of our favorite meals in Seattle.

Review: The Larchmont Hotel, NYC

Tammy of A Loyal Love and I decided to head up to NYC almost on a whim. It was New York Fashion Week. Everything was booked or prices doubled. Our friends living there already had guests or plans that weekend. Where would we stay? I remembered reading this post on Cup of Jo and she recommended The Larchmont Hotel. The location was in the neighborhood I have always wanted to live, in the heart of everything on 11th St and 5th Avenue. But was a room available? A double bed for $130 a night?! I booked it without reading further.

When we arrived in NYC it was cold and windy, but not snowing as we were expecting. Our rubber wellies suddenly seemed heavy. Encouraged by the awesome deal on the hotel, I decided it would be worth our time to take the subway down from Penn Station, versus hailing a taxi. Our luggage was cumbersome as we tried to navigate the turn styles and down the stairs while hurried New Yorkers sighed loudly as they had to walk around us. We were both sweating now, hot in our coats and boots.

Flustered, we finally exited the Subway and started walking, only 5 blocks to the hotel. Her suitcase kept tipping over, my handbag's strap was on the brink of breaking, and every step was carefully planned. By this time we are starting to laugh at ourselves. Where are our husbands/porters to carry our luggage? Our arms were sore from it! Pathetic!

We stopped at Garden of Eden to grab some snacks and beer which seemed like a good idea but made the rest of our trek even more difficult. We arrived at The Larchmont Hotel barely in one piece.

Check in was smooth and the staff friendly. We headed up to our room just as an older woman was going into the same door with her groceries. I noticed mailboxes by the elevator and got the strange sense we were in an apartment building. Then the woman asked us where we were from and said she lived here, on the 3rd floor! Tammy and I looked at each other.

Getting out of the elevator and navigating the hallway was exasperating with our two trips' worthy load. Not wanting to leave beer or shoes behind we forced our way through. Then we noticed that the bathroom was in the hallway. We started getting the giggles. We got to our tiny tiny room and notice that there is just a wash bin. That was our bathroom we passed. I went back for a second look. Tammy was now glaring at me. We laughed uncontrollably when her husband called to check on our arrival status. I could only hear her side of the conversation:

"Hi, we're here."
"No, it's nice. It's just... the bathroom is down the hall. It's an efficiency."
"No, it wasn't random. I'm following the High Heeled Traveler!"

I laughed so hard that I could barely stand. Up until that point, I had never stayed in a space with the bathroom down the hall. Even in college I only shared my dorm room bathroom with three other girls. On all my trips to Europe I've stayed in bed and breakfasts or hotels, never hostels. How did I miss this in the descriptions on Joanna's blog and the hotel website?! We were on our own, roughing it for NYFW. No husbands to carry our luggage, no luxurious bathroom. It was bare bones here. A libation was needed.

I went back into the hallway to find a bottle opener and I heard the most beautiful opera music coming from the room next door. I was lead by the sound and headed in that direction. I passed a tiny kitchen. There was a tiny table, tiny fridge, tiny sink and a bit of counter space. A place setting for one was set up on the table and dishes freshly washed were drying next to the sink. As I snooped around a man came in and said hello. I turned on my heels and introduced myself while asking for a bottle opener. We chatted for a few minutes before he kindly retrieved his nicest one for me.

If this wasn't perfectly clean, in the perfect location, and so highly recommended, then we might have left. And that would have been a shame because it turned out to be one of the most fun adventures I've ever been on.

Review: The Diner, Washington, D.C.

The Diner is a cozy, well... diner, tucked away in Adam's Morgan. My friend Stephanie and I found ourselves starving, slightly hungover, and wandering through the neighborhood one fine Saturday morning (let's be honest it was noon). As we walked past we noticed the piles of pancakes on other patrons plates and were immediately sold.

Whenever I go to brunch I always want something sweet and something savory. I can't imagine just eating a plate full of french toast or bacon, but I always want a bite of each. However, it's too much for one person to get a stack of pancakes and an omelet and a pile of bacon. I'm always left deciding between them or convincing Gman he wants pancakes so I can have a bite.

At The Diner you could order the breakfast special which included two eggs any style, bacon, sausage or ham, homefries or grits, pancakes or french toast, and white, wheat or rye toast AND coffee, tea, or hot chocolate. All of that can be yours for $13! I ordered the pancakes, eggs over medium, bacon, and homefries. I nearly cleaned my plate and felt like a champion. Not only that, but I didn't have to convince anyone to get the pancakes, I got a little of each. It was glorious.

Sprinkles Cupcakes, Washington D.C.

Here in D.C. cupcakes are still trendy. I really don't know how they will go out of style as you can eat cake more regularly and say to yourself, it's OK, I'm not being bad. I'm just eating this little cupcake. Since they are so stylish a snack, there are many options to choose from. People might ask you if you're a Georgetown Cupcakes person or a Sprinkles person. That's like asking if you're into buying local or exotic goods (Sprinkles originally started in Beverly Hills). I don't think it's wise to read into one's political choices based on their cupcake selections, but I can say I picked Sprinkles this time because there was no line. And I like their branding.

As always, I had a difficult deciding which flavor. So many choices! I finally went with vanilla because those sprinkles were indeed irresistible. My companion, Stephanie, choose red velvet, as she is a connoisseur in this flavor.

I've mentioned in previous cupcake reviews that I'm a cake person - vs. a frosting person. I think people like to add frosting to make bad or stale cake more appealing. You frosting people would just eat icing by the spoonful if you could. Don't lie! This cake was so moist, and just the right density. I swayed between inhaling it and savoring each bite. I even had a hard time scraping the frosting off this time, I liked the added texture from the sprinkles. I'm surprised that the experience of something that only took less than 5 minutes to eat is still lingering in my memory now (that's what she said...).

Review: Leopold's Ice Cream, Savannah, GA

I'm going to go ahead and say, this ice cream is freakin' delicious. Just look at that chocolate goodness dripping over the side of that tiny cup. Look at the mountain of perfection perched on crunchy cone. Can you imagine how cold and creamy it is? Can you imagine the delight of the first bite? And the disappointment of the last? Can you imagine that I ordered the tiny cup thinking I would just enjoy a taste? Can you imagine that I tried to eat Gman's and our companions' ice cream too? I almost hurt myself trying to get more of this most tasty treat...

Review: Eataly, New York City

I've been hearing so many good things about Eataly. How authentic it is, how delicious it is, how interesting people like to go there, and how it's an "it" place to go to in the Flat Iron District. You might recognize the names of one of the partners, Mario Batali. But what is it? I've always wondered. So on a very cold winter's day, I had to go and find out.

Eataly is a mix of grocery store, coffee shop, charcuterie, cheesemonger, bookstore, and wine bar all rolled into one little destination that is greater than the sum of its parts. Almost everything is freshly imported from Italy and is 100% authentic to Italian cuisine. Their philosphy is to consume the highest quality products that are produced in a fair, clean environment, and to share them with friends and family. There is a bakery with fresh breads, a chocolatier with decadent treats that look through the glass displays like puppies in a pet store - just begging me to scoop them up and take them home. Imported specialty jams, sauces, vinegars, and olive oils pattern every nook and cranny to an exhibition designer's dream and foodie's delight, as each package is new, exciting, and perfectly organized. At every turn I was overwhelmed by the impecably fresh selection, beautiful displays, crisp, modern design, and the hords of people. This is not a well kept secret! If it was 10 degrees when we went, I can't imagine the crowd when it's nice out. But still, I found myself drooling and wanting to buy everything I saw.

My girlfriend, Katie, eats here often for a lunch-time panini, so if you go, I recommend grabbing one of those, some freshly sliced cured meats, a cheese plate, oh! and some specialty chocolates, warm bread, wine, a cappuccino....

Review: Crif Dogs, NYC

Crif Dogs on St Marks Street is a drunken late night staple for many a New Yorker. The place has the perfect tiny, dive-y, this-has-been-here-forever vibe that you can only find in NYC. Not to mention the selection of dogs is incredible. Do you like 'em plain? Do you want cream cheese, chives, hot sauce and everything bagel sprinkles? What about avocado and mayo with a dog wrapped in bacon? Do you like tots and root beer too? It can all be yours here. They even have veggie dogs for your veggie friends. There is no excuse not to stumble into this place.

There is also something secretive, special, and important about Crif Dogs. It is the gateway to PDT or Please Don't Tell. PDT is a speakeasy which is hidden inside of Crif Dogs. The only way into it is with a reservation {good luck} and through a phone booth. I'm glad we had some drinks here before Tony Bourdain announced it to the world on The Layover because it was insanely packed last weekend. If you can get a reservation then it's worth checking out. The atmosphere is exclusive, old fashioned, and totally sexy. I tried the bacon flavored whiskey last time we went. It was delicious, as I like to say, "bacon makes it better." Just be careful how much you drink - it's about $20 a pop and adds up fast.

Review: Cookshop, NYC

It's always difficult for me to decide where to eat, especially for brunch. It is my favorite meal of the week after all. I love the idea of eating breakfast at noon and lingering at a table for 2-3 hours drinking coffee and mimosas at the same time. Usually if I commit to brunch, that's all I'm doing that day. And I especially like brunch in NYC. I might argue it's what they do best.

Luckily last weekend, my girlfriend narrowed it down for me with four suggestions. We choose Cookshop because of the variety on their menu and location. I couldn't resist descriptions like, "Skillet Baked 'Dutch Baby' Pancake," and words like "caramelized onions" in the same dish as "buttermilk biscuit" and "bacon." I just couldn't.

The atmosphere was typical for the neighborhood {Chelsea} - groups of young people, and new families {read: babies, but not one of them cried! amazing}. I don't remember if music was playing but the sun softly lit the space as the wait staff bustled around us, and were just the right amount of attentive.

We started with the Cookshop Breakfast Pastries. I highly recommend these and if I was a naughty girl I would have ordered a second plate just to eat for myself. I've never had sweet potato bread before and I very much liked it! Sweet, moist, and cake-y, not unlike banana dense, flaky chocolate chip scone melted in my mouth. Finally, the cranberry apple muffin with maple butter, let's just say I ate more than my portion. I would have stabbed someone with my fork to eat more of that crumbly topping and warm fluffy cake {muffins are breakfast cake. It's true. Get over it.}

Each of us had a hard time choosing a main course and I ended up with the Cookshop Scramble. It had a unique flavor that I kept taking more bites of just to investigate. I liked the biscuit and eggs together but it was a bit rich for me to eat more than a few bites of.

Maybe next time I'll get down with my badself and have a full serving of the breakfast pastries and skip the eggs...

Tip for eating brunch in NYC: like most of your other meals in the city, you will need to make a reservation.