Meatless February

i wish i could say it’s been easy, but the truth is i’ve been fantasizing about all manner of meat since day one. the cravings have been pretty steady, waning only slightly in the past few days as i’ve renewed my dedication to make it to the end of the month with no cheating and, perhaps, even extend it into march. the maddening, constant hunger of the first week has also finally passed, leaving my appetite more or less normal.

Mo and i decided to go meatless for the month partly because of my pops’ heart condition, but moreso to give our bodies a much-needed cleanse. i’ve been a long-standing subscriber to the theory that it’s only a snack unless there is a dead animal on my plate, in which case it becomes a meal. but after reading Michael Pollan’s The Omnivore’s Dilemma (highly recommend!), it’s hard for me not to be sympathetic to porky’s plight.

i’m trying to be better. i’m trying to live and eat more ethically, but i’m having trouble escaping an undeniable fact of my life: I LOVE MEAT. there, i said it. i love meat. it may be murder, but it’s tasty murder, and i can’t stop thinking about how amazing chewing on a slaughtered animal would be right about now. and not the bland or lean stuff, like chicken breasts or turkey burgers, which i have not once fantasized about, but the hard stuff, the good stuff, like a prime steak cooked medium rare, sausages stuffed with mouth-watering swine, bacon wrapped around everything. the thought of it drives me wild enough to eat my own arm!

sorry for the digression. one bright side of a meatless month is that i have lost a bit of weight. nothing drastic as it’s only been two weeks, but it’s enough to make my clothes looser and face slimmer. i don’t own a scale, so i’m not sure about the actual amount. another benefit is that i don’t fall into food comas anymore, even after a big meal. my energy levels are mostly high and my digestion is easy.

and the meals have been pretty good. it’s not just steamed veggies and white rice for dinner every night. we’ve made some delicious veggie lasagna, falafel from scratch, potato tacos, meatless pizzas, bean soups galore. plus, we’ve been eating fish a couple times a week so there is plenty of yummy tummy going on. admittedly, it hasn’t been enough to quell my cravings for the flesh, but i don’t feel bored with the food.

if anything, i hope this meatless month will result in fewer meat-centric meals when i return to meat-eating in the future. and i’ll return, oh yes i will, just counting down the days now. this little experiment has taught me that i’m not cut out for vegetarianism, or even pescetarianism, which i had been semi-seriously considering, but in the spirit of wanting a healthy heart and a long life, eating less meat seems like a good place to start.

now if you’ll excuse me, i have to go wash the steak sauce off my arm.

Roadtrip: Oregon Border to Portland (Part 1 of 2)

we made it: it took 1,500 miles, but the long and winding road finally led Mo and i to the state line, which we plowed through absented-mindedly until Mo noticed the change in pavement that indicated our entry into Oregon. we turned back to get this shot and if you look closely, you can see that i’m saying, “hurry up and take the picture already. i’m lying in the fucking road.” thankfully, it was a scenic road that few cars were driving on, which explains the low-tech signage.


light and space: prior to arriving in Portland, we made a quick stop in Eugene, Oregon, to visit the Wayne Morse Courthouse, designed by LA-based firm Morphosis, architects of the federal building we visited in San Francisco. like the rest of Morphosis’ work, this building was stunning from every angle. let’s just say that if i ever had to stand trial for bank robbery, i would prefer to do it here.


the mispucha: we arrived in Portland on the night of my cousin-in-law’s (Roman) birthday. he is considerably older than the five candles on his cake suggest, and he is the husband of my first cousin Gitella. together, they are parents to the adorable 2-year-old Edie (pictured) and 9-year-old Jack (not pictured). they were incredible hosts to Mo and me, allowing us to eat their food, sleep in their house and play with their kids for the four days we were in town, a favor i hope to repay by thanking them on my blog. so THANK YOU, guys!


the magic is in the hole: that is the tagline of Voodoo Doughnut, one of the first Portland landmarks we visited. the doughnuts here are legendary, housed in cute pink buildings and driven around town in cute pink trucks (one of which is reflected in the glass).


hello, cavities: i can confirm that the doughnuts here are, in fact, delicious. they are smothered in all sorts of sugary goodness, most of which emerged from cereal boxes, in addition to some salty delights like bacon (bottom left). my selection was the Oreo doughnut, which is a cookie i generally never eat on its own, but add it to ice cream or explode it over a doughnut and it’s the first thing i reach for. it came with a food face of ecstasy that had my eyes rolling to the back of my head — and a sugar crash.


rice crispies for Mo: sugar crash also included. on a different day Mo sampled the bacon doughnut. he does not recommend it.


reading is fundamental: not that we did much of that on this trip, but we did stop off at Woodstock Library to look at books or, more accurately, the building that housed them, which was designed by THA Architecture. not only did the building look mighty cool, but the fact that hula-hooping pedestrians regularly walk by it made it badass to the bone.


cocktail hour: after visiting the library — and the Portland Art Museum to see the M.C. Escher exhibit — we had become saturated with enough culture to justify a pub crawl. first stop was the Pearl District for a visit to Rogue Brewery, whose logo, bottles and beers i can appreciate. i had a yummy amber ale.


nazdarovya: not sure what Gitella and Roman had, but it appeared to be working for them. two beers on an empty stomach is usually enough to work for me, but we still had daylight and more pubs to hit so we trudged onward on wobbly feet.


i love this word: Deschutes! say it with me now: DESCHUTES! it’s a word to blow your house down — a word that fits the brewery’s big, bold beers perfectly. we had a great time here and consumed some much needed food, most of it beer battered and washed down with ales of every stripe.


kid in a candy store: if that Black Butte XXI grew some legs and boobs, i think Mo would marry it. to be honest, i was getting a little jealous of the way he was fondling the bottle and praising its perfection. personally, i wasn’t a fan — not only because that bitch tasted bitter, but at 11% ABV she came on a little too strong for me. slut.


because we hadn’t had enough beer: we stumbled through the door of Hopworks Urban Brewery, our final destination on the Drink Until You’re Falling Down Pub Crawl Through Portland. i know that we only hit three breweries, but when you’re a thirtysomething who can barely stay up past 11pm on most nights, it feels like 60 breweries. and when you’re me, it feels like even more.


punch drunk love: as the alcohol flowed, so did the love. Roman and Gitella, who recently celebrated 10 years of marriage, got particularly kissy-face to a chorus of “awww” from a peanut gallery that included their friends Dave and Lauren in addition to Mo and me. in between sips and hiccups, the rest of us also managed to engage in a little verbal orgy that had us professing our undying love for each other and declaring that hanging out together was the most fun EVER. and by everyone, i mean me.


lean on me: at that point, Mo’s shoulder was the only thing keeping me upright (as it does most other days as well). we had a few of our own “awww” moments and i managed to forgive the earlier Black Butte XXI fondling incident before collapsing in his arms and slurring, “i ready for beddy time.”

and so concluded our first full day in Portland. more photos follow in the slideshow:

Roadtrip: SF to Oregon Border

let’s go drinking! after crossing the Golden Gate Bridge, our next stop was in Novato, California, about 30 miles north of SF, for a little beer tasting at Moylan’s Brewery (because beer makes me a better driver). honestly, Moylans is not my favorite brewery and i’m not sure if that’s because i hate its logo so much — which looks like it was drawn by a Dungeons & Dragons fanatic — or if the beer truly sucks.


what’s on tap? it’s not that it sucks, it’s just that i’ve tasted better beer, which is no fault of Moylan’s. it’s more the result of living with a microbrew aficionado who knows where the best stuff is. still, Mo is partial to their Dragoons Dry Irish Stout, so we stopped to enjoy a beer sampler and a few finger foods before heading toward Tomales Bay.


braving the oyster: you may recall in the last installment of the roadtrip chronicles that Mo and i had an unpleasant encounter with a few unsavory raw oysters that decided to decimate our intestines and leave us bed-ridden for 24 hours. as sucky as that experience was — very, truly, unbelievable sucky — we decided to conquer our fear and continue with the original plan of having oysters for dinner, oysters that would be drenched in flour and DEEP FRIED, so we stopped at Tomales Bay Oyster Company on PCH to pick up a bag of 50 oysters for $48.


coolest guy in Tomales Bay: the oysters were heavy as hell, thrown together in a netted bag, and handed over to us by Mr. Cool with a few packages of ice, which were promptly triple bagged and thrown into the trunk of the car. then Mo, JD, Cesar and i proceeded to play the always fun “who wants to shuck first” game while driving to our next destination in Russian River.


shameless plug: we stayed at my friend Sharon’s incredible Russian River Hideaway, which sleeps six comfortably, has a full kitchen and features other great amenities, including wifi. you should stay there too! see site to make reservations.


JD loses bet, shucks first: shucking oysters can actually be fun, especially once you get into a rhythm, but shucking 50? not so much. plus, there’s that pesky perpetual risk of slicing your hand open, which i’ve done before. also not fun, especially when your palm starts shooting blood all over your dinner and leaves you with a four-inch gash that renders your hand useless until it heals. but that’s a story for another time.


two hours later: behold the delicious Peacemaker Sandwich! this is actually an Emeril recipe taken from one of Mo’s mom’s cookbooks and it’s fucking delicious, especially with tartar sauce. a thousand thank yous to Mo who made dinner for us that night and put all 50 oysters to good use in four satisfied bellies, none of which imploded the next day.


this land was made for you and me: i’m convinced that Russian River has more redwood trees than people — epic redwoods that block out the sky and remind you how powerless humans are in the natural order of Things in the Universe. throughout our one-night stay at the hideaway, i caught myself staring at them more times than i can count, with mouth ajar and head upturned, awestruck in the same way i was when i saw the San Andreas fault, compelled to give them hugs like a bonafide tree hugger. instead, i gave my hugs to Cesar and JD, who headed back to the city while Mo and i continued north.


fast forward four hours: i find myself reunited with The Nature again, this time at Van Damme State Park in Mendocino County, which had the most stunning fern canyon. there were plenty of “oohs” and “aahs” here, too, enough to make me question my self-proclaimed status as an urban snob — or at least make me consider buying a vacation home in Lake Arrowhead.


i will eat your children: the park was filled with signs warning hikers of mountain lions, signs that looked like THIS and read, “keep children close, as mountain lions seem to be especially drawn to them.”


ESB for me: as Mo and i are especially drawn to beer, we made it a point to stop at Anderson Valley Brewing Company in Boonville, a podunk town with a population of 1,370 people. the brewery is truly in the middle of nowhere and near nothing of interest, a predicament that gives its brewers ample time to craft near perfect brews, because what else is there to do in such a small town besides drink? i prefer the ESB, Mo the oatmeal stout.


fast forward again: the third brewery in two days, Lost Coast is in lovely Eureka, California, about 100 miles south of the Oregon border. it’s where we spent our final night in California, with dinner at the brewery, where i had a decent red ale. like Moylans, Lost Coast has a crappy logo and substandard beer — and their chicken salad was mediocre, too.


doesn’t he look like Che Guevara here? i did, however, really like Eureka, which was much bigger and more diverse than i expected it to be. plus, it’s situated in my beloved Nature, amid an expansive redwood forest, which makes the entire city smell like pine, or maybe it was weed as Humboldt State is nearby.

Octobered

ever since i returned from my glorious two-week vacation, which i still need to finish chronicling, my days have consisted of work, work and more work, both at the day jobbie and during moonlighting hours. this has left little time for blogging, socializing and spa days, three of my most cherished pastimes. part of me thinks i should begin saying “no” to jobs to regain some of the downtime i so very much miss, but the bigger part of me is a greedy bitch who thinks i have no real reason NOT to hustle.

good news is that i’m making money, none of which i have time to enjoy and all of which is sent out the door as quickly as it comes in to pay down the debt i’ve been complaining about all year. i have set myself a goal that i must meet by the end of December, and as the internet as my witness, i will meet it, maybe exceed it, even if it means work-filled weekends and tired eyes. and then i will get a massage and sleep for three days straight.

when i haven’t been working, i’ve been enjoying oktoberfest-inspired activities like drinking beer and eating finger foods. Mo is very much a microbrew aficionado and for his birthday this year (October 19, mark your calendars), i took him to the kickoff celebration of LA Beer Week, held at our very own local watering hole, the Verdugo, where we entered a raffle to win two tickets to the closing celebration of Beer Week, held at Descanso Gardens. guess what? just guess. ok, i’ll tell you: we won the raffle! and so came a glorious week bookended by beer celebrations that had us sampling some of the best craft brews in the nation. it was pure liquid love. hiccup.

October also held a little travel, both professional and personal. it began with a company-sponsored trip to Washington, DC, for a two-day FINRA conference on advertising regulations — riveting! (no joke) — where i met my fellow compliance brethren and discovered that we really are the most despised department in all financial organizations.

then i went off to a suburb of Baltimore, MD, for a few days to visit my dad’s side of the family. for reasons unknown to me, this trip seemed to turn my father into my mother for a few days, which resulted in him calling me five times a day, every day, to ask if everything was OK. thankfully, it was OK — better than OK in fact. i had a marvelous time drinking, eating and exchanging stories with my cousins, and even got to meet my uncle for the first time in 30 years, an experience that was nothing short of life-affirming.

Maryland is beautiful in the fall, very New England-esque in the way the leaves change color to form clusters of trees that look like rainbows shooting out of the ground. it was a mesmerizing sight, one that had me uttering, “look how beautiful it is” every time i stepped outside, enough times for my cousins to say, “yes, we know how beautiful you think it is. we get it!” i, for one, do not get it enough. the plan is to return to Maryland more often and mostly in the fall. i simply must see more of that foliage.

Roadtrip: San Francisco

let me count the ways: San Francisco still manages to charm me each time i visit, filling me with fantasies about moving back and flooding me with memories of the life i led there more than 10 years ago. i’m sure i romanticize that time as some beautiful coming-of-age era when, in fact, a lot of it sucked (i was very broke), but the magical energy of the city is something i feel only when i’m there, each time i visit. it’s a feeling of optimism and youthful idealism. it’s a feeling of possibility.


another reason to visit: my best friend of 20 years, Jon-David, and his boyfriend Cesar just relocated to SF from NYC, which means my frequent trips east will now be redirected north. as usual, we had a fantastic time eating, drinking, talking, laughing and blazing through a city together, with the promise to do it again very soon.


and another: Mo and i had the opportunity to meet the newest member of our friends’ child army, 8-week-old Rhys, seen here with dad Nick, who smuggled him into a bar for his first taste of bourbon.


mom and her Rhys-ling: mom is Alison, another SF resident and close friend i’ve known for 20 years, who refused to let me eat her child despite all my begging. instead, i smelled, squeezed and held him without once making him cry. then i threw his toy across the room for a game of fetch in a momentary brain misfire that made me realize how much i missed Juice and Pinko. (they stayed in LA with a neighbor.)


san francisco federal building: vacations with Mo the architect mean i can expect to see amazing architecture, this building among them, designed by LA-based firm Morphosis, which also designed the Caltrans building in LA (and another in Eugene, OR, which i’ll get to in a future post).






DMV hiring? this building makes a compelling case for getting a government job, particularly the sky decks that offer breathtaking views of the bay and a quiet place to get away. i have no doubt that these decks were included in the building’s design to prevent employees from “going postal.”


Dr. Merritt and his pinky: this is Mo’s stepfather, Dr. Merritt, who is a retired doctor and an enthusiastic cook who loves hosting dinner parties. we visited him in Oakland with a gaggle of our friends — who served as dish washers, kitchen runners and table setters — while Dr. Merritt manned the grill.


kitchen envy: maybe “enthusiastic” is too weak an adjective to describe his cooking prowess. Dr. Merritt really has every kitchen gadget ever created, in addition to endless appliances, utensils, spices and drool-inducing Le Creuset cookware. like every other guest at dinner that night, i must have spent an hour looking through his kitchen, garage and dining area, all of which were overflowing with good stuff.


meanwhile: Dr. Merritt was outside with the biggest paella pan known to humankind, which he placed over his grill, to cook us the best meal of our lives.


then he jumped in and was never seen again: the paella — there are no words. it was beyond the best i’ve ever had, better even than paellas i’ve had in Spain, and full of chicken, three types of sausage and shellfish that included lobster and crab. my only regret is that i’m not still sitting at his table eating it right now.


more eating: the next day, we headed to the Hog Island Oyster Company at the Ferry Building for happy hour oyster and beer specials. the place was packed with both locals and tourists. it took ages to get a table, but the oysters, oh the oysters. again, words fail me as the taste buds take over and cloud my brain.


divine slime: there’s no in-between with raw oysters — you either love or hate them. though i don’t understand how anyone can hate the heavenly flavor of a raw oyster sitting on ice and splashed with tabasco and lemon, chased with a sip of beer. it simply doesn’t make sense.


now i understand: these (four dozen) oysters came from Waterbar, a restaurant i urge everyone NOT to visit. Hog Island’s oysters were fantastic, but Waterbar’s poisoned Mo and i, rendering us incapacitated for 30 hours. here, “incapacitated” is no exaggeration: we spent an entire day on the living room sofabed, sleeping nonstop in a fever-induced delirium, making frequent runs to the bathroom for vomiting, shivering and sweating, joints aching and body drained. sadly, this happened on the same day we were supposed to leave San Francisco for Russian River with JD and Cesar (who did not get sick), a day that happened to be JD’s birthday. not only was it the worst day of the roadtrip, it was also — and i say this with no exaggeration — one of the worst days of my life. i have never felt that way before. and i have not eaten a raw oyster since.


the morning after: i can’t say the sick was completely gone the next morning, but Mo and i woke up mostly clear-headed and very ready to continue our trip north. with a slow start, we repacked our suitcases, said our goodbyes to San Francisco and hopped on the pacific coast highway, stomachs still unstable, toward Tomales Bay, Russian River, Eureka and the Oregon border.

The 12th Time I Turned 21

birthday, bitches! i’m a little late on this, but my 33rd birthday came and went recently, leaving me a year older, none the wiser and a little more wrinkly. this may come as a shocker, but this is the oldest i’ve ever been and what’s more shocking is that i’m OK with it.


birthday breakfast: the morning of my birthday, Mo asked what i wanted to eat, saying he would make it for me. in true toddler fashion i yelled, “i want birthday cake for breakfast!” so he whipped up some french toast and drenched it in syrup and strawberry preserves. and with a candle and birthday song, my big day was underway.


what i came home to: the big day, which fell on a friday this year, was spent off of work and out of the house, indulging in whatever decadence my aging heart desired. this meant a steam room visit, hour-long massage and shopping spree in which i bought many cute tops. when i came home, dinner was on the table.


Chef Mo: i’ve always dreamed of having a personal chef and Mo made it happen this year by gifting me his kitchen skills for the day, which produced impressive food that tasted even better than it looked.


the starter: we began with some lovely cold cream of avocado soup that, surprisingly, tasted nothing like guacamole and more like delicious.


the main event: then came the red snapper fillet, which was dusted with cajun seasonings for a little kick, served over brabant potatoes, also kicky.


more cake! dessert was Mo’s mom’s amazing rice fritters recipe, deep fried and sprinkled with sugar, which made for one fat and happy birthday girl.


time for refuel: after dinner, i desperately needed to nap, but Mo and i had a party to go to, so we down some red bull and brought out the tequila.


not really: as a russian, i prefer vodka to tequila, so Raidis had to do my shot for me, which she perfected many times over. she also had to host our combined annual birthday party, as my house still isn’t ready for primetime.


we’re not pregnant: we’re just hiding rice fritters under our tops.


however, Ali is pregnant: and here’s Deo kindly providing her unborn child an initiation into the life he can look forward to living. lucky kid.


kitchen antics: Jessica, Juan and Joe confirm that the alcohol was in the kitchen.


meanwhile: people with drinks also made it outdoors, where they laughed and socialized and had a good time that didn’t result in the police showing up.


no, my forehead! Zee is under the mistaken impression that her forehead is too imposing, to which i say, “tyra.”


another one: apparently, Marina does not like her profile, to which i say, “oprah.”


this is how you do it: Raidis and Cassie, who hadn’t seen each other for many years, provided the miles of smiles.


Buck and Ann also ham: there are a few more party photos here.


the sexy chef and i: we stayed at the party far too late, wrapping up the night after 3am before heading home and collapsing into bed with a belly full of rice fritters. in short, a delicious day in every way.