Sometimes, this eternally hungry fat girl wonders what it would be like to have her own, personalized food court. I could stand in the center, whirl around with my eyes closed, my arm outstretched like a pointer on the Wheel of Fortune, and slowly tick-tick-tick to a stop, anxious and excited to open my eyes and look even knowing full well that no matter what I land on, the choice will be, well, choice. Continue reading
No matter how hard I try to steer my focus away from house-hunting, there will always be those stray moments when I find myself drawn to a Curbed post or catching myself before I click on realtor.com in my bookmarks. Today I had one of these moments only to find, yet again, another house to cry for.
Located on 6th Street in the Irish Channel, this 1300 square foot shotgun certainly isn’t a mansion. It isn’t a luxury abode that would find itself in Architectural Digest and it definitely wouldn’t be enough for a couple looking to start a family, but for me? For me it’s just right. Those telltale details that set my heart racing are all present and accounted for: high ceilings; hardwood floors; floor-to-ceiling windows; transoms; and exposed brick fireplace mantels. It’s only two bedrooms and one bath, but that’s plenty for John and I. There’s also an adorable front porch, a cool wrought-iron fence and a sweet patio out back just right for grilling. Continue reading
What do you think? Have I given in or gone up? In all honesty, I thought creating a new venue on which to spew forth my love for the Crescent City might get the juices flowing again … so to speak. A shmancy new WordPress template seemed like just the fix, after all, who uses Blogger anymore? So here she is (I’m a she, so why can’t my blog be female?), in all her glory. I’ll take all and any feedback, unless you’re just trying to sell me something.
When it comes to ice cream sandwiches, nothing is finer (in this Bay Area girl’s most humble opinion) than an It’s It. These rather notorious cookie and ice cream sandwiches have been around since 1928 and, regrettably, I tend to judge all other similar confections by their standard.
My heart is wrenched recalling this moment because it took too damn long to find my home. My heart is wrenched recalling this moment because it was pulled from my grasp after only two short years of euphoria.
My heart is wrenched because this place, while it still somewhat resembles the paradise I lost, is rapidly becoming the place I ran away from … and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
Should I run again? Or should I stay and find whatever solace I can among the remnants? Where would I run to?
*Warning – Today I will be venturing into the realm of “too much information.” If you can’t hang with a bit of over sharing, I suggest you ramble on.
In a vain attempt to make a long story short, I suffer from recurrent UTI (a.k.a. urinary tract infection). Over the past several years, it’s gotten so bad that I have developed allergies to all of the typical antibiotics that “cure” UTI. That’s right, I break out into hives (or worse) when ingesting Cipro, Macrodantin, Bactrim (or any of the sulfa drugs), Doxycycline etc. I’ve tried many different remedies or forms of prevention, everything from non-sweetened cranberry juice and herbal extracts to D-Mannose, which, for those of you wondering, doesn’t work.
While I realize that everyone and their brother’s mother are waxing poetic about Shaya, I just can’t help jumping on the bandwagon. After all, Alon Shaya was awarded the 2015 James Beard for Best Chef: South and he is the undeniably creative force behind one of Downtown New Orleans’ most popular restaurants Domenica. So I’m getting on the praise train, not only for the above reasons, but also because Shaya is next in line on my (pitifully delayed) blogging schedule and because the restaurant is, without a doubt, fabulous. Continue reading
It seems I will continue to torment myself by searching through long listings of elegant New Orleans-style homes until either I win the lottery, write a best-selling novel or some philanthropic soul becomes empathetic to my misery and gifts me my dream house. What? It could happen!
During my latest tour of self-imposed dolor, I discovered this little beauty on Phillip Street. Naturally, all of the features you know I adore were present and accounted for including the ubiquitous hardwood floors and high ceilings, transoms, ceiling medallions, floor-to-ceiling windows, sliding pocket doors, exposed brick fireplaces and a freaking guest house out back past the courtyard.
Although during hot, summer days like today I tend to hide in the air-conditioned comfort of my apartment, I can’t help but hanker for something to eat that unfortunately, does not reside in my fridge. Since well past the lunch hour, I’ve been craving a good deli sandwich and the closest option in my neck of the woods is the Carrollton neighborhood newcomer dubbed CIBO.
Several months ago, my friend Lorin and I met for lunch at Brown Butter Southern Kitchen & Bar. Located in Mid-City, Brown Butter opened up inside a strip mall early this year and seems to have made quite an impression in the six months following.
The restaurant was already jumping when we arrived, even though it was a bit late in the lunch hour. After saying hello to several people (including food writer Todd Price whom I finally met in person) we sat down and placed our order. Continue reading