wilde zwijnen

After my 2009 pre-orientation visit, I didn't expect to return to Amsterdam. Of course I'd enjoyed the charming city, and I'd been introduced to Indonesian cuisine there— as well as polarizing populism: we studied the tensions following Theo Van Gogh's murder by Mohammed Bouyeri, a Dutch, Moroccan, and Muslim man—but I wasn't exactly hooked. Then, Lorelei was hired to work in the Hague and Jorgie was accepted to a Master's program at the University of Amsterdam. Last November 19th, I returned to the Dutch capital for the third time (via a train from Paris) to reunite with my brother and best friends. Rachael had flown in from London.

From Centraal Station, Rachael, Lorelei, and I ventured to Brouwerij't for a beer before our dinner reservations at Wilde Zwijnen, where we then opted for the chef's tasting menu and sparkling apéritifs. By the time Jorgie came to meet us, we were a few glasses of wine in, giddy in our catch-up. We'd already fully debriefed on the then-recent election results. For a night, all felt right in the world.

And it really was, because there's something to be said about being thoroughly cozy and well-nourished, surrounded by those with whom you can freely express ridicule of impending new rules and the elimination of others while also admitting cynicism towards infinite Bey-worship... we're all equally human, no? (I suppose the question itself suggests some of us do "opt for enlightenment".)

west end lite

According to visitlondon.com, West End has a fantastic range of theatres, tourist attractions, hotels, shopping, and iconic streets. I had little desire to spend any time there (as I insist on not being a "tourist"), but! catching up with the lovely Daisy de Plume was a must.

After that full day in East London, I nearly slept in until our lunch date at Bea's of Bloomsbury. What a treat--both sleeping in and lunching with her. And though I may have stumbled through a bis exchange (gosh darn reassimilated American!), Daisy, the kind soul and adorable pregnant momma that she is, didn't seem to mind.

Following our date, I ventured over to the nearby Charles Dickens Museum to spend my time wisely while waiting for Rachael.

Yes, I'm aware this move made me a tourist. So be it! It was raining again and I'm quite the fan of Oliver Twist.

To continue with the touristing, Rachael and I went on to have cream tea at Soho's Secret Tea Room. And as we finished up our last bites of scone with raspberry preserves and clotted cream, we looked into theaters and well-reviewed plays nearby.

Then we ran over to purchase last-minute tickets to The Play That Goes Wrong. We got lucky with great seats at a very discounted price. To celebrate, Rachael and I clinked glasses of champagne before going in to laugh our asses off at the Dutchess Theatre.

And laugh our asses off we did. My empty stomach was sore by the play's end! To remedy the situation, and cap off a spontaneously hysterical evening, Rachael and I made yet another fabulous decision to late night-dine on fancy fish and chips at The Ivy.

It was the most perfect British send-off. The next morning I boarded a train to Amsterdam to visit my brother and Lorelei...

tipples in montmartre

Paris weather has been back to its old tricks again: clouds, sun, rain, sun... mostly clouds. As such, it hasn't taken that much discipline to hole up in my apartment (or a café) and studiously make these final edits and formatting changes to my master's thesis. The end is so near I can almost taste it! Until then, I'm limiting spring fun with friends. Besides birthdays. And THATrue prizes.

Last Saturday afternoon, I ventured up to Montmartre for my first event with The Chamber. Gâteaux Mama had laid out the most gorgeous spread of port-poached pears on stilton walnut crackers, herbed madeleines, deviled egg salad in sesame cracker cups, lemon shortbread, brown butter brownies, and lemon-rosemary olive oil tea cake. Forest Collins (of The Chamber and 52 Martinis) kindly served champagne cocktails as well. As to be expected with lovely company and aforementioned treats, great times were had. Last weekend was an especially good one, huh? Here's to hoping knowing those in May will follow suit. I'm gonna miss this city.

how to seem brave

Last week, I received a card: "Family isn't about where we are. It's about who we are, And how much we mean to each other. You're always in my heart. Happy Easter." My mom and dad both signed it, adding, "We are so proud of your bravery and strength." I smiled while reading. How sweet and silly. If anyone is familiar with the frequency with which I'm frightened by real life, it's them.

Then again, they're right in that my best experiences have been driven by such nervous adrenaline. I think it's because my greatest fear of all is being stuck in the midst of what ifs. In other words, it's less "I think I can" (go, confidence, go) and more I insist on "knowing better". If most of our lives are defined and articulated by what we believe should and shouldn't be, I prefer to challenge the mediocracy, ya know? Though I trust everything takes place as it should, I also believe we give it the opportunity to do so. To let our lives happen at all. To play that small yet significant role in who and what comes our way, where, why, when and how...

It means I'm vulnerable, I get my hopes up, and I'm sometimes hurt by disappointing people, places, and things--nouns, basically. But it also means when I'm far away from my family and ma famille on Easter Sunday, I have friends to clink Kir Royales (and more) with on the Seine. And how I adore them. Brave or not, I wouldn't trade our memories together for anything else in the world. Life does work out in our favor every now and again; and when it does, it's so oftentimes better than we'd ever imagined.

bk twenty fourteen

Remember when it was New Year's Eve and I told you I'd "see you tomorrow"? I meant to check in with snapshots of low-key festivities, and then reflect on my Mom's birthday. Clearly nothing went as planned. Neither did the way I spent December 31st. But, I'm here now and woke up in an extra good mood and loved how my least favorite holiday's celebration turned out... so, yay.

Earlier that day, I sat down for lunch with my family: Italian wedding soup. According to my mom, it inspires good luck in the New Year. Cooked greens are said to resemble folded money and pork symbolizes progress and prosperity. With that said, there's not an ounce of Italian in our blood, so who knows whether or not we're accurate. Here's to hoping the placebo effect proves true anyway.

Later that evening, Debra and I drove into Brooklyn. First, I sipped wine as she and her friends got ready to go to a nearby party. Then I strolled over to Anna's with champagne and Buzzword in tow. Her, Leslie, and I watched midnight fireworks from the roof.

I'd hardly had expectations for kicking off 2014, yet it was perfect. Good food (homemade pizza!), good wine, great friends.

So much so, that I woke up extra-inspired on January 1st. Not in the "ohmygoshthisisgoingtobemybestyearever" kind of way, but in a significantly more realistic acknowledgement of lasting love and good fortune. I'm really enjoying being home right now, and I'm excited to delve further into thesis research, and I'm looking forward to discovering what else 2014 will contribute to my story.

The optimism spilled over into brunch at Kiwiana Restaurant--at which point I ordered lobster eggs benedict. Apparently having lobster on New Year's Day is "bad luck" because their backward movement signifies setbacks. I only recently found this one out. Let's hope it doesn't end up to be true for any of us this year :).

fare thee well

Happy (almost) New Year, darlings! I have a confession to make: I kind of hate today (and the word "hate" itself). I'm all about reflecting, recharging, and starting anew, but I can't stand the pressure to celebrate in the perfect, sparkly outfit. I already missed my chance to schedule overpriced dinner reservations, and I highly doubt I'll find a handsome mister to drunkingly kiss at midnight. Why are we so encouraged to focus on expectations that hardly ever lend themselves to a happier new year anyway?

On January 1st, December 31st, and every single moment in between, it's who we make and share memories with that matters. Have fun however you'd like tonight. Wishing you so much peace and so much love as you clink glasses with your confidante(s). Santé ! And hasta mañana.

{Photo: D. Alvarez; Image: Pinterest}

bad day remedies

Who said "a bad day in Paris is better than a good day anywhere else”? After a bleak morning for reasons beyond the ever-gray sky, having half your lunch (an overpriced butternut squash soup from the café across the street) spill in its entirety just five minutes before it had the chance to redeem your afternoon... still sucks. Feelings are only so affected by the places they're experienced in.

But, this isn’t meant to be a pity party. I recognize there are a few distinctly Parisian ways to add optimistic sparkle to each day.

Take the “Champagne Social”. Lisa organized the event to celebrate Cara’s first visit and the City of Lights itself. Habitat Parisien provided the gorgeous loft space. Lauren brought her creative talent to the fabulous decor. It was an evening of inspiring conversation, amazing home videos, and one incredible sing-along dance party. Oh, there was champagne, too. Obviously...

{Photo credit: Tricia Rosas}

{Photo credit: Tricia Rosas}

{Photo credit: Tricia Rosas}

{Photo credit: Tricia Rosas}

Remember: research has proven that the bubbles in champagne really do go "straight to your head." Thanks to Tricia for the photographic evidence of Daisy and I's tipsy fun in le gran bain. And merci, Lisa for the great night ! Also, I brought lunch today.

the montmartre harvest

On this chilly November 1st morn, I'm curled up in bed, thankful All Saint's Day is a French national holiday. But because of the 3-day weekend, I also have no excuse for not celebrating Halloween. It's not like I was en route to the countryside. I was just tired... because that cute guy and I had stayed out on another "let's meet for drinks" date the night before. He's great. I'm lame. To redeem myself, let's rewind to one very fun day. And to set the scene, I must reference a Thought Catalog article I stumbled across a few weeks ago: 21 Embarrassing Examples Of Why French People Are Way Trashier Than Americans. I left the page unimpressed and disappointed (following, yes, an initial chuckle). Must we so consistently compete and compare our two cultures? Apparently so. The following day, a French site fired back with, 21 examples qui font que les américains sont plus trash que les français...

Beside the fact that "trash" or "trashy" is a not a very nice word to describe any one person, let alone an entire country, the examples are also ridiculous. Can't we focus on the good stuff we share? Like day-drinking, for example. But I guess it's not really fair to compare some of my favorite collegiate memories with the Parisian festival that honors the harvest of Clos Montmartre, the last remaining vineyard in the former village, is it? Probably not. Even still, I hope you know that Americans do appreciate wine more than we're credited with and the French are hardly ever as snobby about their vin as stereotype might have you believe.

We tasted, sampled, and enjoyed the ambiance that only a historical neighborhood flanked with tipsy Parisians and visitors can provide. And after bites and sips of regional red wines, charcuterie, and cheeses, we ended on a sweet note with churros and champagne. That, my friends, is my kind of celebration. Maybe I'll trick and treat next year ;) happy weekend!