Pistachio Coma

via filckr

I've eaten way too many pistachios. It's not good. Am feeling like I've been stuck in steerage on some cross Atlantic journey from hell.

I found these Persian Pistachios at Sahadi's and I've been hooked ever since.

If you haven't been to shop there, or even been to that part of Brooklyn (MY part of Brooklyn, actually)--you should.

Sahadi's sits on Atlantic Avenue and has been a hub of activity for more than 60 years. There are piles of salted, roasted, peeled chocolate dipped, candied and sugared nuts from all over the world. Chocolates, dried fruits, spices, coffee, olives, pickled garlic and carrots share space with Turkish breads, fresh Hummus, Tahini and imported oils and cheeses.

It's basically heaven. You know that feeling of overwhelming helplessness when you walk into a drugstore or hardware store? The feeling that there are so many choices, so many little teeny (often well-packaged) items that you never knew you needed, never imagined how you've lived without?

Ok, maybe I'm the only one--or perhaps you're kidding yourself.

Visit Sahadi's, and I dare you not to buy a half pound of the cinnamon almonds, Persian pistachios, Turkish flat bread or Lebanese olives.

That's what I thought. You're welcome.

image via Ron

slightly stale,

but still delicious...

okay, so it's been easily a month since I've "blogged", but I assure you I've been busy with all sorts of changes:

• new Job


• officially moved to Brooklyn (ok, that was a few months ago but it was called official recently)


• am without a computer of my own--makes life a little tough always borrowing Roy's

Anyway, I am back.

(applause)

Stop and smell the roses

I don't really have time to in my new job--but if I did--this is what they would look like. They're left over from a photo shoot and they're fragrant and amazing.

*sigh*

Monday morning quarterback...

...or whatever that phrase is (don't watch football, could care less--me likey baseball).

Anyhoo. As some of you may remember, Brady and I went to McManus last week or so and it was yet another hellish experience. So, because we were both in sour moods and were in the mood for a pint, it was time to try a new place.

We stopped upon "Henry Street Ale House" or something of that ilk and decided to give it a go. It was a dream. Quiet, clean, refreshing new menu items--although oddly they ran out of dessert on SATURDAY, it was lovely.


We had a great bartender and were in business.

Brady was having some issues with this apartment hunt. We New Yorkers use the term "hunt" quite literally around here. You all, wherever you are, may use it loosely or you may even not really understand how the terms are related.

Let me break it down for ya...in this city and its lovely surrounding boroughs, it is about as rare to find an honest, attentive broker as it is to find a bucket full of chocolate-covered plutonium at the 14th street station.

Not likely* my friends.

So long story short she was having issues getting her money back from a broker that was misleading/A LYING COW and we were discussing what to do. I sent her to my good friend "A" who is a big wig Realtor so that he could asses the sitch and give her advice.

Fingers are still crossed.



*this might not be factually accurate, technically speaking. Just that EVERYONE I KNOW has a story like this. EVERYONE.

Festival of might

We went to CT to see my family for Chanukah. It was very nice. My brother the chef, made latkes (love him, mine were just as good...take that Le Cirque!)

Everyone loved their gifts (especially my 93 year old Nana and the silk leopard pjs we got her)

But once again getting to the train station seemed more than I could handle. Not sure why, or what it is that causes the anxiety. When I am on the way to the train, airport, etc...I lose my mind.

It's like I am watching myself freak out over the potential lateness (or actually lateness as the case may be) and I become like this little general. Mostly barking orders that make very little sense.

Hat's off to Roy who is slowly diffusing both the grenades being thrown at him and the tiny terror who's tossing them his way.

C is for cookie...

So I got kind of ambitious this weekend and decided to host a cookie swap party. I had told a select few about it and what started off as a way to taste other people's baked goods, quickly morphed into a very girly time.

Maureen was the only person who does not live with me that came, and that poor dear got lost and had massive back spasms most of the time she was here. So much so that upon rescuing her from scary Brooklyn, I handed her my sweats, new socks, fleece and my crocs so that she could shed the woes of what had already been a trying day.

(yes I said crocs...let's move on, shall we?)

So we ate cookies, gossiped, used a little too much glitter puff paint and ate a lot of pizza with Roy. It was different, but much better than I had expected with only one attendee.

Sometimes things turn out just the way they should. I am not saying it wouldn't have been fun for everyone to be eating cookies in unison (then most likely tossing them later) BUT, it was just as nice with some much needed one-on-one time with Moe.

Maybe next time, she'll even bring cookies.

The Office

Thursday night I got to tag along with the gals in my mother's office to dinner and a show. It was their holiday party and I was thrilled I could snag an invite.

Every year she takes them to some swank restaurant and then the season's "hottest" new play. This year it was some place I can't remember followed by "Young Frankenstein." The play was good, Megan Mullaly was AMAZING. She carried the whole show, to the point where I was seriously restraining myself from screaming out "MEGAAAAAAANNNN YOU RULE" at her curtain call.

But the dinner was amazing. Not because of the truffle and short rib stuffed burger that Tracey ordered, or the "pump and dump" Jill left the table for, but it was the sight few have seen until now...my mother had an adult beverage. Granted, it was a White wine spritzer ( I am not even kidding) but because she was brave enough to try--or let touch her lips--everyone else's drinks.

Her office is filled with supremely talented, funny, smart and ambitious women. And then there was me and my father.

The above picture was taken when she was sipping my new favorite drink (courtesy of my dear friend Jo-Di). I'm not sure she loved it, but you may. So here it is:

I'll call it the Uncle Karl:

1. Petron Silver
2. Fresh Lime Juice
3. Cointreau
3. Olives (this is my own addition, since they add the needed salt, without actual salt and I get to eat them)