Divine in all its Goopidity

This place had me choked up, pining for more and left me uttering only the words "O my goodness, kill me now, so I know I'll die happy". My older sister and I walked around, a glass of wine in hand, perusing and drooling and oggling over isles of fresh pastas (from semolina to fara to kamut) and gold foil-wrapped olive oils, section after heart tugging section. The fruit mostardas, the heap of meyer lemons, the botarga, the mini crate of uni (this. this thing right here. IS my favorite thing on the planet) caught off the coast of the north Atlantic that morning. and the MOZZARELLA station. The master artfully massaging and caressing that beautiful dairy cloud in this big silver basin right in front of my face! STOP IT!


And then. Il cioccolato.
Rows and shelves and platters of bliss. Of perfection. Of death. 
From the handmade Baci-like bonbons to toasted coconut-coated truffles to these divine dark chocolate bubbles filled with chocolate liqueur. As each were proudly nestled in their fluted throne, they sang to my soul. They beckoned; I answered with fervor. 


It's all their fault. 


I chose the bubble - that hollow orb filled of an all at once silken, oozy and goopy, divinity. 
In a word sublime.
I lose my train of thought as the first bite is taken while my darling little sister is innocently chatting to me over the phone about...well, something to do with crocheting, I think. 
And now here goes this viscous rush of goopishness down my hand and onto my chin, then chest. Poor little girl was completely oblivious to my juggling of goop and iPhone and divinity all over the place.
Standing in the middle of this crowded marketplazaheaven with napkins just kind of sticking to me, not aiding my sitch in the least. 
Oooh, but it was worth it - every last flake of chocolate, every embarrassing look. 
Worth it, and I'll do it again. 

ME on the other hand...

I have had an odd weekend.

Yesterday evening's event capped the end to a very long week. Enough stressful scenarios and fashion "emeeergencies" bubbled over to make a person sick - quite literally (Thera Flu's got my back)! But it's been more so on a personally emotional level for me most people don't quite understand. 

It's hard to know how to properly convey my experience of something like this coming together from the point of view as an ex (I'll admit even, struggling) anorexic/bulimic. 

Not that this experience was not surreal or exciting at all in some points, to see and have a conversation with some people I never would have even come within the same room - let alone same dressing room - if I wasn't a part of this team; this production conjured up an especially daunting amount of horrible feelings and memories right to my face hour after agonizing hour, day after day, all week long. 

As I help dress this girl whose waist couldn't have been more than 19 inches and close to 6 feet tall, I fight the thoughts of needing to be there again too. Needless to say, of course some people have tiny frames (this girl was Asian), but to see the bones in your throat and to have a baggy thong...my God, save me from having a nervous breakdown. 
Liya Kebede would be crushed by a light breeze and her skin looks so weathered and tired, just nothing close to what a 32yr old should look like.
I had to see Chanel Iman - born from a model and obliged to keep the tradition going. Maybe you didn't know, but she's now a Victoria's Secret Angel. I don't want to get blasted for calling her, by far, one of the worst things I've ever laid eyes on (I honestly don't see how she got a spot modeling lingerie, when I'm being generous in calling her an A-cup...which she is not filling). 
On one hand, I see it as a sacrifice - a Goldman Sachs employee may sacrifice sleep and hours away from home to keep up with a grueling, high pressure job. They sacrifice the health of a good night's sleep on a regular basis to get the job done and to meet deadline. I've reasoned with myself it's ok - I sacrifice my health for a while (2 weeks with no food and running 3 miles a day on nothing but coffee to maintain my standard 103 pounds and 33" hips ). They need to be a certain look, a certain size (even though more often than not, the sample clothes have to be taken in to fit this type - I know. I've been there.) That's one thing, not that I'm justifying it.
But to glorify this is a different animal. To be subjected even to window mannequins that have projecting ribs drives me to a point of wanting to give up the fight, break down, and go throw up. To listen to these girls be called "slender" (skin stretched over premature osteoporosis frames is more like it) leaves someone like me on the verge of a nervous breakdown. It is a constant struggle to burn into my skull my 35inch hips are NOT blubbery and repulsive. 
So please forgive me as I excuse myself of partaking in this moment "going down in 'history'"  to just hate it all for a few minutes. Give me some time and a little space to not take this all personally and say to myself it's OK to go eat a tomato slice of that tray.


Not that I see many girls or women wanting to be one of these girls per se, but we all want to matter to the rest of the world and be put on a pedestal like these girls are - whether or not they're walking advertisements on how well of a job not eating (or doing blow, or consuming tissues soaked in lemon juice) keeps one "slender".


And maybe that is one of the reasons now why I've become obsessed with the food world, depriving myself of it for so long (on and off for nearly 7 years...mostly on). Modeling goes against my grain too much anyway, hell - I'm Italian and coming from cooking nearly every day with my Dad before moving here FOR modeling. 
And for what? For my hair to fall out and be sick all the time, only to hear a photographer tell me, quoting Kate Moss as I pick up a handful of grapes at a shoot "Now, Juliet remember, 'nothing tastes as good as skinny feels'" and having to suck in my (already concave) stomach for the next 5 frames.


Fuck you.


I just want to know truly what it feels like to not beat myself up for feeling full.
"It doesn't matter, mom. I could be eating a bag of gummy bears or an apple and still feel the same." 
"So let it be the apple."


UUUUGH ok fine.


Although, I commend Daria Werbowy. She looked great and had vibrance to her skin and a sense of humor. 


I'm continuing to train myself that I matter to God, my creator, and that this world is fickle and dying. I have life through Him and Him alone. 

Things aren't Always What They Seem

Today, we'll be playing a game of

NAME

THAT

THING!!!

Heeeere's rooound one!!

Could it be Tootles' lost marbles? pebbles at the bottom of a fish tank??

Larvae, you say? Nope, AND deduct 50 trillion internets for your lousy, prosaic, attempt at a guess.

Blown up microscopic image of what's inside your blackheads?

Gross.

NO!

OK, round two. Moving on to it's (here's a hint) driiiiied staaaage:

[Ooooh's and Aaaaah's abound]

tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock...

Capers? pppppffhh, HA!!!!

No.
Some sort of dried caviar??? Some odd Chinatown find where only the shriveled 230 year old Grandma manning the filthy, fly-infested, food(?) stand knows its true origin?? NOOOOOOOOOO!!!


Folks, for rooooound three! How about we single out just one, with a reference scale, both raw and dried specimens...

A bird's eye?!! You barbarian. No.

Give up???

Really??? Because you'll be giving up on this priiiize!!

Weeell, ok.

It's time for THIS!!!

You want to know what it is???

!!!!!!!

Welp, you'll have to wait after this brief message from one of our sponsors!!!!

Please stop crying. No-no! Don't turn that dial! You're...you're my only viewer.

Ugh, yea, the build-up joke is getting old for me too...

They're papaya seeds!!!!!

These slimy little orbs are a terrific substitute for black pepper, though they're heat is a bit different. It's not as sharp; more mellow and warm, I'd say. Also, it's a bit toasty tasting (maaaybe that's because of the oven? Might not have that quality if put in a dehydrator). My favorite part would have to be how the heat lingers and builds in your mouth - it doesn't necessarily hit your palate right at first, but that may just be me.
Either way, I'll be using it instead (or maybe with, since I love spice) of black pepper, mostly because it is home to copious amounts of enzymes aiding in digestion. You can also just chomp on them if you're too impatient to dry them in the oven at 150 degrees (in my oven's case, 170 degrees). I'm not all that picky and eat just about anything (and can be quite lazy sometimes), so I enjoy both ways!
I must say, the raw texture is fun. Plus you get more of the fruit's flavor this way. To clean them, all you really have to do is rinse or soak them a bit, and your natural-ified Alka Seltzer is a-ready to a-gooo! Just pulverize them in your spice grinder to however coarse you want, or put them in whole inside your pepper mill. Apparently, they're a great addition to salad dressings. 
I think I may just add it to some guacammmmole.

......

...if you caught the Austen Powers in Goldmember reference, you just earned back your 50 trillion internets.


So next time I buy a papaya, I'll be trying out this cocktail called Iron Fist in a Velvet Glove. To be honest, I'm not a huge fan of the musky-esque essence papaya can have, but when disguised with booze, who cares. (supposed to serve 4...personally, I love gin, so I'd up that part of the ratio a bit):
1 ripe Hawaiian papaya, seeded and peeled 
Papaya seeds from one papaya, rinsed 
6 ounces of gin (I'd put a whole 8 :) ) 
3 tablespoons lemon juice 
5 mint leaves 
16 ounces club soda 
½ cup cubed ice 
Blend everything together in a blender until combined. Serve nice and chill!

My "Labor Day"

I woke up at 9:30; went back to bed for another hour. I lazily kicked back my covers rubbing my eyes, my marigold painted walls slowly coming into focus. 

I climb out of my loft bed (I love my loft bed. I'm not ashamed to say I pretend to be Peter Pan as I climb up the wooden ladder to nuzzle into my "treehouse". You know you're jealous). As my feet hit the floor, I contemplate on climbing back up to my cocoon. 

I stumble down the hallway into the dim living room and lay on the couch for a minute. Then i make tea. Roomie goes to get coffee, and I guzzle that down too.

I painted my toes and finger nails.

I bum around on the internet for a while, then draft some articles while listening to my Pandora stations.

I call an old friend.

Some friends drop by for a few.

I take a shower...I don't step outside of my apartment until just after 5PM.

My roomies and I stroll out into the breezy afternoon headed towards...

this...

This, folks, is a scene from my roommate's phone of the Caribbean Day Parade.

Eastern Parkway is trembling off the rictor scale with the base from the blaring Reggae with girls who have absolutely no business wearing thong-kinis along with feathers coming of their faces and boot tops gyrating their hips to the insane, brain aneurysm-inducing beat. 

Just in case you didn't believe me (just look at those rolls). And I'm not quite sure what's wrong with the guy just laying in the road. Just taking a break from all the pot and dry humping, I guess.

O and these cool kids:

Goldie seems to be wearing a bead-curtain/neck tie little ornament there. Pretty cool.

Then Wonder Woman Bad Ass there just wants us dead.

So we moved on...

...to get ice cream at Blue Marble on Underhill Avenue.

Then we wandered.

Bought some vegetable seeds for our nongarden and empty planters.

And wandered some more.

Then wandered home where I made this:

Wild caught cod poached in vegetable broth and coconut milk with aromatics of shallots, the cutest, tiniest red onions, ginger, and saffron; also, I added orange zest and dried chilies and topped with toasted almonds and pepitas.

The roasted veggies are potatoes, bell pepper, mushrooms, the most intensely jewel-toned yams, onion, aaand..o right, carrots and garlic cloves - crushed, not minced or sliced. Tossed with EVOO, salt, red pepper flakes, sage, rosemary, thyme (no parsley...I know, I should have, just so could type out the lyrics).

I know, I know, the flavor profiles totally clash, but it's what we had and it was a blast to make...
...which went like this:

So while the veggies were roasting in the oven at 400 degrees for pr'aps* an hour-ish, I started the fish.

This picture doesn't show the coconut milk(actually a left-over), saffron, or the dried chili.

O ok, this one does, though. That's me mixing the saffron into the coconut milk. The chilies are in the bowl just in-front of my cutesy little hand-painted mug, mixed in with the orange zest and ginger chunks.

Theeen...

...tossin' the veggehs.Turned off the oven.

I saute the iiiitty-bitty red onions and shallot with a cuppla' tabes o' EVOO**

Then I added the shriveled chilies and ginger chunks.

In went the codfish.

I poured in some vegetable broth and then in went the...

coconut milk and saffron. 

I let it bubble and be delicious for a bit and sprinkled on the orange zest. Also, I added a pinch (small pinch) of thyme, because I felt like it.

 (sorry, I don't remember how long, but just let it go until it changes from opaque to just about solid white on the bottom, flip, then let it go just until it's all white)

I plated and placed a row of the toasted nuts down the fillet and spooned on some sauce all before adding the painfully cliche parsley garnish you saw in the first pickchaaah***

We took it to the couch to watch the last of the No Reservations marathon (my favorite show). 

So my point behind listing all the action today is: why would you call it Labor Day, when there is absolutely no labor done?? I get it, it's to honor all the workers, blah, blah - but call it something else not pertaining to the work they've done, but to the break they deserve. Call it, I don't know...Day of Rest...no God has dibs on that. Well, then how about Take a Break Day? Well, just not Labor Day. It just makes no sense to me. 

* "pr'aps = perhaps 

**Julietese for "a couple of tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil."

***that means picture

A Tribute

This is a continuation of my previous post - documenting my roommate's birthday, a tribute cake to my one of my favorite blogs, and my inevitable failure in the attempt of going one week (just one measly week) without sugar.

I promised pictures. I got the pictures. Beware...

echoed from the previous posting - "O and it broke when I flipped the cake onto the cooling rack"

Also take note of the enormous chunk in the middle that stuck to the cake pan. 

Gobs of toasted coconut and coconut milk butter cream to make it aaall(most) better.

"aaand no candles. Just tea lights."

Front and center displayed for all the folks to see (really horrendous, but those who got the "wreck" joke just laughed harder):

From this angle, you're able to appreciate the full glacial effect of the warmed buttercream. You can't even tell what shape the cake really is. Priceless.

Also, note the tribute poo swirl, border, and lettering...melting and oozing all over the place.

tasted good though.

And, again, I realized there was no redeeming a cake's outcome after wrecking its psyche by calling it a wreck in the first place, even if only in conception, before its...its offensive construction.

I still have some left. 

It'll probably be my dinn -- BLAST! Right. No sugar. [feels a cold sweat coming]. I can handle this, right? Sure, no problem...piece of ca-- o wait. I mean, easy as pi-- DOH!

Well, it'll be fine. It'll be aaalright. 

[hugging knees, rocking back and forth doe-eyed, whimpering-ly humming a comforting tune]

Good thing I wore Lipstick...

So it's been a slow day here at Shmom Shmord and I've just about ran out of things to do. So. To make the day slide by, I fill in the empty spots of my notepads with as much doo-dads and fake food as possible. 


Here's tracking the day's progress:

that was before lunch...

still before lunch (note added pizza slice, hotdog, apple and doodled pinot noir)

See, I really wish you could zoom, because there's just so many deets you can't pick up here (like the dyn-o-mite spider in the doorway way up there in the corner. I even put furniture inside)...

...then...

AHP! phone call. 

"No, Shmom Shmord does not design pink alligator sneakers. Thanks n'  have a great day. mmbuh-bye."

Hey, that's a pretty good chicken...

And this is the same, only more notes from strangers saying amusing things - just about 5PM today.

So that's what this sluggish day held in store - playing with the webcam...and doodling, indubitably. The highlight was probably making a cappuccino. 

I do something new now where I swirl sugar in the foam to make it more like whipped cream. 

Don't judge me, it's a work in progress, remember?

Ok, thanks.