Original Pancake House

Getting a table at the Original Pancake House in Bethesda on a Sunday morning entails a wait. Once you're in, however, it's worth the price of admission.

Unless you're a devoted carnivore, don't bother with the eggs and meats. My bacon, while adequately fatty, was cooked to the point of being burnt... and it was dry. My eggs were entirely forgettable (but servicable). The homefries were bland and congealed together. So what? Just get the pancakes. The buttermilk ones are amazing - tender, piquant with buttermilk, and they have a nice bounce without being rubbery. You can load them with an endless amount of syrup, and they will resist disintegrating. They are things of beauty. These are what pancakes should be - and I am not even a big fan of pancakes in general. I've tried their skillet variations in the past - such as the massive babka they call an apple pancake, but the simplest version shows off what they do best and is less likely to overwhelm.

If you celebrate Lent or other occasions with lots of pancakes, this is the place to visit.


http://www.originalpancakehouse.com/

Study Music

Wheeeee finals.

For your (and my) listening pleasure:

Zee Avi's Just You and Me

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WWXXFT2RccY

BGR

What's a girl to do when she has spent the last 48 hours awake finishing a group project, delivered a closing under firm grilling, and finished her first final? She looks for a huge hunk of burger, preferably freshly killed. Due to cost and morals, most nights I eat vegan. This was not to be one of those nights.

BGR has long been on my to-visit list. It's been featured on Man v. Food for offering a seriously huge burger. I heard that their other offerings, fit for mere mortals, were also decent. An old friend and I spent five minutes figuring out the futuristic in-house soda/pop machine with a hapless customer. They offer flavored varieties of Sprite and Coke through that thing, kind of a throwback to the the 1980s.

I talked family with a childhood friend who has spent the last few years in Belgium. Our orders were ready in a little under fifteen minutes, and the service was great for a carryout place. Finding a table was tricky, but we swooped in on a four-person banquette. Next to us was a pair of young litigators, loudly commiserating on the state of the job market. A couple tables down held a family dealing with a baby. This is not the place for a cozy catch-up on a Saturday night, but it is still a lot of fun.

The burgers arrived hot, well-done, and topped with just the right amount of veggies. They had a very smoky, rich flavor, although the sauce was a bit salty for my taste. Would I return on my own? Probably not. Shake Shack is still my fave place for burgers along Connecticut even though their patties are smaller. Still, I might take a dining companion with a larger appetite, particularly an eating-challenge-sized appetite, to BGR.

Amsterdam Falafel

With the chilly onset of delicious fall, I've been jogging further and further out for good eats. This past week, I jogged to Adams Morgan to scope out the 'hood. I took my housemate with me on our longest jog yet, where we reached Amsterdam Falafel. She had her wallet, I did not. If you could combine the expressions of a sad puppy with a fish starved for water, that approximates my face as she chomped down on "the best falafel of [her] life," replete with do-it-yourself toppings like baba ghanoush, pickled beets, and coleslaw. I vowed to come back soon.

Fast forward two days, me and the law school girls are coming back from an evening class, and someone is hungry. I recommend Amsterdam Falafel. We go, They take credit cards. We rejoice. It is falafel heaven. Sting is playing in the background (shameless) and two very sketchy Russians are at the other table, but we are too busy eating to take much notice of them. I get the small, but it's still huge. I go crazy with the toppings - I make a note that eggplant is delicious in all its forms. It is also like 2 in the morning by the time we get back. I sleep as though I had been knocked by a two-by-four and awake with a very confused stomach that does not know what hour it is. Regardless, it was neat.

Meiwah Restaurant, Bethesda

Meiwah Restaurant, sandwiched above a Panera in Bethesda, is actually quite delicious, affordable, and located in a good neighborhood. Parking can be a bit of a hassle, but it's a decent Chinese meal. I ate there this past weekend for my great-uncle's wake; while I would have preferred to go under happier circumstances, the food certainly lived up the occasion and the tender references that it brought up.

My great-uncle had a culinary career that he loved, and that loved him back. He was a great man who touched many lives. Without his sense of adventure and his true gift for making people feel at ease in his kitchen, my family would have never come to America.

Hearing old friends who had known him speak helped me to better understand how, exactly, he made such fantastic curry puffs. He earned his toque as an executive chef at four- and five-star restaurants in Shanghai and Beijing. I will always remember the meals that he whipped up at his restaurant in Bethesda. He had some real panache, that guy. After his sons opened up their own places, and he closed his own, he stayed busy and he never gave up his passion for life. He was tending to his prized vegetables, looking dashing for his feisty wife, and cracking jokes until the very end.

After his funeral and the several rounds of kowtow's that we threw in for good measure, I'm pretty sure that everyone was famished by the time we sat down for a late-afternoon wake. We ate some competently-done beef hor-fun, very flavorful Hunan shrimp, perfectly-fried flounder, and dou-miao that was fresh and refreshing. Of course, it reminded me of other meals. But it was a good meal in its own right, and I think my great-uncle would have felt that way, too.

Chi-Dog-O

I am smacking myself for not trying Chi-Dog-O by U street a little sooner. If you like your hotdogs topped with sliced tomatoes, onions, pickled jalepenos, mustard, and/or relish this is the spot. I had the house veggie dog with the aforementioned fixings (hold the celery salt) and it was amazing. The bun is perfect and is dusted with poppy seeds. For a moment, I could have been walking on State St. under some El bridge. People eyed my dog with what must have been envy. Not bad for under $4. For adventurous eaters, there is a Superior Street challenge where you can try to tuck in an ungodly amount of hot dog and Italian beef under 8 minutes. Maybe next time.

...omiglob...

Adventure Time makes me so happy. And now, it's also fashionable!

"Don't Squeeze Me, I'll Fart" and "B-Mo!" shirts from threadless.com.

And because this would not be a proper post without fine print: The designs were screeed during an Adventure Time-themed contest with the alleged blessing of the copyright/trademark holders of the Adventure Time universe.

I don't understand fashion

The people have spoken with their wait-times. Apparently Missoni by itself is nice, and Target by itself is nice, but when you mix them with an epic ad campaign, people get crazy. The zigzags are transferrable, youthful, and now affordable.

For everyone willing to fork over hundreds of dollars at Target pop-up stores and the Target website (now crashed because of demand), you can still get your internet-shopping fix on at Free People's Vintage Loves section. Instead of redecorating your whole kitchen, getting a bike, and dressing up your kids, you'd get like one item to hang in your closet, circa the last time Missoni was current. Admittedly, my heart beat a little faster when I saw the zigzag bicycles, but I knew that such items were not meant to be in stock for long. Good luck to everyone who gorged themselves on fall-colored zigzags - matching is half the battle!

W00t for M00t Part Deux

Wow, it looks like I'll be mooting like no one's business this fall. I'm so excited! One moot competition is international. I'll have to figure some things out, sleep on a few others. Still, I'm pretty excited just to have been selected.

Recently, I've been trying to figure out my life. I know I want to stay on the East Coast for my career - it's so much easier to be around family and friends. But when people ask me what kind of law I'd like to practice, I feel like I have to distinguish between the law courses that I enjoy, and the practice that I think I'm best suited for. I love all of my courses, but I know I won't be specializing in all of them. It's hard to narrow things down to a compact, one-sentence category, but that's the way it goes.

To clear my head, I've been returning to old hobbies. My housemate bought a digital keyboard, so I can play piano with headphones. It's a totes new experience playing with headphones. I hear the notes so much better. Because I don't have to worry about other people hearing me, I play with fewer inhibitions. I'm suddenly playing a lot better - it's easier to get in that flow state and do everything right the first time.

I've also started running twice a week. This will probably last only as long as the weather stays above freezing. I listen to NPR interviews - I figure listening to radio interviews will help me beef up my own cross-examination skills.

While I was jogging today, a metro bus driver stopped by the curb and asked me for help. I walked over to him and said, okay - what can I do for ya? He asked me if I was 1) married or 2) single. A year ago, I would have darted away in a huff and been all awkward about it. But that was before I went to Europe and realized that I am old. I just told him I was unavailable, thanked him for the nice compliment, and then went on my way. He passed by me when he turned to go in the opposite direction, and he honked. ::shrug:: I might change my jog times up but I don't think he'll bother me again.

When I went home, I wondered what would happen if I let my shields down. I can't remember the last time I went on an informal date. I perused OKCupid and found someone perfect - for my housemate. She thinks he's cute. Who knows, maybe she'll message him. I soon realized that I just wasn't feeling the whole putting-myself-out-there business. Still, I'm glad that I at least looked and then decided that I was not up for it.

Fresh Market

This summer, I listened up when my sister recommended Fresh Market's meat selection. Fresh Market is the kind of suburban grocery store that is hard not to like.

The sockeye salmon (about $19.99/lb) did not disappoint - it tasted like it had swum onto the grill. Nor did the house-prepared Chicken Cordon Bleu (about $3.99 per piece) - although, to be fair, white meat chicken is prone to being a bit dry if overcooked. Everything was pretty darn fresh, and I would gladly go back. While the space is pleasant and aimed at yuppies, even the poor grad student can find high-quality proteins here. While you could stop by to buy fresh swordfish steaks ($19.99/lb.), you could just as easily bring home a wine-and herb rubbed roaster chicken for a little under six bucks.

The basics, like the meats and cheeses, are solid. The trick is leaving once you've got the goods.

While I can't speak about the more established locations, the Vienna grocery store has a lot going for it. There is an olive bar, which I'm sure I'd appreciate more if I were into olives or things that include olives. The produce is stacked in neat pyramids (similar to Whole Foods). There is a churn-your-own-nut-butter grinder, offering peanut and almond varieties (similar to Safeway Select stores) - which is really nice for people who 1) eat lots o' nut butter and 2) don't want preservatives in it. It's a brand-spanking new store, though, so users can grind away without worrying about who's maintaining and cleaning the grinding stuff. There is a row of barrels of whole coffee beans, which are fun to dip one's scoop in.

The middle of the store is dedicated to a center island filled with barrel bins from which you can make your own trail mix of choice. This is the part where I am like a kid in a candy store, surrounded by banana chips, wasabi peas, macadamia nuts, and various trail mix blends. I love trail mix.

The store feels like a boutique and does what a boutique should do - it's thoughtful, delightful even, but not overwhelming. A quick glance at the chilled beverage selection shows a lot of editing. There's kombucha but also Starbucks doubleshots, artisinal soda but also Snapple (in just a few flavors).

Also, the staff is really nice. I love this place.

Thank You Comcast - Adventures in Brookland at B Cafe

My brilliant housemate proposed that after we trekked all the way to Brookland, around Catholic University, to return our unwanted cable boxes to Comcast, that we make it worth our while by finding some good eats nearby.

After poking around for a bit, we went to B Cafe, a delicious hangout that is vegan and meat-lover friendly. The vibe was very chill - excellent old-school music, a flat-screen TV, and a fruity, herbal unsweetened iced tea kicked things off nicely. The space seats about 30 comfortably in very Pier-1-inspired digs.

Everything was cooked to perfection. The house veggies were roasted in olive oil, butter and spices which was amazing. My friend had something called "explosion fries" - an off-menu mix of traditional, lemon-flavored, and sweet-potato fries. Since going to Belgium, I have had a good share of frites, but we North Americans have the mighty sweet potato. My friend ordered a sweet potato cupcake with cream-cheese-style icing. I'm not sure if it was vegan, but it tasted like carrot cake.

Shortly thereafter, there followed another cupcake, sent from the kitchen to us lovely ladies. It was chocolate, with two strawberries cut into roses. Someone had written, I <3 U in whipped cream on the plate. Cute. We ate the cupcake, and left the message. So vegan ladies looking for love or at least a little flattery - this is a very tasty place where the chef is very single. But don't tell him I sent you.

North Beach, Or How I Roasted Like Chicken

When I was younger, my dad used to take my family out to all sorts of beaches on our annual family vacation. Some of the beaches were well-known, but most were kind of pokey, murky-water places where my scientifically-inclined siblings could find good seashells and sand crabs. As a result, going to the banks of the Atlantic always makes me smile.

This past weekend, some buddies and I ventured out to North Beach, a quiet sandy stretch of beach that is actually only 45 minutes outside of DC. It's a freshwater beach that abuts the Chesapeake bay. Ocean City it isn't; I had my misgivings. The bottom of the water is silt (which feels oddly squishy) and the water is brackish and doesn't make waves. But the sand itself is very clean, thanks to monitors who keep out trash and over-sized coolers. It is actually pretty nice.

However, this is not a place to get sloppy. My friends and I walked into a nearby restaurant in our beach attire and were seated in the back, away from the cardigan-and-boat-shoe-doffing locals. I heard not one curse word uttered during the whole day on the beach. I would recommend it to people who don't mind their water a little silty, and still want to get away from it all for half a day in more down-to-earth surroundings.

Ice Cream, Tears, and Fire Dancing

"I am the emperor of ice cream."

W.H. Auden's poem reminds me of times past, when I was on the shyer side of 25, memorizing lessons in a humble study room, in a very old building. The reader was a young man who will never be too old for poetry.

Ice cream makes me feel young, if that makes any sense. Fitting for a week full of new steps in life.

My principessa caught up to me age-wise when I returned from Europe. Anticipating that our small sleepover party might include some unexpected guests, I bought two ice cream cakes (measuring less than six inches square each). It was a mistake. I forgot the law of expanding ice cream cake - one inch of ice cream cake is like five inches of normal cake. I hope my sweetie will forgive me once the brain freeze subsides. I call do-over.

In my new Cleveland Park digs, I celebrated the last barbeque hurrah of one of my dearest friends. I woke up to an epic potluck, full of hot dogs, watermelon, and Mario. So much has gone down in the old place, I feel like I am inheriting it. But it is not the last of the barbeques, although some of us are moving on.

In the afternoon, I ventured into Europe by way of Dupont. I picked up a cone of Cucumber-Mint-Vodka sorbetto at the incredible Dolcezza, one of my friend's favorite gelato haunts. The gelato is sinful, but the sorbetto is like a gust of angel wings beating. It tasted like a frozen version of Chef Geoff's Cool Hand Cuke cocktail, which is also highly recommended. In short, cucumber is incredibly refreshing and delicious in all its forms. The fact that the sorbetto comes in a dixie-cup sized scoop and is served by a lovely hipster in perfectly faded jeans does not hurt. For four bucks, I felt like I was in Europe again. As much as I appreciated Europe, I do not miss her. I know the next time we meet, we will pick up where we left off.

Something in the sorbetto must have loosened my lips quite a bit, because suddenly the conversation got pretty deep. Life, love, fear of failure, fear of success, all of it was on the table. I listened, mostly. As I encouraged a friend to take more risks, I awoke to how many risks I should have taken myself, which were not risks at all. There are certain things that one simply knows and believes, unconditionally.

In the evening, I joined friends and family in front of the restaurant, where we set up chairs in the parking lot and watched the fireworks and some friends of friends perform fire poi, fire fan, and fire staff when the fireworks were over. It was beautiful. When the show was over, we passed around popsicles, the kind with red, white, and blue stripes.

Cantina Marina

For a few hours, I forgot that I was in D.C. at Cantina Marina.

This little bar and restaurant is located on a dock directly overlooking the water at the SW waterfront. The salty breeze, brilliant sun, and fake palm trees transported me to warmer climes, where the excellent house margaritas (around $9 each) would be even sweeter.

My colleagues and I enjoyed many of the house appetizers, including some quite servicable pork empanadas, crab cakes, and calamari. But the mini corn dogs stole the show. The service was warm.

If you enjoy watching sailboats and imbibing margaritas, Cantina Marina is an excellent choice for the summer. I expect it will be pretty hopping for the Fourth of July tomorrow. :)

Montreal

I take back every joke I've made at Canada's expense.

The ride back from Geneva was beautiful, but disorienting. I spoke in French with my seatmate and the air stewardess, and watched Europe pass by from the plane window. Then I flew backward in time six hours.

After speaking mostly French for about a month, I was greeted on sweet North American soil by English/French signs everywhere. The airport staff wore outfits of cardinal red and navy blue. The day was bright and sunny outside.

I stayed in the lovely Montreal Airport for a few hours, which was by far the nicest airport experience ever. The people were so polite. The airport music was pleasant. There was even a bar where you could look out onto the airport taxi area from floor-to-ceiling windows. Most of the planes were Boeings.

Feeling rather famished and jet-lagged to boot, I inhaled some poutine, a Quebecois dish of fries, gravy, and coleslaw. There was also a sandwich that was like a Reuben, but without the Russian dressing. It was some kind of smoked meat of indefinite origin, but it was delicious. In fact, it was the best meal I'd had in a very long time. I wish I had stayed (or at least ate) in Canada for a little bit longer.

Chamonix and Mont Blanc

If you had told me a year ago that one day I'd be hiking in the Alps, specifically down the Alps, I would have laughed you out of the room. I hate descending escalators, much less mountains. But that is what I found myself doing less than 72 hours ago, and I am so glad that I did. I went on a drive out with two friends to Chamonix, France. We almost ended up in Italy by accident, but a friendly border patrol agent steered us the right way.

In the summer, the melted snow and glacial ice of the mountains in Chamonix form copious freshwater streams and waterfalls that cascade throughout the mountains. In America, each waterfall would get its own observation deck. In the mountains, one more waterfall is not such a big deal.

I took the cable car to the highest observation deck. I love the observation deck because the rates to go up are not exhorbitant, and once you get to the top, you are not price-gouged when you try to buy souvenirs and food. Things are priced the way they'd be priced outside the valley. This was shocking to me.

At the top of Auguille du Midi, it was literally freezing outside, but the panoramic view of the most immense, beautiful mountains was worth wearing a down jacket in the middle of summer. From the observation tower, I saw a huge expanse of white dotted with black (alpine hikers). Small black birds flew about the top of the severe mountain ranges; their preferred method of taking off was to dive headfirst into space for several hundred feet before opening their wings. At such altitudes, I'm not sure what they would live off of besides snow. Perhaps the dark, beautiful butterfly/moth insects that also flitted about in the thin air.

My hat goes off to the intrepid engineers who built very tall observatory decks on top of mountains. There are photos inside the observation deck of the old-school civil engineers sitting causually on iron girders stuck into the granite faces, feet dangling.

I could barely bring myself to look down. My favorite peak to gaze at was Pont du Sud, which looks improbably sharp, with striated red stone. It would not look out of place in the Grand Canyon, and it keeps company with the dark granite of several other mountains. I feel like it is the odd child in the family.

Mont Blanc, the highest and best known mountain, has a domed top. The top of Mont Blanc was hugged by a little pouf of cloud fed by snowy powder being blown off the relatively smooth mountain-top. The pouf flows from the top of the mountain like thick smoke from a chimney. It remains rooted to the mountain even though it is pulled to and fro by the wind, like a flame can be blown to and fro but remains rooted to the match. I had never seen such a cloud before.

It was so beautiful, that not only was the view perfectly clear, but several variations of rainbow formed in the sky above the mountain while I was on the observation deck. First, there was a double rainbow (two parrallel rainbows). Then the rainbows started to merge into a sideways "Y" shape. Then there was only one rainbow with a very intense center portion, accompanied by a huge circular rainbow radiating around the sun itself (beautiful but painful to look at if you weren't careful). Then there was only one rainbow again, which faded with the mist. I did not bring my camera, but my friends tried and failed utterly to take a single bad photograph. Many thanks to the beautiful Katie for taking a photo of the moment!

After staring like an idiot for what could have been minutes or hours, I took the cable car to the middle of the mountain and began a light hike down some very level, well-established trails along the side face of the mountain. I bought hiking boots and they made a huge difference because I didn't have to worry about my ankles turning. The wildflowers, the well-worn trail, and the utter quiet made for a very tranquil, relaxing hike. The birds and the marmots provided background music. I did a happy dance when we found marmots.

It was daunting to look to one side and face nothing but the open air, the valley below, the mountains in the distance. Sure beats the stair-master. It was a fairly long hike in thin air, to be honest I have no idea how far we walked. I was completely tuckered out by the end.

When we made it closer to the bottom of the mountain, we took photos by the glacier lake frozen along the side of the mountain. You can see where the water was flowing when it froze. It's not that big a lake. My friend is into environmental law and she really enjoyed seeing the glacier lake in person.

We took the last old-school train down the rest of the mountain to the main village. Mountain rescue team members boarded the train with us. They had a Saint Bernard on a leash accompanying them. I was so excited to see the dog, but he only had eyes for his handler, a gentleman who reminded me of an older Jason Statham. Whoever he is, he is cool in my book.

It was definitely a trip to remember.

En Geneve

Have you ever been in place so perfect, that you feel like there is some higher presence guiding everything? Some people get that feeling from Disneyland (and everything is definitely planned out there). I got that feeling in Switzerland. It's hard to tell where divine intervention and human intervention meet, which makes the natural orderliness of the place all the more uncanny.

In the center of the city, there is a huge geyser fountain shooting from the middle of the cobalt Lac Leman, on the banks of which I enjoyed an utterly perfect day. I recommend La Terrasse, a popular meet-up by the lake where you can imbibe on the grass nearby or go down to the water for a quick dip. It's the perfect place to sip and view the local talent. The sun also does not set until around 10 pm, which is also nice. It was surprisingly cold, but at least it was warmer than Paris (which is comparable to Canada in terms of global latitude).
I felt very much at home. Geneva feels more like a global town than a global village. Like DC, the grassy knolls of Geneva are filled with the idealistic, ambitious interns who work on issues of global import for next to nothing; they seem to live on pure will.

The social scene was a very exclusive, almost incestuous club, where everyone can make jokes in several languages and is comfortable with speaking in acronyms. The WTO, UNHCR, ILO, ICRC, WIPO, IOM and countless other NGOs and intergovernmental bodies restent en Geneve. For my human rights class, most of the sites I visited worked on human rights / humanitarian issues. During the presentations, I felt pretty much in awe all the time.

Not surprisingly, the architecture of the UN High Commissioner on Refugees reflected humility - it reminded me of an adobe plueba in a cliff-face, or maybe a bunker. A very safe, nonthreatening bunker. The Palais Wilson, named after Woodrow, was a grande dame of a building on the outside, but the inside did not have very ornate rooms. One of my favorite features was a giant statue, in front of the United Nations office, of a wooden chair with one leg broken off. It reminds me of a broken school chair, or perhaps a bar fight. Someone mentioned to me that the statue refers to torture. On the U.S. stance on torture, I can only say pbbbbbbbt. We could certainly use more visual reminders.

It is not cheap to live in Geneva; in fact it was too much for my fellow students and I. I was lodging in the sticks of Fermey-Voltaire, a perfectly charming village in France that takes it name from its founder/benefactor, one of the masters of satire. There is one main cobblestone road flanked by parked Volkswagons and Citroens. High-end boutiques and some truly sublime restaurants line both sides. At one end is a freeway leading to Geneva, at the other is an intersection leading further into the suburbs. When I arrived on Sunday evening, it was so quiet and pitch black that not only could I see the stars, I could practically hear them as well. To be honest, it was a little spooky. I'm used to more noise at night from car alarms, ambulances, maintenance workers, etc. Apparently even the construction workers get the evenings off. I spent some quality time in the local Carrefour, one of the only places to get cheapish groceries in the area, making a bread run an opportunity for networking with Genevois who stop by to save on the essentials. Photo credits to the lovely Katie.

Next up, Mont Blanc.

New Friends In New Places

(photo by Katie)

While I've made a few great friends on this crazy European journey, some of my favorite memories also involve chancing upon strangers.

Yesterday I was feeling particularly gregarious. At Sacre-Coeur, I was making my way down the numerous steps when I saw a little old lady walking slowly in front of me. From the gauze on her eye, she had recently had surgery. Everyone was walking arou

nd her. When she reached the top of the stairs, she looked behind her (I assume for a companion), and then hesitated before placing one foot on the first step. She reminded me of my grandma after she had hip surgery. I sidled up to her and asked her, Puis-je vous aider? while extending my arm. She took it without hesitating. We walked down the stairs together arm-in-arm like old friends, and at the bottom she thanked me to an embarrassing degree. I hope that she found her companion. I will always have a soft spot for little old ladies and I hope that I get to be one eventually.

I also saw a drum troupe near the Eiffel Tower in full drum getup. I approached them and asked where they were from. They started talking to me in Ha

ngul, then switched to English when they realized that I was not Korean. They are apparently a group of university students from Seoul University who are traveling the world to promote awareness of the Dokdo Islands, an area which is under dispute between South Korea and Japan.

Two guy friends of mine were checking out two tourists from America. They were just staring at these two women and talking very loudly about their impressions overall. Feeling bemused, I walked over and chatted up the women being devoured by my friends' eyes, in order to show the boys that women are people, too. I waved over my friends, who were totally flabbergasted, but at least did not turn down an invitation to chat.

In Montmartre, I stopped by a wine shop owned by a very genial young man. His shop had a good assortment of local varietals, including several that he produced on his own vineyard. Yay entrepreneurs. His mostly-organic house wines ar

e packaged in simple bottles and are also very food-friendly. The brand is called Enclos de la Croix. One of the reds without provenance, called "Oh Yeah," was a great intro to organic French wine. Being less-oaky and tanniny, it felt light and slightly minerally, but it had all the fruitiness of a traditional red. I brought it to a class picnic along the Seine, where it was well-received. It was an excellent buy overall.

(photo by Katie - a BYOB picnic)

Well, it looks like it's back to class for me. Au revoir.

Paris Part Deux

The last 48 hours have been quite something.

To recover from a virulent cough/flu/cold/plague, I slept for most of yesterday. It was beautiful outside and it was Paris, but sometimes rest is absolument necessaire. I had a TON of robutussin-fueled dreams of awesomeness. I think I may have resolved a quarter-life crisis or two in my sleep. When I awoke this morning, I was bright and chipper and ready to tackle anything.

Then it was off to Les Invalides to explore the tomb of Napoleon's I, II, and III. Napoleon (the original) is a huge figure in France; people revere him for initiating the French Civil Code, instituting much of the architecture and infrastructure of modern France, and ushering in a revived empire of culture and conquest. He was not actually that short, according to the French. Rather touchingly, Bonaparte allegedly wrote, I wish my ashes to be scattered along the banks of the Seine, close to the French I've loved so much.

His tomb is immense; even the casket is a structure the size of a Peugeot, in a dais surrounded by huge marble statues. Too much? Jamais. Nearby was the French Military Museum, which was actually pretty neat. There were many uniforms donated by the families of French, British, American, and German combatants from the two world wars, some still torn with bullet holes. One of the uniforms still had a tag affixed, indicating that the soldier had been wounded in battle. It was pretty affecting stuff, considering that many of the boys who died in the wars were much younger than I am now. Leaving the assortment of buildings was much harder than it looked, since most of the exits were blocked. A very helpful Frenchman guided us out in the way that "required the least amount of thinking." Apparently, he had dealt with Americans before.

I received the ultimate compliment at dinner, when a waiter provided English language menus for everyone at the table but me. He left one French menu at my chair.

In the evening, we stopped by a used music/record/book shop. I picked up a copy of Flaubert's Trois Contes, which are sure to be bawdy and very flamboyant. I look forward to reading more from the creator of Madame Bovary. It is so much easier to read about love, than to face it head on in real life.

Bonjour, Paris

J'aime Le Quartier Latin

We entered Paris via bus, passing by too-close traffic and urban scenes of young people playing basketball under bridges and biking amongst Renaults. As we drove through Paris, I understood why il n'y a qu'un Paris. My apartment here with my roomie K is amazing. We are smack dab in the middle of the Latin Quarter facing the Seine. Our room has a view of a little oasis of a courtyard. We have a dishwasher and a study nook in our room. And a microwave. And a flatscreen TV, with excellent French programming. Did I mention how much I love French TV? The only thing missing is an oven and maybe a La Creuset. I'm going to figure out how to microwave-bake profiteroles.

I am in love with the city. The buildings, the people on their bicycles, the sculptures, the language... everything is unspeakably beautiful. I was beaming all the way from Notre Dame to the balsawood foyer of our building. Paris is the reason I came here, and she is even more beautiful in the warm weather than in the festive wintertime. I don't want to study indoors; I want to take my books out to the concrete banks of the Seine and read over the smell of cigarettes and fresh bread.

We passed by the fountain of Saint Michel, where I remember I shopped around for A4 holepunches three years ago. It hasn't changed a bit.

The evening we arrived, my professor took us out on a brief tour of the Left Bank and the area surrounding the Latin Quarter. We passed by la Conciergerie, where Marie Antoinette spent her last night among the living. We passed by the highest court in Paris, where un sans-abri was resting under one door of a tryptich; the door was labeled "Liberte."

For dinner, we walked through the Latin Quarter, dining at Le Vin et Terroir. Rockfish soup and a very fresh salad signaled to my tummy that I had arrived enfin. I passed by all of the young lovers and tourists here, and I felt no twinge of envy. As the weather warms, there are young amants everywhere.

I walked along the Seine this morning, and all along the concrete banks there were young people sitting together, reading, talking, hugging. One of the bridges, there is a chain link bridge where there are multicolored bike and locker locks attached to the links, souvenirs left behind by individuals and couples. Mostly couples, whose initials are engraved in the locks. It's quite cute.

Business Casual in France Can Include Velvet Attire

On Friday, we visited the OECD, the Organization of Economic and Cooperative Development, that sounds a bit like a development think tank, since it offers no loans to member countries, but does provide best practices guidelines for member states and organizes regular roundtables amongst members. The OECD binds members with anti-corruption, anti-bribery regulation and issues guidelines on avoiding bribery, particularly in areas of government procurement. The OECD's membership does not include China, although China sits in on many meetings. One of the OECD's challenges in the near future is maintaining relevance, when the majority of the world's capital will shift to non-OECD member states.

We also visited the ICC, which issues arbitration and alternate dispute resolution rules and provides infrastructure support to parties who elect to follow ICC dispute resolution procedure. Our speakers gave excellent presentations on their work and the ICC's mission. Apparently, casual Fridays are also a good day to wear a navy velvet smoking jacket with designer jeans (this was an outfit favored by more than one gentleman). The lady who worked in the Alternate Dispute Resolution group seemed genuinely excited about her specialty - if employed effectively, it offers quite a few advantages to disputing parties. It has been the "future" of international legal practice for quite a while, but it's still exciting.

The Seine is Extraordinarily Lovely at Night

Yesterday, after finals, I changed into something dressy and hopped on a glass-enclosed boat docked near the Eiffel Tower. I took a boat ride on the Seine. My classmates were all decked out and enchanted by the view of the sky and the river under the sunset. A live ensemble of a fidder, a singer, and a wicked Spanish guitar serenaded us. It was a wonderful evening and everyone was in a celebratory mood, having completed the first half of the program. The sun set over a rotunda covered in verdegris and the light on the water was exquisite.

The view from the boat was wonderful. I wish I could capture in words the change in the light over the water. I think Monet did a pretty good job of capturing this effect after painting the same scene over the Seine over and over again. I realized how lucky I am to be young and to be surrounded by good people.

J'aime ma langue paternelle

The Parisians I've met have been polite enough not to correct my French outright, except to tell me that bonjour is not appropriate for night, at which point Bon soir or bon soiree is more acceptable. My grammar is not perfect at all, but they understand me. Some of the more useful nouns have included: "espangle" - safety pin; "blessure" - wound; "l'addition" - the bill; "savon" - soap. It is funny that I, with my mediocre French skills, have become a go-to translator on this trip. Whether it is haggling with a vendor, communicating an urgent message with the hotelier, or reasoning with a positively oafish coatroom clerk, je suis a votre service. I think it has more to do with my bedside manner than my actual vocabulary. My dad is pretty amazing because he speaks French; I have a long way to go.

However, this is a little thank-you to all of the under-appreciated public school French teachers of the world, faced with the herculean task of getting kids to roll their r's. My high school French teachers put up with a ton from us unappreciative students. I was a total snot when I was younger. But now, I am glad for the extra-intensive lessons and the public discomfort of PALS and other exams. I still remember many of the grammar and cultural lessons, which were fun. But I remember wondering when I would ever have to use those lessons. Welp. It does help to know something about the Napoleonic era after all when you're in Paris. It does help to be able to read, too.

I was in Notre Dame, and the stained glass was beautiful. What was really cool, however, were the public signs about the people who left their imprint on the church. One nave was dedicated to a Chinese priest who had constant contact with the Pope. He was apparently very active in spreading Catholicism around China and eventually left his reliquary with the cathedral. Pretty neat stuff.

Brussels

Wherein I See What It's Like to Be a Diplomat

In Belgium, I entered a crash course on the EU. It's incredible that countries which were at total war in the last century are now bound legally under this new and evolving entity.

The EU headquarters were quite impressive in their practicality. I sat in a meeting room of the Council of Ministers, where a member of the Office of the Secretary General explained some of the complications of the office. I sat at a seat marked in Greek. Each of the country names were, of course, written in their native language. There was Espana, Deutscheland, etc. I recognized my seat as Cyprus; Greek and Cyrillic are quite similar. After visiting the frankly opulent offices of the OECD in London, I was used to the presence of flags and the neat little microphones near the tables. In fact, both EU offices we visited struck me as unostentatious. That is, if buildings assigned their own blocks could avoid ostentation.

Along with my law school friends, I also met some law students from Norway, who came to study the EU. Norway is not a member of the Union, and it takes only five years of university to become an advocate there. sitting in on different round-tables, I learned quite a bit from the different players who spoke; we heard from a technocrat, a career diplomat, and a man whose job seems mostly to manage other bureaucrats. It was obvious that sometimes the different parts of the wheel were not really always keeping tabs on the others, but somehow everything works well enough. There were a lot of acronyms to keep track of.

Chocolate, Chocolate Everywhere

The Grand Place is one of the most beautiful boulevards I've ever seen - all flatstone steps, gallery-like windows, and glass archways. There are chocolate shops everywhere, replete with chocolate fountains, chocolate statues, chocolate in every form and shape imaginable. The sheer number of chocolate shops is a bit overwhelming, even for a chocoholic like me.

At Pierre Marcolini, I felt like I was entering a jewelry store and not a chocolate shop. I was too scared to even take the sample chocolate. The carpet was super plush.

I bought most of my chocolate not from one of the grande chocolatiers, but from the nearby grocery store, where the house chocolate was superb. I knew I had made a good choice when I bumped into one of the longtime program professors, who highly recommended one particular brand of Belgian candy. Having been on the program for several years, he knew which tourist traps to avoid and what was worth taking home - he was bringing back one brand of chocolate home and it was, in his opinion, as good as the stuff in the shop windows and infinitely more portable. I was glad to have his advice, as some of the chocolate being sold in the grocery store, particularly Cote D'or, was not what I would consider to be real chocolate. If there is any fat added besides cocoa butter or nuts (such as palm oil - I shudder), it is not chocolate to me. Do not speak to me of vegetable oil.

Belgians are Cool

The Belgians I met were just as eager to speak French as English, but they appreciated my attempts to engage them in French. I met one pair of Flemish speakers, who were eager to show me the scenic route to the art galleries. Everyone near the city center seemed well-educated and had much better English than I had French. In fact, I felt positively embarrassed when classmates spoke to locals slowly and loudly in English - only to find out that the locals spoke fantastic English. Quel surprise!

Belgian waiters, on the other hand, were not as customer-service-oriented as one would like. In the U.S., the customer is always right. In Belgium, everything goes.

The Art is Surreal

The mascot is a statue of a little boy peeing into a fountain, or Manneken Pis. There is also a statue of a little girl peeing and of a little dog, too. Bizarre and endearing.

The Magritte gallery and the Joan Miro exhibit at the Royal Place were fantastic. I remember Joan Miro from an art project in elementary school. Sadly many of his paintings look like they were done by a child, which might be why I liked him so much when I was eight. However, his series of Constellations were pretty cool. Even with the random titles, most of which involved a woman and a bird, or a woman and bird and star, or a woman and bird and [insert noun here]. S and I looked at the paintings and tried to find out where the bird/woman in each of the paintings was. It was fun, although I am sure he was bored out of his mind.

Magritte in particular was effortlessly enjoyable. Unlike the Magritte museum, the Magritte gallery was free. The surreal art matched the incongruencies of the city. Everyone knows the painting of the man with the apple in front of his face - called the Son of Man. There' another painting that complements it well - a painting of a woman in a dress, her face obscured by a bunch of hyacinth. I learned from British TV that hyacinth is the flower of forgiveness, according to Victorian-era flower-speak.

The Beers are Fantastic

Over dinner near the Belgian Bourse, I met my friend B. As always, it was raining. My friend B and I munched on croque-monsieurs and some excellent trappist beers. One of B's favorites is Tripel Karmeliet, which is available in DC at breweries like Brasserie Beck. Also worth checking out are the Belgian fruit-flavored beers. The Mort Subite Framboise, a light raspberry beer, is an excellent choice to accompany a burger. Of course, I tried the moules frites. I will just say, mussels are not my favorite bivalve, but they go very well with beer.

One of the nicest things about travel is catching up with old friends. B and I had about 12 years of catching up to do. We talked about whether fate exists. I felt that thousands of miles from home, in a dank and somewhat dirty bar, I was exactly where I should be. Even the music of the bar reminded me of home. We had grown up well. B noted that Belgium, since the PM's resignation sometime last year, had no working government. Everything was working at the municipal level - electricity, water, schools... we shrugged.

The Countryside is Beautiful

Riding the train from Brussels to Paris, I felt so free. Without any pain of attachment, I passed by the pictueresque thatch-roofed houses scattered like pebbles along a vast sea of wheat and barley. The wind turbines turned slowly in the distance. The color of the grain changed under the shadows of massive clouds on an otherwise perfect day. The cows passing were bone white and spotted with brown. As I left Belgium, I felt astounded that so much rural order and urban lassitude could go hand in hand.

Then all too soon, the orderly rows of farmland gave way to muddy tin structures, and finally the urban highrises and efficient homes which abutted the rails. We arrived in Paris.

Whenever One Door Closes

While walking through Chelsea last week, I saw an Audi, several Ferraris, a Porsche, an Aston Martin, and a Rolls Royce in a gated parking area. But that was not the impressive part of the decor. Behold.




So my mandate (via the beautiful Have Degree, Will Travel) was to find some AWESOME doors. This door belongs to a very, very nice house that features circles, a handle in the center of the door, and a giant fish knocker. Photographed by the lovely Josh, who was kind enough to whip out his camera in the rain when I was jumping up and down excitedly over this door.

London was lovely - the people were lovely, the food was good despite what everyone says (particularly the Indian food), and the dancing... oh the dancing was fantastic. I think that people become more attractive with British accents. Of course, everything has been a complete whirlwind. I have photos from the Bridge and the London Eye, but those will have to wait until I can develop my little instant camera.

Love and hugs.

Of a Time and a Space

These last two weeks have been so delightful. It has been a swamp of humidity and sunlight; I could not be happier with the weather. I woke up this morning and felt at peace. I watched the sun rise and put on my favorite outfit and a fresh pair of shoes. And I am rather proud of myself; not only did I deliver some rather fine work, but I showed my office mates how to get hot water much faster at the cooler. I laugh to think that the latter might be my most lasting legacy. But there are worse things that small improvements.

My dear friend just delivered unto me some chips from Albania. They are apparently chicken-flavored and shaped like drumsticks, or "chicken drums." Totally quaint and possibly better eye food than food food. I think I will take them with me on my flight over, which is a pretty long one. In three days, I'm going to London for a brief adventure. Of course, I will be photographing doors, taking photos of things besides doors, and commenting mercilessly on the locals. More to come soon. :)

Unsung Poet - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

First, God Bless Tennessee.

Second, I've been brushing up on my French. There's also a lovely French-Canadian song which reintroduced me to some fundamental nouns that I hope to employ soon, like "shore," and some which I have no intention of using, such as "British soldier." It's based on a long-form poem by Longfellow about a French-Canadian heroine that he made up, after researching the plight of deported Acadians at the behest of his friend Nate Horne (of Scarlet Letter fame). (see, wikipedia; see generally, literary bromance). The style and tone is very different from his best-known piece, involving a dude named Paul Revere, but once again those British are making trouble.

Although he's never really moved me before, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow certainly knew how to make up a good yarn. Reading the actual poem is a very tranquil experience. As a kid I rejected rigid meter, but now I've mellowed to the point where it's kind of comforting. -.-

Old Movies

I just finished watching a delightfully maudlin Esther Williams film called, "The Thrill of Romance," on TCM. (Excellent background for cramming Con Law.) Dude, the lady was a FOX. And ... an Olympian?? The Million-Dollar Mermaid nabs her man by teaching him how to swim at a resort pool (cute :D - must make a note of this). Somehow they fall in love over swim lessons. While the romantic setup is rather thin, this has never stopped rom-coms from progressing to the eventual happy ending. Credulity be damned.

What I really like about old-timey movies (and this one in particular) is how the performing arts are such a big deal in the absence of special effects. There's lots of swing dancing and rather stagey high diving (I think diving counts as a performing art). A teeny piano prodigy, a big brass band, and a loveably romantic tenor, who sings some of great solos from his balcony, effectively steal the show. This movie shows that playing Edvard Grieg, singing Puccini, and diving backward into a pool are pretty cool. I could not agree more.

My fave character, the old tenor, defends his free-loving youth. He says that he was in love as often as possible when he was young. He says he's glad he was in love so frequently, because being in love was excellent for his voice back then, and in his golden years it gives him something to think about. And he turns out to be a total sweetheart. He's kind of my hero.

This and That

Lately, I've been contemplating the words of the late David Foster Wallace. I've been trying to live a more aware, present life. As I result, the last week has been pretty awesome. This post is decidedly not gender neutral: the royal wedding, clothes, jazz, flirting, and chocolate will all feature here.

On the day of the royal nuptials, I was looking for some comfortable travel clothes. Appropriate travel clothes could buy me perhaps a few seconds before being pick-pocketed. (Nearly all of my pre-departure information has revolved around how to avoid being robbed and/or assaulted overseas).

I had some quality time in Filene's basement, of all places. I found myself surrounded by wedding dresses and women stripping (as demurely as possible) in public. Two or three brides-to-be scoured the aisles. They had helpers running back to get alternatives, but they were otherwise pretty orderly. There was no fighting, screaming, or panic, which is supposed to accompany the annual Running of the Brides. I popped into an aisle of white taffeta (why not?) and looked at some of the dresses, which ran between $300 - $500 each. It was a nice, quiet moment.

I found a pair of black harem slacks that looked cute and European-ish. I also found a fierce, cropped leather jacket to go with said slacks. I did enjoy the Lady Gaga-like outfit in the fitting room immensely. But as I've outgrown costumes, at least the non-obligatory ones (see, the courtroom suit), I kept the comfy pants and left the jacket.

In line, there was one woman who was holding a pair of kid's shoes and a kid's dress. I felt bad that she had to wait in line behind other people buying a lot more clothes (there's never an express lane at these stores).

Now that my friends/cousins are having wee ones of their own, I appreciate the work that goes into parenting so much more. It's hard for me to imagine a life where I am not the center of my own little universe, where other people depend on me to support them... for life. I watch my mom take care of my grandma and wonder when I'll be taking care of my mom, or (eek) when I'll be taking care of little people of my own. Perhaps happiness is not the ability to buy the latest designer clothes, but the ability to buy a Dora the Explorer dress in addition to the groceries.

I don't have to worry about that stuff yet, but I am increasingly aware of it. For now, I can revel in the little things that make life sweeter, such as:

Amel Larrieux -> LOVE this song.

Chocolove -> Chocolate that is meant to evoke foreign correspondence and includes a love poem inside. It's made the the U.S., comes in organic flavors, and I just like it for many other irrational reasons. The ginger/dark chocolate bar has won my heart and tummy.

Le Pain Quotidien -> When I asked myself whether it was worth it to put myself together today given that I'm in the library all day, the answer came in the form of a free salad, accidentally omitted from my dinner check by a not-bad-looking waiter. My dining buddy was not so fortunate (but then again, he was not wearing cute shoes).

Postage-Paid Cards -> Still a fan of snail mail. Sending a Mother's day card just got that much easier.

Hope your week is turning up roses.

Cactus Cantina

The stars at night are shining bright at the most Texan of Tenleytown restaurants.

Cactus Cantina hollers Texas from the decor and the tunes. Is that a giant picture of Annie Oakley? Yes sirree. To celebrate the (almost) end of classes, my school organized a section party for my 80 classmates and I at said Cantina. Despite some minor problems with our giant crowd, there was plenty of seating and the waitstaff were very considerate. All of the doctrinal instructors (with one notable exception) made it out to celebrate.

For some reason, the smell of Tex-Mex makes me rather nostalgic for younger, more carefree times. The chicken quesidillas were heavenly. The water pitchers were filled with seltzer instead of tap. The rice was perfectly cooked. The margaritas were appropriately large and served in steins. Was this heaven? I could not think of a better reward for a year of classes (almost) completed in good standing. If you are a Texan stranded in Northwest DC, this place should hit the spot.

Promcoming Dance

Epic weekend!

Sis got me a sweet pin decorated with le Lumpy Space Princess, which I've been wearing proudly on my backpack. "Do what you want, I'm going to promcoming!!!"

By a twist of fate, I ended up at the Barrister's Ball this weekend at the Andrew Mellon Auditorium. I had given away my ticket to a 3L friend (celebrating one last hurrah with friends is so much more meaningful during the 3rd year), but someone ended up giving me their ticket at the last minute, so it all worked out. I'm glad I went. It was awesome. The venue was gorgeous! When I heard "auditorium", my mind went to unwelcome images of bleachers. In fact, it was like dancing in a marble palace.

I also went to the National Building Museum with my sis to observe the Lego magic happening there. At the entrance, there was a Lego model of the museum itself, complete with central fountain and upstairs offices. So neat. We also watched a Lego builder working meticulously on a scaled model of the White House. He had toolboxes filled with different-sized cream-colored Legos and a level. We peeked around some of the other exhibits, like one on the different World's Fairs and another on the architecture of D.C. I spent a good hour or so in the gift shop, where the supply of clever home goods and architecture/design books kept me and sis very entertained.

I finally tried 2 Amys, a well-known pizza place near Tenleytown. I've been wanting to try it for years. The wait was long, as expected, and the crowd around the wine bar was a little ridiculous, but the staff was very efficient and friendly. My college buddy and I just kept chatting for about 45 minutes until we were finally seated. The space was packed with families, but the food was worth it. My buddy had never tried deviled eggs, so we dug into the pesto/olive-oil version. It works. The broccolini side was perfectly cooked with a hint of citrus. The fried rice balls were awesome. The pie? Well, the ingredients were fresh and the crust was suitably charred in big blisters. I'm a little irrational about pizza - for some reason, even though pizza is almost universally delicious, no pizza ever tastes quite as good as the pies I would order in Chicago. Now that Giordano's and Uno's have both filed for bankruptcy, I wonder if any other pies ever will. But if those deep dish places are studies in excess, 2 Amy's is a master course in measured restraint. For about $12.95, a 14-15" pie with a good yeasty crust and just a touch of fresh mozzerella is satisfying without being overwhelming. It seems just right. I would recommend it if you are passing by on a weekday.

Maybe it's the weather warming up, or the dancing, or the cardio, or the piano practice rooms next door, or the fact that I finished legal rhetoric ... but I feel happy. I don't know how long it's going to hold up before life throws me another curve. For now I'm going to read my textbook and then go to bed. Goodnight, Monday.

Wherein my Wallet and Heart Feel Lighter

Until this past weekend, all of my wardrobe was neutral. I like earth tones and black because I am generally too afraid to embrace my love of flourescent colors. But after some soul-searching and the wonderful weather and my sunshine being in oh, the Galapagos, I decided that I must infuse some color into my wardrobe and start afresh. I met a girlfriend for brunch this weekend, and I realized that I had nothing sassy to wear. Everything in my closet was pretty utilitarian. :/ Looking in it, there was nothing in it that looked feminine so much as useful (with the exception of my Outer Banks pirate hoodie and a couple skirts). Then another girlfriend suggested that we go shopping...

I think I may have overdone it. But it was worth it after a year of restraining myself to buying no more than eight pieces of clothing (all black) for a year. I've always tried to buy pieces that "last" but I believe this approach may have been rather misguided. Clothes should not only keep you warm, but reflect some style. Now that wearing granny cardigans and glasses is mains

tream (cure you hipsters!) I'm not sure I buy into it as fervently as I used to. At least, not for spring and summer.

I think I bought close to 30 items of clothing, not counting accessories, in the last three days, which I've never done in my whole life. I'm pretty sure that's more than most people buy even on those reality makeover shows. Whatever. All of the items were either on sale or sold by a discount vendor. None of the items were black.

After a weekend of massive damage, my closet still looks like a nun's but at least a nun who gets a little crazy on the Sabbath. Being an olive person, I stuck primarily with yellows, corals, and reds. I indulged in crazy pieces like a white/pink/bright salmon ombre linen sundress (I can't describe it except that when I wear it with a red cardigan and a black satin belt, I look like a piece of sushi. With legs.) I threw in some pink and champagne silk/satin blouses to soften the harshness of strong primary colors. Given how frequently I reach for my one silk blouse to soften black outfits, I figure that I will be rotating those heavily once the summer starts.

The madness totally continues because after I bought all this shizz, I went to my closet to confront the source of my frustration. I rearranged all my shirts, pants, and skirts according to shade, so that I won't be spending like 20 minutes every day looking for this or that (I think of my clothing in terms of color first). There's no point in buying all that stuff, after all, if I can't find it during my crucial 15 minutes of dressing time. It seemed kind of silly to me as I was sorting shades of grey, but this morning it made a huge difference. Not only was pairing items so much easier, but I actually looked forward to getting dressed, whereas before it was kind of a frustrating exercise because 1) I could never find what I wanted and 2) everything looked the same when I was done matching stuff.

My wardrobe now coolified, I have yet to muster the courage to wear my new digs to school. Most people show up in jeans and hoodies. But tomorrow is a networking event, so I have an excuse to get gussied up.

I think tomorrow's going to be a white silk-tie blouse/red sheath dress kind of day. A bit much, I know.

There is one caveat to wearing brights, and that is that I may get called on more frequently in class. Dressing up for class is kind of like a glaring sign (as is wearing a bowtie). I guess I should re-read some material just in case.

I know that these are all superficial changes that probably won't affect my grades or my relationships as much as my wallet. But if wearing duds that make me feel more confident will help me break out of my little social shell, then maybe it's worth it.

Fantasy stories are a legit way to learn about criminal justice

Over the weekend, I read the illustrated version of Neil Gaiman's Stardust. It's nice to be reminded that great stories don't have to be anything like the movies. In books, the action can be much more muted. In the book version of Stardust, par exemple, the protagonists and the villains never confront one another. No fight scenes. Nothing. The happy protagonists are unaware of those who would harm them during the whole story; their main troubles consist of their relationship as captor and captive. The would-be bad guys are destroyed entirely by their own greed, a clever if anticlimactic twist. If only the real world were so neat; that evil-doers would be prevented from harming the innocent by their own foolishness. I must admit that a part of me felt guilty for devouring the book in 1.5 hours, time which could have been spent reading up on coursework. But fantasy stories make morality lessons fun, no?

For example, why do we punish attempted crimes (like attempted murder) when those attempts are thwarted? A more glib person would say that such punishment runs close to persecuting mere thought crimes when no actual harm results. Today, my crim law professor, when reviewing the affirmative defense of impossibility, showed my class a clip of Return of the King. In the clip, the Nazgul, believing Frodo and his hobbit friends to be sleeping in a room at the Inn of the Prancing Pony, slither into said room. In unison, the Nazgul stab what turn out to be empty featherbeds, and voice their displeasure. My professor helpfully noted that the Nazgul demonstrated the requisite mens rea (intent to kill) and actus reus (stabbing the area where the hobbits would be sleeping) of murder, but might claim the defense of factual impossibility - it is impossible to plant a sword in someone who is not there. Should the Nazgul go unpunished if no harm resulted? I love that class.

Spring break begins in a few days... it is not so much a break as a period at the end of which a lot more work is due. :P At least I'll be testing/competing in the sunshine.

O.o

In retrospect I realize that I began fantastically during my oral argument, only to get overexcited and lose the steam. The owl of Minerva has flown and left a little present on my hat.

It's a good sign when a judge says - can you tell me more about that concept? YES! I will serve you this idea that you seem intrigued with. Man that was awesome. Good sign also when the judges all say nothing and nod. Lastly, good sign when they repeat your maxim to the opposing counsel because it's the point that needs to be made. Now that I think about it, I did good at first. BAH I was so close but the end of my argument was relatively weak... I dunno. Bah.

W00T for Moot

Do you ever wonder what happens to your baby teeth when the tooth fairy absconds with them? Check this out. If that doesn't say cute then iunno.

So basically since december I've been applying for things to do beside study. I completed the Moot Court qualifying rounds this afternoon. whew. That was a surprisingly intense weeks of writing / practicing. The judges were all super nice and encouraging - I can only imagine what it's like to sit through multiple rounds of shaking, stuttering, smiley-fearful 1Ls who are all trying to look as cool as possible while talking for 30 minutes. I'm pretty sure I could not be a politician - at least, not one that gave press conferences.

Too Cute to Eat

Why YES I enjoy cake. But not these cakes. Too. Cute. Baby seals, unicorns, pandas, legos, even a silhouette of young love at its most teary?

Neither This Nor That: Fusion Food at Zengo and various ramblings

Recently my brilliant friend L and I had dinner at Zengo. The mango mojitos were dangerously fruity (excellent) and the food and decor were, as usual, very pretty.

The menu hasn't changed since I last went with happy hour buddies; it's still a hip mix of Asian and Latin American influences. The presentation is still wild. An entree of fried tofu arrived stacked like pancakes. "How do I eat this?" friend asked. She felt the primary taste was salt (that would be soy sauce). My grilled tuna tacos were, to me, quite delicious with their little accompaniments of guac and mango salsa. The charred edges of tuna blended wonderfully wit the fried taco shell, resulting in something akin to a tuna-enhanced Frito. What more could a girl ask for... well maybe more. Dainty tapas plates are so cute though. Friend thought that some things were better left un-fusioned. Fair enough. I think that I would return for just drinks from now on, and maybe a smaller plate or two.

Discussion veered towards the multicultural. We weighed the merits of British/U.S. crossover television, like Dead Like Me or Skins coming to the U.S. I understand redos of shows that were originally in another language (Ugly Betty, how I adore thee!). But why do the same show over in English? Puzzling.

Healthier Indian Food @ Masala Art

"Some Americans don't get real Indian food. They eat quick stuff made with cream or half & half and it tastes great because fat tastes great. But that's not the point. That place in Tenleytown, though, is where you get food that might come out of a real Indian kitchen, and it's not made with a tub of half & half." - S.

Intrigued by the comments (and conflicting reviews) surroundingd Masala Art, I took the family to enjoy the kindly lit space and newish feel that characterizes this Tenleytown gem. Dishes run from $10 for vegetarian to upwards of $15 for meat plates. Tables seat between two and four, but the space is generous and deep for parties. I liked the mix of Mughal art, religious sculpture, and track lighting; lots of talking points for the socially-awkward. The entire restaurant's floor is level (once inside, there are no sunken or raised levels, and no stairs to negotiate) with a wide center lane.

Once the food arrives, you'll want to take your time with it. The menu runs a little smaller than some other places, but the selection is well-thought out and shows some experimental knack. Appetizers like the Sarson Wall Gobhi are surprisingly good. Mine arrived with four honking-size florets of cauliflower that had gotten caught in a fight with a bright yellow turmeric sauce (oddly, not mustard) and had lost. The flavors are very bright and untamed. Thank goodness for rice. Chicken and lamb dishes came nicely portioned in separate asymmetrical bowls for each dish and portion of rice; there's little chance of leftovers, which can be a relief. From the portions and plating, it wouldn't be my first choice for going family-style, but it would be high on my list of "nice dinners" where forks do not cross plates.

The naan comes in an intriguing range of flavors, like sea salt. The salt is a nice contrast. I think they must go lighter on the clarified butter here, since I left feeling very light and satisfied, instead of sleepy. If there is one thing that you MUST try, though, it's the mango lassi. Holy cow. This one does the place proud. It's a seamless transition from pure, ripe fruit to thick, substantial yogurt (think Greek) without a trace of wateriness. You could almost bite this beverage. It's indispensible for handling some of the pretty hot dishes, too. Unlike the dishes, it would be cute to share this one... if you can part with it :). A $4.95, it's a truly indulgent twist on the typical smoothie.

I would consider going again. 3.5/5 noms for now. . . while the lassi truly knocked my socks off, I did feel some of the flavors were a little unbalanced, and I would have appreciated more naan :P. Of course, it might have been a matter of what I ordered. Thoughts on Masala Art?

Soup for the Twentysomething Soul at @ Pho 14

"I dreamed. . . that I drank from the most extraordinary soup I had ever tasted, every briny sip was a kind of ecstasy. . . The soup was filled with all that I had ever cared for in my life, and while I drank it, this man spoke his words right into my heart." - Arthur Golden, Memoirs of a Geisha

There is something about soup in the winter. Last week the nomelette braved some sub-freezing weather for soup with an old friend who is, ironically, one degree removed from Arthur Golden.

At Pho 14 in Columbia Heights, I was greeted by a man with a handwritten list of names (the wait would be around 20 minutes on a crowded weekday night) at a smallish place that smelled like the real deal - beef, chicken, and the unmistakable, unctuous whiff of fish sauce. With the smoothly laquered counters, colored lights, and the construction right outside, for a moment, I imagined myself in Hanoi, at some upscale restaurant by the lake. The illusion vanished as I read the largely English menu. I started the order with some spring rolls (the kind with seafood inside, not fried.) The appetizer was about $5.95. The presentation was delightful - curlicues of calamari peeked out of steamed rice paper wrapped around some pale root vegetables. My friend, expecting the usual shrimp & basil combo, looked at it askance. I suppose some people do not find protruding tentacles to be that appetizing.

Anyway, the calamari was so delicate as to be bland to my admittedly cruder taste. Next time I'll stick with a traditional shrimp version. The seafood, however, was very fresh, so I am excited to see what else the house can do with it.

For a little less than $9, I snagged a regular bowl of the No. 8 pho; a rich mix of beef tendon, top round, flank steak, and just the right amount of noodles. To tendon haters: embrace the chew - it's funner. The taste is very similar to what you'd find at the sister restaurant, Pho 75, in Falls Church, which is to say, great. The broth is very beefy and perfectly clear; no fat clouds the surface. I feel there's enough pho to satisfy even the hungriest. Even the regular bowl was way bigger than my face; better eaters can order up two sizes, too.

Basil. lime, bean sprouts, fish sauce, hoison sauce, and hot sauce are all at your disposal; there was one plate for friend and I to share. And the sliced jalepenos! I suppose I'm an oddball but pho to me isn't pho unless I am crying tears of spicy joy. Other than that, it needs minimal doctoring.

While the menu offers an array of rice and noodle options, everyone I saw that night was drinking up the special.

If you are in the Columbia Heights area, I definitely recommend giving this place a shot. The decor is super cute, the food arrives very quickly (our order was ready in less than 15 minutes) and the lighting is especially nice.

Overall, this place definitely earns 4.5/5 noms. I would be inclined to give it five, were the competition in NoVA not so impossibly stiff. For a meal under $15 that soothes your tummy, you'd be hard-pressed to find a better place in D.C.

Deal or No Deal

This morning, I spent a little under an hour hashing out an imaginary agreement with some other 1Ls in a flash negotiatons competition. I didn't enter to win; I just entered it because it seemed like fun, worthwhile practice. How often will someone take you aside and tell you, you need to be more assertive in your delivery? Yeah.

To prepare, I read a little bit of Getting to Yes, a well-known tome on the theory and practice of negotiations, with the Harvard imprimatur. The advice that I took away was not to let my own fears dominate my perception of the negotiation. We sometimes suspect the worst of others when we have much at stake. Often that is just not warranted.

During the negotiations, I was nervous, but I just focused on figuring out what the other side wanted. The judges later said that I saw all the "intangibles" in the deal. I certainly threw out a few of solutions that had intangible value aspects; one of the ideas was adopted in the final agreement. (In the end, we all walked away happy.)

Then night before, I had charted out the best alternative to a negotiated agreement - what could we walk away with if negotiations didn't go our way? Not good.

As the other side put forth proposals that were close, but not quite what my side could give, I wondered:
What is the difference between being aggressive and being a jerk? Where is the line between honesty and revealing too much? When is the right moment to assert your position? And there was the whole nonverbal communication thing; it's harder than it looks. :P My partner and I had trouble passing the ball to one another sometimes. But we avoided any noticeable fumbles.

I felt that the other side gave off a really calm vibe. To me it made a difference. Given our side's incomplete information, it was nice to be able to trust the other side to some extent. They seemed reasonable. The whole thing was much different from negotiations I had seen on TV, usually involving one side trying to entrap the other (usually between cops and felons... pretty exciting but not helpful). Everyone was on the level.

I was so elated that we had reached an agreement that worked for everyone before the clock ran out. :) Even though we were graded individually, everyone in the group contributed to the outcome. Just need to work a bit on my delivery and try a few more competitions this semester.