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.