The other day my friend Raquel called me about for going a few weeks without updating my blog. I’ll tell you all the same thing that I told her... “DONTELLMEHOWTOLIVEMELIFE!!!” Actually, that’s not what I said at all... I just like to yell that every now and then. Makes me feel grown. So, why haven’t I posted in the last few weeks? It’s certainly not because I had nothing to say—you know me better than that by now.
The truth is, somewhere along the way, I was taught the value of discretion. It’s one of the things about this blog that I’m most proud of, other than the fact that you’re reading it. I have no problem getting down and dirty and bearing my all soul for the world to read. That’s what makes the whole process so healthy for me. But nobody else volunteered to star in my journal, so I stay away from putting people out there.
When I first started this blog, I was squatting as a guest in my friend’s house on Guahan. Then it was New Zealand. Then it was Johannesburg. There’s something sacred about the home, something that makes you think twice about turning certain moments into blog fodder. Once I joined the Peace Corps, this approach to blogging went from optional to mandatory government policy. Did you ever notice how I never mentioned the names of the neighborhoods where I lived? You also won’t find a lot of last names or home addresses on this blog. If you do, send me a message to let me know, and I’ll fix that ASAP.
In the last two weeks I’ve had a lot on my mind—nothing tragic, but plenty heavy. To make a long story medium, I’m not writing about it. Next time you see me, buy me a beer and we can talk for as long as you keep them coming. I’m good at that.
So, instead of spilling the beans, I’ve decided to keep it light. And, as the title of this post suggests, I'm still writing about something that matters to me—good food. The last week of my life was bookended by two special meals, with a special little friend.
Some of you may remember this adorable child (or a younger version of her) from a post I wrote in August 2010. Here I am, three years later, back in Sue’s house, hanging out with her daughter. No fresh passion fruit this time, or Sunday afternoon visits from the Queen, but it was still a good time. Part of my house- and adolescent-sitting duties have included getting this child fed. We started off the week with a tomato, basil, mozzarella, garlic linguine, which apparently was not poisonous.
Despite surviving my first meal, she skipped out on my next masterpiece... what can I say? You can bring a horse to homemade tacos, but you can't—wait... never mind.
On Saturday we splurged with a visit to Orinoco Kitchen that changed my life almost as much as Google Scholar*... chuleta de puerco**... let’s just say that Venezuelan cuisine is a lot more savory than the Venezuelan political climate. I’m seriously considering going back there just to harass the chefs. I need to know how they made that cauliflower taste like it wasn’t cauliflower. Amazing.
* Grad School Humor
** Pork chop
** Pork chop
P.S. Just in case this post gave you the false impression that I've been living in crisis for the past two weeks, here are a few pictures of me doing me and loving it!
Kappa Chi Nupes in Virginia Beach, VA
Wu-Tang Wednesdays @ Tommy Doyle's
Pre-game preparations for Harvard v Brown Football Game @ Daedalus