weekend fuel

Saturdays in Washington, D.C. should start with pancakes and if you can get yourself out of bed before 9AM you've got a good shot at getting a mighty fine pile of them without too much of a wait. However, if you feel like sleeping in - and by sleeping in I mean arriving at Market Lunch anytime after 9:30 - come with a newspaper or a sizeable interest in your neighbor because you're going to need something to do while you wait.

Not to dissuade the late sleepers of the world from going to Market Lunch for pancakes. The line moves relatively quickly and I can see where you're coming from - we like sleeping in too. It's just that we like Market Lunch's pancakes even better, and I think you will too.



The bluebuck pancakes at Market Lunch in the Eastern Market are good enough for a weekend wake-up call because they're made with buckwheat flour and blueberries, and have the best pancake name ever. "One order of bluebucks coming up!" It just sounds right.

There's also that large scoop of butter melting its way across the top of the pancake pile. Top with maple syrup and it's like a layer cake for breakfast; all decadent and homey and just what we're looking for in a Saturday breakfast. And doesn't cholesterol take the weekend off, anyway?

Market Lunch
at the Eastern Market
7th Street & North Carolina Avenue, SE
Washington, D.C.

home for now

We're calling Washington, D.C. home for now. And while it'll never feel like Milan, this city will have to do as we prepare ourselves for another big move.

To Philadelphia? Nope, that was just for a weekend of cupcake-eating and Liberty Bell watching.

To Chicago? Nope. That visit was just to catch-up with family and friends and celebrate my half-birthday on a wooden carousel at the zoo.

And what about last Friday night when I took Stefano to the airport to say goodbye but instead bought a last minute plane ticket and got on the plane to Miami with him? Could we be moving to Miami? Again, nope. That was just a little test to see whether or not it's possible to survive a weekend down south with just a purse.

(I'm here to report that you can most certainly survive a weekend in Miami with only a purse. So long as there's a Target store nearby that's well-stocked with t-shirts and flip-flops, and your in-laws are good enough to loan you a comb.)

As for where our lives are taking us next? How about 13 hours into the future... let's see what life in Seoul looks like.

and the mist rolls in

It would have been easy to miss. After a few minutes it had rolled its way right back out.

It seems slow and heavy. Across the river. Sinking and cloaking. But it's fast and quiet and makes a swift get away.

Truly, had I been paying more attention to my mascara, I would have missed this. And that would have been a shame.

up up and away

The Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center of the National Air & Space Museum is an immense and organized hangar housing pieces of aeronautic history that send the mind reeling. Exactly how does something made entirely of metal and filled with people, or loaded with deadly weapons, float on air? How can anything fly at speeds beyond 2,000 mph all the while remaining undetected to radar? And most importantly, who were the fiscally creative individuals paying $12,000 a ticket to fly the Concord?



There were, of course, the more base inquiries as well. Do women astronauts wear makeup in space? (They may bring a NASA make-up bag if they wish.) How do the astronauts manage necessary body functions? (Using equally specialized bags.) And what does Diane like most in this exhibit case? ("I like the urine hose.")



Questions were answered and "museum back" was avoided. The cherry on top was a small metallic packet with a tiny brick of astronaut ice cream inside. Nothing like a little freeze-dried dairy to commemorate the amazing conquest of air and space.

one fire is plenty.

You would think one fire would suffice. (See December 3.) That throwing flaming garbage down the chute once might be a good lesson in what not to do in the future. Especially in communal living situations concerning 20 or more floors.

However, it seems we live with people unclear on the concept and for good measure they've thrown flaming items into the garbage chute. Again.

So last night the hallway started smelling like smoke. (Again.) And the fire trucks rushed over. (Again.) And the sirens got louder and louder until they stopped in front of our building. (Again.) And instead of Home Alone, we watched Arrested Development. (New.)

Oh yah... and wondered just how super an impression this was making on my in-laws who happened to be over for dinner.

more joy

Pictured above is a wonderfully sweet and sparkly asti that we enlisted to welcome in the new year. It's perfect for sitting on your floppy rented couch, watching an Italian film and kissing your best friend at midnight. It goes well with salmon mousse and Doritos and a blue veined cheddar that I don't particularly enjoy. It also has a bird on the label. Should you see it on the shelf in your local market I suggest you purchase it immediately and delight in it's fizzy joy.

Each and every time I use the word "joy" -- with zero exceptions -- I think of a photographer friend who prods couples & their entourage with strong suggestions of "more joy!" as he's shooting their wedding day portraits. It's quite effective and tends to garner good results from the highly stressed and deeply drunk individuals one works with on your average wedding day. Hey grumpy groom - more joy! Yoohoo, drunk uncle - more joy! You there, bridesmaid who really shouldn't have ever stuffed herself in a dress that shade of orange - more joy!

So with a nod to the aforementioned gentleman may I be the first to say, on behalf of those who truly need it and those who could simply use a better shade of orange... hey there, 2006 - more joy!

so this is the kennedy center

Two thumbs up for The Nutcracker, a whirling mass of Christmas cheer that manages to sneak giant dancing rats into the holiday lexicon.

The Kennedy Center did its part. Red carpet for miles. Golden chandeliers with the punch and glam of a great aunt's brooch. Little girls in cranberry velvet. It felt very December.



As for the show, there were parts we loved and parts we liked. Beyond the classic tale of Girl meets Nutcracker, it's difficult to ignore the strength on stage. The bodies alone are riveting. Nothing like the softness most of us have cultivated for years.



I think the impossibility of ever looking like the people on stage is what caused the girl sitting to my right to polish off a king-sized bag of peanut M&Ms during the show. Either that or she was afraid the dancing rats might come for them.

delayed arrival

"Delayed arrival" is a brand new concept for me. But I am a rule follower at heart and I will follow the rules as laid before me: I will not arrive at work early; I will not arrive at work on time. I will arrive by as much as, but not more than, two hours late.

Mind you, this is not the snow that the Midwest is facing. DC has, let's say, the icing on a cinnamon roll whereas Chicago found itself beneath the filling in a Twinkie. (And I bet they all had to get to work on time.)

It's further proof that DC is both flustered and appalled by snow. Because there is snow on the ground I may, officially, come in late. And the kids... the kids don't have to go to school at all! Schools are closed and there's not even enough snow to make a snowman. All these kids are going to do is get hopped up on hot chocolate and knock things off the Christmas Tree. And maybe find where the presents are hidden. Good times.

it might be december

Let me be the first to tell you... there's snow in DC. Some of you may already know as it apparently deserves front page coverage. All area after school activities are cancelled. And there's been a run on milk and chili.

Not to be mean but come on people. Nothing is sticking. There is zero accumulation on the streets. An umbrella will do to defend against these gentle flakes. When we Chicago'ans heard a snow forecast we were expecting the real deal. Drifts you have to power through. Windy whirls that coat the bottom half of your legs with powder well before you ever get to work. That grey slush at the side of the roads. But this?

Rest assured, the powers that be brought out the snow plows. At least those make it feel like December.

Home Alone is good, or is that the fumes talking?

What's a Saturday night without noxious fumes? We had our share this evening and our tiny apartment still features a suffocating aroma reminiscent of shrinky dinks. Despite the fun I had as a kid with those wobbly plastic cut-outs I still begrudge our apartment being filled with anything that makes my eyes burn.

Apparently all is well down below at the source of the smoke -- from above it seemed to be coming from the loading dock area. The firefighters weren't running around and the smoke detectors/alarm intercom didn't go off, so we opted to stay up here and keep an eye on conditions. Yes Mom, we put on our shoes and were quite ready to flee should we have needed to. Also, Stefano was very bright and immediately used a towel to block the gap between the front door and the floor.

Luckily, Home Alone -- a classic filmed in the Northern suburbs of Illinois that includes a scene in front of the chapel in which we were married -- is on the UPN. So we've decided to sit in the fumes and enjoy some stellar filmmaking although I for one heartily blame the fumes for this positive reaction to Home Alone.

Big Guy sighting

Today, along with a great many other festive folk, we went to the National Tree Lighting Ceremony which is hosted by The President of the United States and the First Lady. If you'll remember from previous postings there was a fair amount of effort exerted to get the tickets - but if you want to see the Big Guy, you've got to work for it.



The media was there in full force and one of the most tender moments during the painfully named Christmas Pageant of Peace was when Maya Angelou was reading an inspirational and heart-warming poem and one of the camera/director/producer guys who was hanging out on the media stand continued to prattle on into his cell phone at full volume. When even the kids are looking in his direction you know there's a problem.

Now I didn't manage to get a picture of the Big Guy but he was very popular. When he came out everyone stood up and cheered. The kids went wild. There was a lot of finger pointing and clapping. It was joyous and grand. Everybody knows what the Big Guy looks like so instead of a photo of his impressive ensemble, I managed to grab a shot of his digital cue cards. Because everyone who's anyone needs cue cards and the Big Guy is no exception.



And oh yah, you might recognize this gentleman as well.



And with that, the Holiday Season officially begins. Better add "cue cards" to the wish list.

il tachino senza gambie

Here is Stefano's tachino. A beautiful creature that got along well with herbs and butter. Mmmm. Ci piace!

Indie Thanksgiving

This is our first independent thanksgiving. I know that some people feel constricted by family tradition and despise being trapped in a home with all of their relatives for a day-long eating extravaganza. But for us it was a great pleasure... both the people and the food. And now that we're alone, left to construct our own tradition, some of the warmth and comfort is missing. (And that's not only because our fireplace, without fail, causes the fire alarm to go off so we're left without its holiday services.)

But, and here's our big butt Simone, Stefano has come to the rescue. He is cooking, cooking, cooking. The scents are swirling around our cramped apartment and making us giddy and grateful. Last night he made a homemade pumpkin pie with pecan struesel. It's a Cooking Light recipe so the guilt level is markedly decreased -- although if you check the stats we're actually fooling ourselves on this one.



He's also making a turkey with fresh herbs, butter and roasted vegetables. And it already smells so good. I consider myself lucky to love a man who cooks so wonderfully. But maybe I'd be thinner if he didn't. Ah, so what -- it's fall, the leaves on the ground smell sweet, and there was snow in the air last night. DC ain't great but it's looking nice these days.



Happy Thanksgiving to everyone. It's impossible to express how lucky we are.

one dad's essentials

Checklist for father/son bonding while waiting for tix:
Box o' donuts? Check.
Blue Gatorade? Check.
Five-year old dozing in sleeping bag with powdered-sugar-rimmed mouth and Gatorade-drizzled shirt? Check.

4:30am - 8:00am

this is what the washington memorial looks like as you wait in line for tickets to the national tree lighting ceremony, starting at 4:30am. it's cold and most people are quiet and sitting on the sidewalk. fuzzy mist drifts back and forth across the lawn. some people have doughnuts. not me. i have italian homework. i was line-stander #248 and i got 4 tickets for the tree lighting. was it worth it? we shall see. but atleast it was pretty to watch the morning come to DC.

dear old DC

Sometimes DC is great. It holds the places where people come to reflect and honor and remember; and this week as the rain came pelting down and the cold ate at my legs I went running among these places. It was early morning and the DC crowds were nowhere to be seen. But I was out there and I discovered that I have a perfect 6 mile route --- 3 miles to the Lincoln Memorial and then 3 miles back. It's oh-so-very-DC. And the best part was that when I got to the Memorial, and ran up the steps, I was alone. Alone with a giant stone president who people come from around the world to see. It felt like when I had the galleries of the Art Insitute of Chicago to myself. An honor and a risk. A moment not everyone has. And so I stood there looking at Lincoln and then looking out onto DC. To the reflecting pool and the Washington Monument and the greyness of the rain. It was a luxury.

And in the memorial, surrounded by quiet echos and the dull whimper of the morning's rain, I noticed for the first time that Lincoln's hands are sending us a message. Maybe you've noticed but I hadn't. One giant paw is in a fist and the other is open, fingers nearly strumming the arm of his chair. One says think about it and take your time, while the other says take hold and fight hard. A smart message. A determined one. One that I took to heart. And carried home in the rain.