Another year, another swan song. I grab the long broom with the knotty wood handle to dust off these webbed corners:
I became a proud member of Imperfect Produce only to feel like capitalism’s brightest shill six months in, after certain branches of their funding came to light. But I do still keep it ugly, trust.
And I made danmuji from imperfectly stolen bounty allllll year.
I continued to enjoy room service, most especially in Dallas — which is an unheralded master of the room service game. This was the pumpkin/sumac chowder with pepitas at the Aldolphus.
I reintroduced audiobooks to my personal stack, it wasn’t without consequence but this was the best book I “read” all year, and I immediately bought the fiat version.
I took boring and pseudo-artistic photos in my neighborhood cafe.
I ate a bunch of new art.
Lazy afternoon dim sum at HK Café.
Drinks at Nostrana with Trace. When I write about my man I tend to veer towards strange counter-points, like…”someone told you, so” and…”somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good”….and “every time I drive through the city where you’re from I scream a little louder.”
My colleagues and I approximated Sweden in the java shop and I don’t know how to narrate this picture effectively, we simply hecking nailed it: cardamon buns, herring, for a brief moment we had it ALL.
I took romantic photos of my favorite biodynamic Cabernet with zero intention of posting them anywhere.
My best friend made me yet another beautiful veggie tray when I was Sad In The South.
I made Yo La Tengo’s Spicy Tortilla Soup, after many years of Wanting and made an Instastory of my findings.
The Secret Life of Quakers and a Gun Club Fizz: Normandie before Cat Power at The Roseland.
Duck Fat Madelines: Normandie before Cat Power at The Roseland.
Saying goodbye, see you later, likely never, to the most beloved Woodsman Tavern.
bunny bread surprise 