hey hey lily day

On March 9, 2013March 10, 2013 By Emily KeithIn brunch, celebrations, i have really talented friends, libations, Portland2 Comments

I’ve blown a few endorphins in my life. Spent them on rich food, fine wine, great literature, George T. Stagg, playing my anger like an instrument, cheap tacos, being despondently and inconsolably sad, numerous days of solitude in the desert, Ancient Age, being blissfully and serenely happy, bad poetry.

like a pig in mud — like a pig in the mud

Last weekend I found a place to settle down with a superfriend who recently completed a 30-day cleanse (an anti-inflammatory diet which is restrictive of many foods, no caffeine, no sugar, no hooch). The sheer fact that she would choose to spend time with me during and after her trial is worthy of a medal in bravery and restraint.

The earth has angels all too few.And heaven is overflowing. — jumping off

Lily Day Cafe is sandwiched between Foster and Powell. It’s owned by the genius goddesses who once owned Dot’s Cafe, a darkened parlor of fries and Strongbow, the very best kind. Their new path is bright and well-curated; yardsticks lining the wainscoting, true tchotchke placed in cozy corners.

You don’t have to spend many endorphins at Lily Day, you can if you want to, but it’s okay to just chill out. The majority of the menu is based on sandwiches that are paired with a dip, or perhaps a dunk.

you've dialed my number, i 'm answering — you’ve dialed my number, i’m answering

Chorizo, cotija, as if my spirit was floating around the kitchen offering suggestions, there is corn in this. Life is a hollow room without corn in sandwiches. The dunk for this offering is a tomatillo green sauce. This is an off-menu sandwich, A Special, if you will.

Cleansed Colleen ordered, in addition to the pear puree-raspberry liquer-cava cocktail pictured up-post:

baked eggs, bacon, goat cheese, blueberry yogurt dunk, giant orange slice

On the subject of how and where to spend your endorphins, just look at this adorable cocktail menu. Lily Day has something precious to say:

grape fizz — don’t stay underground too long

So gosh darn cute. I tried the Spirited Coffee which balanced like an expert aerial yoga instructor.

Maybe you’ve noticed a recent trend in posts featuring raving accolades for my friends. You are well read and perceptive. Colleen is endlessly giving, supportive and encouraging. She will blast Cat Power with you, she will stroke your hair while you sob. Colleen is a lady who holds you close. Her beauty is rivaled only by the gale-force of her kindness. If you have any questions about healing or health, herbs or honesty, she gives outstanding advice on all subjects – a professional massage therapist and holistic guide who can school you on all aspects of endorphin expenditure. You can find her services here, or in Lily Day Cafe most Saturday afternoons.

the people’s republic of pickle

On February 17, 2013 By Emily KeithIn Anosmia, i have really talented friends, in the kitchen, Portland, take a deep breath and make a fucking sandwichLeave a comment

Back in time: October 22nd, 2012 the NYTimes published an article detailing the merits of a peanut butter and pickle sandwich. On the same day, 3000 miles West of Midtown, I tasted the first talisman of a brine-in-progress.

Please understand, my people put up pickles. My Pop laid a heavy ceramic plate over his endless crock of bread & butters all the years I was blessed with his presence. Every year I grew stronger, the lid was easier to raise. His old vessel is now an heirloom.

I have tested many iterations of the October 22nd NYTimes sandwich including Hemingway’s preferred combo of peanut butter, mayonnaise, olives, and raw onions (one of the many reasons he is My Man, I never smell his breath.)

I originally intended to write this post as part of my ‘take a deep breath and make a _________ sandwich’ series but life moves quickly and now I am more preoccupied with the concept of Taking Care. Put care into people, put care into food. The young pickle you taste-test in October will live to win an award next February. Your friends are your ancestors, your creator.

Wise Woman Wins Perfect Pickle 2013.

don’t give your talent the finger

On October 6, 2012July 29, 2015 By Emily KeithIn celebrations, ephemera, Get Angry About It, i have really talented friendsLeave a comment

Dear David Foster Wallace,

a little bit of everything for the man of indiscriminate tastes

On Wednesday I drank your new biography, Every Love Story Is a Ghost Story: A Life of David Foster Wallace by D.T. Max. I’ve read damn near everything you’ve ever written so knowing you through your work I was not looking forward to an overview of your life. You were a liar, an egoist, an indiscriminate lover of the ladies and, trust me, there is nothing worse than a man who loves all women. The practice lacks detail and smacks of a pandering case of “love me, all of you.”

How do you feel about Blackberry Jalapeno Jam? I feel really good about it.

DFW, you died exactly when you should have, about 13 years after your sobriety saved you from an early bucket and allowed you to complete Infinite Jest. I feel badly for your biographer; every love affair, class, recovery meeting, and cross country mission was a dead end for you – twisted by falsehoods ranging from self-fiction to manipulative lies.

You can’t lie to pastry dough, she is unforgiving.

Perhaps most importantly, you ate like a vagrant; incessantly complaining about your lack of funding, mooching free home cooked meals off friends and academics in exchange for your brilliant(!), unparalleled(!), literary and philosophical discourse. When you made your home at Amherst you were a member of the “5:01 Club,” the group would hit the cafeteria when it opened for dinner, carb-load, and retire to the library – I like this detail about you and it is the only thing we have in common. Regardless of your character, drinking your biography compelled me to feed you the way your written words feed me, will always feed me…

You loved pop•tarts.

You ate them all the time, a recovering booze-hound who couldn’t shake the need for sugar. Since you liked home cooked meals in exchange for your brilliance this seems like a fair trade. I hope your taste in pop•tarts is as indiscriminate as your taste in women because I have a few doozies for you to try.