I'm about to be 32 and feeling ancient: I get this way every year before my birthday. But today, I happened to read a piece in this month's Food&Wine about Moroccan cooking, which reminded me of the time I found myself in Marrakech at the end of a semi-disastrous trip to Italy. My friend and I were eighteen and spoke schoolgirl French: we were followed through the covered markets and laughed at by the police when we complained. Still, we ate well. In memory of that befuddled time, I'd like to make these semolina pancakes for my birthday: older? Definitely. Wiser? Debatable.
Speaking of days gone by, this yellow-printed dress could almost prove an acceptable substitute for that junior prom dress I wore all those years ago: it could sure help me out during the 10,000 weddings I have this summer.
And this podcast with Norris Church Mailer reminded me that her son, John, was already a cool kid even back in high school, when no one was really actually cool, and that a party he threw at his house way back in 1995 (!) marked my first venture into Brooklyn ever. I couldn't understand how we had to go over a bridge. It messed with everything I thought I knew about NYC.
Fast-forward to last night, when the beast and I walked allll the way from home to a friend's house in Carroll Gardens. We took the ugly route, over the Manhattan bridge, but it was still lovely. I guess this city is beautiful after all, even after all these years...
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