Katie

Paleo Babies, Essence of Isabella, Eggs on Everything

I never got around to trying the Paleo Diet. I’ve been focused on savory crusts this winter and I’ve just learned I can order Atora Suet online. Anyway if it’s true Pete Evans is trying to use the Paleo Diet to kill babies, I’m not sure it sounds as appealing even as a complement to my intended boulder-rolling regimen. Unless… could Pete Evans’ Paleo-baby cookbook have been an Onion news story mistakenly picked up by the major outlets and the joke is on me, like the one about certain states legalizing powdered alcohol? Either way, if you’re still running Moveable Feast, PBS, I’m interested in any hosting jobs that may be opening up*.

Maybe my problem with Pete Evans is that I’ve never really wanted anyone to make me a carrot salad, though Zatinya might have a pretty good one—do they? I always fill up on fava beans. Nevertheless Mike Isabella was responsible for the seminal taste of my DC girls’ weekend—indirectly(!) by way of the earthy Countryman Pizza at Graffiato, which I added to our order at the last minute, grazie a Dio, because they never brought us our gnocchi. I wouldn’t say this was a throwaway reservation (Saturdays are for Mintwood Place, which is our new Rasika), but on Friday night there’s always the chance someone will be stuck in traffic on 95 till eleven o’clock, and we’ll end up having minibar tequila and Mauna Loa nuts for dinner. So Graffiato had been on my DC list on the strength of Zatinya and the novelty of prosecco on tap. Since I know I will want to recreate it, I’ve searched for mentions of the Countryman pizza online, and I wouldn’t say it’s been appropriately raved about, but I suppose it’s too subtle for a lot of people. It has, though, been adequately described, so I’ll just say it has a soft cooked egg on it, and like the one on the Gus Burger, it is just the right addition.

*And even if it does exist, I promise not to use powdered alcohol, however creatively, until at least halfway through taping.

Japanese Vending, Jethro Tull, Special Peanuts

When I was very young and knew more about the world (or however Bob Dylan said it), I decided it would be a good idea to work in the travel agency at UVA, mentoring students who didn’t realize they could play beer pong in Europe or that Japanese vending machines dispensed pornography. One excuse I would like to offer for persuading one of my best friends to come work there with me for what seemed like about a year (do you care, LinkedIn?) sitting in a basement office listening to Jethro Tull, was that I believed we were going to end up doing a lot of jetsetting as soon as our IATA cards were approved by Head Office. I didn’t yet realize that being a travel agent wasn’t anywhere near as good as having an American Express Platinum Card for getting hotel room upgrades or imagining strangers admire you. It was all wasted on John anyway. I think he has always gotten things for free. Why is that?

It seems awfully linear to mention this, but only in the sense that I’m picking up a thread from my last post–it has nothing at all to do with the last paragraph, except insofar as the parties have met: It’s starting to look like I might not make it back to Concord Mall for hats before the weekend, when I have my next two birthday celebrations. If you are Katie or Stevie, and you love a surprise, you might want to stop reading this.
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So the good news is, even though, thanks to the snow, I will likely not be able to buy trucker hats for either of the above from Spencer Gifts–and I was kind of wanting to boycott anyway, because last time they were out of “I ❤️ the old Latin mass”–I was able to make each one a cupcake today. They are an homage to Christine’s birthday cupcakes from last week, with the same dark chocolate cake, chocolate ganache center, marshmallow buttercream frosting, and salted caramel drizzle (perfect for those avoiding sugar). I added candied peanuts this time, to commemorate the very special milestone birthdays we’re celebrating this weekend. Can peanuts be said to be wizened? No, no–I’m sure that’s not the word I meant to use.