p = mv

one of my friends/readers keeps asking me to post miscellaneous stories of funny events that happen - more specifically sans food and for the love of tom ford, devoid of anything related to fashion. and to please be more succinct. well firstly, you can kiss my creamy saffron grits. i can't help that i'm long-winded. i've got a lot to say.

this one's for you, friend.

i dread a trip to costco. i really avoid it but sometimes ya gotta go. if i went more often, smaller trips would be more manageable. this trip is a must though. and it's gonna be a doozy.

i'm at costco yesterday. i knew i had to buy enough soda and water alone to fill an entire cart. i hate the idea of having to get one of those huge, flat, unwieldy carts for "professionals" or whatever they're for. you know, the ones that you put 100 lbs of dogfood on or 10 cases of soda and then struggle to maneuver it around the people who go strictly to fill up on bull$hit snacks at costco. [i don't judge people for the most part, but why in the sam hill do people stand in line for a sliver of a nuked bagel bite or a shot of monster energy drink. i'm so judging you. get a life.]

i picture myself trying to drive that thing and think, i'd rather fill up a cart, check out, take the sodas to my car, then re-enter costco for the remaining items on my ever-loving grocery list.

instead, i called an audible, and decide with some clever packing i can make it happen in just one trip. in fact all that water, sparkling water, ginger ale, sprite, diet sprite, coke, diet coke, et al. did fill the cart.

i go about my annoyedmerry way, questioning this decision somewhat, but plowing through. eventually this cart's so damn full i can't see anything in front of me. i'm nearly mowing people down because i can't see them standing in line for diced processed cheeses with toothpicks. like mice, they have no idea they're in harm's way.

at this point, the in-cart mass i've accumulated, plus the velocity at which it's traveling causes this crazy train to gather uncontrollable momentum. it takes so much force to push the cart that once it gets going, all bets are off. people better stay outta the way of this thing.

next thing you know, the cart crashes itself into a gigantuous corner display of alli, you know the diet drug that makes you {well i needn't go into that here}....i just hope people weren't thinking that's where i intended to go next. the cart just wouldn't go after that. i had to call in for back up. like when a metro bus breaks down on the highway and another has to come rescue it, all the passengers have to deboard and get on a new bus.

cool. what a joyous day of shopping. thought ya might like that one.

le menu

my life pretty much revolves around food. food is my life. it's not always my best buddy but we usually get along quite well. i'm either thinking about it, preparing it or eating it when i'm awake. and perhaps in my sleep, who knows.

(of course, in reality my friends and family are most important to me but until y'all start paying my bills....)

a relatively interesting thought has entered my pea brain. i think my eating habits are curiously akin to my dating habits/lovelife/escapades.

wtf, jt? let's discuss, shall we?

as you may know i'm an appetizer girl. mostly. i like to get a couple different things from the appetizer menu so i can taste more than one thing. and i'm not referring to jalapeno poppers or mozzarella glue sticks, sampler platters or any of that tgi-applebees bullhonkery. i appreciate a refined and sophisticated snack. usually it's lighter fare that doesn't bog you down and leave you feeling like a big fat stupid tick in need of a gurney.

because as you know, once you order the entree, that's all you have. and for many, you're ok with that. i'm ok that you're ok with that. i wish i was too. i resolve to be more like you. if only i could find one that i love. a lot of people order an entree and though they're not perfectly happy with it never stop to think - this isn't really all that great, in fact, it sucks. they've shoved the whole thing into the old piehole and washed it down with drink of choice.

but come on, the problems that can arise with an entree are copious.

what if you don't like the sauce with the meat?
what if the risotto gets stiff half way through your meal?
sometimes the asparagus is overcooked and slimy. nast.
sometimes the carrots are undercooked, and cwunchy vegetables are for wabbits.
what if you have your eye on the chateaubriand but goshdarnit it comes with hen-of-the-woods mushrooms and you hate mushrooms? oh yeah and there's no substitutions.
what if the whole damn dish is bland and there's no salt on the table?

and for the love of paula dean and giada delaurentiis, what if you finally decide on something only to find out they just sold the last one?!

so many things can go wrong with the entree, yet you've committed to it. and so there you are. f-ed.

it's so stressful for me. i usually have the waiter choose.

not appreciating your entree, you start looking around the table checking out the other dishes. you study whether friends are enjoying their meals or if something's wrong there too. is his tenderloin still hot? are so and so's pommes puree creamy? rats, you think, i shoulda ordered that. can i have a bite of your {blank}?

next thing you know you're not-so-subtly gazing at neighboring tables to see if what they have looks better than what you ordered. you think, perhaps yes. now you're full-on questioning your decision, beating yourself up for making the wrong choice, secretly wishing you had a do-over but too nice to say something, you've eaten half of it and you can't send it back. i'm thinking maybe it's just me and i'm picky [i am a chef you know]. you might even leave, bitching about the place, recommending that others not order an entree.

hell, i'll just run by mcdonald's on the way home.

that's on the one hand.

the other side of me - the crap-i-can't-decide-on-anything-so-i'll-get-it-all side of me loves to order what's known as a chef's tasting menu. 3, 6, 9, 13 courses. bring it. and i'll also take the wine pairing for $300.

why, you ask? why spend all that time and money on one meal? you're crazy. well {yes, i am but you already know that} aside from being a chef who loves to be inspired by others' cooking, i think that the tasting menu is a symbol of hope.

yes, yes, i've gone all sappy and sweet on you.
so un-jt. so un-jennifertye [my newest nickname, wink].

stay with me on this: when you order the tasting menu, if one little thing isn't to your liking, it doesn't spoil the entire meal.

the next item you know is coming will be better and the next dish even better and so on and so forth, culminating with the best damn thing you've ever put in your mouth. hopefully. i mean, that's the idea. these multi-course dinners have more flavors and textures and layers than you could ever really understand. perched on top is something crunchy, whimsical and fun and unexpected. and wonderful. and delicious. merry happy food smile. i still savor a couple tasting menus i had to this day.

quite deliberately, the tasting menu is designed to be a symphony that leaves you completely sated. {after these multi-course outings, just make sure you work out or you'll turn into a big fat ass and believe me, your dinner partner(s) didn't bargain for that}.

lastly i guess what i'm secretly notorious for is complete and utter indulgence in one thing. like nutella. or peanut butter. or chocolate chips. cookies, cake, ice cream with treasures in it - a la ben & jerry's anything. the whole jar, pint, box, whatever. in one sitting. to the point of being disgusted and frankly, sick to my stomach after such an endeavor. then i have to vow off that thing for an undetermined amount of time, til i fall off the wagon again.

showing restraint with some dishes isn't possible i think. when really if i just allowed myself a taste of something regularly i wouldn't go crazy when i got a hold of it and eat the whole blinkin thing. dieting/dating 101, right?

what's my point? bollocks, i haven't the foggiest.

i can't decide if i'm looking for that one extraordinary entree and i just need to realize it, embrace it and stop expecting it to be perfect because it probably is perfect the way it is. perhaps it's a nicely prepared rack of lamb? tony's original crust frozen pizza {extra crispy crust}? a corn dog with mustard? something that surprisingly makes me happy every time.

or should i hold out for the french laundry - the mac daddy of all tasting menus?

whack-a-mole

you know that game at the fair.

squash-a-squirrel
bonk-a-badger
spank-a-gopher

call it what you will.

i call it trying to find someone dateable for more than one to three hours. if i'm lucky a yummy summer romance that leads to happilyeverafter.

trying to find a love interest is like whack-a-mole. by process of elimination [of vermin], i'm gonna find that perfect-for-me guy {i think his name is matt damon but he keeps having babies with ben affleck's former assistant}.

truth be told, i have no game but somehow i continue to meet people here and there and give it a whirl. anyway, you meet 'em, chat with 'em, go out with 'em, and then...

just whack 'em down, one by one until you're exhausted and your hand-eye coordination is wiped out and you lost all your quarters to this silly game leaving the fair empty-handed-but-fat from funnel cakes and indian tacos.

if you win though, you get the biggest, fluffiest, snuggliest stuffed animal hanging on the wall - notably hanging just behind dirty, toothless carnie. a really good metaphor, don't you agree?

that's me still being positive.

so last night i whacked-another-mole in a roundabout sort of way. there's this fine fella i've been crushing on for 3 1/2 years who doesn't know i exist. it's kind of a joke amongst friends because i was so smitten when i met him way back when, i still bring him up like i have a chance in hell, fantasizing about my future with this guy. ok, well i'm exaggerating a bit.

jennifer cousteau sounds so cool, no? that's one of the few people i'd change my name for. that or damon. or jeter. or hyphenated to brady-favre, cuz it's just a pain in the rear to change your name with all the airline miles and such.

i even named my dog after him. {i know, i know, scary stalker.} silly girl.

silly but cute little blond girl dressed last night in a must-have purple calypso dress with golden jimmy choo flip flops. {happy sigh}

i went to a fundraiser-shopping event at bethesda's ginger boutique, 1) because it's my friend's store and i had the night off to go visit her and shop, 2) because possible mr. right was the headliner at this event and 3) opportunity to wear cute outfit - see above.

i quickly realize there's a problemo, he was swarmed by taller and more aggressive crushers. i did get asked by someone to take her picture with him. i really really don't have any game - trying to play it cool gets you no where fast. i annoy myself.

crap. time's running out. i have to act now or he's gonna leave soon. plus i'm awkwardly lingering around the store like a total hangeroner, probably on glass of wine number 3 or 4. so as he's bidding good evening to my friend, i make my move. "you know, now that i think about it, i've met you before." "really, where?.... wow, that's great, that's my favorite restaurant, i've been there many times."

[i haven't the foggiest clue who the hell you are].

and that was that, mr. cousteau was off to dinner/next event/better deal.

for the love of all the creatures in the ocean, i need a list of things to say when these once-in-a-lifetime moments happen upon me.

three years later, he's still super-cute and charming but i got over him last night. it's liberating. whacked another mole down and know mr. really right is still runnin' around out there somewhere.

p.s. i can't say his name anymore without thinking of my dog. and that's so not hot; can you imagine?

creepy caller part deux

one person almost always thinks the date went better than the other. pessimistic attitude? no - realistic, friends. come on, i've been doing this a while.

i've dated a lot of frogs hoping [hopping?] to find my prince: online tom cruise look-a-like who looked like a troll in person, to girl-hands, text-a-holic, narcissist, tattered t-shirt, jean short-wearin' with tevas dude, gold-necklace, bragasaurus rex, personalized license tag guy, expensive bill-splitter, up-front porsche parker, do ya want me to go on?

date from the mall evidently thinks our date was a success. me, i know i was right about it being a failure. creepy caller (that's what i'm referring to him now as) struck again last week.

he called last tuesday to see if i could do lunch saturday. i knew the moment i received that voicemail that i would be busy cooking for a party of 60 that day. and if i wasn't i would've been busy doing something else, like balancing my checkbook, something i haven't done since high school. or brushing my dog to rid him of the shedding fur.

rudely, i didn't return the call til friday to inform date i was busy saturday. "oh well i organized a surprise for you in hopes of kidnapping you for lunch." props for good planning which is rare in this dating age, however, if you don't know whether someone thinks you're sketchy, never use the word kidnap as a descriptor for getting you on a date.

i explained how i was going to be really busy the next couple of weeks but asked what the surprise was. i should've acted like i didn't care but when you act aloof, people fall in love with you and i sense i'm already running that risk here.

"you women always have to know about surprises."

ugh, strike #142. gimme a break, man. like you know about women. you don't know bo diddly jackson about me, mistah.

surprise was he bought tickets for a lunch cruise on the odyssey. if you don't live here, you don't know what the odyssey is. if you do live here, you're collectively expressing a sigh of relief for my not going on this date.

the odyssey, it's an eyesore of a boat (pictured here, it looks cool, but trust me on this one) that runs up and down the potomac - strictly for tourists - serving way less-than-mediocre food in a crowded atmosphere of old people and uncreatives who can't tour the sites on their own, on foot or even on the duck bus/boat. it's the equivalent to one of the double-decker buses, only i'd rather be on that because at least you're not trapped indoors looking through a green-colored glass amongst the stench and chattery of hording tourists. there are way better ways to see the sights of dc.

a three-hour tour. a three-hour tour.

holy mother of foie gras. imagine my horror if i had snuck away for lunch on a day i was catering a party for 60 people only to find out it was going to be a three-hour ordeal with an inappropriately dressed horse dentist. he would've gotten a surprise of his own - the wrath of an overbusy, over-tired wack job having a full-on mental breakdown. i'm not joking.

did i mention he lives in the boonies/'burbs one hour from dc? this was strike #1, but i was "giving it a whirl" just to see if the man of my dreams was living in leesburg virginia and i didn't know.

i think i did mention that i said i was busy for the next couple weeks. much to my happiness, he understood and told me to call him when i came up for air so we could get together again. "ok," i lied. why is it so hard to tell someone you're just not into him?

he called sunday to see when i was available. what the huh?

i hit the ignore button. it was my day off. from work, from horse dentist, from lying and feeling guilty about it.

that date woulda made for a great blog, don't get me wrong, but this is one i'm so not taking for the team. sorry.

legal seafoods, tyson's galleria, mclean virginia

this is not a restaurant review. this instead is a blind date review. why? because there's really only one reason to eat at legal seafoods - there's nothing else around, there's no reason to talk about their food. it's marginal and that's being generous. legal seafoods serves a purpose: you're at the airport grabbing a bite, at the mall grabbing a bite (on a blind date) and you have to eat something. you all know i'm not a chain restaurant girl.

my point for this blog is to offer some of jt's quick tips on dating. on blind dating. what not to do. if you don't like these, think i'm a biatch, over-sensitive, picky, seinfeld episode, shallow, etc., great. i am. i am all of those things. in the defense of the chap who was my blind date, how was he to know i'm not into making grand plans with someone whom i just met (dude, show some restraint). i'm also not that outdoorsy (show another side to your personality). i'm an admirer of great personal style (first impressions are very important).

So, in the interest of time, i've bullet-pointed a few helpful tips.

1) do not call someone at 8am to schedule possible date
a) do not call someone twice more the same day just to chat
b) do not call that person twice the next day if you've already set up plans to meet in two days; that's considered excessive and borderline stalking and you run the risk of not getting to meet the girl at all

2) do not talk incessantly about yourself on the phone or in person

3) do not show up wearing shorts, t-shirt, tennis shoes, pullover rain jacket for a first date. unless you're in hawaii, california, any of the caribbean islands where it's super hot (and raining) and the plan is to do something outdoors

4) when you do finally decide to ask your date a question, kindly listen to the answer without interrupting and for the love of all things holy, don't fidget like you can barely contain yourself because you have something so freaking interesting to say when she's finished talking
a) do not finish date's sentences

5) don't ask date you just met to take a hiking trip to the grand canyon or white water kayaking in west virginia
a) this is especially true if date is particularly stylish, wearing 4" platform louboutins and huge jimmy choo bag

note: some of you are thinking, "wow - that's a dream date. i'd do that in a heartbeat." yes, well, you're not single - you're in love with your significant other. imagine these things whilst sitting across from overwhelming blind date coming on way too strong who's not notably attractive or charming or intuitive.

6) if date acts uninterested in this, don't proceed to ask him/her to take a long weekend in south carolina or italy. it's just desperate, unattractive, overwhelming. hell, i can't breathe, can someone open a window?

7) do not ask date what to tip the server; at this stage, everyone should know, i don't care if you are a horse dentist from the UK
a) if you do ask and date answers this ridonkulous question, tip what he/she recommended, or more, never ever less. anything less makes you look cheap and certainly makes for an awkward ending to the date

warning: behaving like this on first date may send a commitment-phobe running as fast as she can into the warm embrace of neiman marcus to snuggle with some new oversized-yet sporty prada sunglasses and spectacular gold gladiator sandals. she may even resort to opening a charge card at saks to cope.

restaurant eve, 110 s pitt st, old town, alexandria

(eve, the bistro. it's very romantic at night)

it annoys me that i can't think of a befitting word to describe my dining experience at restaurant eve but i have to proceed nonetheless. amazing? no, overused. fantastic? nope, underwhelming. perfect? tres cliche.

it was simply flawless. from walking in through the understated entrance on s. pitt street to the moment i left, every moment was truly without flaw. and just when i think i can't be inspired by a restaurant, i visit restaurant eve.

[by the bye, they may appear to be booked up on opentable.com, but just give a call and they'll tell you when they can seat you, and on this tuesday evening when i called at 6, they were happily able to seat me at 9:15]

frenchy's in town for a total of three weeks for a work project; i'm trying to devote as much time to this situation as possible to see if he's the dreamboat of my dreams. i wanted to take him to a top-notch restaurant whose menu is not designed by a french chef. who says only the french can cook properly [besides the french]?

actually chef cathal {silent t} armstrong is irish, which is ironic when you discover how good it is (nothing against the irish but they're not typically known for delicate food). if you're in old town and see a dude on a bicycle in a chef's jacket and checkered pants, it's probably chef armstrong zipping around from farmer's market to the resto or home to check on kids. charming, no?

it's reported that eve is great for romantic evenings, special occasions, or to impress a guest. horse-puckey. don't wait for something "important" to visit. what's important is that you experience this exquisite and enchanting place that's worth every penny and then some. the food is astonishingly good.

converted from an old town warehouse, eve is more like a cottage you're entering through a side door with exposed brick, ivy, romantic lighting. greeting you is a friendly hostess or three, perhaps even meshelle, chef armstrong's wife [and muse, according to the website. does anyone else out there want to be someone's muse? that's better than romance.].

the service was 2nd to none. overly serious waiter could be seen as condescending but really he's professionally helpful, guiding you through the menu, answering all questions. they're super-thrilled to bring out todd thrasher, dc-famed mixologist, beverage director and sommelier to all of armstrong's endeavors {and partner in some}, who will suggest a perfect wine or special cocktail he's developed for the night. i ordered a bottle of k vintners viognier, which they were out of, however they brought a substitute [for the same price] of e. guigal viognier, 2006. delicious but not floral; rather peppery for a viognier - i compare it to a red really with all of its bold flavors. even frenchy who prefers red really enjoyed it. i look like a genius; he'd never tried a viognier.

why do french people always look so natural when they swirl their glass of wine, sniff it and taste it? meanwhile americans tend to look more clumsy and fake when doing the same. i think they're born with this ability. especially when the french person is from sancerre i suppose. they better look cool. like i should look cool wearing chaps and riding a horse, being from oklahoma. which i would.

(eve, the lounge. you can dine in here but i don't recommend it because the tables are too low. skirt danger.)

i should mention that eve has a special chef's tasting room to the side of the bistro. i've dined there long ago - before i was a chef. ignorant to what i was really experiencing at that time. sad. tonight we're in the bistro, i believe, at the very best table situated next to the fireplace. also worth mentioning is that a former colleague of mine from citronelle is the chef de cuisine and listed as such on the menu. surprise surprise. i knew he worked there but didn't know he'd risen to the rank of chef de cuisine. impressive.

(eve, tasting room)

first course i ordered the steak tartare. i love steak tartare and you don't see it on too many menus so i want to see if it rivals that of central. i loathe to say it does. it does. it was rich and mustardy and delicious. frenchy doesn't "like meat not cooked" (broken english). hmm, so they don't all like tartare. ok. well he is a pastry chef. he ordered the scallop risotto first course. too heavy for me, though quite good.

the main course i had trouble deciding between the rockfish, which i love, the squab or the sweetbreads. sweetbreads might sound like dessert, but they're anything but. from the thymus gland of a cow, they're categorized as offal (the entrains and internal organs) - along with kidneys, liver, brain, trotters, and other parts that may have an unusual flavor and texture. when prepared properly [to tenderize it and neutralize the flavor, it's brined for at least a day , then often poached in milk to later remove the outer membrane] they have a rather delicate flavor.

me, i'm not a huge fan of sweetbreads. so that's what i ordered. i like to do this to see if my open mind can be changed. waiter agrees i should go with it.

eve has gently breaded and pan-fried them. they're beautifully presented (a rather large portion). looks like fried chicken. tastes like fried chicken. really really good tender fried chicken. i am so pleased and delighted. i haven't had a food smile on my face this big since bouley in nyc last september [and if you know bouley, you know what i mean]. frenchy ordered the bouillabaisse. traditional french seafood stew. oh boy. i guess he is from the nord [that's north] and bouillabaisse is southern french food. so it's kind of like when i order tex-mex.

for dessert a butterfinger cake; peanut butter and chocolate terrine with a quenelle of malted milk ice cream. it's good but didn't compare to my completely captivating entree.

as for frenchy and my communication skills: well we're getting better and better. use of dictionary is still rampant. i overheard table next to us commenting about how i was teaching him english and he teaching me french. how sweet. a good night for the french-american date. we're making progress i think. i can finally use the word ennuyeux without using my dictionary. i have looked it up no less than 10 times and if you're wondering, i use the words "bored" and "boring" excessively. typical american girl.

before our exit, former colleague gave us a quick tour of the kitchen. very clean surfaces, happy cooks and gorgeous copper pans. nice. super nice.

i treated this evening - no argument from frenchy, finally. it's not inexpensive at $200 but like i said, worth it. the best ingredients, the talent, the ambience, the taste. what do you expect people? i've spent a lot more on food that was just ok.

{The Armstrongs and partner Todd Thrasher also own and operate: Eamonn’s A Dublin Chipper , PX, the upstairs speakeasy lounge, and the historic eatery; The Majestic all within five blocks from Restaurant Eve.}

blah blah we lost the election blah

give it a whirl. that's my motto.

and so i did unsuccessfully give it a half-assed whirl. running for office, that is.

just a quick follow-up to food and politics. politics and food, for those dying to know the results of the election. in a nutshell, i wasted a perfectly good evening at the annual park fairfax neighborhood board meeting for the elections last wednesday.

we lost. period the end. it was lame, it was a silly waste of valuable time that i'll never get back.

so, why am i bummed about it? seeing it all unfold confirmed that the only people who give a rat's arse about the neighborhood are busy-bodied, ill-fashioned, single-minded old fogeys. i can't begin try to change a neighborhood that's afraid of change. it's overwhelming and requires time only these others have.

it's frustrating when you realize you cannot make a difference, even if it is for silly neighborhood elections.

that's all i have to say about that.

lastly, to update on ugly naked man: i saw him/tried to avoid him at the meeting. evidently someone posted an anonymous note on his door asking him to please close his blinds and have some decency to not parade naked around his house where we can all see him. someone else issued a complaint to the board about his nakedness. his response to this: there's now a hand-scribbled note in his bathroom window that reads, "FYI. Voyeurs."

huh?