Hilarity in cream

Lest you think I've neglected my beloved kale salads, you're sorely mistaken. This puppy was the central element of a terrific lunch today. And darnit on this rhubarb-cherry-hibiscus crumble! Excellent....

But about cream.

Growing up, Mom and I used to indulge ourselves by drinking the tiny buckets of half-and-half that places like McDonald's provided for folks who like their coffee with cream. You know...those little plastic cups with peel-back foil tops; I bet each has just a couple teaspoons, maybe a tablespoon, of aseptically processed half-and-half. We'd each drink several, savoring every drop of the velvety treat. Mom would recall how the milkman would bring glass jars of cream-top milk to her home when she was a child. Nanny would always let Mom run her finger around the inside rim of each bottle, scooping off the cream and relishing it all.

For a while, I avoided cream like the plague, but fortunately I've seen the error of my ways, and cream and I are again dear friends. I always, always have heavy cream in my fridge, not least because it's an important ingredient in homemade ricotta but also because it's just useful to have on hand. It's great in eggy tarts, allows for fresh whip cream whenever the mood strikes, makes a good pasta that much better.

In any case, we recently ran out of 2% milk and as Oliver is an insatiable milk drinker, I acted fast. 1% + cream = Plan B he would never suspect. I poured, gave it to him, he enthusiastically sucked some down. And then. This.

*Ignore the absurd Jim Carrey'ish hair if you can.

It's like the time my mom tried to pass liver off as steak. I was probably 8 and asked "What is this meat?"

"Steak!" she said.

Me: "Why is it so thin?"

Mom: "Oh, it's just a thinner cut."

I tried one bite. "Well, I'll tell you that there is something wrong with this steak!"

Dad: "Aah, don't eat it! It's liver!!"

He, El and I left Mom with all the liver and she ate to her heart's content.

Underpants

Why do boys of all ages leave underpants in the middle of the floor? Are they dirty? If so, disgusting. Are they clean? If so, you, boys, are lazier than previously suspected. I just found a pair of J's undies drooping over one stair about 75% of the way up the case and a pair of T's near but not too near our hamper. Is this another empty-OJ-bottle-back-in-the-fridge trick? Deep, existential musings on this Thursday.

Grand Budapest, and other hotels

T came and picked me up just before 4p yesterday. We packed in quick fashion and raced downtown, checked into our hotel and set out for our anniversary date extraordinaire. Romance to the extreme, he took me to a jewelry store where we looked at a celebratory ring. No purchasing but he's got something in mind, and I felt rather swept off my feet. Then to Proof for an app and drinks at the bar. I started with a glass of Grillo, a white varietal that hails from Sicily and proximate areas. Done well, it excites the palate with a crisp raciness that is nonetheless soft and accessible. T had a beer, and we tucked into a dish of homemade mozzarella atop mushrooms and crispy shallots tossed with an aged balsamic vinaigrette. Not awesome, but very solid. We laughed, I had a 1/4 pour of a Turley Zin, T had a subpar beer, and then we were off to Zaytinya, walking in the rain, holding hands without a care. In their bar we sat (we love to sit at the bar of any good joint, fancy or not at all so) and shared four mezze: Htipiti (roasted red peppers, feta and thyme dip); Seared Halloumi with Dates, Oranges, Pistachios and Mint; Crispy Brussels Sprouts with Barberries, Coriander and Garlic Yogurt; and the Fried Calamari. I ordered a slight of rosés to go with it all, and T ordered yet another subpar beer. Poor guy. We ate and laughed more, it started raining to beat sixty and when it let up a bit, we headed on, this time to Dangerously Delicious Pies, for dessert.

I loved everything about this place. It's little more than a tiny yet very welcoming storefront on H St, NE, down in Chinatown. The proprietor is a lanky, smiling, knows-everything-about-the-place-and-products, gloriously afroed young man who has a marvelous demeanor for running a shop. A couple in line ahead of us ordered thick slices of savory pies: he the chicken pot, her what looked to be the BBQ pork. At the last minute, the also ordered a slice of the Peanut Butter Chess.

Not one for peanut butter in any dessert, I chose the strawberry rhubarb while T went with the Baltimore Bomb: crumbled Berger Cookies (I learned last night that these are a beloved Baltimore thing) swirled into a vanilla chess filling. Naturally we got it topped with whipped cream. While waiting, we listened to a charismatic regular with few teeth soapbox about how DDP needed seats out front. He made some good points, but according to charming man, such was not possible because they were not currently zoned for such although how they were much different than Starbucks -all of whom are zoned for such- remained a mystery. To all of us in there. We took our pies to go, walked back to our hotel, got into PJs, ordered up The Grand Budapest Hotel and started watch-eating.

It is great fun to stay at a hotel in your own city just because. Such a treat. Seems so decadent.

It is with sadness that I admit that the pies weren't amazing. Solid! Beautiful! Not amazing. But I'd go back. 'Cause if ever I owned a spot, I'd want it to be as cool and welcoming and calm as DDP.

Now, The Grand Budapest Hotel was Wes Anderson at his most eccentric and delightful. Have you seen it? I enjoyed every strange second. Ralph Fiennes is sublime, and I simply must ride in a funicular like the GPs at some point in life. Why Anderson chose Tilda Swinton for such a tiny part only to have her sit in the makeup chair until she was unrecognizable is beyond me. I adore Tilda Swinton, but Anderson could have worked with an older actress and possibly saved some time. But that wouldn't be W.A., so there. Bill Murray! Ed Norton! Jeff Goldblum! Saoirse Ronan! Tony Revolori! Utterly weird and silly and marvelous.

Today we slept in and then it was back to the real thing. T went to work, I came home and visited with Mom and El, picked up my darlings, made a dinner feast: the Brussels sprouts; Chicken with Caramelized Sumac Onions; Rhubarb Cherry Hibiscus Crumble with Almond Whipped Cream. We are all tired and feel piggish but in a grand way, and now it's to bed.