— which means music!
[Namely: Arcade Fire’s “Neon Bible.” It does not disappoint, people. But even more importantly, having the good fortune to see them a couple weeks ago at the United Palace Theater reminded me just how fucking awesome they are. Goddamn do they know how to put on a show. And also: Modest Mouse’s “We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank.” “Dashboard” is, like, their best ska song ever. “Spitting Venom” is this album’s “Bury Me With It” for me: perfect to knit to.]
[Specifically: “Spiderman 3.” Ugh. Blech. Retch. “The Ipcress Files”: Michael Caine is THE COOLEST DUDE alive. “Triad Election”: wow. You need to watch this. And “Election.” “Hot Fuzz”: dead-on, no punches pulled. I didn’t laugh as hard as I’d anticipated, but I quite admire what they did. “I’m a cyborg, but that’s OK”: totally cracked out and utterly beautiful. “The Departed”: riveting. “Infernal Affairs” is not, in my opinion, better necessarily. Different, I think, because of the nature of the setting and cultural context. “Steamboy”: barely watchable. “Tokyo Godfathers”: imbued with a cinematic realism that really tugs at you on multiple levels. (And speaking of Satoshi Kon, what do we think about “Paprika”? I, for one, cannot wait.) “Amores Perros”: so, so brutal. Heart-rending. And that’s the last 3 weeks in a nutshell, pretty much.]
and gastronomical delights!
I got sick of posting about Spring (hence the prolonged silence) and got rather hungry for it: garlic chive and pea shoot salad with lardons, sauteed oyster mushrooms, and chive blossoms (made by yours truly — the salad, not the flowers. that would be photosynthesis or something.) with an awesome pumpkinseed oil vinaigrette (courtesy of well-trained-from-an-early-age-in-emulsifying Justin).
Though Robert wanted to do his own celebration-of-Spring dinner, he bent to my wish for some offal: tripe, in the classic Italian style.
I’m still averaging two ice creams a week with the wunder-maschine: here, vanilla and mint. Which look awfully alike when they’re both made from custard base and without that sickly green food coloring. So far, I seem to have found the most success with the Guinness and mint flavors.
The fried prawn head from my omakase at Taro Sushi, my new favorite (and perhaps only worthy) neighborhood sushi joint.
I just got home from Flushing after a trip to the food court with my mom, who popped in this weekend and managed to drive me totally insane in just the few hours we spent together. But she made me realize that maybe, just maybe, this whole food thing may also be in some small part a way for me to actually be able to connect with her. Because regular ol’ talking sure doesn’t seem to work.