Rating: 💋 💋 💋 😘
Hello hello all my lovelies. Today I am bringing you along on a date!
The date was with myself, so I was in good company. I had recently taken note of a restaurant that appealed to me, and I really wanted to go. I was tired of having nothing special to do on the weekends. I was also in a really great mood, so I decided to put on a cute little outfit and wine and dine myself. Spoiler Alert: It turned out to be a fabulous night.
Solo dates are kind of a tricky issue. As a girl, you cannot seem to go anywhere alone without people warning you to have mace and be on the lookout and if you could possibly just not go anywhere alone that would be great. I one hundred percent appreciate the concern, because I know it comes from a place of love. It makes me totally sick of the world though. How about instead of teaching girls to limit ourselves and constantly have our backs up we teach boys to not glorify American Psycho and behave like sadistic jerks? If men did not hate women so much we would not have a problem. So, why do women always get the warnings and training and caveats and men don't? Treat boys to be better. I am not shrinking myself and tucking myself away and wasting my life because I am scared. Besides, I can take care of myself. So off I went.
Taking yourself out to eat is also socially awkward. Who is that weird person who nobody wants to eat with? Why aren't they hiding themselves from shame and just ordering in or cooking for themselves? Why are they putting their solitude in the spotlight? That is the social anxiety. Only I do not feel that way. I have worked at restaurants where plenty of people came in and ate at the bar, brought their laptops to little tables and had dinner, and nobody ever joined them. One time a reality celebrity spent like an hour at the bar, chatting it up with the bartender and just being super friendly and nice because she wanted to go out for a drink and be around people. She was really lovely and there was nothing embarrassing about it. I think it is all about how you carry yourself. I know 'shameless' is used as an insult, but I have actually always loved the idea. It sounds like the freest way to be. There is nothing shameful about enjoying life and taking care of yourself and being proud of who you are. If you walk into a restaurant confidently and ask for a table for one like it is the most normal thing in the world, other people will follow suit. Or they are not worth it and they can get lost. We should be shameless more often.
I had to learn this trick firsthand when I studied abroad in Europe. I did not want to go to London like most other Fordham students, so I had to pick an outside program that allowed me to study my major - Art - and from which Fordham would still accept credits. I could not waste the semester taking classes that would not count. As a result, I wound up in Florence, with Syracuse's Studio Art program. I loved my classes and professors so much. I did not go with any friends though. Socially, I had to start from scratch. I found myself making friends and connections everywhere I went. I had the group from my program that I would go out with during the week. I made a friend who was studying in Rome, but we went on some of the same trips and stuck with each other those weekends. I met up with old friends from high school in Paris. I visited different places on weekends and made new friends for the time I was there. I also spent a lot of time alone. A lot of the people I was friends with were not as interested in traveling, but I had saved up my money for years and I wanted to see as much as possible. So I did, and I fell in love with Europe. Life there made sense to me in a way that it had never before. Some places felt more like home than others, of course, but the rhythm of Europe matched mine in a way I had never before felt. I was so glad that I did not limit myself because the people in my program preferred going to spas in Florence than going on adventures to Spain. That was right for them, but not for me. Living out of my suitcase and eating local food and immersing myself in all the different cultures was the best way for me to spend my time. I will always be proud that I stuck to my guns and did what I wanted to do, trying to soak up every drop of the experience as much as I could.
Europe was my constant companion, but so was solitude. I think I have always been pretty in touch with myself, but I had to get to know myself in a much more intimate way. I could not hide from my feelings. I could not get lost in the clouds of what other people thought I should do. I had to rely totally on myself, trust my instincts, and be completely independent. And not to be that person who's all "Abroad changed me" but, well, it did. It might not have if I hadn't done so much traveling by myself, basically forcing me into introspection. Once you live like that, it is hard to go back to shrinking into yourself, deferring to other people's opinions and living in the shadows. It also made me appreciate living so much, and how short life is. I became very conscious of how I am spending my time. So yeah, it did not exactly change me. It helped me come into my full self, who had been waiting backstage for so long and was so terribly sick of hiding behind the curtain. It changed the way I tackle life. I prefer my approach much better now.
While traveling alone, I had to eat. That is one of the best ways to get to know a culture after all. It is also one of the funnest ways to get to know the locals. Communion is where the real connections happen. My descent into solitude started in Rome, when I was still quite wary of the concept. I went with friends but we stayed in different hostels, so we were not together 24/7. On the first morning, I stood at a bar counter beside a bunch of elderly Italian men and drank an espresso with cornetti for breakfast. They were so funny and it was a lovely experience. It was also a quick introduction to dining 'alone'. I left the bar and spent the morning walking Rome, taking photographs of interesting things and sketching by the Forum until I met up with the girls. I felt much more secure once I had my group. For a bit after that, I skated by. I made friends in Prague and Munich so I was never alone with the staročeské trdlo and schnitzel (that I am to this day obsessed with). Group trips to Croatia and Amalfi kept me with friends from Syracuse. This reassured me. I did not want people back home to think I was a loser, hanging out with myself. Look at me! I have friends! I am having a great time! More and more though, I was left to my own devices. The day we were to leave for Barcelona, one of my closest friends abroad canceled on me because of the protests. I could not blame her, but yeah. I went anyway. For some reason, I really was not afraid. That is where I met my friend Abby, from Rome. We ate paella at a big group dinner and had so much fun dancing at Opium, so I found people and made it work. I also spent a whole day by myself, hiking to the top of this mountain that overlooked the whole city, with a view to the ocean. It was so beautiful, and I got comfortable being alone. Thank God, because pretty soon it happened much more often. I had a few days flying solo in Paris, but I was not going to stay shut up in my hostel in Montmartre and miss out on my beloved. I had a lovely lunch for one, complete with Orangina, une salade de chèvre, and a Hemingway book I had just purchased at Shakespeare & Co. The server and I had a lovely conversation. I also toured the Louvre and the Catacombs on my own and had blast. From there, I took a bus to Belgium for a solo weekend. My only companion was the black hostel cat that took a liking to me and snuggled in my lap every time I worked in the café. I ate so many delicious gaufres while sitting on the steps of the Grand Place, ate fries at a popular spot and joked around with the cooks, and then had one of my best dinners ever. I went to this restaurant up the street from the Manneken Pis and ordered a Pilsner and a plate of carbonnade. It was such a cute place and the waitress was so sweet. I did not even feel awkward. The only strange part was returning to Italy and having to switch my brain from French to Italian so I could greet my host mom, Patrizia. That is when it hit me that I had not spoken English in days, and it was kind of thrilling. In Hungary, I had no language, but I did have another great dinner with me, dining on goulash and more staročeské trdlo, at a Christmas market in Budapest. It is a funny thing, being alone in a crowd. I learned how to navigate it. I took a lot of walks alone, everywhere I went in Europe. I especially liked going to Piazzale Michelangelo in Florence and looking out at the city. I am so glad I did all those things. At the time, I had moments of feeling weird or lonely or just wondering where my people were. I became my person though, which I think has set me up for forming better connections in the future.
Also, I think it turned out to be great practice for quarantine.
I especially relived my dinner with the carbonnade in Brussels as I walked to The Lovelace. I imagined my night would go similarly. It made me very happy to think about that experience, and very excited for what I was about to do. I grabbed a spot at the corner of the bar and immediately liked the place. There was a live jazz band singing the most beautiful music. The bartender sported a vest and suspenders and served everyone with a flourish. He was so debonair and I enjoyed my interactions with him. He poured me a dry Brooklyn cider, "in a pretty glass for the lady" and it tasted so crisp and cool and perfect.
Unfortunately, an old creep sat next to me. He does not deserve the distinction of elderly. He was not distinguished. He was gross. He dissed the service, the perfect way to not win me over. (In addition to the fact that I do not like cradle-rockers.) The bartenders had a lot to do, so I had to say "Excuse me" a few times before I could place my dinner order. To be fair, as someone who has worked in a lot of restaurants, I felt bad adding more work for them when they were busy, and I probably did not squeak loud enough. Still, the man, who had taken up his spot around the corner of the bar after I got there, leaned over and rolled his eyes condescendingly, "The service here is slow." I am pretty sure he was drunk and they were taking a while to get to him on purpose. He was rude. And did I mention he was old? And gross? I coolly pointed out that they were very busy and then angled myself away from him. I do not care. Sometimes I think what I hate most about being a girl is, if you are not with a guy, you are not with a bodyguard. As soon as a guy is with you, you're safe and people leave you alone. Otherwise, not so good. My imaginary boyfriend is not even a deterrent. It is so gross! The one nice thing about isolation is I have not had to deal with that in a while.
I decided I was not dealing with it that night either.
I placed my order, they were so friendly about it, and my food came out pretty fast. For the rest of the night, I just tuned drunk grandpa out.
Capturing the glory of the plate in a single photo was too difficult. Also, I tried taking a video but the lighting was too dim. Fresh lemon juice, perfectly tangy tartar sauce and even the malt vinegar tasted great on the filet. The fish had a nice, flaky crust that tore open to reveal hot, juicy cod inside. The fries were piping hot, crispy, and perfectly salted. The test of a good fry: they tasted great with or without the ketchup. I also took great pleasure in sneaking some fries into the tartar sauce. Such a yummy combination. I had been craving fish and chips since Rebecca got it at The Kite & Key, and this plate reunited me with the dish joyously. I annihilated my plate. Not a speck of food left on it. No regrets.
And then, bill paid, place cleared, I put on my new sunglasses and strode out of the place, enjoying a nice walk around the area before heading home. It was New York Fashion Week so all sorts of trendy people were out.I am pleased to say my fit got some very positive reactions. *Hair toss (except it was in a chignon, but metaphorically-speaking.)
Then there was a very long week of separation. I do not know why last week was so long, but it was so. freaking. long. and my moods swung wildly all over the place. Quel fatiguant! I kept thinking how crazy it is that I used to leave my house every single day. The energy. The effort. Now venturing out the door is an occasion in and of itself, even if just to buy groceries or take a walk along the water.
I went back to The Lovelace with Shannon eight days after my initial visit, but it felt like we (socialization & I) had been separated at sea for months. I channeled this into my fit. I can never have any chill anymore when I go out. It is such an exciting concept that every excursion must have a Look. This one included a new black dress I had gotten over the summer and never worn, paired with tan wedges, loose waves in my hair, and "mermaid" makeup. I fear a lasting effect of the panorama will be me showing up overdressed to everything, but I just do not care.
Shannon and I met at seven o'clock and grabbed a table on the patio. Of course, when I ate at the bar there was a live jazz band outside, but, now that we had an outdoor table , the music was piped in through speakers. Also, there were somehow two curbs on the triangle of land on which this restaurant sits, so our table was sloping with the asphalt. Every table had this situation, so we could not move somewhere better. Our glasses were sliding around the table all night long. I cannot find much fault with the restaurant - you need outdoor dining in order to stay afloat these days, but the streets of this city made no plans for that at conception. Restaurants have to do the best with the topography they have, so slip'n'slide happy hour it is.
As far as the cocktails go, The Lovelace is marketed as a gin bar and has the whole British vibe to boot. On one hand, this made me especially want to take Shannon there, my London/Oxford girl. She is the English major who loves tea and gin and knitting and cozy nights in by the fire, which fits the whole British thing well, I think. She has studied abroad in England twice. She seemed like the right audience. On the other hand, I hate gin. My mother told me to never drink tequila or gin, and I like tequila but I have no problem staying away from the latter. I tried it for the first time at this bar Blue Velvet in Florence when one of my friends ordered a round of gin and tonics for everyone. I wanted to die, it tasted so bad. For those who knew me in college, this is my Lollipop Aesthetic origin story. Blue Velvet gave out lollipops and I could not finish my gin and tonic without the lollipop saving my tastebuds after every sip. The candy has been my go-to chaser ever since. I like to match my lollipops to my outfits because I am just so fresh. Back to last Saturday, Shannon was in the perfect place. I had no lollipop. I was way out of my depth. She ordered the Raspberry Beret, a beautiful gin cocktail mixed with tonic and decorated with cucumbers, lemon and raspberries. We were both so excited about it, loved the homage it paid and it sounded so cute! Except for the gin, for me. Alas, no specialty cocktails for Mary Kate. I went with the classic margarita because you really cannot go wrong with them. This way, both my mother's taboo liquors got to make an appearance. 😈
So, Shannon's drink came in a verifiable goblet and looked simply stunning. I wish they made a version with vodka because I wanted my own. My margarita tasted great, but it was the same price and so much smaller. It is I, Mary Kate, the Fool in Man's Shoes.
Also, I included a picture of my mermaid makeup. It was really hard to capture it on camera and this is not my fave pic of my face ever. (Shannon and I had a whole conversation about how we feel silly about selfies but, for me specifically, it comes with the job territory. I love what I do otherwise too much, so I must get used to it, but I also take some serious mirror breaks because I need them.) The thing is, I did not layer and blend so many different colors and stick blue eyeshadow down into my waterline for nobody to see it. So there you have the best picture I could get.
Please find below some photos of the Happy Couple making each other's acquaintance. Shannon was very pleased with her Raspberry Beret. It was honestly so cute to watch them together.
The menu excitedly announced that starting 'today' -September 18th - through October 3rd they will be serving a variety of Oktoberfest specials. I agreed. Very exciting. Shannon saw the pretzel special and we were both in. We needed to split the pretzel. We talked about how hard it is finding good pretzels outside of Pennsylvania - earlier that week I had hit up two stores in pursuit of a bag of Snyder's with no luck - like what is going on in New York? Of course, it is its German (Pennsylvania Dutch) population that makes Pennsylvania the hub of quality pretzels, so we were psyched for a taste of home.
On the left, with the stripes, we have the first real German pretzel I ever tasted, at Oktoberfest in Munich on September 17th, 2017. Four years later, I was elated to have a pretzel that reminded me so much of that joyous first. Shannon and I tore the pretzel in half, distributing the salty and plain parts between us evenly, and then went in on it. I did not even care about a real dinner at that point. I had a pretzel. I was good. You can see that Shannon was also quite pleased.
We loved the beer cheese. That wound up being the favored sauce for me. It was not what I expected. I guess it visually reminded me of cheap nacho cheese, so when it did not taste as artificial as it looked, it immediately won points. In fact, it tasted good. I appreciated the milder, multidimensional flavor. It had a really nice, subdued taste that opened up with the salty pretzel. The beer cheese definitely tasted better when it was warm but it never stopped being good. Later, as the food runner, cleared our table, I had a piece of pretzel left and I was like of course, take everything else, but keep the cheese. I need that. Ehe.
I did not love the mustard as much. It was not quite as spicy as Dijon, but in that family. It had a deep flavor, bitter is not the right word and yet somehow that is the vibe I got. The alchemy just was not quite right for me. It needed to be sweeter or spicier, so it was not quite hitting. Shannon liked it though and I kept giving it more tries, so it was not a total loss. It just could not beat the cheese.
The drink size difference came back to bite me. By the end of pretzel, I had finished both my water and my margarita. 😔 They refilled my water glass and, so inspired by Shannon's beautiful and still quite full goblet, I switched drinks and ordered the Dark N Stormy cocktail. Rum, Ginger syrup, ginger soda, a lime, it started off well. I loved the zip from the ginger soda. Unfortunately, I kept stirring and the rum kept settling at the bottom and the end of the drink tasted very bitter. Screwed up my face and everything. I regretted ordering it at all.
There were other things to enjoy. Shannon does not like onion rings so, when our entrées came, she gave me hers. Now, I had a difficult time getting a good photo because the ring kept wilting, but it tasted pretty good. Coated in a nice crispy batter with a good, well-seasoned shell around a sturdy - never stringy - onion, I liked the crunch of this onion ring. I am not sure if Lorde would approve, but I thought it hit the spot.
Shannon's Brewhouse Burger looked beautiful. She agreed with my verdict on the fries: top notch. As for the burger itself, it was cooked to a lovely pink inside, well-seasoned, and she loved the mix of applewood bacon and Asadero cheese. To bring the salty-sweet to the next level, the burger came with a key lime habanero aïoli. Earlier, when she had been unsure what to order, the aïoli had made her decision for her. She took a bite and gasped, "Ooh, it's quite hot!" It packed a mean flavor punch and I think she was happy with her choice.
I went knowing I was between the butternut squash risotto and the tuna poke. Then, the schnitzel special surprise almost shut down my brain. I decided the pretzel was enough Oktoberfest for one night though, so never mind to the schnitzel. Saturday was a gorgeous, warm night - not quite right for a heavy, autumnal risotto, so that got nixed as well. Poke it is. The tuna was a solid choice, but I am uncertain if the others would have been better. The fish was not my favorite. It was cut into thick slabs and was already so firm that the sesame seed crunch was a bit tough to get through. The flavors were there, though. I traded Shannon my cucumbers for the onion ring because if the cuke is not pickled I will not bite. I loved how the seaweed and radish freshened up the dish, and the marcona almonds added a lovely, sweet little crunch. I was kind of obsessed with them. Egg and avocado are a winning combination, but at the end of the day, the dirty rice stole my heart. That was the real winner. I did not finish it because I was too full, but ooh man. It was so good. It was perfectly cooked, had a nice warm flavor, and the citrus soy sauce sank into it so deliciously. Shannon told me about wedding season and puppy sitting and I reveled in my poke bowl.
Throughout the meal, we enjoyed the music from a nearby rooftop restaurant. I excitedly told her about my recently acquired Dua Lipa tickets (I am pumped, Covid better not cancel the show). We joked around with people at a nearby table. Just two girls, having fun chit chat, making friends, and soaking up the last summer Saturday night of the year. The breeze was warm and lovely, the neighborhood was all lit up and pretty, and I was so happy.
At this point, it is time I tell you that, while this post is a long one, it is a long farewell. The blog is not finished forever, of course, but it will be going on hiatus. This is the last post for the foreseeable future. I have acting classes starting next week. Additionally, projects and creative writing are screaming for more of my attention. I am happy for my fall schedule and excited to see where it all leads, but something has to go. I need to make some room in my life so I can re-focus. That being said, I am sure I will be collecting adventures to share with you, and I will check in from time to time. Also, if you have an instagram be sure to follow mmmk.food! I cannot help myself from taking photos of pretty plates, so I will stay active on that account.
Thank you so much for reading! I love you guys, and we'll chat in a bit! Ciao!
XX,
MK
Stay in touch!:
Comments