we had a party

after three years of being together and one year living with each other, g and i decided it was about time we host a party. and i don't mean a sit-down dinner party, but an actual backyard barbecue with all the summer fixings. 

planning a party for more than 10 people was a new challenge for us. thoughts about how much food, where people would sit, what the weather conditions would be like, what kind of light-hearted music should be played, and how much time it would take to do the prep were ongoing for the past few weeks. i won't i.e. when i say it was stressful at times.

we invited a diverse mix of friends, new and old. although i love having people over, i find it to be a little daunting when new people come to our studio. not only are we sharing the food we prepare with our own hands, but we are also revealing a big part of our daily lives. if you've ever been to our place, you would know what i'm talking about. our studio is tiny. there is no place to retreat. everything is just out there to be seen, and quite possibly, judged. but then i think about this tiny space of ours and couldn't be more happy to share it with others. it has everything we need and much, much more. 

the night before the party

not pictured: grilled sausages

summer berry bundt cake and homemade ice cream sandwiches!

summer bonanza 2013 was a hit in the end. the pre-party challenges didn't seem like anything after a night well spent with friends, food, and little touch of home. 

making my way

the latte. it has taken me 26 years to try the classic latte. and my oh my, i really like it.

i never particularly liked coffee or espresso, except for their flavor equivalents in ice cream or gelato. there was something about the bitterness that through me off, almost like a metallic taste that lingered relentlessly. i was always surprised by my distaste for coffee, given that i eat 88% dark chocolate by the  bucketful. and if you've ever had 88% dark chocolate, then you understand how bitter it is. for a morning pick-me-up or afternoon jolt, my choice beverage was always tea. coffee never seemed to have a place with me.

until this past week.

my aversion to coffee/espresso has limited me. in paris. in seattle. at the hipster-esque joints sprinkled throughout la. when g brews his coffee in his french press, my heart aches at the thought of him drinking it alone. i want to feel that excitement of trying a new roast, of deciphering different flavor profiles. i want to go back to costa rica and buy its precious coffee beans. i want to sit in the cafes in paris and order a cafe au lait with mama this october. basically, i needed to get out of this rut and make my way into coffeeland.

so i took myself out to a gem-of-a-coffeeshop and ordered my very first latte. to ease me into this other-world, i ordered it with almond milk. i paid for it, took it to my table, took a gentle sip, and then died and went to heaven with its silky loveliness. with the slightest layer of foam and hint of creaminess, i was pleasantly surprised by how subtle the bitter taste eased onto my tongue. i took another sip, and another, until my cup was left with streaks of espresso stains. 

it was a victorious day, a coming-of-age, if you will. i now look forward to drinking more lattes and venturing out into this grandiose world of coffee...and, you know, joining the rest of the adult population.

essentials

i've been thinking about essentials lately.

like, what makes an essential?

and, if something is an essential to me, is it the same for you?

i have a few that i can name right off my chest: wine. face wash. sparkling water. a mandolin. floss.

and i just learned of a new one: a can opener.

who would have thunk that a can opener would be an essential? just use a knife, poke some slits, and pry it open, for goodness' sakes! yeah, and risk slicing those sweet, tender hands while you're at it. 

our trusty ol' can opener, pictured above, paid its last farewell a few weeks ago. it was a fine instrument, the kind of kitchen utensil you could trust. it clamped ever so perfectly onto the can, and without the slightest effort, glided around the lid until you felt the faintest give. you'd remove the opener, and just like that, the lid was freed, sans sharp, spiky edges. those were good, simple times.

as time passed, our can opener rusted and grew weak at the clamp. it lost its razor edge and easy glide. so we paid its last respects and retired it. during those few weeks between our old opener and the (pain-in-the-ass) new one, i realized how vital this instrument is in the kitchen. the tomato paste for sauces. the tuna for sandwiches. and what about the garbanzo beans for a quick addition to a salad?! i would be  lying to you if i didn't say those weeks were tough. and they actually continue to be tough, now that we have a subpar replacement (which by the way, leaves the most jagged edges known to man). 

so as i contemplate the (shamefully long) list of what i consider essentials, i encourage you to do the same. because once its gone, you have to be prepared for its absence. and i don't wish sliced hands or a wine-starved stomach on anyone.

seattle does it again

even more reason why i can hardly wait to move our butts to seattle:

"books on bikes"

oh seattle, you continue to swoon me.

when he called

midnight. deep sleep and my phone rings.

"monkey, can you pick me up from work?" asked g.

"what? what's wrong? what time is it?" i replied, trying to get my bearings.

"i need to go to the hospital. i cut myself with a wine glass and i need stitches."

my heart immediately stops at the thought of the severity of the cut. and then my heart begins to bound. get out of bed, put your shoes on, jump in the car and hurry your butt over to g. the nurse in me tries to stay calm, but all i can envision is a sliced finger, open to air, bleeding profusely with g's blood pressure dropping dangerously low.

i finally arrive to g's work, where he is standing outside with his manager and a wrapped middle finger. phew, he is alert! and stable! g jumps into the car and we head to the emergency room for treatment.

when we pull up, we are relieved by the sight of a desolate waiting room. you always hear about crowded emergency rooms, people with all ailments waiting to be seen. nope, not in our case. 12:30 am and we are checking in!

one hour passes, we're still waiting.

one-and-a-half hours pass, and g gets called in for an x-ray. then we are led back to the waiting room for more waiting.

two hours pass and we're still there. waiting. eyelids dropping with every effort to stay awake. with the tiredness comes the irritability. what the hell does it take to be seen? does g have to faint to get some attention? and lady over there, sit your ass down because i am tired of watching you walk back and forth!

by 3 am, g is finally seen by a physician. apparently, the delay in treatment is attributed to the ambulance after ambulance of sick people coming in. and because it is in fact an emergency room, priority treatment lies with them. after a deep wound cleanse, lidocaine injections, and six stitches, g is released...at a whopping 4 am! exhausted, we fly home and jump into bed, wrapped finger and all.

thinking about last night, i realize how important g is in my life. how it scares me that in an instant, accidents can happen. that i never want to see him in pain and that i would do anything to be by his side during uncomfortable situations. during those long hours of waiting, i wanted him to know i would never leave. i wanted him to feel my touch and feel some relief. because i know that's what i would feel if the tables were turned.

we both understand full and well the dangers of the kitchen, and now we have even more appreciation for safety and care. and let's be honest, it is NOT worth the hassle of sitting around in a damn waiting room!

sign of the Time(s)

this morning i saw a preview of this week's Time magazine, the cover featuring its main story. it read something like this: "the child-free life: when having it all means not having children." and then there was a photo of a handsome thirty-something couple laying in the white sand, bathing suits and all, in apparent bliss.

unfortunately, i wasn't able to read the article because the magazine will be released tomorrow. but boy oh boy, am i interested. is this really a sign of the times? couples waiting later in life to begin a family, only to realize that what they have is perfectly fine just the way it is? traveling without restraint. moving to wherever, whenever. dinner parties sans clowns and disney-themed paper plates. did i mention traveling?!

i see these couples at work. the ones in their mid-to-late thirties, coming in to have their first baby, having the baby, and then not really knowing how to react. you'd imagine this couple completely engaged with their newborn, resisting any chance of separation since, after all, they waited (and prepared) this long to be here. but the reality looks a little different. more often than not, this couple is more engaged with their social networking: tweeting and facebooking, instagramming and emailing to the world their grand prize. they did it! once they've exhausted their feeds with baby pictures, they tuck their technology aside and ask that the newborn go to the nursery for a few hours so they can catch up on sleep. baby comes back to them, and they have their noses planted in their ipads and iphones.

it seems that many couples today have grown so accustomed to a certain lifestyle together, that i can imagine the difficulty in changing everything for the addition of a new person. a baby, for goodness sakes! is it selfish? is it naive? is there really an answer for what's right for a couple?

i am looking forward to getting my hands on this issue because i believe this trend is very real. and i also see the beauty of it: living and loving, just the "two of us." but then again, will this present luxury of "having it all" mean anything when you're too old to see the world, too satiated for another dinner party, and too tired of moving from place to place. i guess that's where family comes into place - to fill the void of an otherwise incomplete life. where do i stand? ask me in five years...