fauren

It's Pronounced Bo-HAHN-Glayce

When I was in North and South Carolina over New Year's, I spent a fair amount of time (maybe more than enough in a certain person's pork-loving opinion) railing against Smithfield. Especially after hearing from D how, in the summer, you could drive for stretches at a time on the highways of North Carolina enveloped by the horrible smell of hog farms, I couldn't help but rib him just a little (so to speak) for his love of the other Smithfield's Bar-B-Q sandwich, which I'm just guessing contains the first Smithfield's pork.

The problem with all this was that I was a complete hypocrite. While I didn't end up eating a Bar-B-Q sandwich, I did succumb to something just as bad for a person who is trying to remain comfortably on her high horse: Bojangles' Famous Chicken 'n Biscuits. In my defense, chicken on a biscuit seems to have been an integral part of D's life while he lived in North Carolina, so in an effort to connect with my loved one I took it upon myself to experience a Cajun Filet biscuit sandwich with a side of seasoned fries. Big of me, I know.

The sandwich and fries were decent but weren't too filling. Either that or the emptiness I felt was simply the hole where my soul used to be (more likely). No matter... I'd gotten a literal taste of D's formative years, and that counts for something, too. So, as every classy lady will do for her gentleman friend when a special occasion rolls around, I ordered D a very special anniversary present this month.

So I don't really drink beer. But I think it classes up my wine glass just fine, thank you.

Teeny Little Super Guy

I took an extended lunch break yesterday to indulge in a quite pricey haircut. Since I was already in the market for a little buyer's remorse, I figured I might as well stop in at Sur la Table across the street and purchase something I have neither use nor space for.

Kitchen stores! The cheerful rainbows of dutch ovens, the quiet dignity of the brushed stainless toasters and coffee makers, the intrigue of all those esoteric devices you've only seen in use on Iron Chef... The only difference between them and Toys R Us is there's no coat you can tug on while whining, "But I waaaant iiiit."

That's probably for the best.

I wandered among the racks of goodies, slowly but surely resigning myself to the fact that the only way to get everything I ever wanted for my dream kitchen would be to marry for money. I had all but given up on finding some little gizmo I could justify bringing home with me on the subway... until I got to the coffee presses.

When my darling Bodum coffee press developed a crack a few weeks ago, I panicked. The bagel place and few bodegas I pass on my walk to work all have notoriously awful coffee (my roommate swears that a cup of iced coffee from the bagel place once yielded a taste identical to string beans), so on a trip to the Red Hook Fairway soon after, I bought the first coffee press I could find. Talk about buyer's remorse.

But all was remedied yesterday when I laid eyes on this teeny thing. The Bodum Chambord 12-ounce coffee press:

Come on... How cute is that?! My previous press had been perfect for two people, but since I'm more often just making coffee for one in the mornings, this little guy is going to be my new best friend.

(And on a side note, the above and other poor-quality photos found here at Fauren will soon be history, thanks to Tax Return Gift To Self '07, a.k.a. Enjoy Your Tuition Credit While It Lasts. Stay tuned for the prettiness!)

'Tis the Season

This is just a quick note to say that the Green Drinks Holiday Party is coming up on Tuesday.  I'll be there, celebrating the completion of my second-to-last final for the semester.  You should come, too.