Hell Yes, Taste of Belgium

Now that I've been to Brussels and am an expert on Belgian food, it's only right that I should review the new Taste of Belgium bistro in OTR.

My review: It's terrific. Go there immediately. (12th and Vine.)



The space is airy and lively, it has a bar/counter (I will eat anywhere that has a counter), as well as a bonus counter where you can watch them make pastries.

The service is great and the food is delicious. (This photo doesn't do it justice - it was busy both times we were there.)

I had the vegetarian crepe (spinach, red peppers, goat cheese, balsamic) and added some turkey for protein. Ray had The 'Nati, which was goetta and some other stuff, I can't remember exactly, but who cares because mine was better, so get what I got.

And the crepes are made with buckwheat, bonus.

But the real highlight was the frites. (I can say frites now that I'm practically Belgian.)

Yes, I ordered fries for brunch, with a crepe. Don't judge.



You can't go to a Belgian place without getting frites and since I ate my way through a cone of these babies one night after a full dinner in Brussels, I had to try the local version.

Taste of Belgium uses chipotle mayo for theirs, and to that I say, Hell yes, Taste of Belgium. *applause

But I will tell you this. Ray is a greedy mofo when it comes to the chipotle mayo. You get one container with your frites, and sure, they'd have given us another one, but that's not the point. The point is that we shouldn't eat two containers of chipotle mayo, so I was all, "Ray, easy on the mayo, we gotta make it last through this whole cone of fries."

And Ray was all, "LAY OFF ME AND THE MAYO!"

Geezus.

That's why he's smiling in this photo. Because he got the better of the chipotle mayo.



We love it so much we went back the next weekend (and because it's practically in Ray's backyard) and this time we both had the turkey and cranberry waffle sandwich, which was the weekend special. I was cagey at first about a waffle sandwich. I was wrong to be cagey. Fear not, my friends. You'll dig it.



On your way out, or if you're just dropping in for coffee (from Coffee Emporium), there is a case of pastries, cookies and waffles at the front you will absolutely swoon over.

The place is just about perfect.

I saw Wine Me, Dine Me there snapping photos, so look for her review if you actually want to read an articulate review by someone who knows about food.

Or you can just trust me, being that I'm an expert in Belgian food and beer because I ate and drank there. (Totally qualified.)

Santa Prep

Ray and I got the apartment ready for Santa's arrival, where he is certain to bring us everything on our list:

• Pretzel M&Ms
• Snow on Christmas Day
• (new) Used records

Tall orders, we know, but we made this video for him... and Ray does the robot!

We're gonna be buried in M&Ms and snow. *yes!

xxox
Gina and Ray

Gobble, Gobble

I hardly slept a wink last night.

My mom kept me up late watching the finalé of Dancing With The Stars.

Except she calls it, 'Dances With Stars.' Kind of like, 'Dances With Wolves.' It's a Native American dancing show now.

Ray and Susie were on their way to Natural Bridge for Thanksgiving and stayed over last night. Which meant yours truly got to slept on the couch after 'Dances With Stars' was over.

My mom was torn between JR and Rob winning.

'Rob is so sweet... even if he does have a big butt,' she said. 'But JR is really good. He's a natural. Rob had to improve a lot... because he kept sticking his big butt out.'

I'll not spoil the ending for anyone.

It was good to have them 'home,' even if they did insult my tv - 'It's so tiny! Does that thing have a tube in it?!'

Tomorrow Ray (my boyfriend, not my dad) and I will be heading to Kentucky to join them for turkey and stuffing. *and visions of pumpkin pie danced in my head

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Imma Be A Reverend!

From Halloween, 2008. This was a really, really good look for us. She should wear my 'wedding dress.'

No one sane lets me do anything at their wedding but eat, drink and sometimes break it down to Rob Bass' It Takes Two.  

So a few weeks ago when my best pal Missy asked me to officiate her wedding, well… I just stared at her.

I was waiting for her say, "Just kidding! Hahaha! I'm having someone uncrazy do it! Woo - you should have seen the look on your face!"

But she didn't say that. So finally I said, "Really?" very hopefully, like, 'Really? Truly? Me?! YES!"

And then immediately the Princess Bride wedding scene entered my head - MAHWIDGE. Mahwidge is what bwings us, togever, tooday. And I envisioned cracking up everyone with my super spot-on impression.

This is why people don't ask me to do things at their weddings.

But instead the themes I'm going for in my first role as officiant are: Sweet, fun, romantic and light-hearted.

Tan, gleaming blonde hair and kick-ass dress will just be unexpected freebies for the guests.

I feel like I also need to be in shape, have super white teeth and basically just allow my inner glow to radiate.

Wait, who's wedding is this? I'm Reverend-Zilla.

Jk.

I've already started outlining what I will say, how I will welcome the guests, how I will introduce Missy and Josh, and what best captures the love and romance and hope that weddings are all about.

Geezus, I hope I don't cry.

Missy will most certainly slap me if I do, which could mess up her hair, and I don't want to get slapped again just because she didn't use enough spray.

Basically, what I'm saying is that I have only 10 months to plan for this and already I am panicking. For the love God send me your ideas a-sap! And make it funny and sweet and lovely and light-hearted and romantic, will ya.

Thanks!

Score One For The Minions

Oh, this smug look?

Because it was pouring down rain when my package arrived at another building. But you know who was in that other building for a meeting? The Boss Man. So rather than walk outside to get it, I enlisted the help of an admin.

"Can you have Dr. Boss Man bring my Amazon package over when he leaves. It's very important."

"Hahahaha! Ummm... Ok, I'll tell him!"

The package contained my new origami iPad case and two instructional ballet DVDs.

He came back wet and kinda pissed.

Totally worth it.

How To Occupy Those Cold Winter Months (Mostly)

"In my early twenties, that’s when I really began to write. Before that, I was too busy working, keeping myself going. I often thought of killing myself but then I wanted lunch. So I had to make a buck. And all my stories were rejected. I sent them out to various editors and they returned them. In fact, I had to wait until I was in my late twenties before I sold a couple of stories to what was then called the Negro Digest. I still have them."

From the Paris Review's Q&A with author Paula Fox, who I had never heard of until I read this interview. Great stuff.

And I hope you're not busy for like, the next three months because look - The Paris Review's legendary series Writer's At Work, where authors discuss their lives and craft, are right here.

Each decade's greats - Hemingway, Capote, Ellison, Didion, Faulkner, Nabokov. A staggering list.

According to Wikipedia Nabokov's interview was cut short when Jeopardy came on. I don't know if this is true, but God I hope it is. I totally get it, Nab. Jeopardy is awesome.

I'll be busy the entire winter reading all of these. Thank God for the iPad, and I never thought I'd say this, but for cold weather.

A Science-y Post For My Third Favorite Scientist

Look everyone, I'm a scientist. Conducting research.

Aren't I a natural, leaning into the microscope so quizically. Hmm, interesting. Interesting indeed... I shall write this into my lab notebook.

Thanks to my scientist colleague Patrick, I am looking at HeLa cells, the most famous cells ever.

Patrick knew I was on a mission to see these little babies in person after The Immortal Life Of Henrietta Lacks came out, so he was all, "Hey babe, I got those cells you wanted to see." And I was all, "Meet you in the lab, babe."

(Because Patrick and I are friends in a sweetly condescending way.)

Then he told me why he needed the HeLa cells:

"We're looking for mutant protein something-something, so we can transfect the cells to see something-something; and then if we can get the aggregate to something-something, then we'll understand how it impacts the genome, gene by gene, something-something."

Which sounded very interesting but mostly what I heard was "blah-blah-blah" because, "Ooh, neato! Cells! And they move if you stare at them long enough!"

Then I think Patrick mentioned replacing the cell's catalytic converter and fixing the Johnson rod, but who knows... I was busy considering the medical impact of these microscopic blobs, which have provided the building blocks for countless breakthroughs, including the cure for polio, AIDS treatments, gene mapping, fertility and our understanding of viruses.

My desk is only about 20 feet away from this spot, so basically if Patrick discovers any breakthroughs, I will be right there.

God I love science.



This is Patrick looking at the same cells. He doesn't look nearly as science-y as I do.

Home Again, Home Again

A month ago I was traipsing around Europe all wide-eyed and impressed by every single little thing in life - Look, Euro girls where panty hose under their shorts!; Parisians sit on the Seine River bank and get crunk!; the fries in Brussels are slathered in mayo, amazing!

And a week ago I was in Boston sipping salted caramel mochas, eating Italian food, dancing in bars and watching strapping, sporty hotties oar down the Charles River with my besties.

And what am I doing this weekend? Well, look out for this crazy train, y'all. I caught a cold on the plane (aka, those petri dishes of infection known as the contagious skies) so my weekend will involve soup, reading and having way less fun.

Talk about your all time slaps in the face.

Traveling, good food, new cities, exploring, great friends. It's all over too soon. The world opens, then it closes again.

Being home is great because you can get all the gas-free tap water you want, but everything else is... grim.

The only thing traveling does is make me realize all the amazing things I am missing elsewhere, like Brits with good teeth and the mushroom ravioli at Trattoria di Monica.

I can't even bear to set out my souvenir coasters of the Eiffel Tower because I'm so damn sad I'm not in Paris anymore. (But I know what you're thinking, 'Damn girl, those coasters are terrific. I can't wait to sit a glass of iced-tea on one.')

And I've already wore the new boots I bought in Boston, twice. (Sadly, clicking the heels of them didn't transport me back to boot shopping on Newberry Street with Julie and Kari.)

Maybe this cold is a good thing. Force myself to finally, officially unpack my suitcases, unwrap my souvenirs, do some laundry.

Just kidding. All that sounds horrible. Denial ain't so bad. At least it comes with all the tap water I can drink.

Cassady Wants His Latte Like, Now

Ray. Ray! Are you awake?

Hand me my pumpkin spiced latte, will ya? I'm so exhausted from trekking around Ikea and DSW I literally cannot take another step. Haha, don't you hate it when people say 'literally.' But seriously, I literally cannot take another step.

Ray? RAY?

Ok well, I asked you nicely. It's your funeral now, mister.

I ♥ Boston

And these lovely ladies.

Happy Birthday To Me

Ray (inspecting my head, eyes widening): Wow.

Me: What?! It's lice, isn't it. I knew I had lice!

Ray: What? No, you don't have lice. (pause) It's worse. You have tons of gray hair.

Me: Oh. You think that's bad, look at this. *points to gray streak in the front, like that chick from What Not to Wear

Ray (*eyes bigger): WHOA.

Me: It's not me, it's my genetics.

Ray: Your genetics says you're old, and you need a dye job.

Me: Pshht. And a new boyfriend.

But I forgave him. What Ray misses in tact he makes up for in little blue boxes and fancy birthday dinners. With age red wine comes indifference wisdom.

Besides, what I lack in hair pigment I make up for in high heels, boxed brownies and laughing until I cry. Plus, I almost never turn my laundry pink anymore.

Youngins', you can't hold a candle to that.

Doing It For My Country

Everybody, quick! Get out your credit cards - let's share a cold one with Uncle Joe.

USA! USA!

Vigorous Biking Ahead

About 100 million years ago I got this bike rack at Meijer for $40. Because when it comes to securing a bike (or two) on the back of my car, I want quality.



In spite of my fears, not once has a bike bounced off into the street and caused a horrific accident. Until then, we roll.



This weekend we rolled around Lunken. Twice. We had to eat bananas and protein bars in between loops.

Just a couple of athletes doing the athletic thing, you know.

Afterwards we ate Graeter's in the park because we were still feeling 'outdoorsy.'

Cause Baby It Ain't Over 'Til It's Over

Tomatoes are still ripening on the vine.

Saturday we rode bikes.

Sunday I scootered.

And I'm sitting on the balcony in shorts and t-shirt.

Suck it, fall.

'Stay Hungry, Stay Foolish'

It's impossible to state the impact Steve Jobs has had on my life.

I've been using Apple computers almost exclusively since middle school. I learned to type, design newspaper pages, edit photos, appreciate typography, create movies and blog all on Apples.

My first byline was written on an Apple computer in 1991.

Tonight I learned via a text message on my iPhone that Steve Jobs died.

He is the only CEO I can imagine shedding a tear for, and I feel sorry that we've lost a true innovator.

*hat tip

"Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart."

Steve Jobs, 2005

Do yourself a favor and watch this video, or read the transcript.

C'est Magnifique

Or I should say, it was magnificent. I am home now and NOT happy about it.

The trip was absolutely magical and I enjoyed every single moment of sightseeing, wine, cheese, chocolate, beer and complete exhaustion.

Another blister from walking all over Europe, well then, YES please!

The Paris subway door nearly ripped off my arm, oh, that's ok!

I'm an idiot American who speaks only one language while everyone else speaks at least three, insult me, I deserve it!

Since I landed in the good ol' US-of-A I have done nothing but plot my return, mostly to Paris. London and Brussels were wonderful stops, but it was Paris that stole my heart.

It's impossible to not gush whenever I tell anyone about the trip, but especially Paris. The narrow cobblestone roads, the Parisian booksellers lining the streets of the Latin Quarter, the sun shining on the French architecture and the gorgeous bridges spanning the Seine.

Paris feels magical because it looks magical.

It seems impossible to miss a place where you spent only three days, but already I feel nostalgic. I was explaining to my mom why I loved Paris so much and I felt almost melancholy thinking how beautiful it all was and how I might not ever see those things again.

I want more blisters! I want another bruise from the subway! I want more crappy French service! (Though to be honest, the service wasn't bad at all and no one insulted me not even once. Disappointing.)

I took 540 photos of the trip, 354 of them of Paris, many of them idle street and café shots in the hopes of burning them into my memory.

Isn't it gorgeous?








The last few days I've started and stopped a dozen blog posts about the trip - the majesty of the Arc de Triomphe and the kinda awful but mostly hilarious story of me peeing my pants there (oh yes, it's true); how being in London was like one big BBC comedy to me; my new friend Nibila who graciously showed me all around Brussels on her day off. So much to remember.

There are so many stories that my mind hasn't filtered through them all yet. So look forward to European travelogues for the next year or so. Hooray! (Drinking French wine, Belgian beer and eating chips is strongly encouraged during such travel reading. It's only fitting and totally not your fault if you get hammered.)

What's Up, Ding Dongs

Hey ummm, does anybody know where I can get a snack-cake?



Oh wait, what's this here, at my desk?!

How about 168 Ding Dongs covering my cubicle, phone and computer?! How about 30,240 calories worth of Ding Dongs?! How about 1,512 grams of Ding Dong fat, hmm?!

Wow, but you know what would make this better? If they all had some kind of message on them, like, I dunno... a greeting or an action verb of some type.





My God! By all the twinkling stars of bountiful heaven, look! They all say, "Eat Me!" on them. They're commanding me to love them even more!

I am beside myself in cream filling over this. This is revenge, people. Sweet, sweet revenge.

See, a few weeks ago I accused the Boss Man of throwing a Ding Dong at me. At first I thought it was manna from Heaven because it came hurtling down at me from the floor above, and besides that, no one in their right mind would launch a perfectly good snack-cake at someone.

It had to be sorcery... The kind of sorcery the Boss Man practices, that is.

So I sent him an email that basically said, "I know you threw that Ding-Dong! Don't deny it because whoever threw it had a bad aim and I know your arm is all jacked up, in addition to being pale and hairless! Confess, cupcake abuser!"

Officemate Carolyn tried to intercede: "Boss Man prefers a marshmallow gun as his weapon of choice," she said, which was a really good point because it's totally true. "Unless he really did throw a snack cake, then that is indefensible and wrong." Also totally true.

The Boss Man responded hours later with something watery like, "How DARE you! You want Ding-Dongs?! I'll show you Ding-Dongs!!!"

That was three weeks ago.

Monday morning I saw my cube and at first I was like, "Ack! I've been Ding Dong'd!" But then quickly realized, "Awesome!"

If this is revenge then I am all for it, and so is Hostess. (But Little Debbie, oooh is she pissed.) Ha, jokes on him, I love Ding-Dongs. Everyone loves Ding Dongs.

Who's you're best friend now, hmm? It's me, isn't it?! ME!

Today I turned them into one of the wonders of the world, pyramids. Tomorrow I will try for Stonehenge.

Party in my cube, y'all!

Bombs Away

You wouldn't know it from reading this blog but I have a stack of books on my nightstand that I swear I'm going to write reviews of one of these days.

I know you all are riveted.

My God, Gina, how DARE you make us wait for your opinion on Mishna Wolff's, 'I'm Down.'

(My opinion is it's funny and moving and wonderfully-written and basically I hated it because I didn't write it; but you should read it and we'll go out for drinks and chat about it because it's not often in book discussions you get talk about race relations and socioeconomic status as well as Kangols and Doug E. Fresh.)

But to hold you over, I stumbled upon this spectacular list of Author-on-Author insults at Flavorwire, including this Mark Twain take-down of Jane Austen (1898):

"I haven't any right to criticize books, and I don't do it except when I hate them. I often want to criticize Jane Austen, but her books madden me so that I can't conceal my frenzy from the reader; and therefore I have to stop every time I begin. Every time I read 'Pride and Prejudice,' I want to dig her up and hit her over the skull with her own shin-bone."

I laughed out loud.

I've never read any Jane Austen, but I understand the sentiment. (I happen to feel the same way about Elizabeth Gilbert for Eat, Pray, Love, which should have been titled, Eat, Pray, Hit Elizabeth Gilbert With Her Own Shin-Bone.)

I'm just jealous no one paid me gobs of money to type a bunch of babbling crap and bind it.

The comments to the Author-on-Author insults are tremendous too. And while you're there, don't miss the Musician-on-Musician take-downs.

Expatriés, Paris

"Please god, let me go to Paris someday and let me go to the wrong restaurant and let me be treated rudely by Parisians and let me wander randomly, not knowing where I am going, confused, and find myself in some less than wonderful café, eating less than the best food and having a glass of not particularly good red wine. What better thing could you hope for - my god, it's Paris!" - Anthony Bourdain, in this hilarious travel video

In 14 days I will be in Paris.

If it's sounds like I'm bragging, I am.

I've never even been to Canada ok, people. Don't take this away from me.

I've been practicing on my iPad how to have conversational French with crappy waiters, pouring over maps, breaking in shoes and already I've packed my bag, unpacked it and packed it again only with more protein bars and Pepto tablets.

Every since I read this staggering Jacques Prévert poem I've been dying to go. (A 43-word poem that captures better what a million words could never.) And now I am so excited I can't believe I ever thought of anything else.

The beauty of it is other than seeing Parc Montsouris (that's French, y'all) from the poem, I have no agenda per se, other than to walk around and see the city and the sights, eat bread, drink wine and sit in cafés. And I can't think of anything more delightful than getting lost in Paris, hopefully in the Latin Quarter where all the bookstores are.

Though truthfully, I probably won't get lost. Ray (my boyfriend not my dad) went last year (I'm basically his hayseed girlfriend) and we are traveling with two friends, one of whom speaks French and doesn't consider it a good year unless he's gone to Paris.

So basically my job is to sit back and be awed. That, I am good at.

My biggest concern is how I'm going to get Anna Karenina to Europe. Because why wouldn't I be reading a 950 page tome instead of a reasonably sized, easier to travel with book. Usually I don't even read books this long because it's not my fault the writer needed a better editor and I don't have that kinda time, but at 150 pages in, I gotta see how this unfolds.

Anna is heavy and bulky and I don't really want to carry a big book around, but I can't commit to reading on the iPad quite yet. It feels like... cheating. And is there a better time to read Tolstoy than being trapped with it on a plane for 16 hours round trip? Hell no.

So Anna is coming with me, I'm just undecided in what form.

Anyway, I should go... I'm heading to Target to buy one of those posters of the Eiffel Tower so I can hang it in my dining room so when people come over I can be all, "Oh, I've always loved Paris... and I totally got that at a street fair on the Champs-whatever-it's-called.'

Hit Me With Your Best Shot, Irene

This is a crappy photo but you can feel Pat's rockin'ness if you look close enough.

My weekend was supposed to be wine and friend-filled in Boston. It was to be glorious.

Instead I was stuck in Cincinnati thanks to that bitch-troll Irene.

But when life gives you hurricanes, you just add rum, right? Or in this case, Pat Benatar!

I remembered at exactly 7:49 p.m. that one of my '80s idols was hitting the Taste of Blue Ash stage at 9 p.m., and I quickly texted everyone I know, "OMG Pat Benatar at Taste of Blue Ash, We Belong!"

I stared at my phone anticipating the vibrating explosion of excited texts from everyone canceling plans to roll with me and see this amazing female rocker.

Instead, crickets.

My friends are losers. (You all know who you are.)

So I went to see Pat, alone... because that's what Her Bad-Assery would have wanted.

I raced to Blue Ash praying, "Look, Jesus... please let Hurricane Irene skip the coasts, cause no deaths, inflict minimal property damage, and ummm, oh, by the way, for the love of God, don't let me miss a minute of Ms. Benatar!"

Ask and you shall receive, people.

All Fired Up was playing when I rolled in. Though not a mega-hit like her others, it's one of my personal favorites and if you don't have it on your iTunes then I feel sorry for you because it is a hard-rocking stadium smoker sang by one of rock's most iconic singers and it totally will rock your Arcade-Fire-listening ass off. (So here it is; right click and you too shall receive.)

I squeezed past the throngs of people who had been staking their claim for hours swilling Miller Lites, saw a narrow little opening atop a retaining wall and slid in with the help of some dude who helped pull me up the step.

And Pat. Well, damn. She lit-it-up.

Her voice, still fierce. Moves, she's got 'em. Her hits, she sang them all.

She was way bigger a force than Irene.

We will be invincible!