Mile High Times

Here I am, in the bustling, mile-high metropolis of Denver. Woo, Denver! Unfortunately I'm waiting out a five-hour layover in the airport. However, aside from the kitschy brewery my cousin and I sampled last week, I don't think I'm missing much. Sorry to say it Denver, but despite your extensive and delicious varieties of beer, you are not the most happening city in the West. Fortunately for my cousin and I, our vacation would take us (three) bus rides away from this city, to the beautiful town of Crested Butte, Colorado. Crested Butte--town of stoners, coffee shops, and twenty(/thirty)-somethings with college degrees and no imminent plans to use them.

This vacation was everything I needed. I ate well, I drank well, and I got to spend time with a few people I really care about (and am starting to really care about). Evan, who just HAPPENED to be visiting family in Colorado the same week, joined my family for our first night at the cabin. After suggesting (pleading?) for him to stay the night, Evan finally succumbed. It was a magical first evening in the mountains. Evan arrived at the cabin bearing gifts (locally-brewed beer!) which thrilled my parents to no end. After happy hour on the porch spent watching the sunset, we all went out for Mexican at our favorite neighborhood spot. The food was surprisingly mediocre. The company was unsurprisingly brilliant.

Evan had to leave early the next morning (the Navy has rules?), but the night was well worth the difficult goodbye in the morning. We even DTR'd that night in bed (for those of you who haven't used this vital acronym to ease the "What are we?!?!" angst, DTR=Define The Relationship.) I can't say with much certainty the outcome of the conversation (...really high altitude, all that Sunshine Wheat going to my head...) but I think we may have agreed not to see other people. At least until I leave for the motherland? Are we idiots? To be determined. All I can say is this: How did anyone ever sustain a long-distance relationship before sexting?!

After Evan's departure, it was simply a matter of surviving the rest of the week in a very small, very remote cabin with my parents. Fortunately for everyone involved, my cousin was there and made the week immensely pleasurable. She encouraged me to hike, I encouraged her to drink, and we encouraged each other to eat.

The first night after Evan left, I knew the perfect activity to cheer me up. Cooking with tons of pasta and cheese! For as long as I can remember, I've been making lasagna with my aunt at the cabin. This year it was time for me to go it alone. I relished every second of cooking and every ounce of pride in knowing I could perform this labor of love for my family without my aunt's guidance. The record weight of our past lasagnas was about 18 pounds, though this year's epic creation might have tipped the scale closer to 20. I started by simmering onions, mushrooms, and garlic in olive oil and salt, then gradually added whole stewed tomatoes and a small can of tomato paste. Once seasoned and ready, I layered the sauce with cooked lasagna noodles, ricotta cheese mixture (16 oz. ricotta, 1 cup mozzarella, 1 egg, salt, pepper, oregano), fresh mozzarella, provolone, spinach, sliced black olives, and Parmesan cheese. There was no meat in this bad boy, but rest assured there was enough cheese to result in at least two subsequent days of heartburn.

And now my lovely vacation is coming to an end, but I can't say I'm totally disappointed because...Evan is coming to visit tomorrow!

(My) Man in the Kitchen

This past weekend with Evan was amazing. This is the closest thing I've had to a relationship in over a year, and MAN does it feel good! I don't have to stress about sending passive aggressive texts. I don't have to worry about him bailing on dates. I don't even have concern myself over whether he'll choose the right restaurant--he lets me do all the choosing!!!

Evan picked me up from my bus to D.C. last Thursday night (Okay, he actually picked me up 30-45 minutes after my bus got in, but he can't be perfect in EVERY way--right?) Being reunited was easy, comfortable, and wonderful. However, our mutual blissful state didn't last long. Evan began preparing himself to...DUN DUN DUN...meet the parents! We managed to get "lost" in D.C., but Evan could not evade the inevitable. Twenty minutes later we crept into the house, thinking (praying) that perhaps my parents had already gone to sleep. How wrong we were. There they are--Mom AND Dad--anxiously waiting to meet the man who would be sharing their only daughter's bed for the weekend.

Despite everyone's mounting anxiety, introductions went smoothly. My mom was instantly charmed by Evan's sweet disposition and boyish good looks. My dad simply looked relieved that he wasn't an ex-convict or drug addict (both of which I've been known to bring home on occasion.) The next day we had lunch with my mom, and by the end of the meal she was smitten. She felt so comfortable, in fact, that she finished the crusts of his pizza while he was in the bathroom. Sure Mom, show Evan that we're a family of gluttons. At least he'll know I come by it honestly.

The rest of the weekend was equally as pleasurable and food-filled. Friday night I had a barbecue at my parents' house, and Evan was an incredible sous chef. He even made grocery shopping easier and more fun. Evan did all the heavy lifting and performed all my least favorite parts of cooking. He chopped onions for the guacamole, tomatoes for the pasta salad, and even grilled all the meat so I could casually float around the party, socializing with friends I hadn't seen in a while. Hands down, one of my favorite nights of the summer.

Saturday night we had another amazing meal, where a restaurant manager friend sent us all of his favorites from the kitchen of a very upscale, Southern restaurant. We had shrimp fritters, watermelon and feta salad, fried green tomatoes, apple-smoked barbecued ribs, braised collard greens, Virginia macaroni and cheese, and strawberry cake with gelato. After stuffing ourselves with food and drink, we chilled out with the new Harry Potter movie and then retired to a room at a nearby (adorable) hotel. We drank wine in matching bathrobes. IT WAS AWESOME.

We'll see what the next few weeks bring. We're hoping to see each other as much as possible before my imminent journey abroad. I can't help feeling very lucky to have met Evan. Who knew a man could be so nice?! He calls when he says he'll call. He shows up when we make plans. He listens to what I say and asks follow up questions!! Holy God, he's setting the standard high.

You Say Goodbye, I say Hello

Alright, so it’s been a couple of weeks since my last post. What can I say? Things have been happening. First of all, I moved uptown—away from my corner bars, away from my second date restaurants, away from my late-night last-minute last-resort haunts. I couldn’t be more relieved.

A month ago, the prospect of moving to my roommate’s dad’s apartment on the Upper West Side made me shudder. Not only would I be far away from my date bars/restaurants/men, but I wouldn’t even have my own bedroom to bring a date back to (if it was the third date…and things went really, really well…and I knew he was about to be my boyfriend…) Not only would the move throw a wrench in my dating life, but I felt totally ill-equipped to cook in someone else’s kitchen. Moving uptown, I begrudgingly resigned myself to two life changes: no more dating and no more cooking.

As usual, things never turn out quite as expected. As far as cooking, I’ve happily settled into my cooking routine in the borrowed kitchen. The oven is hotter, the pots are nicer, and the groceries are from Fairway. I haven’t made anything too impressive so far—salads for lunch, soups for dinner—but tonight I plan to make myself a real meal. It’s feeling like a tofu teriyaki night. Also, BONUS—I found something in the fridge called “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Peanut Butter” and it is AWESOME. I can believe it’s not peanut butter, but for 100 calories a serving, I’ll take it. Last night I ate a few heaping spoonfuls with a cut up banana and fat-free whipped cream. Unreal.

In accordance with my geographical change, my dating life also took an unexpected turn. Aforementioned dating life has become basically non-existent, but not for the reasons I anticipated before moving.

I never heard back from Ben—surprise, surprise—but I met someone else who seems quite wonderful. Evan and I met at a bar-b-cue on the 4th of July and hit it off immediately. About five minutes into meeting him, I asked one of our mutual friends—“Hey, is Evan single?” only to receive the response, “Yes. But don’t get any ideas.” I guess my reputation precedes me. Look, I’m trying to settle down just as much as the next person (girl). I can’t help it if I can never make it past date two! Great at reeling ‘em in, terrible at keeping ‘em around.

ANYWAY, Evan and I had a great time. He’s stationed in Virginia for the Navy, but he ended up staying in the city a few extra days so we could spend more time together. It felt like the best, longest first date in history. Second date to be continued next weekend, when I go to Virginia to visit family and friends (and Evan) in my hometown. Clearly, long-distance is not the ideal set-up. However, if his text message response rate is any indication of what’s to come—count me in!