August 14th, 2010. Outside Lands in the city. Highlights of the night: baked necklace, wafarer sunglasses, bbq oysters, cutting through 2901481023 people, that country band, The Strokes, free Pringles, public transportation. And of course, my partner in crime.
Saffron is a rare spice where each saffron corcus flower only bears three stigmas. These stigmas are collected, dried, and usually used in pinches (1/4 teaspoon, 10+ strands) in each dish for its “bitter taste [and/or] hay-like fragrance” (Wikipedia). It’s wonderful. And expensive. I once journeyed around Berkeley to find this rarity, and after visiting many Asian markets I found Bombay Spice House where saffron was sold behind the counter, after personally asking the owner. A year later, I saw it sold in small packages at Trader Joe’s. -_-
My fiancé, wow-that-still-sounds-so-weird, remembered this story and bought me a bag of saffron from Tanzania this past summer and we finally used it in a dish today called, “Carol’s Arroz Con Pollo,” which means “chicken served with seasoned rice.”
First we (me, housemate, friend) ate dinner at the new Lanesplitter on San Pablo. We ordered their ‘Garbage Pie’ — pepperoni, sausage, mushroom, onion, olive, spinach, artichoke hearts, and fresh tomato.
THEN!!! We went inside Pixar! “How?” you ask. The friend who joined us for dinner happened to work there and he was kind enough to give us a tour of his workspace. You can imagine our excitement when we were given permission to enter their gates. :D
*Sorry for the blurry photos; I looked awkward taking photos of the contents of the refrigerator.
Located frequently in Emeryville, my housemate texted me during her lunch break to tell me Chairman Bao was near our house today.
I ran out the door.
My bedroom window overlooks a newly renovated playground of the daycare center next door. Every other hour, kids run out in a state of frenzy, some in their automobiles (i.e., tricycles, bicycles, red-wagons) and some on their two feet. I’ve noticed there are many incorrigible screamers. To clarify, these screamers are not screaming because they are upset; they are simply screaming for the sake of screaming; and I cannot help but wish they were taken to Narnia.
I realize they range from ages 3-5 and I (must) understand their yearning to run and scream free. Because I, too, occasionally need some time to run and scream in my own adult way. I.e., through blogging. So here it is, my second attempt to make known my awesomeness. jk.
you know it. ;)