Sweet Freaks of the world, unite!

Paris, My Sweet was resuscitated last night. A year and a half after publication (remember that??), I had a joint reading with the fabulous Hilary Reyl and wonderful Ann Mah. But the best part of the night (aside from when the founder of the Writers Room recounted the time Julia Child cooked dinner for her) was meeting Kerrin Rousset (below, next to me and behind Ann) and Susan Hochbaum.

 

Kerrin is my international counterpart/hero with an enviable career in Zurich, giving chocolate tours, organizing Le Salon du Chocolat, writing about food and travel. The life. 

And you can't help but love Susan, if not for her lovely demeanor then for her keen eye and sly sense of humor. You do know her most amazing book, non? After gabbing and note-comparing, I'm excited to fire up my sweet sleuthing again. I've been much too delinquent.

Cake, flowers, cat

I'm trying to think of what I do with my time these days. I go to work. If I'm lucky, I walk to Dean & Deluca to ogle the cakes and flowers at lunchtime.

I come home and unpack a box, have a glass of wine, order a new lamp.

Milo's new sleeping routine leaves much to be desired—at least for me. He wakes me up between 5 and 6 in the morning. Even so, I find it tough to get to the gym and age, gravity and the drawer of gummies at my desk are taking their toll.

Soon, I'm promising myself, I will complete my book proposal. The holes in the apartment will be filled. I will be back in a rhythm that is alternately exciting and soothing. For now, I have to just go with it.

Waking up 41

Life has been pretty singularly focused these past two weeks. The new apartment.

A new neighborhood.

A new place to put my books.

It’s also been a time to reflect. How could it not be? Passages. They’re so bittersweet. I have so much to look forward to, and have said goodbye to so many other things, people and places.

In between getting settled in Brooklyn, I turned 41. I had a family reunion. I read a book about a wedding and saw a movie about life and love. I had this Colson Whitehead article bookmarked for some time and just got around to reading it, which seemed so appropriate.

I guess it’s all to say that life is so magnificent. So beautiful and so full of pain. So many little things and reasons to be filled with gratitude and love.

My Vegan Monday

Morning
Black coffee
Oatmeal with flax seeds and honey

Afternoon
Large green salad with grilled tofu
Dark chocolate 
A handful of peanut m&ms
Cranberry juice
Ginger tea

Evening
Hummus toast
Glass of Malbec

Ahhh... getting settled in the new place. Little rituals like Vegan Monday help make the chaos more normal. What have you been eating lately??

Out with the old, in with the new

It’s been a long haul. Ten months after our search began, two months after renovations started, we are in our new place. Even though it’s hard to see the actual apartment with the piles of crap everywhere, it’s going to be pretty awesome. It warranted some Manhattans on our first night in.

Charleston Jaunt

Believe the hype, people! Charleston, South Carolina has been declared the Best and Friendliest City in the Country by Travel + Leisure and Condé Nast Traveler. It’s the ultimate foodie destination outside of Copenhagen. Everyone oohs and ahs over that genteel hospitality. And this is one place that lives up to the fanfare.

We had planned to make a road trip from Nashville to Charleston this past spring. The south has been seeping into my soul lately. Realizing a pricey stay at Blackberry Farm was out of the question, a road trip with friends, from Nashville to Charleston via Asheville, seemed a pretty cool alternative. But with the big apartment hunt and subsequent renovations, vacation kept getting pushed. Finally, Andrew and I decided to just book a weekend to Charleston, knowing the road trip, never mind Blackberry Farms, wasn’t going to happen.

It was pretty much love at first sight. Walking around Charleston is like having all of Martha’s Vineyard beauty compressed into one walkable area. It has the magic of Essex, but is 100x the size. At certain turns, I felt like I was in San Francisco. Or Disneyworld. There is just enchanting beauty everywhere, especially in the streets South of Broad. It all reeks of civility and history.

Obviously, we saw but a slice of the city. The touristy slice. There are hundreds of thousands of people living on islands and in suburbs surrounding the actual downtown peninsula. Eastern Charleston feels sadly like the segregated past. No place is perfect, but this came pretty close.

And the food. From the silly (fried pimento cheese fritters, anyone?) to the sublime (oyster sliders at The Ordinary are a must), it was an eating extravaganza.

Hominy Grill has a crazy brunch scene, with people lining up for Bloody Marys and Dark & Stormys while waiting for their table. You can put your name on the inevitable waiting list and then walk up two blocks to Wildflour bakery for a sticky bun. Just the smell is heavenly.

Husk was lovely - super homey, charming and fantastic food.

Halls Chophouse has the friendliest welcome in town. 

Butcher & Bee has a fried chicken sandwich you don’t want to miss. While you’re up that far north on King, be sure to swing over to New Yorker-owned Sugar Bakeshop for a cupcake.

And it’s good to mix the low with the high. We ate fried green tomatoes, fried catfish po boys, fried crab cakes, hush puppies and sweet potato fries at Hymans, and sat on the porch of Poogan’s Porch, watching the world go by.

 Did I mention there's a certain kind of charm in Charleston?

Modern Love

Throughout my life, I’ve had periods when I thought about getting married and having babies. When I was a kid, I played a game when you named the girls who would be your bridesmaids along with the color of their dresses. When I was in my early twenties, I decided I wanted to have five kids. But the wedding and the babies never went further than fantasy and game play. I had a wonderful relationship in my twenties that just never moved toward marriage. And I had a wonderful time in my thirties being a solo traveler, cultivating amazing friendships, finding success as a writer and… moving to Paris.

Then a couple years ago, less than a year after returning to New York, I met Andrew. I won’t say it was a lightening bolt and I knew right away. But I will say there were enough auspicious moments and signs early on to know he and “it” was the real deal. It was a slow, steady, intriguing relationship that both challenged and comforted me. There was chemistry and camaraderie, respect and appreciation, we had fun together and learned from one another. He’s kind, patient, thoughtful, fun, sweet, surprising and sexy. He’s as game to go karaoke as he is to watch the Red Sox as he is to hang out with my family. We’ve been to Paris and Buenos Aires, Kansas City and Connecticut. We’ve eaten lobster rolls, almond croissants and carrot tartare. We’ve clocked about a million miles, walking around New York and Brooklyn, many of those miles on the hunt for a new apartment, which—finally!—we’ll move into together by month’s end. And last weekend, as we walked across the Brooklyn Bridge, Andrew proposed.

Aside from those childhood daydreams, I’ve never been big into weddings. I’m not that girly-girl, big dress dreaming type. But I’m thrilled to be engaged. At 40. To Andrew. There’s nothing better than having waited for the right time, for the right guy. For waiting for your moment. For waiting for love.

I love you, Andrew.

Love

It never gets old.

I absolutely adore these pictures from my trip to Paris last spring.