Your Fuzzy Wuzzy Quotient for the Day

Disclaimer: Even though, yes, I am posting pictures of a cat here, and yes, he's adorable, and yes, that is why I'm posting these pictures of him, I am not a crazy cat girl. This isn't even my cat, swear. I'm cat-sitting for The Ex. In fact, I think I'm even less of a crazy cat girl because I haven't even shown you a picture of Nina, who is at this very moment tearing apart my legs because I won't play with her, because I'm busy writing about someone else's cat. So there.

This past Saturday was that great Cleveland holiday known as Sweetest Day. A day entirely absolutely created by the candy industry, in a marketing move to dupe those dumb Lake People into having another reason to buy chocolate covered strawberries. And it has worked so completely, that if I'm alone Valentine's day, I'm okay. But on Sweetest Day, with every boyfriend, even if we're broken up I expect an honorable mention. And I have yet to be disappointed in this thing I had no right to expect in the first place. In this way, with many others, I am a true example of the Midwest Girl.

There are some things you learn about flowers by the time you're thirty. One, you should always get flowers. Even if they are daffodils picked from someones front yard, flowers are one of the best things a guy does for you. He may buy you other things, or make you mix cds, or do your household chores. He may in fact be one of the sweetest guys in the whole world. But if he has never brought you a bouquet, there is something missing in his soul, a light that either hasn't flickered on yet, or has already flickered out.

Second, flowers mean lots of things, and they are maybe not always welcome things. But you always say thank you. Flowers are not something you should over think. If you are not gracious about it, you can be the one that turned off flowers for another future girl. Flowers are emotional, in a way that doesn't make a lot of sense. They link together all sorts of weird things; dignity and beauty and fragility and fucking. When you are in a room with a guy, and there is a vase sitting there between you, there are very few situations where you are justified in throwing them in his face - physically or figuratively. And you accepting them gracefully does not denote surrender or forgiveness. You don't have to take him back. But there should be acknowledgment. This is why flowers are known as the standard universal "please forgive me" or "thank you" or "I love you". Other gifts don't produce the same aura of vulnerability that they do. They make you soft. It's good to be reminded you can be soft.

And then there's chocolate - which is so obvious that a fifteen year old virgin wouldn't misconstrue that message. But look how pretty they are! (note: chocolates are like diamonds). I love Lilly's.

That pistachio one, by the way, was really fucking good. And so was the cranberry one in the pink plaid.

I know, alright, we'll stop talking about flowers and chocolates. My point is though, that you should never ever date anyone who doesn't give you both. Not every week. But sometimes when they don't have to, and it doesn't gain them anything.

Sunday was a lazy fall day. I drank some vodka from the night before. I watched bad cable. Lead Paint Cookbook took me and Really Bad Cleveland Accent to brunch. Which I invited my friend Alli to before I knew LPC had a gift card, and for which I have to take her out to dinner some point soon. Just let me know what day dear, or let me buy you lots of absinthe? Which, by the way, if you read this, that's 10/30, not this Friday.

So it was a very pleasant brunch, because those three girls are the girls you wish you had known right out of college, before you fell in with that Wiccan guy. They would have never allowed that to properly happen. I actually did know Alli then, but she lived far away before the Wiccan guy showed up. So it's not her fault.

So it's cold, blustery, rainy, sometimes sunny. I need some sneakers with better tread and no holes in them. I need an actual coat. I need a wine cellar, a fireplace, and some sedatives for my cats. I need blankets and a mattress all to myself, and more time to sleep that doesn't interrupt my fast-paced tv watching lifestyle. I tried to find a building to go to this morning, Charity was waiting for me, but I had no luck. Everything I looked up was bought by Chinese firms or torn down two years ago. The season is ending for improv, now I have to settle down for winter planning. I think it's very funny Pandora just put Tegan and Sara next to Johnny Cash. Start going to Pat Catans more. Start cooking again and driving my friends crazy by taking pictures of food. It's time to nail the shutters closed. I'm proud of myself because at this point last year I was thinking how fast everything seemed to be going by. Now I feel like this year took it's good old time, and I think that's a good sign.

If I had, as I often wished, been born an actual bear, required to hibernate for months, I think I've would have figured out a way to stay awake. Maybe eating college students?

Lucky's Cafe - Dinner

When I saw on Cleveland Foodie that Lucky's, the Tremont bastion of brunch, was trying out a dinner, I jumped on it. I'm not entirely sure why. I've only been to Lucky's brunch a couple times, it's not like I'm the most rabid fan of the place. I mean, the brunches are great, but they're usually so busy. I think in my head I was just like "oh, new place! But new place I feel comfortable in!" Like, I know where to park, and I know I can wear jeans without getting weird looks.

Tapenade, grits, ratatouille, and house cured lardon

The call I got on Friday to confirm my reservation said 7pm. Which was weird, cause I thought I made it for 8:30pm. I rushed out of work, picked up S., and we scrammed to Tremont without stopping to buy wine. Which is fine, because it gave me an excuse to drag S. into Lilly Handmade Chocolates next door, which created wine and beer pairings for the dinner. I then proceeded to attain a state of jealousy reserved only for really awesome lighting, directed to the amazing Icarus lamp hanging in the middle of the showroom. If I don't start making my own lights now, before my income catches up with my intentions, I foresee a future of debt.

We picked up a malbec, and one sake aged beer, then headed over. Where I found out that in fact, the reservation was for 8:30pm.

But the staff was really nice, and seated us early. And then let me sit at the table I requested in the back.

S. promptly left as soon as he opened his beer, to buy more beer. Which left me sitting, looking at the amuse bouche above, for ten minutes. Ten long minutes. During which I drank a lot of wine.

Herbed crepes with pulled pork and carmelized onion, served with bacon, brussel sprouts, pecans, and thyme jus

Next we got a basket of hearty baguette, with good salted butter. 1st course was soup or salad. We ended up being one of THOSE couples, that switch their plates around. Is that obnoxious? I don't know. It's more efficient. When I had looked at the menu earlier in the day, I already knew I would get the salad with beets, red onion, and pecans. But it turned out the cauliflower soup with mushroom pate was great. The salad was okay too, but it was really just a good salad. The soup had this wonderful texture when the pate got all mixed in, and it was just smooth and warm and totally yummy. I'm not a cauliflower person, but I might become one.

In fact, the theme of the night was get Bridget to eat vegetables she normally wouldn't. Which means their vegetarian option for the entree, a fricassee of potatoes, zucchini, and peas, was probably incredible. Being meat-eaters, we of course went for the proteins. Because meat eaters don't eat vegetarian stuff, duh. It would be, like, weird.

So we shared the herbed crepes with pulled pork and onion above, and the beef ravioli. The crepes, as you can see, had bacon and brussel sprouts. Brussel sprouts are not my thing. I mean, I hate cooked cabbage, and brussel sprouts are really just miniature cabbages. But these were good, crunchy. S.'s eyes just lit up when he saw brussel sprouts. The things you learn about people during eating. I personally loved the carrot puree with cardamom that came with the very nicely done raviolis.

Then for desert, there was rhubarb crumble and hazelnut torte.

40 layers cashew crepe torte

The torte was beautiful, but I really didn't want to pass him the crumble. It was spicy and not too sweet, and the honey mace ice cream was great. Imagine my thrill, my exultation, when S. tasted it, proclaimed it too nutmeggy (from the mace) and gave it right back. So then I could proceed to eat it, in a slow, tortured manner, until I literally could not swallow another bite or it would be a scene from Monty Python.

The staff, for not being practiced at serving dinner, was wonderful. Our server Eric even tolerated our drunken questioning about 90's weed movies, and solved the problem plaguing S. about the movie with Jon Bon Jovi and Laura Dern. Chef Heather Haviland, besides being awesome in the kitchen, turned out to be the MacGyver of the dining room with her creative lighting solutions. So all in all, it was a pleasant, comfortable, tasty experience.

Heather and Chef Ky-Wai Wong will be doing dinner once a month at Lucky's, the second Saturday of every month. So just remember it's the Saturday after Art Walk (though I wonder if maybe doing it during Art Walk might be better for business?).

And make sure you buy yourself a Chomp Monster from Lilly's for the next morning, when you wake up and seriously regret not buying more candy. And don't let your neighbor talk you into watching Transporter 3 when you get home, because even drunk, it's the worst movie ever.

Dark chocolate, black mission figs, and walnuts

Now, in the background, S. is watching Big Game Fishing The World. Which is basically a show where this old guy takes "international models" on fishing trips. Where he shows them how to hold the rod. Mariah from the Netherlands is trying to pull in a Marlin. "Crank it, crank it Mariah." "Get into a rhythm". "Never use your hands." I personally am very sad right now thinking about that poor beautiful Marlin that got sacrificed for a thinly disguised wank fest on ESPN. And I've got to figure out my poor person menu for the week. Making pie tonight, and baking lots of banana bread tomorrow cause I have, like, eight black bananas in my freezer. Probably pea soup too. If you have any good recipes for the last two, send them my way please.