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“Come as you are.” Or, um, maybe not

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‘Decoding the dress code on party invitations’

Who doesn’t love getting invited to parties? Well, maybe The Dude, actually. He’d much rather relax in his jammies in the comfort of his own home than head out to a party after a long work week. But the last two Fridays in a row have found us helping two Birthday Boys celebrate very Big Birthdays at a couple of very Big (and very nice) Parties.

One of the nice things (aside from the free-flowing champagne and hors d’oeuvres) that we appreciated about these two parties in particular was that there was no dress code. At least, not a dress code that was spelled out on the invitation. I guess the hosts (or hostesses, in these cases) figured that guests old enough to go to a birthday party without holding someone’s hand would be able to figure out how to dress.

Now, me, I love parties. And I look forward to getting party invitations of almost any kind. Including the ones with the little notes on the bottom of the invitation that tell you what to wear.

Should I wrap myself in cellophane like a bouquet from the corner deli?

Or should I make like a rosebush?

Being a dyed-in-the-wool-New-Yorker-of-40-years-and-counting, I’ll probably just don my wear-to-pretty-much-every-party basic black. Maybe I’ll carry a nosegay. Or wear rose-colored lipstick. Continue reading

To hell with kale

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‘An Ode to Corn’

Last night was the fourth night in a row that we did not have kale.

Now, don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t like kale. Kale has its tasty uses (see yummy recipe at the end of this post for proof). It’s just that I love corn. Which is what we had last night–yes–for the fourth night in a row. I’m not talking Niblets here, people. I’m talking fresh-from-the-farm-stand corn-on-the-cob corn.

It would be hard for me not to love corn. After all, I grew up in the Midwest right in the heart of Corn Country. My Grampa Henry grew corn. My mother spent her summers detasseling corn. My dad spent his working in a plant that processed Green Giant MexiCorn.

Now I understand that there are a heck of a lot of kale-lovers out there. Enough that there are rumors of a Continue reading

Proof that Swedes are geniuses

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As if we needed any more evidence of superior Nordic brainpower, watch this:

Heh heh heh. The BookBook. I can just hear Grandpa Peterson chuckling over that one. Right after he finished his raspberry pie and very-weak-but-constantly-present coffee.

Speaking of food, I’m glad to see that my fellow Swedes are concentrating their brains on what they are good at (witty commercials, impossible-to-construct furniture) because they are certainly no great shakes in the culinary department.

My Grandma Peterson used to serve a traditional dish called lutefisk every year at Christmas. It’s made from a fish that’s been Continue reading

Blame it on the Cronut

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‘Shamelessly flogging the blog’

Surely you’ve heard of the Cronut. It’s a hybrid of ‘donut’ and ‘croissant’, and is extremely popular amongst the nose ring-and-fedora set. So popular that I’ve read of Cronut Wars in Williamsburg (that’s Hipster Williamsburg, not Colonial Williamsburg). You can read about this pastry rivalry by clicking on the link below.

‘In Greenpoint, a Situation Ripe for a Doughnut War’

But first let me indulge in some shameless self-promotion. And introduce you to the Plog. Like the Cronut, it’s a hybrid. A hybrid of ‘plug’ and ‘blog’. See, unlike those dueling bakers of hipster pastries, we bloggers receive no compensation for our labors (at least I don’t anyway–there’s not even a tip jar on my countertop.) What do we get? A nice warm feeling knowing that our posts are being read (and, fingers crossed, enjoyed).

Call me crazy, but I’d really like to avoid the literary version of the ‘tree-falling-in-the-woods-with-no-one-to-hear-it’ scenario, so I’m going to go out on a limb here and invite you to Continue reading