Anal and Aviation.

No, I did not have anal sex mile high club status. I probably should have just to say I did but that's another story.

So in my quick trip to the east coast I discovered something very important. IT IS MOTHER FUCKING COLD IN DECEMBER IN MARYLAND. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO VISIT MARYLAND WITHOUT HUNDREDS OF LAYERS OF FLEECE CLOTHING AT YOUR DISPOSAL AT ALL TIMES. The entire time I was there I was mistaken for the Michelin Man. I was so bundled up that my armpits got sore from attempting to move around in so many layers of clothing. I'm honestly lucky that I found my only snow jacket. The snow jacket I so happen to have bought in Switzerland when I visited last March because when I visited Europe in the spring time, I was completely unprepared for cold weather much less snow. Let's just say if I would have never gone to Switzerland and experienced cold weather and snow, I would have not had that jacket. If I would have not had that jacket I probably would have made my way into the subway tunnels of the DC metro and befriend a bunch of junkies that live in the subways to keep warm and to come back with good stories.

My last journey to the east coast was a whopping 3 weeks ago and I was on a mission to find myself scrapple. Every opportunity of scrapple eating that I thought I had never materialized (scrapplized?). This time around, I told my friend Katie, who was nice enough to play host to me, that I would refuse to leave until I had my scrapple. In turn, I almost missed my flight but I had that scrapple. Sadly I wish I could say it was worth it. Assuming there are degrees or grades of scrapple, I would assume this was the dog food version of scrapple based on everything else I was served today for lunch. Pictured above is my lunch I at the Forest Diner in Mount Airy, Maryland. AVOID THIS DINER. Yes, I am going to Yelp review the food as being the same quality of waste that comes out of my dog's rear end. I ate half of the scrapple just to say that I actually ate scrapple despite the fact that it was deep fried and burned to the point where I may now have colon cancer. I guess that's not funny to joke about when that runs in my family. FORGIVE ME. The corned beef hash which is normally my favorite eats in diners was completely inedible. It was probably the least appetizing thing I've seen in my entire life (see photo of disgusting round item in sliced from the can and pushed out shape), and I'm willing to guess was leftovers from several years ago. The best thing I ate was the toast with packaged butter. I was hungry on the flight when it was supposed to be my pre-flight food. I had to order a TAPAS BOX on the flight which had olives, cheese and crackers, roasted pepper tapenade, hummus and whatever else Mediterraneanesque that United Airlines could think of that would cost nearly nothing to produce that they could get a significant profit from. I was sitting next to this really cool guy and we talked a bunch (more like I talked a bunch, I believe I talked his ear off) and after we spoke about food (erm, I spoke about food) he made fun of me for eating the tapas box. I showed him a picture of my dog shit for lunch and even he agreed it was probably a wise choice to go for the airline food. That guy was really awesome. I wish I had people like him to talk to on all my flights. Can't get lucky every time, right?

In closing, I just wanted to say that I conquered 8 degree weather. There's another item I can knock off my bucket list: feeling single digit temperatures without dying. See, I did it. I'm only pussy when I want to be.

What happened?

I'm not exactly sure where the time has gone. One minute I'm completely obsessed with this blog and the next it's like this thing doesn't exist. There have been a number of moments where I've said to myself that I've been neglecting this blog but have continued to ignore my blogger needs. Suddenly, weeks have gone by and still no update. Damn, I suck.

I posted last when I was in New York City. That was the begging of my Mid-Atlantic food tour. From NYC I followed with going to Princeton, New Jersey so my folks could see a friend of theirs and I saw a couple of friends of mine. Followed by Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington DC and Virgina/North Carolina.

The food trip was incredible. If I were to explain in detail of every single thing I ate and experienced I would be writing this blog for the next few days. Instead, I will sum it up.

Best palate experience: Morimoto's in Philadelphia. The only restaurant I've been to in years where I have no clue how to reproduce half of the food I ate. It really was a mind-blowing, mouth-fucking experience.

Most overrated: Delilah's FAMOUS mac n' cheese in Philadelphia. OPRAH, YOU SUCK.

Most fun: Pat's v. Geno's food feud in Philadelphia. I side with Michael Symon, PAT'S for the win. Sidenote: TONY LUKE'S is by far, hands-down much better quality of a cheesesteak. Bobby Flay is right.

Best classic dishes: TIE. Between Caracas Arepa Bar in NYC or La Isla in Hoboken, New Jersey. Both of them were featured on Throwdown. The Throwdown dish from La Isla was the stuffed french toast which actually didn't blow me out of the water like the arepas did. It was just their over-all classic Cuban food which was done to absolute perfection. My mom ordered the choripan and it reminded me of my childhood when my grandma lived with us.

Everything else I had lived up to its expectations. What blew my mind the most was the BBQ from mid-way through Virginia through North Carolina. Even more so, how the restaurants often offered Carolina-style BBQ sauce and Virginia-style BBQ sauce... Which much to my surprise was nothing of what I thought to be BBQ sauce to be, especially North Carolina style. When you hear that North Carolina style is a vinegar base, they honestly mean it's fucking vinegar --- lots and lots of vinegar. The people were nice, the food was awesome.

The picture above was at this place called Currituck BBQ in some podunk town in North Carolina. The place was packed with hunters and this picture was to prove that I saw hunters a'plenty. As a Californian I have seen a lot of things in my life, things that some people should see and experience and have also seen things some people will never and should never. Point is, something Southern Californians lack in their daily lives is a good dose of hunters. Strange almost, but cool.

On another note, I'm actually going back to DC tomorrow. I'm going for work, but I get an additional 36 hours after work to play around in DC. I'll get to go to Granville Moore, one of the places on my list that I didn't go to on my trip. STOKED! :)

I also bought myself a netbook today for traveling. I'm going to invest in a mac, FINALLY --- but I realized that if I go traveling around with a mac and God forbid anything happen to it, I will probably shit my pants and cry until I drown in my own tears. Now I have this awesome little netbook that fits in my purse and if someone jacks it, fine. All I had on it was e-mail, AIM and facebook. Go for it. Bitch.

Harlem --- and all the other enclaves.

You know, there's a charm and essence about Harlem I just love. I went to Melba's today for her famous chicken and waffles that were featured on Throwdown. Immediately when I walked in, a family member of Melba's that worked there said that the kitchen was closing to prepare for dinner service --- But if I could order quickly Melba is fine with keeping the kitchen open for another 20 minutes. Not only that, but she said I could hang out for as long as I wanted, no rush at all. The atmosphere was welcoming. The people were welcoming. I felt at home --- and I believe that's Melba's goal with her restaurant. She even came out and sat at the table across from me, just sitting there going over mail and number crunching. She was happy --- and happy to take pictures with anyone who wanted to take pictures with her, who clearly loved seeing people happy. Needless to say her fried chicken beats Roscoe's hands down. I did a million crunches and ran all over Manhattan shortly thereafter. Thank you, Melba.

On a different note, I'm not trying to be controversial nor am I trying to be racist. What I will post shortly after this is a forewarning of potentially terrible things -- these things are purely based on observation and I mean absolutely no harm by it.

So to just say it already, I just want to say that I love the Harlem black community. Historically Harlem has always been pegged as being such a poor black community littered with crime. That Columbia U is in the middle of the ghetto. That Harlem is nothing but projects and comparable to the worst parts of East LA, Compton, Watts, etc. I remember visiting Harlem, Queens, The Bronx, Brooklyn, etc. as a kid --- and Harlem today is nothing of what it was then. Harlem has been cleaned up beautifully with little fall backs here and there, but even in rich white surburbia that i call home, we have our fall backs in cleanliness, too.

Today I fell in love with Harlem. I fell in love with its people. I fell in love with the vibrancy that is this part of New York City. I felt safe and comfortable. I felt like this was what I wanted to feel when in Harlem. --- None of that nonsense down Times Square, 5th, Broadway or any of that crap. What I saw in Harlem was genuine --- Walking through Church of the Holy Rosary littered with happy go lucky church goers. Across the street at Riverside Park, where Ulysses S. Grant's tomb in that monster of a moseaoleum, I saw a bunch of Kid-Cudi look alikes hanging around in the park just huddled around talking politics. Maybe they were Columbia U students. Maybe there were just hood kids. In LA I'd assume they were all doing crack -- and they probably would be --- and certainly politics wouldn't be a favored topic. Whoever is running Harlem is spending their money wisely cleaning up that community on all levels. My father says it's a combination of the conservative wall street men bringing in the cash flow to NYC, its government dispersing it appropriately --- obviously a liberal government with the right intentions and agenda. Why can't I see this in LA? Why doesn't this exist in California? Either way, LA has taught me to be scared of everyone and everything but affluent ritzy areas. That drive-by shootings are the norm. That living that life is OK. Harlem has taught me that LA is full of shit and not everyone is fucked up. There is serious lack of culture in LA even though we say we're so cultured. We're not. Californians are full of complete shit. We segregate the poor and let them try to kill each other off. We keep them dumb and do nothing to help our terrible education system, we just give them money to shut them up just enough to not be heard. We allow people to go on welfare for lengthy periods of time without question. We allow for people to acclimate to living with nothing but government money. It's the Stockholm Syndrome of government. We do nothing to help. We've had Barbara Boxer in California for 20 years doing nothing. We've had Jerry Brown before who did nothing. He did nothing for Oakland. I'm not saying that what we need is a bunch of neoconservatives in office because that does nothing good either. What I am saying is we need people who actually care. I'd love to see LA transform like Harlem has. Harlem is amazing, plain and simple. Maybe I didn't spend enough time there to see its negative side but the reality all communities have their drawbacks --- despite race, nationality or creed.

Now that I'm going to step down from my soapbox --- I just want to say leaving New York City is going to be incredibly difficult for me. I spend the better part of a day just hanging around East Village --- filled with South Americans and its incredible cuisine. I was reminded of Madrid and my heart melted 800 times over. It's been exactly a year since I've been to Madrid. I spent my 1 year sans-Madrid anniversary in East Village, at Caracas Arepa Bar and I loved it. I've never spoken so much Spanish outside of Spain or in my own home.

It's like all these little ethnic enclaves are forgotten by tourists. Last I was here I was a kid, so this is a whole new experience for me. I feel like when my friends tell me about NYC they either aren't brave enough to explore on their own or aren't interested in anything other than the norm, they come to get drunk and go to bars or do drugs in hotel rooms. maybe see a Yankee game. Everyone wants to come to NYC and see the museum and the flashing lights and sounds of Times Square. Everyone wants to shop on Broadway and I'm not sure why, isn't that why we have online shopping? I don't think people come here enough and venture out to little mom and pop shops or go beyond pizza, hot dogs, pretzels and don't see what really makes New York City which are street after street of mini countries in such a small space. Traveling the globe in 10 miles. Sounds good to me.

Across the Hudson I fell in love with Hoboken and Jersey City. a 10 minute subway ride to an adopted Habana itself. I've never seen so many Cubans outside of Miami --- Cubans who take pride in their community and cuisine. It's so awesome here. As a Cuban on both sides, I adopted the Cuban culture as my own. I adopted as much as I could without being in Habana or Miami, minus the Catholicism of course. The point is that being here made me REALLY feel at home as I identified with this community in the best way possible.

Leaving tomorrow is going to be hard --- and I will be thinking of this side of the US until I come back. It's like I have all I want --- so much that reminds me of home, so much that reminds me of Madrid, so much in culture and cuisine in such a small space. I highly suggest to anyone that visits NYC to step out of the NYC box. Fuck seeing Trump Tower, fuck Rockefeller Center, fuck shopping, fuck it all. Go down to the old Five Points (Yes, from Gangs of New York and PS it's no longer the Five Points --- Take a walk down Mulberry. Sit on Baxter and Walter.) and see if you can feel old NYC like I did. Walk down streets you're unsure of. They're safe. Just walk. Walk into a restaurant whose cuisine you've never had. I ate cow heart and a Peruvian restaurant and it was delicious. Just walk. and keep going. I really know why people fall in love with Manhattan and all its beautiful communities with all its ups and downs. I love it.

Tomorrow I'm heading down into Princeton to see my Godmother. I'm slowly working my way down to Virginia with lots of other stops along the way. The more I travel the more I realize how much I hate Los Angeles. No wonder my boyfriend and I are so perfect for one another. We're travelers and we see the same things. We see that LA is bullshit. I wish he was here with me to experience what I am --- and I know he would. I miss him a lot right now but thankfully I won't be gone much longer.

Monsters and Trips

This is Kilo Monster, for those that are unaware of him. He's my boyfriend's dog that has become mine and if my boyfriend and I ever break up (which we're not, ever!) I am going to fight for custody of this dog because he will be miserable without me. This dog and I have been attached at the hip since Jamie and I first started dating. Apparently he was anti-cuddling and never wanted to be touched for very long and now that's all we do. We cuddle. He started hanging out with Sierra and now he cries like a bitch on the other side of the door when he's locked out. My boyfriend says I'm with him for the dog and not him. Which is not entirely true. I'm with my boyfriend for the dog AND his monster sized penis. God, he needs to get it right already if he's going to accuse me of such terrible things.

Anyway.

I'm leaving for a 2 week, guaranteed fucked up trip with my family to the east coast in 8 days. I sorta invited myself to mooch on to my parents trip because I have friends all over the east coast I want to see. It was originally going to be an east coast trip + trip to Madrid but it's just going to to be too hard to swing the two. I'm going back to Europe for my birthday, so that's fine. It's almost been a year since I've been to Madrid last. Time fucking flies. Then after purchasing my ticket I realized I will be without boyfriend and sleeping on friend's beds to get away from my parents and traveling by car for hours and hours all over the place, from NYC to Virginia and then back up and around again. The things I do to myself... And the reason why is simple. Food. I am traveling for food.

I have a few places that are MUST-STOPS that I will be fattening my liver with.

Melba's in Harlem. Known for their chicken and waffles. As seen on Throwdown.

Morimoto's in Philadelphia. Uh, owned by IRON CHEF MORIMOTO. This is his OG restaurant in the US. Ya. No need to explain anymore, do I?

Blue Duck Tavern in DC. My good friend Seamus recommended this place to me today, I immediately sent info over to my parents and we died at the menu. So, we're stopping here. Plus I don't want to hear shit from Seamus if I don't. Top 10 best hotel restaurants in the world, according to hotel magazine. We'll see.

Tony Luke's in Philadelphia. If Tony Luke doesn't have the best Cheesesteak sandwich I've ever had, then I will never trust Bobby Flay or Food Network again. Ever. I've been wanting to eat at Tony Luke's since I've seen it.

A Salt N Battery in NYC. After a very long, tiresome and unsuccessful hunt for Fish N' Chips in London, I'm hoping NYC has something better to offer. This place is known for it. If they fail me, I give up for life.

Junior's in Brooklyn. Supposedly best cheesecake in town. Yep.

Azucar Cuban Cuisine in NJ. YA. I'm going to be comparing everything to my abuela. We'll see about that.

... This is just a few. I have 30 more places to hit up.

I told my mom that in order to NOT gain a ton of weight, HELLO, I'VE WORKED FUCKING HARD FOR WHAT I HAVE, THANK YOU. ... We are splitting EVERYTHING. Literally everything. I am not ordering anything without sharing it with her and I plan on running every fucking day so long as it's not raining, I don't care how cold it is.

I guess that's it. I probably won't update until I'm either on the east coast or i'm back, unless something ridiculously awesome happens, because I'm a lazy pile of shit when it comes to blogging these days.

the rent is too god damn high.

Mouth Spoiled.

My life isn't all that interesting and I suppose that has been taken out on my blog. My blog has become a diary rather than ranting and raving. I have nothing to be upset about in my life, so I apologize for the lack of fun and/or crazy that has been missing for so long now. I'm happier this way. :)

This weekend, however, I feel like I should write about it. It's not so much interesting but more... how do I put this delicately... My mouth got fucked over and over and over and over again with delicious food.

Friday night my boyfriend and I went to Kiwami, owned by the Katsu-ya Group. This was hands-down one of the best sushi dinners I've had in a long time. This was more than sushi, it was fine dining and pure luxury in a nice date-night setting. We started with pan seared foie gras on top of kobe beef medallions. Perfect appetizer to start the evening. We ordered a bunch of sashimis (the best being the toro and the yellowtail), the spicy tuna on crispy rice was incredible, I ATE UNAGI which is saying a lot. I'm an equal opportunity eater and I always seem to end up with inedible unagi (eel, for those that dont know) so I've avoided it for years. This time it was more delicious. I don't see myself eating unagi anywhere else other than here. We had tempura soft shell crab with ponzu which was awesome. We also ordered seared albacore with shaved black truffles. Let's just say that I was in mouth-fuck heaven and I couldn't have been happier...

Then Saturday night came and somehow the BF and I ended up going down to the Grove with my parents to Ulysses Voyage, my favorite Greek restaurant aside from Papa Cristo's market in DTLA. Care of my parents we had lots of good booze and the consistently great food that Ulysses is. I think I've been to that restaurant 123098120938129083190 times and I will never get sick of it. Every time I go I leave happy, full and drunk, that's all I ask for.

Ranch Girl.

It's been a year and a half since I've been on the back of a horse. I forgot what it was like to be on a horse and just do whatever pleases you. I forgot how freeing that feeling is -- and I forgot how much I loved being around horses when it was just you and the horse and nothing between you. Today I got to feel that feeling again and I'm left with such an itch to ride continuously, but I know what's best for me --- for now -- and that's the occasional ride here and there.

My boyfriend has a ranch up old topanga canyon that's been in his family since the late 1800's. Fucking cool, right? Well, anyway, his uncle has 4 horses up there and today while we were up there for a family gathering, his uncle was trimming the feet on his arab mare (funny, his uncle is buddies with one of my old farriers) and i was holding her for him and we were chatting horses for a while. Then as he's done with her, he says, "ready?" and i'm like... Ready for what? And he says, "to take her for a ride?" lol. Of course I was ready, I am always ready. I mean, looking at me whilst in flip flops and nice jeans you'd think I wasn't... Oh, oh, but I was. and I did. Little brat of an Arab tried to test me and that didn't get her very far other than a heel in her gut which she wasn't too fond of. But then she realized she knew what I was doing, she gave up and we had a nice ride.

My boyfriend is cute. I saw him watching me ride from the patio area. I love that I could feel him smiling at me knowing I was happy. I love how we walk around his rugged ranch hand in hand. We pick grapes off the vineyards and eat them, complain that the avocado trees don't have any avocados ready, have staring contests with creepy cats with bright yellow eyes, sit on the ridge and watch the fog rolling in the canyons. I love being up there. I love that he and I love the same things in life. I also love that he grabs me by the face, tells me I'm beautiful and that he loves me.

Wanna know what I am? I am lucky, in love and couldn't be happier.

My eyes are emerald green when i cry.

I wish this picture could actually capture the true color my eyes turn when I cry. A camera phone during the bright of day just won't cut it. This is an older picture --- after one of my many meltdowns I've had over the past ... well... I always have meltdowns. My eyes get swollen --- from below my lids to the tip of my eyebrows. My eyes turn so brilliantly green that they could be mistaken for precious stones. I can't hide it, nor do I try to. I just don't like explaining why.

Sometimes a girl needs a good cry. Sometimes those cries come at completely inappropriate times, or are triggered by innocent things, but sometimes they're just necessary. There's no other way around it.

I have an ambivalent relationship with crying. Every time I cry I learn something new. Every single tear represents something. Whether it's about myself, someone else, life, it doesn't matter. Every time I learn I hold it and I never let go. I could probably recite every lesson learned for each tear I've shed in my adult years. Despite the growth in every last drop I hate knowing that I've had to cry to learn. I hate crying in it of itself. It's an ugly process. I mean, who actually looks good while crying? Who feels good when they're crying? HAPPY TEARS DON'T COUNT BECAUSE THAT'S NOT REALLY CRYING. Crying is from being stressed, overwhelmed, sad, broken, a lot of things but happiness is not one of them.

I cried recently. Unfortunately I learned things that I didn't want to learn. Now I'm here --- on my blog --- and even here I don't want to talk about it. Pathetic.