This Life in Writing » food

yellow couch music.

jessica — Thu, 17 Nov 2011 08:22:41 +0000

The Paper Janes played a show tonight.

I am one half of the Paper Janes.

Well, since we brought a couch on stage with us tonight, perhaps I am more like one third of the Paper Janes.

Anyway.

We had a really good time; I really love that yellow couch of Shane’s.

It looks like it belongs in a very good story.

Probably because it does belong in a very good story; Shane’s story is very good and so is the paper janes’ story and now that couch is part of both (more the former than the latter, really).

And we brought a drum tonight, too.

I was supposed to play it.

I played it a tiny, tiny bit–and not too well, at that.

I got nervous and it was awkwardly to my far right and when I try to sing and play a djembe simultaneously it feels like my brain is fighting itself and doesn’t understand how to function anymore.

But other than my less than parr occasional hits on a drum, the show was really fun.

The couch, especially, was a hit.

Plus, we got a little bit of money and a lot of tater tots and chicken fingers, too. We shared those with friends. Food usually tastes better when shared, I think. Unless you’re, like, really hungry and all you have is one tiny sandwich. That probably tastes better not shared, I’d imagine.

In conclusion: I need to get better at playing the djembe. And food that is both free and shared is delicious. And the yellow couch was a major hit. And my voice sounded a little crackly twice tonight, but I decided not to get my panties in a wad over it. That expression is for my friend Mindy, who says it often and cracks me up every time. Plus, wadded up panties sounds terribly uncomfortable and would only make a situation in which your voice is already crackly even worse, I think.

good one.

jessica — Sun, 03 Oct 2010 07:13:16 +0000

Today we went to the farmer’s market.

Well, that’s what it’s called, but I didn’t see one farmer.

And we happened to go when we were hungry, so we all combed the place for lunch.

And see, I’ve only ever had two corn dogs in my life before. Three, if you count today. Cause I found one at the farmer’s market, at it was just the right price. Food can be a little pricey out here.

Anyway, I ordered my corn dog and waited for it. And while doing so, the guy who waited on me was very nice. A little too nice, maybe. He kept telling me how special my particular order number was, since it had a huge amount of 2′s in it, and, not one to argue with those kinds of inconsequential beliefs, I was just like, alright. I don’t mind a bunch of 2′s and if they make you happy, sure.

But then he handed me my corn dog and I thanked him and smiled. So far, so good. And then he handed me something else too. A pick-up line. And the reason I know this, is because he told me, and I quote:

“I don’t normally say this kind of stuff, but you have one of the most beautiful smiles I’ve ever seen.”

And I was thinking, really? You like plastic, then? Oh, and don’t forget the rubber bands–those are quite stunning, really.

I told Jase and Ollie and Lyric and we all laughed a while over that one. I mean, it was nice, but come on: braces.

And then Ollie was rather transfixed by the rubber bands and kept asking me how long they could stretch and could they stretch the whole length of the table or perhaps from here to that booth over there? And I was like, nope. And nope. And then I showed him how wide I could open my jaw and said that was about how far they could stretch, but seeing that he was still not quite satisfied with the answer, I took one out of my mouth and gave it to him.

He happily started to grab it and then paused for a second, mid-reach, while asking me quite seriously:

“Can I break it?”

I told him that he sure could and man, I love that boy.

nice. mostly.

jessica — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 08:43:00 +0000

It’s amazing how you feel when you come down from the mountains.

That sentence could mean so many different things, I realize, but what I am referring to is the wonderful fact that we are no longer singing and dancing in dry air and high altitudes.

Really, it actually makes a difference. I wasn’t struggling to catch my breath during the finale tonight and it dawned on me: we are no longer in the mountains. Only I thought it with more excitement as I realized that it meant the show wouldn’t be so hard anymore:

WE ARE NO LONGER IN THE MOUNTAINS!!!

So, this is nice.

You know what else is nice?

Thai food.

It seems that every time I go out to eat lately (which believe it or not, is not actually that often; I tend to eat many PB&J’s, many bowls of cereal, and many bananas), it is for Thai food. And I don’t mind at all. Tonight in Vancouver it was a place called Khai. And it served Thai food. I thought that was funny. But I didn’t say anything. Because when Adam Sandler’s character in the Wedding Singer starts to laugh over Glenn’s last name, Gulia, and how that will effectively make Julia Julia Gulia, Glenn didn’t seem to find the humor in it. So yeah, I didn’t mention the whole Khai serving Thai food thing to the people who worked there.

But I love pad thai, especially. And it’s really good because it always makes two whole meals for me. I eat half in the restaurant and then box it up and take it home and voila! I have dinner too.

And the last thing I will mention because it goes along with the theme of nice because it’s honest and honesty is usually nice, is that the pan handlers here in Vancouver are super honest. I mean, you gotta give them props for that, at least.

Ian and I were walking home from the theater tonight and we passed a guy who said, Hey can you please give me some money so I can buy weed?

And I am sorry, but I laughed.

Out loud.

I totally LOL’d.

It took me by surprise, I guess. And no, I didn’t give him money, but well, he didn’t try to scam me with some story about his pregnant wife and how he just lost his job when the truth is he only ever had a girlfriend and that was back in high school and they only talked about marriage once and that was because he wanted to get into her pants but no, they never did marry and he could get a job, but why work when he could just as easily ask passersby for money so he could buy some weed?

And I appreciate the fact that I didn’t have to wonder if he was telling me the truth.

Because that gets old.

And two things that were definitely not nice?

The two different times I saw two different men peeing on the side of the street.

GROSS.

And we’ve come so far. Humanity, that is. I mean, we have these little seats with holes in them now that you can totally do your business in. That’s actually exactly what they are for. They even have doors so you don’t have to make your business everybody else’s business.

Just a thought. Or maybe a reminder.

why this sunday was pretty good

jessica — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 06:17:00 +0000

Today was a pretty good day.

I woke up kind of late. Something to do with late conversations about cereal, I am sure.

But then I got myself to the theater. I had planned on taking the warm-up class that our veneered choreographer gives when she is in town, but I didn’t quite leave my hotel in time. Oops.

Something to do with getting up late because of late conversations about cereal.

But I already mentioned that.

So I warmed myself up on stage, which is what I do most of the time anyway. And aside from being afraid that I was about to get a migraine after I stared at the lights a little too long and started seeing spots because of it (the warm-up act for my migraines is what doctors call an aura. I see spots and have blurred vision and it fills me with dread because once the aura comes, I know what is coming next. And if you’ve ever suffered a migraine, than you know what I’m talking about, though I sincerely hope for your sake that you don’t.), I got warm and all that.

Oh yeah, and I didn’t get a migraine. Turns out those bright lights on the stage make you see spots and it doesn’t always mean you’re gonna have to find somebody to please remove your head in just a little while. You’ll know when because I will be squirming and writhing and moaning, thank you. So I was relieved that this wasn’t the case.

And then I did a show. And honestly? I’ve done so many now that it’s hard to remember one itty bitty matinee* on a Sunday.

*notice I said MATINEE, as in afternoon performance and not, MANATEE, as in large and lovable sea creature that I swam with in Florida. Though I will still probably get at least one comment that says they thought I was confessing I had DONE a MANATEE and ewwwwwww and isn’t that funny?! And here I go proving my brother Jason, who once told the world wide web that I often write about manatees on my blog, right yet again by mentioning manatees.

I cannot win.

And if you did think that I said MANATEE instead of MATINEE and happen to think it’s funny, well I agree: it is funny.

Moving on.

So I did the show and it went well and I don’t think I made any mistakes, so that’s good. I even managed to make some people laugh, which is even better than just not making mistakes, if I do say so myself.

But if you sang really badly in front of thousands of people while wearing a leotard you could probably make them laugh too.

Oh, and another part of the day that made it good was that the Eagles won.

Go Green.

But after I woke up kind of late and after I got out of my hotel room late and missed the warm-up class and after I was afraid I was getting a migraine but I was really just underneath some bright lights and after I did a show in which I don’t think I made any mistakes and managed to make some people laugh in the process and after the Eagles won–well, after all that, something great happened.

It looked like this.

And oh my goodness it was so good. If I used expletives I might be tempted to insert one there, just as an accent, just to let you know that Memphis doesn’t joke around when it comes to home cooked meals.

In large platters.

And many different colors.

And lots and lots of butter, I’d bet.

It’s a tradition here at the Orpheum Theater for the ushers and friends of the theater to cook and bake their best from their own respective kitchens and then feed us a feast to end all feasts.

I mean, just look at it.
The only problem was that we had to do another show after this southern feast, so you know, I had to content myself with just one plate.

One packed plate.

Of food stacked right on top of each other.

Cause I had decided on just one plate.

And the pecan pie was heavenly. Just crumbled goodness on a fork.

Oh, and the sweet potatoes even rivaled my sister-in-law, Rebekah’s. Sorry Rebekah, but it’s true. I didn’t say they were better, mind you; I merely asserted the fact that they were contenders. But I think we can all agree that there is room in this great big world for two different plates of out-if-this-world delicious sweet potatoes.

And Memphis and Maryland are far enough apart from each other to let bygones be bygones, I’d say.

And another great part about this meal?

They gave each of us a to-go box and let us have at it.

So I got to take this
home.

And ate it after the second show, because believe it or not, after that first feast my stomach managed to get hungry all over again.

Yep, a pretty good day.

black and white and food downstairs

jessica — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 14:19:00 +0000

Yep, that’s right, a new bloggety design.

It was past time cause that green was even beginning to annoy me.

And I happen to be a big fan of green.

In the Great Change of ’09 I lost a few widgets and gadgets that I am currently trying to track down and get back, but other than that, I am pleased with this new design of black and white (and read all over. Get it? It’s a blog, so you read it, like that old joke about the newspaper,What’s black and white and read all over? only you say it instead of read it, so you think they’re referring to a color rather than an act. That’s the clever part. Oh, am I getting way too in depth for this tired old joke? Sorry).

But as to the missing widgets and gadgets, I’ve asked some of the best internet people I know about those. A brother and a friend. Oh, but they are two different people. I guess one is my brother and my friend, but the other is not my brother cause she’s a girl and a Hornbuckle, so not my brother, see? But a friend.

Anyway.

After only sleeping a measly five hours or so on Tuesday night, I made up for it smashingly by sleeping fourteen hours last night.

It’s a good thing that I finally woke up or else people might have wondered if I had gone and met my Maker.

Ah, people being Drew and the cats, considering they are the only ones around this morning. But still.

Although it wouldn’t have been the first time to have met him, my Maker, that is; I’ve met him already, and honestly, I am in no rush to leave this earth. Not because he isn’t awesome or anything like that, though. Maybe it’s all the green, cause I do love green as I said before, and there happens to be a ton of green things here.

And maybe it’s the people too.

Okay, definitely it’s the people.

People like my mom, who make sure that my kitchen looks like this,

stocked with all sorts of delicious and American food, so that I don’t have to go to bed hungry.

You know, they don’t have pretzels in Japan.

Okay, they sort of do, but they aren’t the same. And the same goes for Ritz crackers, too, if you were wondering.

And I was craving some pretzels like crazy. For a month. And now they are downstairs in our kitchen, just a stairs descent away, and this makes me feel so happy.

It’s amazing how much comfort a well-stocked kitchen can provide.

I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.

jessica — Fri, 28 Aug 2009 16:16:00 +0000

So some of the things that are lost in translation over here I just find hilarious.

Like tonight while a friend and I were looking through a rack of rompers I saw that the tag of a certain grey romper read: gley.

Ha. I smiled and moved on.

But then I saw something that was just too good to not document. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I am a staunch Eagles fan; where I live, it’s right up there with your religion. You’re Catholic and you’re an Eagles fan. Or you’re Jewish and you’re an Eagles fan. Or you’re like me: you’re a Christian who is also very much in love with a man who is very much obsessed with the eagles and you’re an Eagles fan.

And please excuse the excessive use of colons so far, not sure why I am so generous with them tonight, but I’ll just go with it.

Now with all that said, I was pretty surprised to see this printed on a knit dress in Harajuku, here in Tokyo.
So that’s for Josh, my brother who loves the Cowboys.

Not quite sure how he feels about the Delias Cowboys, though.

At least they don’t have to deal with T.O., I guess.

And in case you think I am not being adventurous enough by traveling halfway across the world, here’s proof that I am really living it up here.
Cause I ate one of those bad boys tonight.

And don’t be fooled by the fact that it kind of looks like a pancake.

Cause it didn’t taste like one in the least.

I’m not that lucky.

And just to come full circle, I will leave you with this: that was one last colon.

You’re welcome.

computers and kill bill cuisine

jessica — Fri, 21 Aug 2009 13:50:00 +0000

Drew and I have a new rule that involves computers and bathing.

You see, the other day I made a few mistakes.

Okay, well I probably make a few mistakes everyday but this one involved my beloved Mac.

I wanted to take a bath because I do this thing called A Chorus Line eight times a week and sometimes it just plain hurts. Also, the bathtub in my hotel room is so divine, though any bathtub that actually holds water and doesn’t drain as soon as I step in it is pretty fabulous compared to the one at my house.

But I also wanted to have the use of my computer.

Yeah, you probably see where this is going; you guys are smart like that.

My first mistake was bringing my Mac into the bathroom. My second mistake was setting it down on the toilet–a toilet, I should say, that has a particularly slanted and slippery lid. And my third mistake was, when the computer started sliding off of the toilet, jumping out of the bath while soaking wet and causing a small tidal wave to hit the keyboard as I grabbed it.

Shoot.

SHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!!!

I quickly and tenderly wiped it down and then bided my time.

And sure enough, later that night my Mac was acting funky. Whether I wanted it to or not, the mouse would highlight and drag everything it passed over. The backspace wasn’t working. It was slow, like I-might-as-well-dig-up-an-encyclopedia-and-do-my-research-there slow.

I told Drew and he was like, oh no.

Um, yeah, Drew, Oh no and then some!

But then he told me to leave the computer open for the night to let it dry out and see what happens in the morning. And I prayed for it. Some may think that’s strange but I think that if God cares about anything than he cares about everything; that, bottom line, he cares.

And what do you know, the morning came, and there was my computer, prettily humming away and working like a smooth operator.

OHHHH SHOOOOOOOOOOT!!!, but this time in a totally good way.

So thank you Drew for the good advice and thank you God for caring and no thank you to me for putting my mac in that precarious position in the first place.

But onto something else.

Tonight a group of us ate dinner at a restaurant that was used for one of the big fight scenes in Kill Bill. Too bad I still have not seen the movie and too bad I just ran out of my rocking yellow jumpsuits. Seriously, there are like three in my laundry right now.

In honor of its history, we decided to do some Kill Bill-ish moves.

But ended up looking more like mannequins. Whatever.

And the place was awesome. We had to take off our shoes and sit low to the ground and everything.
We even got to sit in a private room, the same one where President W himself sat when he dined there. And after enjoying seaweed salad, tofu, various skewers laden with meet, tomatoes wrapped in bacon, some sort of fish flake and potato concoction, and ice cream inundated with unidentified gelatinous cubes, we called it a night.

But not before I had a glass of plum wine, which is basically wine for toddlers and so it is actually pretty tasty.

And now, another bath. But I will be leaving my computer on the bed this time, don’t you worry.

another post about food and I don’t even cook.

jessica — Sun, 16 Aug 2009 14:39:00 +0000

Once I went to Africa.

I had thought that the wildness of the land, the lack of paved roads and street signs, the potential for lions to be licking their large chops around any corner would be exciting.

But once I got there, it was really just scary.

At least for the first few days. Then I got used to it. I learned to trust that the old jalopy that wouldn’t pass a test at the DMV if you bribed the attendant with stock in Google from way back when that they used to transport us would not fall apart or fall prey to some of the roaming herds that stood casually in the middle of the dirt roads. I decided that, after the first few days of visiting churches, orphanages, Compassion International, and Bible Colleges and always coming back, chances are that would keep happening: I would keep coming back.

So even when I was whisked off, by myself, to a tiny rustic church in a village that was no bigger than a few of the hallways of this sky rise hotel I’m now in, I just concluded that yeah, I’d come back.

But what I didn’t factor in was the meal I’d be expected to share before I came back.

With two men, two pastors, actually. And just me.

They treated me with all the pomp and honor they could afford, though it was probably more like all the pomp and honor that they couldn’t afford. They took me to a restaurant and in a country where only one meal a day is standard, they ordered me a meal. And not just a meal, but the works, from what I could tell.

We sat there, and when the first course came, I relaxed. It was bread. BREAD!!! And in my heart I greeted it like an old friend, only I never do eat my friends, old or young, so there was that. But bread I could totally handle. I could eat it anywhere, with the devil himself, if it was necessary.

Though I hope it never is.

I’m sort of counting on that.

We all dug in and have you ever seen a hungry person eat?

I mean someone who is truly famished, who probably hasn’t eaten since yesterday, and carries the kind of leanness that has nothing to do with those size 2 jeans and everything to do with a lack of food.

These men ate with gusto. I tried to keep up and honestly I wasn’t doing so badly with the bread. The bread that was like an old friend only not because I am not a cannibal and I think Hannibal Lector is one of the most frightening villains ever. Genius, but scary as all get-out.

But then out came the second course and Hannibal Lector himself might have gotten a little weak in the knees at the thought of consuming it. My heart dropped and I asked God for courage. It was a mash of some sort, green in color, mealy in nature and steaming with a smell that had never before presented itself to me.

Which was just fine.

The waiter placed it before each of us, respectively, and I gave my newest nemesis a good stare down. I sized up it’s weakness and came up with a plan of action while the men beside me started shoveling the food into their mouths. Devouring it. Like it was the best thing ever. Like it wasn’t a mash or green or mealy or smelly.

Oh man.

I picked up my spoon and started to follow suite. Only I had a trick up my sleeve; one rarely survives a house full of three older brothers without making sure to never leave home without one. Or never come home without one, for that matter. See, I vaguely remembered that the taste buds were on the tongue (remember? 3 whole science credits from college!) and I was hoping that they were on the forefront of the tongue.

My whole plan hinged on that, actually.

Cause I just tossed the mash into the back of my throat, bypassing the taste buds and going almost directly down the hatch (yes, hatch is totally the technical term. 3 credits, people, 3 credits!). And it worked. Kind of. Cause slowly but surely the food was disappearing from the bowl.

But not fast enough, I guess, because one of the men paused mid-feasting and asked me pointedly, Are you not hungry?

I thought about who I was talking to. That many of these villages do not have enough food for the people, that many of them live a pretty hungry life and that to be “not hungry” is a luxury that is rarely afforded.

I re-doubled my efforts right after I told them that I was hungry. And I ate that food, that awful food. Because I don’t ever want to turn down somebody’s kindness. I don’t ever want to deprive anyone from the blessing that comes of giving out of nothing.

Nor do I ever want to be somebody who turns down a meal that others would devour.

I guess this came back to me because I went out for Indian food tonight with some friends. Two of these friends were so excited that I had never had it before and therefore wanted to show me the ropes, so to speak.

They ordered dish after dish, putting pieces of this and that on my plate.

And there I was armed with a fork and nothing to lose.

Did I love everything that I tasted?

DO YOU EVEN HAVE TO ASK?

Of course not. Not even close. I could go on and on about the cilantro that seemed to be the Indian version of salt and pepper, it was scattered throughout the dishes so generously; the potato that was (horror of horrors!) mashed and mealy and orange (and no, it wasn’t a yam; please, I am not that lucky), the spicy bread that wasn’t bread at all because isn’t like one of the cardinal rules of bread that it be soft? And before you start telling me about crusty french bread and matzo bread and other hard breads that all you smart people can think of whereas I run out after only listing two, maybe I should rephrase it and say that it’s one of my cardinal rules for bread.

That it be soft and IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?

It’s not like I’m wanting it served on the tip of a unicorn’s horn or anything extravagant like that. Sheesh.

But as I was saying, some of the food was hard to swallow. And that was after the very difficult part of chewing it and tasting it, so my strength was already a bit flagged by the time it came to actually swallowing the stuff.

But.

My friends were just so excited. They wanted to share their knowledge of Indian cuisine with me; they loved it and were happy to see cilantro brighten up my night too.

So I ate it. All of it. There was not one thing that I didn’t try.

And we all had a smashing time.

And later on in the night, the waiter brought out some more bread. Soft bread this time. Delicious in all ways and here we go with me telling you how it was like seeing an old friend, unexpectedly.

Only, you know, in this scenario it doesn’t end with me eating the old friend.

But I already explained that, I know.

And I guess my point is that sometimes there are just some things that are more important than a certain meal tasting good. Even when you’re picky, even when you’re me.

Oh, and some of the Indian food really was good; not every bite of it was simply for friendship’s sake, if you know what I mean.

oh the food

jessica — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 16:21:00 +0000

While doing a publicity event today, I was fed a boxed lunch.

Japanese-style.

As in, a whole bunch of sushi that came in a very big box.

Once again, I tried valiantly to like it, and although this time it wasn’t slathered in mayonnaise or secretly hiding a horrible surprise tucked deep inside known as wasabi, it still tasted like a little dead fish that crawled out of the ocean into my mouth.

And unfortunately, there was no soy sauce to drown my sorrows in either.

And here’s the thing: yes, I am in a foreign and evocative country and yes, I want to experience everything this country has to offer; but when that includes tastes that make me want to stop chewing and start spitting, then yes, I will go elsewhere. Because I am in a show that involves some energy and hey, a girl’s gotta eat. So how terrible would it be if I confessed that I went to KFC today after the whole boxed lunch affair? And how awful would it be if I told you just how much I enjoyed that crispy chicken sandwich that was blessedly devoid of mayonnaise or wasabi or anything that had recently had a P.O. box in the Pacific Ocean?

Because I did.

And another thing, sometimes it’s better just not to ask.

We were all feasting on some delicious bread at dinner tonight. The bread was black, but not burnt. It was a little toasty, but soft in the middle. I just assumed that it was made from olives or something and though I don’t like olives in the least, I decided to just go with it because like I said, the bread was smashingly good.

So when my friend asked the waiter why the bread was black and he methodically told us squid ink?

I just kept chewing.

That makes up for KFC in a moment of weakness today, right?

thick as thieves

jessica — Fri, 07 Aug 2009 04:16:00 +0000

Friends. And it’s been that way for a long time now.

Erin, the beauty in the middle, I met in a rather unconventional way, I’d say. See, I was on the toilet. Yep, On. The. Toilet. But back up a bit, cause there’s more to this story. I was maybe five years old and had some sort of digestive problem, to put it delicately. Basically the hairs that move the food along in the large intestine up and died on me (thanks a lot, hairs) and left me unable to go numero dos.

But since I didn’t stop eating, I didn’t stop trying, if you know what I mean.

So I spent a lot of time on the toilet.

And I guess my mom just decided to keep life as normal as possible for me while I was on that toilet. Thus she introduced me to the new girl, Erin, while I was on the toilet. Straining, if you must know.

And that was it. It sealed the deal for us, I guess, because we’ve been the best of friends since then. And tonight we spent a long time sitting down and talking, sharing our hearts; it was soul food, you know?

But no, I was not on the toilet.

This time.

And Christine, the beauty on the right? Well I don’t technically remember meeting her. I think I might have been three years old or something. I do, however, remember her running around outside my house, tanned and tomboyish, and eating tomatoes whole. Like an apple. It made an impression on me, I guess.

And we’ve been together ever since, thick as thieves, as they say.

Actually, the three of us are thick as thieves.

And if you can say that ten times in a row I will totally give you a high five.