Last Friday night Bianca invited me to her East Village apartment for dinner. One of the perks of having a cousin at NYU is getting to breezily mention that I have dinner plans in the East Village - the poser in me has always wanted to say that. I predict in a few months (...days? No, minutes) a strong urge to delete the previous sentence from the Internet Public Record. The least favorite part of having a cousin in the East Village is five flights of extremely steep stairs. In hindsight I should have carbo-loaded prior to dinner. Carol and Sarah are visiting in July - if you are reading this ladies, I suggest you start training now.
This chef is a bit camera shy.
To be honest, other then a shot of garlic in a pan I didn't get too many action shots of B in the kitchen, with the exception of this one, where Bianca's friend Jesse bagged an assist in the browning of the ground beef. They didn't know I took it, so no blurry shots of the chefs trying to dart out of shot. Note I took this sitting on the living room couch, which was against the wall, and I'd say this photo accurately represents the distance at which I was sitting. This apartment is NY small, but honestly really charming.
Small kitchen, great meal.
Like Bianca, Jesse is a native Northern Californian, which may explain why she just casually threw together a simple but perfect argula salad (on the coffee table, no less) dressed with lemon, olive oil, salt, and parmesan. Could I do that at 23? Doubt it.
Edible Italian Flag
After dinner Bianca, her roommate Sunny, Jesse, and I went dancing on Ludlow Street in the Lower East Side. I took this photo in the bathroom of the first bar we went to, Dark Room. A perfect summary of my current, conflicted thoughts on romance.
"Do not fall in love" / "Love is Possible"
Update: I just noticed I didn't swear once in this blogpost. Aww shit.
I say FALL IN LOVE. F it!
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