MonsterWine – Tuscany

Posted on September 17, 2010 by erinparker75

Monsterville Horton IV, CWE is to whom I credit my wine snobbery. Before Monsterville, I was quite content to pop to the shop for a $5 bottle of Barefoot Pinot Grigio and begin my weekend drinking this frightful juice with a fervor that can only match a man staggering through the desert for a week, parched and seeking his oasis.

Yes ladies and gentlemen, that was me. A baby, an amateur, an ignoramus. Well, that all changed the moment Monsterville entered my life with his intoxicating wine and cheese pairing class. Honestly did I ever have much of a chance? Two of my favorite things – wine and cheese – how could I not succumb to his tempting ways? And with Monsterville being a Certified Wine Expert (CWE and one of only 140 in the entire WORLD), he knew the song to sing that would melt my heart.

And so began my love affair with good, and I mean certifiably good, wine. My bank account does not thank me, but my body does.

We had the pleasure of attending his Italian class last night focusing on the Tuscany region. Um. Yum.

Take a peek at this dazzling menu:

MonsterWine Presents:

Italian wine and food – Tuscany

Aperitif
Barone Fini Pinot Grigio

1st Course
Traditional bruschetta w/ tomatoes, Wine Cup Farms basil & aged balsamic
Paired with: 2008 Le Rote Vernaccia di San Gimignano
2006 Frescobaldi Nipozzano Chianti Rufina Riserva

2nd Course
Pappardelle w/ duck ragu
Paired with: 2007 Ambra Carmginana “Santa Cristina”
2006 Palazzino Chianti Classico “Grosso Sanese”
2005 Terrabianca Campaccio

3rd Course
Bistecca Fiorentina w/ arugula, piave, balsamic vinegar & extra virgin olive oil
Paired with: 2004 Sesti Brunello di Montalcino
2004 Argiano Brunello di Montalcino

4th Course
Mascarpone cheesecake w/ strawberry sauce
Paired with: Moscato from Spain (don’t have label info)

Chef: Jennifer Hill

Salivating? Yeah, we were too when we could smell the aromas wafting through the kitchen and teasing our noses.

The bruschetta – oh em gee – never have I had bruschetta like this. Buttery, crunchy bread that was perfectly crispy on the outside and fluffy inside. Topped with tangy tomatoes and delicate Piave flakes, I had a hard time breathing between bites. Plus, the peppery basil was just picked that morning from the farm! Love.

A little note about olive oil: did you know, that unlike wine, olive oil is best when it’s young? Harvest season is post wine stomping time, usually Nov – Jan. The one we tried last night was Novello (Italian for “new”) 2009-10 – straight from Tuscany!

The duck ragu is a traditional Tuscan dish. Long, flat pasta wrapping its starchy arms around shredded roasted duck, all sitting in a light and airy sauce that is weightless yet dense at the same time. Such a lovely savory dish. Add some fried sage and pow! That’s right – fried fresh sage leaves right on top. Who came up with that? Genius. Top with buttery Asiago and duck cracklins. You read that right. All made in house.

The bistecca fiorentina is a classic Italian dish – and made my mind and my stomach happy since the beef was all-natural and free of hormones and antibiotics. The meat is tender and flavorful enough to stand on its own – it was only accompanied by EVOO, salt and pepper, and a drizzle of 10 year balsamic vinegar. Heaven. I’d like to tell you I was a lady and practiced self control by only eating half (isn’t that the rule?) but I couldn’t resist – I devoured. Every. Last. Bit. And then I licked my plate. When no one was looking!!! I’m not an animal.

Mascarpone cheesecake – never been a fan of mascarpone. UNTIL last night. I think the chef was actually putting crack in the food. That is the only way to explain why the two of us ate like unruly beasts. Creamy, soft, sweet but not too sweet and married perfectly with the Moscato. Happy campers right here.

Chef Jennifer Hill is a magic maker. Her food is brilliant. Get some.

So this makes four classes that I’ve done:

Wine and Cheese Pairings
German and Austrian Wines (ß b/c of this class I now like Rieslings! Thanks M!)
Piedmont
Tuscany


Some wine descriptions last night that I found quite humorous:

dusty cocoa
dirt
black currant (what IS that?)
sex bomb
silky and sensual
like a big breasted woman
masculine
finesse
leather

Yes, these were all statements from last night. Who DOESN’T want to drink sex bomb wine???? That term was used in reference to the Brunello, and when it was said, I nodded knowingly. It just fits.

I’ve come so far from my Barefoot and Kendall Jackson days. And thank goodness. Cause life’s too short to drink bad juice.

Trivia question: does anyone know what a Super Tuscan wine is?

Catch more of Monsterville at MonsterGourmet, his new catering company specializing in corporate lunches with an emphasis on organics and locally grown ingredients. Not only does this resonate deeply within my soul, but his food choices are anything but ordinary. Things like a mango, avocado and cilantro salad, seafood and meat platters, hummus, veggie sandwiches and organic agave soft drinks make my heart flutter. Ah-mazing folks.

European summer tour posts to resume shortly 🙂

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7 Tips For Pamplona

Posted on September 16, 2010 by erinparker75

You too, can look like him

So here’s the thing with Pamplona – I could have used a few tips when making arrangements for this trip. Knowing certain things in advance would have greatly increased the comfort factor in many situations while we were there. That being said, here is my little take on what you should keep in mind, should you run with the bulls…

Book lodging 6 months out, minimum, otherwise plan on camping, and bring all your gear. You can also get creative and try www.vrbo.com for vacation rentals, www.couchsurfing.com for a free place, or the omnipresent craigslist.

Buy your Pamplona kit once there. Don’t worry about having clothes before – heaps of vendors sell everything that you will need for the festivities.

Wear closed toe shoes that you won’t care to throw away when you’re done with the festivities.

Limit personal belongings to a bare minimum. Can be a bit tricky if you have to drop your bag at a consigna like we did, but let’s face it – bulky purses only get in the way of dancing. You won’t care what you have on you at 5am anyway. Leave it.

Carry toilet paper. Crucial!!!!

Arrive at fence at 5am to get spot on post. Have bottle(s) of wine, friends, cards, etc. to pass the time.

Have a jacket and scarf – it gets chilly early in the morning when you stop dancing and are soaked in wine.

Pamplona by day

Buena suerte amigos. Disfrutalos todo y emborrachalos!!!

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Pamplona – no sleep there

Posted on September 14, 2010 by erinparker75


For 6 hours I’m heading north –passing through the breathtaking Spanish countryside that begs my attention and steals my sleep. Town after town blurs by, and I smile as we pass Avila, the ancient walled city that houses so many memories of a lifetime passed. A lifetime of seven years ago, being accosted by a bachelor party disguised as monks, street rapping – the things that no one can understand; except those that were there with me. My private smile remains, hiding my secrets.

see the gorilla face?

I arrive in Vitoria, the ancient Basque city known as Gasteiz, and for a brief moment I panic that I’ve gotten on the wrong train. This panic is inevitable every time I travel. I fear I’ve made an error, misunderstood the native language, even though I speak Spanish. All the signs say Gasteiz, but I was sure that my stop was the last.

Finally I see a sign indicating Vitoria/Gasteiz, and as I step off the train, I hear a loud holler that can only belong to an unabashed Texan – Lonster. I see him pass through the crowd, his huge backpack and a smile that takes me back to Ecuador circa 2006. We meet again – my travel buddy and I.

In true globe trekker style, we immediately hop a train to Pamplona, no time to rest or shower. We arrive in Pamplona and are immersed in a sea of red and white. Everyone, and I mean everyone, is wearing the traditional white and red outfits, complete with scarves and handkerchiefs. Lonster and I find a shop selling the outfits and jump on board. I’ll admit – I threw a bit of a fit and wasn’t happy until I had one, too.

It says I love San Fermin, not San Francisco!

Getting to said plaza (above) was a bit of a journey as we schlepped our 20 kilo bags through narrow and crowded streets, knocking aside reveler after drunken reveler with our loot. People in Europe lack in innate spacial understanding of objects, and therefore I always felt I had to plow through people when the requisite “perdona” didn’t seem to accomplish what I was envisioning/had been brought up to understand. Whatevs. Maybe I was just jealous that I had to carry a stupid bag instead of dancing around in a wine waterfall. It’s hard to tell. We proceed to drop off our bags (no place to sleep for the night, but at least our bags are safe) and grab dinner: bocadillos and a box of red wine.

Each.

Duh, it’s Spain.

We are there for the opening ceremonies, and dance around fireworks (cohetes – new word I learned) that rival our 4th of July, mariachis and enough Mexicans to make you wonder if you took the wrong plane, and plenty of bars and restaurants to last until the morning sun rises.

I buy more wine. As you can see, most of it ends up on clothing anyway. I wondered how that happened…

El Matador!

Pamplona Pamplona Pamplona. Never in my life will I experience something like that again. Crowds that never seem to dissipate, music that refuses to stop, and wine that flows like water. Seriously, the wine. It is ALWAYS there.

The plazas are filled with music, happiness, cultures, the world, laughter and dancing. There is energy everywhere – not a silent corner or nook where silence lingers.

We get more wine.

this is how the stains happen

Gotta love those wine casks.

We met friends from Switzerland earlier who, much to my surprise, were quite enthused about us being Americans. How bout that? We bumped into them again during the night and proceeded to spend hours frothing in a wine frenzy.

Before the sun rises, Lonster says it’s time to settle down and act like adults. Right. So, we wander off to stake our claim along the bull path, but by 6am it was already too late. These people are professionals, and most have had their spot claimed since 5am. Damn our amateur ways!

I get more wine.

putting up the fence

Since we were too late for a place up on the fence, I find a spot on the ground and crouch between legs to catch a glimpse of the track. Lonster, not satisfied with my choice, takes off. I spot him later scaling a lamp post for the best vantage point in the vicinity. You little monkey you. He is soon told to get down by the beret toting Basque policemen. Shame.

I’ll admit – the running was a bit anticlimactic. But I think it’s because we were posted at the last bit and by that time, everyone had already been gored and plowed over. And that’s kinda what I came to see.

Very well then. By 10am it’s time to bugger off. I’m exhausted. So we find a cozy spot and go to sleep.

I was all curled up and in a dreamlike slumber on my bench when lo and behold some drunk idiot decided to push me off so HE could sleep there instead. Um, no. I’m sure you’re used to most girls simply obliging and carrying on with their business. But listen sir – I’m from TEXAS. We don’t back down that easy, and we sure as hell ain’t afraid of a little confrontation. So I let him have it. And he buggered off.

whose toes are those?

our bed. my purse was my pillow. cozy.

our breakfast

The morning of, we ate breakfast in the grass next to the homeless men and then wandered around town with the sun shining down on us. Armed with 2 fresh pairs of eyes ready to take in the sights, we emerged from our stupor and out into the daytime bustle of Pamplona.

And Oh Sweet Baby Jesus. We were the ONLY ones in wine soaked apparel. Humiliating. So there we were, wandering around among families – grandparents, children, babies, parents – looking like a couple of drunken slobs. Brilliant. And where pray tell are all the people from the night before??? Vanished into thin air I tell you.

Basque flag

leftovers

leaving Pamplona

Right. Time for the beach. On to San Sebastian via the Guggenheim in Bilbao….

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Holland

Posted on August 6, 2010 by erinparker75

I was sooooo looking forward to a good romp in the Netherlands. Holland is one of my favorite countries – and I’m sure a lot of that sentiment has to do with the fact that I have some very, very dear friends there. Friends that are so dear to my heart I keep flying across the Atlantic to see them.

This time Lana was accompanying me – this being her first time in Holland. The requisite tourist spots were on the list: coffee shops, canals, the Red Light District…but the majority of our time would be spent in Utrecht where my friend Merlijn lives.

We begin our trip in the airport. Shocker. But where in the airport you ask? At the bar of course! Let me explain: Lana is TERRIFIED of flying. So me, being the good and supportive friend I am, marched her promptly over to get a beer in her empty system. I opted for wine cause beer + plane = bloat. Anywho, we were off to a slow start. One beer wasn’t going to cut it. We hop onto our flight with KLM (my favorite airline of all time – please go out of your way to fly with them, you won’t regret it) and are delighted to discover that the beverages are free. I don’t think you heard me. The ALCOHOLIC beverages are free. We asked three times just to clarify, and make sure there were no language barriers causing us to misunderstand. Free wine?! Is this heaven? No. Just the Royal Dutch Airlines. Which may, in fact, be heaven. Needless to say, the winos (me and L) took full advantage of the situation…

the beginning of our flight

the end of our flight

We arrive in Amsterdam around 11pm (2300h <– hee hee) in a flurry of giddy laughter and restless anticipation. We are ready to attack the night and leave no survivors. We collect our bag (consolidation is key, we flew with one bag) and went outside to meet our ride.

Me: I don’t see my friends.

Lana: I see a bar. Want a shot?

Me: Yes I do.

After taking our shots, my friends arrive and sweep us away to the bustle of Amsterdam, where people were rolling joints and smoking right in the bars. Only here folks. We did not go to bed until well after the sun peeked his little head over the horizon. Bravo to us.

The next day we opted for a tamer version of Holland and signed up with a walking tour that our hostel sponsored. We gathered in a huge plaza by the Royal Palace for this tour, when I turned my head slightly to the side and saw a cafe beckoning me with cozy chairs, “milky coffee” and grand sweeping patio umbrellas. Our fate was sealed. We ditched the tour and opted for legally addictive substances instead. Which, in Holland, I guess could mean reefer. But in this scenario I am referring to coffee.

that's for you, C-Murdah

We also visited the Anne Frank house. This was my 2nd time there so I already knew the story and what to expect, but the following photo of Otto Frank was something I had never seen before:

This photo was to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the Anne Frank house. When I saw it, I stopped completely and everything inside me froze. If you can, try to blow it up and get a closer look. I don’t know why, but looking into his face I felt all of the agony at once that this family experienced, incapsulated in this one still shot. Emotions raged through me when I saw it: grief, anger, desperation, vengeance, immense sorrow…tearing at my heart ferociously. It left me perplexed and a bit frightened but I was glued to that spot. It took me a long while before I was able to carry on. I did not expect an impact like that. And that photo has haunted me since.

Quickly following was the Holland/Brasil game. HUGE game. Lana and I were craving Mexican food (typical – we’re Texasns) so we found ourselves a little restaurant with a huge television. There we watched the madness that was the Dutch victory.

HOLLAND WINS!!!!

The streets were insane! We walked around, partaking in the antics, when suddenly we find ourselves in the midst of a Brasilian street drumming session. It was fab. Swirls of yellow, blue, green and orange were vibrating, dancing and thrashing in a beautiful chaotic frenzy. The excitement was palpable. I wanted to reach out and grab these sensations and pocket them for later use. But that would have been weird…

drumming and capoeira

Very well. Time to hop the train for Utrecht.

Day 1 in Utrecht involved sailing. Very, very cold sailing. The Dutchies (as I so love to call them) were perfectly fine, while we (the Americans) were freezing. Hey we’re from the South! Give me a break. ‘Twas chilly. Sailing was perfect. Wine, snacks, sandwiches…and I even got some sailing lessons. I was a natural at holding that rope taut. My knots were another story. Nautical knots. Alliteration, but only when saying it out loud 🙂

sweet Merlijn

rained out

Unpredictable Dutch weather didn’t let us down, and we ended up getting rained out. We sail (or paddle) into the marina as the freezing rain is pouring on us. Never ones to be discouraged, we simple bring all of our supplies into the boat house and subsequently order snacks and drinks. It was a successful day after all.

Day 2 involved a beach trip to Bloemendaal (Bloomingdale). This is one of my favorite Dutch spots for a beach party! Great music, (see here) great beaches and great people watching. We didn’t make it past the transvestite who was manning the door for the Bloomingdale 2010 CD release party, but we could hear the music from the beach so we were just fine. I didn’t want my outfit picked apart, anyway. She was ruthless! I’m sure I would have cried.

Our flight didn’t leave until late Monday night, so we head back into Amsterdam and play around a bit more before flying back to Spain.

we weren't really sure how to drink with this contraption

Fail? Who knows...

Now back to Spain

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Madrid and Alicante

Posted on August 3, 2010 by erinparker75

Spain Spain Spaaaaaaaaaaain!

My flight to Barajas was teeming with students, journeying over to do a study abroad stint in one of my favorite countries. What I wouldn’t give to be back in that position and do it all over again…

I didn’t sleep on the flight (mistake) and after dropping my stuff off at Lana’s, it was time for my first cafe con leche in 7 years. 7! Surely that has something to do with luck

It was the best coffee I’ve ever had. And it has nothing to do with the fact that I was in Madrid – honest!

I had no time to recover from my jet lag OR the fact that I didn’t sleep on the way over. There were World Cup games to be watched and drinks on the terrace to be had.

Carol y Dulce 🙂

We only spent a few days in Madrid before we headed off for the beach in Alicante. Madrid was hot. Like Houston hot. And Mama didn’t come to Europe to be hot, so we were off!

these were all over the countryside

“molino de viento” en espanol…

We arrive and schlep our bags around trying to find the perfect pension. We find a place to rest our weary heads and pop back out for cocktails on the beach.

The waiter laughed at me when I asked if they had sangria. Laughed! What is it, sir? I am just supposed to “assume” that every bar in Spain has sangria?

There was a cool medieval festival taking place in the plaza next to our pension. There were even men on horses who fought with lances! I KNEW we picked the perfect day to come to Alicante!

Alicante is full of these charming, winding streets and alleyways – one in which we decided to treat ourselves to a really nice dinner. Just because.

That night I told Lana we would be going out at the port. She was a bit dubious about my suggestion since ports have a reputation of being a bit dodgy. Unfortunately I have no photographic evidence to demonstrate to you how lovely the port actually is. But I will give you this tip: telling Spanish men that you are Russian virtually shuts them up and makes them leave. Most don’t speak Russian. Mwhahahahaha!

We came home at 6am that night…morning. Esta es la vida de España!

The next day we did some inquiring and discovered that Playa San Juan was just down the road and a much better way to spend our time while in Alicante. So we hop on a bus and head that way.

that’s a castle on that hill!

playa San Juan

Playa San Juan was definitely the right choice. The beaches were gorgeous and surrounded by mountains in the distance, and it had more of a hipster vibe that suited us better. The day was perfect. This is what I picture Ibiza to be like, except much cheaper

The only way to celebrate a successful day at the beach is with a bottle of Cava!

We head back to the main part of town around 11PM and notice hordes of people flocking to the main beach as the bus drops us off. There was something happening, but we didn’t know what. So we popped over the Chino for some sustenance (Champagne) and then followed everyone to the beach.

the castle at night! sadly, this was as close as we got to it.

The beach was covered with people just waiting, waiting, waiting. We didn’t know what for, but we were waiting too. Shirley it must be something good! In the meantime, we had our champagne to occupy us.

Por fin! Fireworks! What a lovely eve in Alicante

Our last day there, we wandered around, had a leisurely lunch and then bid ourselves adieu. This was a very special lunch for me as it was my first and only meal in Spain where I actually had a plate full of vegetables. The Spaniards don’t like their veggies, I tell ya. It was like lookin’ for a whore in church trying to find anything like that in a bloody restaurant. My body was screaming for some nutrients. Like potassium. Poor body.

gloriousness

Next destination: the Netherlands

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Erin Envelops Europe

Posted on July 31, 2010 by erinparker75

How’s that for alliteration? I try, I try.

June 20 marked the beginning of a month long gift to myself: New York City, Spain, the Netherlands, and Canada.

The premise behind the trip was to visit my friend Lana, mate from university and life long girlfriend. She has been living in Madrid for the past 2 years and to be honest, I got really tired of her bragging about it all the time. I used to live there too ya know, you aren’t that special! Okay….she is. So I had had enough and decided it was time for a visit to my old stomping grounds, by way of NYC of course because, why not?

So my story begins in New York…

…where my driver scoops me up

He sasses me a lot, but overall Jenkins is a very amiable soul.

We pass right on through Manhattan and on to White Plains. I’m so over Manhattan. White Plains is where it’s at. They have this amazing restaurant there called the Cheesecake Factory. I wish we had one of those here.

After doing some time in suburbia hell, I move on to Midtown with my favorite Russian. Anyone who knows Marina knows that whatever the night holds, copious amounts of alcohol are always involved. She treated me to a lovely date at a rooftop terrace – 230 Fifth

The views were pretty spectacular and the bar was uber New York City. I had to stuff my clutch with $100 bills just so I would fit in.

Dinner for the night was Pipa’s, perhaps the best Spanish food I’ve had this side of the Atlantic. And NO ONE has better sangria. NO ONE. I dare you to prove me wrong. One jarra at a time…

You can see I ordered my staple, croquetas, while Marina got tortilla. Never been a huge fan of tortilla but the croquetas were      D-I-V-I-N-A.

We finished the night at one of my favorite spots, Rockwood Music Hall, with some of my favorite people, Deena Goodman and Alexandrea Rowell. The music was lovely, the company was even better, and I was glowing with excitement over being back in New York with some of the greatest people I know.

The next day, my Russian princess took me to Chelsea Pier to nurse our hangovers

which was followed by lunch at Mercer Kitchen

But our day still isn’t over. I whimpered a bit when Marina wanted to go get some more cocktails, but I could not let her see any weakness. She can smell fear. So we move on to Plunge – great views of the city and horrendous, over priced wine in plastic cups. I hate drinking out of plastic unless I’m on a picnic or at the beach. And even then it’s questionable. It may have something to do with BPA and my tiny problem with ingesting chemicals. No class, this place.

Remember that Sex and the City episode where they get kicked out of that exclusive pool?! It’s right there!!! —->

It looked way cooler on the show.

My New York story ends here folks. Time for Spain…

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Texas Wine Country

Posted on June 11, 2010 by erinparker75

Raul and I decided to pop over to the Texas Wine Country last weekend – one final hurrah together before our big trips (him: Africa – work; her: NYC, Spain, Netherlands, Canada – pleasure).

Texas is hot. In case you haven’t noticed. And I like to sit outside, pretty much all the time. Which means May – November, in order to have my way, I must embrace the glistening film of moisture coating my body from head to toe.

Here’s another thing you may not know about me. I HATE heat and humidity.

Mmmhmm.

Anywho, we popped on over to Texas Hills Vineyard first, extremely excited to be having a day of wine tours.

Texas wineries are, well….different. And they are so stingy with their pours! Come on guys. You can give me more than 1/2 ounce. I know it’s not fair to compare the two, but in Napa they just eye ball it as they pour. There’s none of this “plastic stopper” nonsense that will only give you a tiny sip. Just sayin….

Texas Hills ended up being a pretty stereotypical Southern experience. Our “pourer” was friendly and chatty. And then she started telling us about an even BETTER wine festival up in Marble Falls, where they serve buffalo wings and chili cheese fries with the wines.

“It’s awesome.”

She asked where we were going to dinner that night, and recommended a place with fabulous fried German food. Raul told her we were going to “August E’s“, a restaurant with a Zagat rating of 27. She scrunched up her nose and said it might be okay, if you like that sort of thing. Good food? Meh. It’s alright.

Raul tasting at Wood Rose…

We opted for the cellar tour at Grape Creek.

This tour consisted of a brief tour of the production process and 3 wine tastings. Three. If you’ve been reading my blog, you know our last cellar tour at Del Dotto was something out of a fairy tale. And we tried about 15 wines that day.

It just wasn’t the same. We hung our heads and left.

After nap time, we head out for dinner at August E’s.

Our wine for the evening –

You can take the kids out of Napa…

I got the New Zealand rack of lamb in a cherry balsamic sauce with whipped sweet potatoes

And Raul opted for the trio of steak, quail and scrimps

I’ll see YOU in New York City….

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Andalucia

Posted on May 8, 2010 by erinparker75

Step aside, Mi Luna, there’s a new kid in town. And he knows the proper way to my heart – authentic tapas, wine served in vasos, and live flamenco music and dancing.

The boy and I found ourselves downtown – hungry, thirsty, and craving a little culture. I had wanted to patronize Andalucia for a couple of weeks now and was elated at the chance to go on a Friday night for a true feel of the place.

I literally squealed when they brought us our wine in these glorious vessels….

JUST LIKE SPAIN! When I lived there, I was confused at the lack of wine glasses in the country. Wine is served just like this actually, and I was so happy at being reminded. Props to you, Andalucia. Props to you.

I literally refuse to go to a Spanish restaurant and not order the croquetas. It is one of my fiercest prerequisites. So we snagged a plate of those and their patatas bravas

The croquetas were an unlikely blend of potatoes, goat cheese, raisins and leeks that came together in perfect harmony inside my mouth, and belted their melodious tunes all the way down my throat. I’m kind of in love. The patatas bravas were incredibly spicy (good thing in our book) and perfectly crunchy on the outside. Check.

Raul next ordered the albondigas marroquis (Moroccan meatballs)

However I was not a fan. I could taste the factory farm in the meat. I bet the cow spent most of his life crying before he became those meatballs. Poor cow.

I opted for the earth-friendly spinach salad – complete with beets, pan-fried goat cheese, cinnamon spiced apples and a delicious berry vinaigrette.

We were fortunate enough to have Solero Flamenco as our entertainment for the evening. The beautiful Irma La Paloma es la cante (sings), and her voice melts like butter throughout the entire room, coating you in a sweet film of stillness. It is powerful and raw, and when she sang we couldn’t move. We perched on our chairs, hanging on every word, lest we miss something. It seemed irreverent to speak over her story. Jeremy es el toque (guitar) and his music is so moving that at times I had to remind myself I was in a restaurant in downtown Houston and not sitting around the campfire in the Spanish countryside, listening to the gypsies sing and dance and tell their stories. The vision was so real I could almost reach out and touch them. He blends music with the singing and dancing to an almost unrealistic perfection, and the intensity of his playing was burned into our souls. We were mesmerized. Pair both of them with the flamenco dancing, a passionate frenzy of turmoil, enthusiasm and fire, and the entire show comes together in bewitching unity.

It’s easy to get swept away with them.

We stayed until they finished playing, then ended up taking shots and having dinner with them and hearing their stories.

the lovely Irma - my hat inspired one of her songs that night!

Andalucia definitely gets 5 stars. Because it’s just so pretty inside 🙂

Go here! Go here! Go here! And check out Solero Flamenco’s website and go see them too.

Posted in Foodie Love, Review | Tagged , | 1 Comment

A Festivus For The Rest Of Us

Posted on April 20, 2010 by erinparker75

I do love a good festival. And iFest has never disappointed. I know it’s a tall order, but this really is a phenomenal experience. And the focus is the Caribbean this year!! Hello?!!? In another life, I think I actually was a tropical island.

But I just love how worlds collide here. One giant embrace for every language and culture. Color and sound saturation. Acceptance and love. People eager to know and experience and share and grow. It’s such an open, beautiful environment, and every time I’m there I let this feeling pull me into its current where I can float along in my own bubble of happiness.

Drawing me out this year was Ozomatli, closing out Saturday night’s lineup. You may remember them from such films as Never Been Kissed. If you don’t know their music, it’s “a notorious urban-Latino-and-beyond collision of hip hop and salsa, dancehall and cumbia, samba and funk, merengue and comparsa, East LA R&B and New Orleans second line, Jamaican ragga and Indian raga” Kind of awesome.

But we headed in early to see Moodafaruka – a brilliant blend of flamenco guitar, Spanish and Middle Eastern sounds. Love!

Oh and Barry was there.

Moodafaruka’s energy and sound was intoxicating. It’s clear how much this 8 piece band loves their music. Plus, I was happy with the intimacy of the setting. Small stage, kicking back in a couple of chairs with our thimbles full of wine (it was a pour fit for a baby), under the shade of a lovely tree. Bliss!

Ozomatli’s entrance. Tried to post the video but it didn’t work 😦

We rounded out the weekend with brunch. Is it embarrassing to say that I haven’t done a proper brunch/Sunday Funday for 2010 yet? Don’t condemn me. I’ve been….busy?

Anywho, we tried for Tiny Boxwoods, but that operation got postponed. Sad. So we moved on to Benjy’s, drawn by their Blood Orange Mimosas. A whole carafe please. No, for each person. Pinky’s up!

…then you have Richard’s lame ass getting cranberry juice. No – no, no vodka. Just….juice.

Raul and Richard opted for the Beef Arepas, which were scrumpdidillyuptious! It’s a word – look it up.

However I was only allowed one bite so I am unable to describe them in their entirety to you. But, I do have something to confess. And I’m ashamed. I ordered meat. Yes, factory farmed meat in a restaurant. I’m not happy about it, but I read so many reviews on Yelp to try the “chicken stack” and I admit, my curiosity was piqued. Don’t judge! You stumble too, friends.

Here it is, in all it’s aesthetic glory-

Pretty, ain’t she? Well let me tell you – mama was not impressed. FIRST OF ALL, the description on the menu clearly states avocado. You see that tiny sliver of avocado on the side there? Mmhmm. That was it. That’s the “avocado”. I do not like restaurants who are stingy with it! Now let’s get to the meat of the matter. (love puns!) The chicken was full blown awful. And not just because every time I took a bite I felt my morals being chewed up and swallowed with it! The consistency was rubbery and old. It tasted like it was fake. Fake meat. How does a chicken pull that off? It was an odd sensation. I regretted my choice immediately, and subsequently picked the meat away from the rest of my meal. FAIL.

But dessert was a sweet ending. (again) We ordered the bread pudd’n and then the lovely Gary sent over an extra banana treat for us. Thanks Gary!

Adieu for now my lovelies…


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Blue Nile Review

Posted on March 18, 2010 by erinparker75

A lunch date with my boo led us to delightful African fare – Blue Nile Ethiopian.

The restaurant was virtually empty save for a few occupied tables. Which is odd since the food is so unique and so good. Me being a green freak started off with a salad.

Twas was your standard romaine + tomato + red onion + Ethiopian “dressing” that tasted an awful lot like Italian. Suspicions aroused.

We moved on to the “tibs”. Not sure what that is, but when the waitress asked if I wanted “dry” or “juicy”, I said juicy. Dry? Really? Like jerky?

Our tibs and ribs (ha!) came with sauteed collard greens and a delightfully yellow cabbage, potato, corn mixture. And of course the injera – the staple Ethiopian bread that you eat with. I love not using my hands! It’s so much better to eat like a barbarian.

Injera is really unique: spongy, a bit cold and slimy, kind of sour…but delicious!

artistic shot

****    <—– my new rating system

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