I meant to post this weeks ago, but I just started a new job and got distracted. I'm sorry, dear readers. I'm sorry, Eddie Izzard. I'll do better. Probably. Maybe. Anyway, here's Wonderwall. 7 June, 2014
Cake or death? Either way, you'll need a tray. The incomparable Eddie Izzard made Chicago considerably funnier, cleverer, and generally more talented during his three-day residency at the gorgeous Chicago Theater from June 7th through 9th. My dad bought a pair of tickets for us, because obviously this was not a show to be missed. It was my first experience seeing Eddie Izzard live, and was well worth the wait. I knew he'd make me laugh like no one else, but I wasn't sure what to expect. Would he have an opening act? Who would that be? Would it be brand-new material or some old jokes? As soon as the lights dimmed in the theater I knew at least one of my questions was answered. The Bond music and dramatic laser-like lighting building up the audience's anticipation assured me that Mr. Izzard knew what we were all there for, and would not rely on the usual opener to warm up the crowd. He didn't need one. But then, Eddie Izzard has never been one to adhere to convention nor waste a moment of time. He brings his fans to tears of laughter discussing 13th-century English politics. He speaks at least six languages, incorporating them into each act and actually translating entire shows. In fact, his current tour will have taken him to 24 countries and all 50 U.S. states. He openly identifies as a transvestite, and does full 2-hour shows in killer stilettos. He ran 43 marathons in 51 days, and will now run for mayor of London in 2020. And yet somehow I have trouble finding the time to do laundry. "I was in Paris this morning," Izzard told us. It wasn't the beginning of an "and boy are my arms tired!" joke. No, he had actually flown to Normandy in the middle of his U.S. tour to do three charity shows--one in English, one in French, and one in German--on June 6th, the 70th anniversary of D-Day, and was back here in Chicago on June 7th. I get the feeling that his love of languages stems, in part, from his drive to bring the people of the world together, to show that we are really all the same. His jokes have universal appeal: human sacrifice, Olympic horse dancing, and of course God and Darth Vader dueling over pasta.
Eddie Izzard on the origins of the English language
While his style is undeniably silly and Monty Python-esque, Izzard is sincere and firm in his beliefs. He encourages thought and rationality and believes strongly in democracy. He reminded us that every country has the ability to overcome its crazy sects to make the world a better place. "Wisdom is a beautiful thing," he declared whilst discussing the absurdity of fascism, the Tea Party, and Margaret Thatcher. "No extremist has ever had wisdom."
On the nonsensical thought process of fascists
You can tell he respects his audience. He knows us--intelligent, open-minded, and silly--and he never talks down to us. I had wondered if he would bring his multilingual skills into his American shows, or if he would omit it because we're not known to be as worldly as Europeans. Happily, he did an entire bit completely in French, and by the end the theater was roaring as if it had been in English. He even threw in some German and Arabic, for good measure. It was a proper show, full of astounding energy (especially considering he spent the better part of the day traveling across the Atlantic) and excitement and showmanship. It was long, just about 2 hours, divided by an intermission. I guess I haven't been to a lot of live stand-up but I didn't expect it to be such a long set. I was very happy it was though. If you're familiar at all with Eddie Izzard's work, you probably have heard his bit about the Death Star's canteen, in which Darth Vader goes to get some lunch and struggles with wet food trays and an unimpressed worker who asks if he is Mr. Stevens, head of catering.
I wasn't expecting him to rehash that bit, and hoped he wouldn't as it's a bit boring when comedians use old material. But like I said, Izzard knows his audience and what we came for. He didn't retell the story of the Death Star canteen; no, he gave us the sequel, eight years later!
By the end of the night my voice was hoarse and my mascara was
smudged from tears of laughter. I felt very fortunate to have seen
one of the best entertainers of our time, and grateful to my dad for
getting the two of us tickets. But more
than anything, I left inspired. This man
uses intellect and wit to fight ignorance, he brings happiness to so many
people, he is proud of who he is and what he stands for, and he says so in
multiple languages; not quite fluently, but it doesn’t matter. I can do all of these things as well; anyone can, he just went and did it. A love of languages is something Eddie Izzard and I have in common, the only difference being that he actually goes out and learns them and speaks them and doesn't care if he messes up. I have resolved to actively improve and
maintain my fluency in Spanish, and I am going to sign up for French
classes. He’s given me a high-heeled kick in the pants
to pursue my passions and be better person.
I'd like to be one of those people who is well-versed in every band, artist, musical genre, etc. However, I will never be. My tendency is to get really, really, REALLY into one artist, listen to them obsessively and almost exclusively for weeks, and then heavily from thereon out. But up until recently, I was in a rut. There were definitely some bands that I discovered that I really liked, that were on heavy rotation on my iPod, that I recommended to friends, but none that stopped me in my tracks. It wasn't until last Saturday that I felt myself getting very excited about a single artist.
That would be Annie Clark, otherwise known as St. Vincent.
I wasn't even sure that I liked St. Vincent when I initially heard of her when Strange Mercy came out. Her music is so unique I probably couldn't fully process it right away. But somewhere along the line I recognized its excellence. It's mostly my friend Devinne's fault. Annie Clark is her spirit animal. She invited me and our friend Marianne to see St. Vincent and David Byrne of Talking Heads (Devinne's favorite band ever) at Ravinia last summer during their Love This Giant tour. We were on the lawn, very far from the stage, but danced like we were in the front row. I liked what I heard from the master of art-pop. I was familiar with a couple St. Vincent songs but the Ravinia show peaked my interest.
Weeks ago, Devinne mentioned she was looking for someone to accompany her to see St. Vincent at the Riveria Theater. I didn't bite right away but as I heard more of her new self-titled album, I decided I wanted to go. Luckily the ticket was still available, so we made plans for a most superb Saturday. In the mean time I began to study up on St. Vincent's discography, not becoming an expert but at least familiarizing myself with her work and noting some stand-outs like "Marrow" and the dreamy "Huey Newton." All of St. Vincent's music is an exciting blend of poetic and graceful vocals, crunchy beats, Disney-esque instrumentals, distorted and intricate guitar, and electronic -- I don't even know. It's bricks taken from different genres and eras and used to build something completely new and interesting and twisted and gorgeous. She's also gifted with an ethereal voice and a marvelous range.
On the day of the show, Devinne and I headed to the Urban Outfitters on Diversey. Not for shopping, but for something much, much better: meeting the incomparable Annie Clark. From somewhere I'd received a notice that there would be a meet and greet at the store. Upon arrival an hour early, we were surprised to find that there was no line. In fact, I think we were the only people in the store for a while. Eventually more fans trickled in and we queued up to wait and whisper excitedly. Suddenly, she appeared looking impossibly chic in a geometric cape and black platform boots with a black scarf thrown over her wild white-gray hair. She smiled and greeted us. "Hi guys!" Although Annie Clark is known for being very private and even secretive, she seemed very warm and friendly to us fans. Maybe it's because it's part of her job, to be nice to fans, but I don't think that's it. As she signed albums and posters, she chatted with each one of us. After she asked how to spell my name for the autograph, I told her I loved her Portlandia cameos. She said it was fun to do, and really hard not to laugh on set. I explained that it was all Devinne's fault that I was a fan and going to the show that night. Annie Clark looked at Devinne through her round red retro sunglasses: "I blame you." When Devinne asked her to sign her Kindle cover, she asked what she was reading and seemed genuinely interested. The music goddess was genuine, sweet, and seemingly mortal.
If I wasn't properly excited for the show before, I was now.
It is strange to think that the woman calmly signing autographs and chit-chatting is the same person that I saw on stage that night. A killer android, a human sonic machine holding court in the Riviera Theater. "She is the queen," Devinne stated, "and we are her subjects." St. Vincent gave us a show of astonishing audiovisual art that set her apart from any music artist I have seen live.
Annie Clark is easily one of the best guitarists out there. Her talent doesn't lie just in playing intricate riffs and melodies. She pushes the guitar past its limits, having conquered it as a tool not for just music but for dramatic sound effects, looking all the while like she's not even trying. In fact, everything she did looked effortless. Of course, the opposite is true; St. Vincent (Annie Clark? When do I use which name?) is incredibly hardworking. Every aspect was meticulously calculated choreography, down to every note played on her guitar. She and her band and everyone behind the scenes must have put in a serious effort to turn a concert into a sci-fi avant-garde performance.
My photos cannot accurately capture the performance.
We had an awesome view though -- just too far for clear pictures.
The lighting designer in particular deserves an award. Rapid color changes complemented the frenzy of songs like "Rattlesnake" and "Birth In Reverse" The shadows cast on the back wall created a spooky shadowplay looming over the stage. Annie Clark's hair seemed to switch from pink to green to orange to blue with every new beam of light (maybe a factor in the decision to bleach it?). The strobe lights created scenes of stop-motion, turning the musicians into automatons.
Clark herself oscillated between machine and animal, one moment shifting back and forth like a mannequin on a conveyor belt, the next draped upon the steps, slowly sliding down one by one as if she were made of liquid. When she stood atop her pink pyramid-throne proclaiming "I don't want to be a cheerleader no more," she seemed like a giant. I can't imagine who could possibly be above her to cheer for, given that the crowd may as well have been genuflecting.
Every so often she would speak to the crowd about how she felt we had a lot in common. How she believed we had all told a little lie once, how we felt ill the next day and wondered if it was punishment, how that, in order to right that wrong with the universe we built a symmetrical shrine out of tin foil and PBR cans and two neon Coors Light signs. How she felt we had all had had an imaginary friend, an imaginary friend who we thought began to get too much attention, and how we had unceremoniously killed that imaginary friend.
Not only was the performance visually and sonically stunning, it was fun. Really fun. When I wasn't gaping at Annie Clark's brilliance, I was dancing and singing along. I was pleased to discover that I recognized more songs than I'd expected. Annie Clark also led the theater in a true-to-the-original cover of "Lithium" in remembrance of Kurt Cobain's death 20 years ago to the day. That was the only cover, I think, but I could tell that working with David Byrne of Talking Heads had influenced her, or at least that they were on the same wavelength, performance-wise. You could see hints of it in the robotic choreography, and "Digital Witness" definitely has a Talking Heads vibe to it.
I found myself wondering how Annie Clark, St. Vincent, could possibly be human. How the person sitting at the autograph table chatting about books and television could, hours later, transport 2500 people to another fantastic reality. But the most amazing thing is that she is human. A human being, made of flesh and blood like everyone else, can create something so spectacular and otherworldly that it captivates us and transports us from reality. St. Vincent, it seems to me, embodies art in its most thrilling, extraordinary form.
I've developed a habit of collecting recipes I find online. When I have down time and I'm browsing the internet, I inevitably end up finding a list of recipes which leads me to food blog upon food blog. I email the recipes to myself (because I'm either not on my laptop or I just ignore bookmarks completely) and it eventually got to the point where I had to make a separate email folder just for recipes.
I'd like to be one of those recipe blogs, but I don't have many original recipes to contribute just yet. I should be more experimental, and probably will in the future, but at this point I'm cooking to make as much food for as little money as possible, so I tend to buy only what I need. But I think other people's recipes are good jumping off points, so let's just say I'm laying the groundwork now. I don't mind learning from others' successes, as well as their mistakes.
These are all the recipes I've tried lately, ranked for deliciousness. I'd rank them for cost too but they were all pretty inexpensive to make.
The Italian Wonderpot had so much potential. Pasta that you cook in broth with spinach, tomatoes, garlic, and other tasty spices? Sounds legit. And it was pretty good right after I made it. Sadly I had to cook everything for so long to make the onion soft, and by the time it was done the fettuccini was softer than I like. As I ate it through the week everything just kind of blended together and became mushy and bland. Maybe I'll try a variation where I cook everything separately, keep the pasta al dente, and saute the onions a bit first.
I would like to say that I really like the Budget Bytes website. You can search for recipes by a number of categories, and every recipe tells you about how much each serving and each ingredient costs. I've tried other recipes from here that turned out better than the Wonder Pot, so don't let this recipe turn you away.
This was a crock pot adventure recipe, and it turned out pretty well. The slow-cooked chicken was super tender and it was an inexpensive, filling dish to make for the week. My problem with it may have been my own mistake: the recipe calls for you to pour salsa over the chicken, and I chose a black bean and corn salsa, forgetting that black beans and corn were in the recipe already. The result was more like chili because of all the beans. Not bad, but next time I would try a different salsa. There's a ton of spices in this too, so much that they overpowered the chicken a bit. This recipe reminded me a lot of my aunt's chicken recipe where you cover chicken with salsa and bake it for an hour or so. I might just stick to her recipe, since I like it a little better and it takes less time to cook. Either way, I would recommend adding cheese when it's done cooking. And avocado. Always avocado, forever.
This is a pretty solid, classic chicken wild rice soup recipe. I just threw everything in the slow cooker and went to bed. It was delicious, though I didn't end up buying enough broth so it was more porridgey than soupy. Also, I ate it all week and by the end the rice was pretty gloopy. All in all, it's a good basic chicken wild rice soup but not super exciting.
Not only did this recipe give me a great excuse to visit an Asian grocery store in Edgewater (so many strange, interesting, and delicious things there!) and use my cast-iron skillet, it was extremely tasty and unique. The combination of sweet chili sauce and fish sauce gave it a sweet umami flavor, and it was incredibly moist. The only downside of this recipe was that the fish sauce made it (and my apartment) smell a bit, well, fishy, and it made so much food that I ended up throwing out some of the leftovers. But now I know how to make pulled pork and I can try out different sauces.
When I was in Spain, the woman I lived with made The Best lentil soup. I'm still trying to recreate it (chorizo is SO expensive though) but this quest has opened me up to the possibilities of the nutritious lentil. I amassed a large amount of lentils that were sitting uneaten in the cabinet, so I looked around for some recipes. A lot of them seemed spicy or difficult or involved too much prep or ingredients, but this one was really easy and tasty. And cooking with wine is almost as fun as drinking it. The red wine added a rich, spicy (but not hot-spicy) flavor to the lentils and turned everything slightly purple. It went really well with the Italian sausage too. This recipe made a TON of food, so I ate it all week and then froze a good amount of it for later. I served it, as they suggested, with mashed potatoes, but it's also good on its own or with some good bread to dip in it. Like take-and-bake ciabatta (I just really love bread ok??). This recipe is really good but I feel like it's missing something... maybe a kick from spicier sausage or red pepper flakes. Or maybe I'm just getting tired of it after eating it all week. But it's a solid, hearty winter recipe and I'll probably make it again.
I just made these last night, and YUM. They taste like an Italian spanakopita, with ricotta instead of feta. I pretty much like puff pastry anything, and this filling is excellent. I made one of them without mushrooms for my roommate and she made quick work of it, so I'll take that as a good sign. This is definitely a recipe I'd like to experiment more with in the future; I might even make smaller ones as hors d'oeuvres, and mix up the fillings. This is a really good base recipe that has potential to be even better.
This salad is amazing. It's delicious. It's really good for you. It seems impressive and fancy. It's gluten-free and vegan--well, almost, because there's honey in the dressing. It's also easy to make the night before and take to work for lunch. There's also a ton of protein here thanks to the the black beans and quinoa. I love fruit in salads, so the mango is great and it goes very well with the cilantro-lime dressing. The recipe calls for jalapeños, but since I don't like them I substitute red onion. And, unlike many salads, it is really filling and satisfying. In conclusion, if you feel a bit blah or are worried you've been eating too much junk and not enough fresh fruits and veggies but hate boring salads, this is a great recipe. Make this, impress your friends, and do your taste buds a favor.
**I wish I'd taken more of my own pictures of these recipes, but somehow I didn't. How uncharacteristic of me. Must be sure to do this in the future.
This past weekend my good friend Devinne invited me to tea and cupcakes in Elmhurst, the western suburb of Chicago where I grew up. It sounded like a lovely way to spend a Sunday.
Yesterday afternoon I boarded the Metra and, once it reached Elmhurst, I walked over to Elijah's coffee shop to meet Devinne. It's her go-to coffee shop, and it's easy to see why. It's warm and cozy, decorated with original artwork, and the baristas make great drinks. The Elijah's we went to, located on First Street, is actually the second location, the first being on Vallette St. on the south side of the city.
Devinne ordered her usual pumpkin chai and I chose black raspberry green tea. We very well could have stayed there, but we opted to seek out cupcakes. Our quest led us to Courageous Bakery, a great, relatively new(ish) bakery which donates a portion of its proceeds to The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. I think it's fantastic that the owners are taking advantage of the cupcake trend to do something good, and I love that they don't stop there; judging by the cupcake I tried, they make sure customers keep returning with heavenly baked goods. Not only do you feel good about helping a cause, your sweet tooth is satisfied!
Inside Courageous Bakery
Devinne and I both ordered the same Raspberry Lemon cupcake, which is a lemony cake and raspberry filling with whipped cream cheese frosting. It was so moist and rich - though fluffy and light - that it was more like cheesecake than cake. It also paired very well with my blackberry tea from Elijah's.
By the time I thought to take a picture, I'd already eaten half of it.
The shop itself is cheery, with sunny floor-to-ceiling windows and walls painted in bright green and orange. The service was very friendly, and while Devinne and I chatted a man serenaded the shop with an acoustic guitar. I tipped him, mostly for his seamless mash-up of "Sitting on the Dock of the Bay" and Radiohead's "Creep."
We would have stayed much longer but Courageous Bakery closes at 2:00 on Sundays. I'd like to go back again, maybe for brunch to try their breakfast menu. Though it would be hard to resist ordering another Lemon Raspberry cupcake.
I don't generally spend much money on unnecessary things. But when I'm going through my bank statement, wondering where my paycheck disappeared to, it's usually food.
A $40 top I'm likely to wear over and over seems like too much of a splurge. On the other hand, if I'm out to eat, my thought process goes something more like this:
"$28 for a delicious dinner and glass of wine? That's pretty reasonable. After all, we shared, so I really got to taste 2 different dishes. That's saving money, really."
"$3.50 for gelato is fine. It's so rich and delicious. Totally deserve this."
"GAH I'm hungry and cranky and that overtime I just worked can totally pay for this pricelessly scrumptious crepe."
This might explain why I haven't bought new clothes in months.
Not that I go out to eat all that often. I almost always make my own meals at home, eating the same thing all week until I just can't look at lentils anymore. So if I'm paying someone else to cook, it had better be a Food Experience. Which brings me to Chicago's latest culinary excitement, Eataly.
"Life is too short not to eat well."
I first heard about Eataly just after it opened in Chicago, and I couldn't really figure out what it was at first. Was it a restaurant? A store? A collection of stores? Either way, I knew I had to check it out. So, a couple weeks after its opening, I went to Eataly with my friends Megan and Amy for dinner. I had assumed that, like all trendy and cool food places, it was tucked away somewhere in the West Loop in a converted warehouse, but somehow I missed the huge windowed building smack in the middle of River North, just off the Grand red line L stop.
Upon entering, we were greeted with adorable carts of citrus fruits, exotic mushrooms, and fresh vegetables, all nestled in baskets. It looked like a little outdoor market, with a little European grocery store attached. The place was packed (after all, it was a Friday night shortly after the opening) but we found our way through the masses of people to see the Nutella Bar, which is, in my opinion, the greatest bar in the city of Chicago. The first floor is clearly dessert-focused, as next to the Nutella bar is the gelateria (gelato) and the pastry counter. There's even the first of multiple espresso bars so you can get your caffeine fix for energy to traverse Eataly. You might need it.
I didn't know half of these mushrooms existed.
The Nutella Bar.
These ladies don't know it, but they're my new best friends.
After weaving our way through foodstuffs and kitchen utensils and cookbooks, we headed upstairs to the restaurant area. When we got to the top of the stairs, all three of us just kind of stood motionless except for our heads turning every which way, trying to make sense of what our senses were telling us. There were endless bars and counters and signs and smells, and it was nearly impossible to figure out where to start. We passed the bar selling delicately fried things like arancini (cheesy rice balls), a wine bar, a counter devoted to mozzarella and other cheeses, what looked like a full butcher shop, and a fresh seafood counter selling everything from salmon to huge octopus tentacles. Sprinkled everywhere were high marble tables, most without seats, where people ate plates of charcuterie and sipped wine. What really struck me is that there were no hidden kitchens that I could see. You could watch all the food being prepared right in front of you, and even the walled-off bakery had wall-to-wall glass windows so you could watch the bakers at work.
Fried things. Yes please.
Il sushio, as I believe it is called in Italian.
Raw Bar
Thankfully Amy had been to Eataly already and suggested we go for the sit-down pizza/pasta restaurant section, really just a roped-off collection of tables in between the pizza and pasta kitchens. We put our name in, and a phone number so the hostess could text us when our table was ready, allowing us to wander freely. Great idea, right? Every restaurant should do that. We intensified our already-present hunger by perusing the packaged pastas, bottles of olive oils that looked like fine wines, actual bottles of fine wines, and even fancy Italian soaps and beauty supplies. There were walls of pesto and pasta sauces, a tempting cheese section with cheeses I had never heard of before (and I love cheese) and cured Italian meats, and a little bookshop with titles like The Geometry of Pasta. Which would make a completely suitable gift idea for someone such as myself.
Come to me, my love.
Pasta and shapes. Two of my favorite things.
Finally our table was ready. Upon it were hunks of fresh crusty bread wrapped in brown paper, and olive oil for dipping. We ordered a glass of wine each and looked over the menu. We decided to split two dishes between the three of us and chose the Mianese pizza with prosciutto and arugula and the ravioli with ricotta, pistachios, and a lemony sauce. Both were absolutely delicious and we finished every crumb. There was definitely room for dessert though.
Amy and Megan, shortly before we devoured that prosciutto pizza.
Before we descended back to the first floor, we looked around some more at the groceries and Amy bought some beer from the Birreria, which sells an impressive variety of foreign and American craft beers like Half Acre. You can even get some of them on tap at the bar.
We ended the evening with some excellent gelato. There were lots of excellent-sounding flavors, and even soft-serve gelato, which is apparently a thing. I ordered a cone of tiramisu to complete the Italian theme.
Two days later...
The following Sunday I made another stop. I was famished after staying at work longer than expected, and in my hungry/annoyed state I decided that I deserved a treat. This time it was a piping hot crepe from the Nutella bar. Once the woman manning the crepe station finished it she let it sit on a plate for a few minutes, which confused me at first: Why isn't she giving me my crepe??? Once she did I understood that otherwise I would have burned my mouth in my desperate quest for chocolate-hazelnut goodness.
I meandered around the second story finishing my crepe. Though it was pretty satisfying I couldn't help but to be drawn to the focaccia counter. I ordered a square of the $2 classic focaccia, which was warm and soft, seasoned simply and divinely with olive oil, sea salt, and rosemary. My brain was yelling in all caps about how delicious it was, but my mouth was too full to speak. The best part about Eataly's focaccia is that at less than $4 for even the varieties with toppings, it's easily the most affordable way to satisfy your hunger and taste buds.
Hey there beautiful, how you doin'?
Needless to say, I will be returning to Eataly. There's so much to try. It's definitely not an everyday lunch place if you're on a tight budget, but for a once-in-a-while treat it's an excellent option.
I love sushi. I'd have to say it's my favorite food, and I would eat it every day if the fresh stuff wasn't so crazy expensive. But when I am able (i.e. when my mom is paying) I try to find new, great sushi restaurants. In Elmhurst, where I grew up, there's an excellent place called Sushi Nest. They have fresh ingredients, to-die-for rolls (try the Red Dragon), and friendly staff, and the dim lighting and soft piano jazz playing in the background make it perfect for unwinding and digging into raw fish. It's my go-to, but because I live in the city now I've started searching for sushi closer to home.
Kamehachi
1531 N Wells St. Chicago, IL 60611
Kamehachi in Old Town is fantastic. We had a wonderful waiter who helped us choose some rolls, and they were delicious. To be honest I don't really remember what they were because what stuck with me was the rock shrimp tempura--soft juicy shrimp delicately fried and covered in a heavenly sweet and spicy sauce--and the hachi ceviche, which added cashew, plaintain chips, basil, and wasabi to the traditional whitefish. Yum. Ambiance-wise it's a bit trendy and contemporary, which I do like, but it's not a very traditional sushi-restaurant atmosphere. It's a big restaurant and lacks the cozy feel of other places I've been. It's well suited to a younger crowd, for a night out with friends.
Tanoshii
5547 N Clark St.
Chicago, IL 60640
Tanoshii on Check, Please!
Recently my mom paid me a somewhat spontaneous visit, so we went to try a new place, Tanoshii in Andersonville. We had tried to go there the night we ended up at Kamehachi, but for some reason or another we didn't. It was well worth the wait. Tanoshii was on Check, Please!, the PBS show where regular people review Chicago-area restaurants, and I can't imagine that anyone had anything bad to say about this place. Tanoshii means "happy/pleasurable/delightful" and it is aptly named. It was probably the best sushi experience I've had.
First, we accidentally arrived about 20 minutes before they opened at 4, but they sat us anyway and one of the chefs chatted with us. We looked over the menu but were indecisive, and he suggested the Sushi Mike special: the chef (Sushi Mike wasn't in yet but our guy was extremely capable) would ask us what we liked and didn't like, and he would make up custom dishes suited to our tastes. This is the best possible thing to propose because a) customized sushi!!! and b) no deciding between all the delicious menu items! We told him we liked tuna, salmon, avocado, cucumber, and tempura. My mom told him nothing spicy and no mayonnaise, which I generally agree with. Though when he asked me "But you're good with anything, right?" I didn't think and nodded my head (I don't love spicy either). But it worked out alright.
Our first course was tuna sashimi dressed in truffle honey, rosemary, and chives and lightly caramelized with a blow torch. Holy Bluefin, it was amazing! I would have never put those flavors together but they worked together flawlessly. The chef continued to feed us a steady stream of rolls: salmon and avocado with chili sauce, a crab/shrimp tempura roll topped with avocado, tuna with cucumber, and more decadence than I can describe. "Do you want one more?" Absolutely. Everything came with some sort of sauce that eliminated the need for soy sauce, all with unconventional flavors that I've never had with sushi. Aside from the food, Tanoshii's service was amazing, from the friendly host who sat us before they opened to the expert sushi chef. It was personal and everyone chatted with us and made us feel welcome. Maybe it would have been different if we weren't the only customers there (only three other people had come by the time we left) but as it was, it was a great experience. The bill was more than the typical sushi bill but for what we got, we agreed it was well worth it. Oh, and if you're looking for drinks, it's BYOB. We were so focused on the food we didn't even think about that and just stuck to water.
I'm looking forward to revisiting Tanoshii. I think next time I'll tell the chef that I like yellowfin and eel and see what he comes up with.
Here, finally, is part 2 of my Floridadventure of September. I last left you with the end of our Disney Day, where Abby and I gallivanted through Disney World with Saskia, riding rides, not waiting in lines, and meeting Doug. Now, for the reason I traveled to Florida in the first place...
DAY 3: Mumford Takeover and an Excess of Sand
Before we checked out, Abby and I took a walk around the whole Art of Animation resort taking pictures. Each section was so well done, with little details that I kept noticing for the first time. I was really impressed with the Cars section; though it’s not my favorite movie at all, it was so well done, down to the sidewalk painted as a road and the orange cone cabanas around the pool.
Photo by Abby
The time had come to say farewell to Disney World. There was a glorious weekend awaiting us in St. Augustine. As we drove we sang along to Mumford & Sons, The Head & The Heart, The Decemberists, all the music we’d listened to our senior year of college. It was like we’d never been apart, and we’d both missed this. Before St. Augustine, we stopped at a beach that Abby had found online before our trip. Washington Oaks State Gardens boasts formal gardens and lush walking paths, but much to the dismay of the employees at the ticket booth, we were really only interested in the beach with cool rock formations. Abby and I frolicked in the waves and on the rocks, and sunned ourselves until the tide decided to change all of a sudden and the ocean tried to take our belongings. It didn’t succeed but everything was wet and covered in whole-wheat-textured sand afterwards.
Even before we arrived in St. Augustine there was evidence of the Mumford takeover. A half an hour before we even entered the city limits there was a sign on the highway directing festivalgoers to parking. When we reached our Holiday Inn Express, we were greeted by employees of CID Entertainment, which we had booked our tickets and hotel through. They handed us our Gentlemen of the Road wristbands, passports, posters, and t-shirts. Before we could go downtown and get our Gentlemen of the Road (GOTR) on, showering was necessary.
When we stepped off the shuttle from our hotel to downtown, we were met with crowds of people and music and flags and mustaches everywhere. We were starving (ok I was starving), and the first food place we saw was a tent selling barbeque. We got a couple of pulled pork sandwiches and ate quite fast. Though the gates to the festival were now open, the first band wouldn’t be on yet so we decided to walk around town. There were mustaches EVERYWHERE. Big ones, little ones, black ones, neon ones, on every shop window and sign. Official GOTR flags with all sorts of designs and shapes and bright colors hung on every other building. I was obsessed with the flags and repetitively voiced my desire to have them all. Shops without official flags had put up Union Jacks or painted their windows with “Welcome Mumford & Sons” and banjos and mustaches. Tedi’s Ice Cream had temporarily changed its name to “Ted’s” in honor of Mr. Dwane and businesses were offering deals to festivalgoers. The whole town was just so into it and went absolutely all-out, which created an incredibly happy atmosphere. There were musicians strumming guitars and playing harmonicas and singing on the sidewalks and in bars. And best of all, most of these shops and cafes were on pedestrian-only streets, perfect for the influx of music lovers now wandering the nation's oldest city.
Aviles Street - Photo by Abby
Me, just resting on some history. -Photo by Abby
St. Augustine is adorable on its own, actually. As it is the oldest continuously-occupied city in the United States, founded by the Spanish, there are loads of historical, Spanish-y buildings now converted into shops and cafes and painfully adorable B&Bs. There are streets named after Spanish cities and azulejos (Spanish tiles) naming homes and businesses and the occasional Spanish flag. Every other shop is an art gallery and I didn't even count how many museums there were. Keep in mind this is all within like a three-block radius. One particularly notable shop was a popcorn store, featuring over 100 colorful flavors displayed in big clear plastic bins, with labels like "Birthday Cake" and "Spicy Taco." When I tried the apple pie flavor and commented on the cinnamon flavor, the woman giving out samples practically flew to the back of the store exclaiming, "Oh, you HAVE to try the Halloween flavor!!!"
Rainbows of popcorn! -Photo by Abby
Can't imagine how quick these B&Bs got booked for the festival.
Mustaches and Mumford songs
We really enjoyed wandering St. George Street and the surrounding area, but it was time to enter the long-anticipated festival. Passports in hand and wristbands on wrists, we passed through the tunnel of flags to St. Francis Field just as Willy Mason was starting his set. We. Had. Arrived.
There were lines of people dotting the field, all queuing to get passport stamps. There was some sort of drawing you could enter once you got all the stamps, but we kind of just collected them for ourselves. There was a stamp for each band on the lineup, plus other fun themed stamps like mustaches, a man with a top hat, and a stamp to match the enormous arm raising a dumbbell planted on the field. Abby attempted to get a tank top from the merch booth but gave up after waiting 20 minutes in the line. Surely there had to be a better system. I didn't mind the wait though; I sat on the ground to rest my already-tired feet and listen to Willy Mason open the festival.
My passport
Thao & the Get Down Stay Down were up next. Abby and I had actually already seen them in 2011 opening for The Head & The Heart, and actually saw them again open for the same band at their Chicago show this past October. Which would be awesome if we liked Thao. Which, try as we might, we just do not. She plagues us. But the crowd seemed to enjoy it. And Thao et al. actually are talented musicians... just not our cup of tea I guess. But enough about Thao. Abby left to try the merch line again, determined to acquire a tank top. I stood around and unsuccessfully tried to make friends with the people around me (hello, I kind of sort of smiled at you, why haven't you struck up a stimulating conversation with me? okay maybe I didn't try that hard) and watched the sun set as The Walkmen came on. They were completely fantastic and I really need to listen to them more. Lots of energy on stage and everyone in the crowd seemed to love them.
Just before the next act, Big Mike (of Apache Relay), the festival's MC, came on stage. "I don't usually have to do this, but I have to make an official announcement. We're going to be having a little less fun tomorrow..." Fun. had been scheduled to perform in the slot before Mumford & Sons the next day, but they had to cancel for health reasons. "But we're going to get you someone really good, we promise." A murmer of disappointment rippled through the crowd. I was only slightly disappointed I wouldn't see them; they were the band I thought didn't quite fit with the festival and to be perfectly honest I had been looking forward to them the least of all the bands in the lineup. But who would fill the popular band's spot? It was a mystery.
Any negative feeling in the crowd was soon eradicated by the magically good vibes of Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros. Before the band came on, lead singer Alex Ebert came on stage to introduce the premiere of their latest beautiful music video for "Life Is Hard", which they had just finished earlier that day. Once the show started, the music and performance had the audience hanging on every note as if they were at an Evangelist revival. Ebert took the microphone to the crowd, handing it to a few as he asked them to tell a story or to sing the chorus of the song. At one point someone thew a koala backpack onstage and Jade looked through it a bit. Everything was very colorful and happy and everyone at the festival seemed bound together by joy.
As we were exiting the park we stopped at the Hyppo Popsicle stand. We'd been admiring their flavor list earlier. I bought a Sangria Plum popsicle and Abby chose Champagne Mango. Both were delicious and we ultimately ended up trading. We were dead tired but were determined to stay out like the cool kids, so we wandered the streets, which were full of people and music and activities, all bars and restaurants open late. Abby and I settled on an uncrowded bar and ordered $3 glasses of sangria, which we sipped as we discussed who might fill in for Fun. Yum yum yum. When in pseudo-Spain!
Day 4
At some point Abby echoed my thoughts (which had been happening a LOT during the trip) that maybe Disney World and then a 2-day festival was a bit of a marathon and, in retrospect, not the best idea. We were exhausted. But it was the last day of the festival, and the best day. We stocked up on water so we wouldn't die in the blazing heat (BLAZING), and once downtown we made our way to Castillo de San Marcos, the oldest fort in the United States. We could have chosen to appreciate the rich history inside the fort, to marvel at its construction and the way the conquistadors lived in America's oldest city, but we were too cheap to pay the $7 and instead walked around the fort and found refuge in the shade of the palm trees surrounding the fort. Because, as I mentioned, it was an absolute OVEN outside.
We walked around St. Augustine’s shops a bit more, doing some hard-core passport stamp collecting from the local shops. The shop with the rainbow mustache stamp won for originality. Just before re-entering the festival grounds, we made a quick stop at the Deering Banjo tent.
I think it suits me.
We made sure to get into the festival on time because Bear’s Den was up first and I was really excited to see them. They only have a couple of EPs out so far, but since my Mumford-loving friend Hannah introduced me to their music, I’ve fallen in love with the bearded band. I was half-disappointed to see a sizeable crowd already at the stage, because it meant we wouldn’t get very close, but I was also glad to see so many people turn out for them. They were fantastic live and fit lots of energy into their melancholy folky songs. Here’s a good one:
Bear's Den invited Big Mike on stage, presumably because of his sick beard.
As I might have mentioned earlier, it was as hot as A THOUSAND BLAZING SUNS so we exited the crowd after Bear’s Den’s set. We sought out the strawberry lemonade we'd seen people carrying around and found it next to a kiosk selling hot dogs topped with pulled pork. GENIUS. So we sat in the grass in the shade eating this magical pulled pork hot dog (ugh so good) and sipping the lemonade until only the ice was left--and then eating the ice--as we listened to Those Darlins. They sounded good to me but the shade was still more appealing. We finally ventured into the sun when Half Moon Run began. Having never heard their music before, we decided we really really liked them and joined the crowd. They had a really great energy and a harmonious, vibrant sound. Here's a sample:
After their set it was time for the shade again. Even as a Lollapalooza veteran, I had to duck out of the body heat and UV rays of the crowd. Call me a wimp, whatever, I managed to stay alive. We listened to Justin Townes Earle, who I thought was pretty good, kind of an old-school bluesy singer/songwriter from Nashville. We ventured back into the crowd for The Vaccines.
The Vaccines are old friends of Mumford & Sons, though Justin Young has since moved from his softer folky tendencies to loud, energetic indie rock-punk-pop (I really am terrible at ascribing genres to bands). Absolutely dance-inducing music, and I was jumping around as I sang along to “Wetsuit” and “Bad Mood,” just to name a couple songs. I’d seen them last February at the intimate Lincoln Hall, which was a great show, soured only by the fact that Justin lost his voice near the end of the show and they didn’t come back for the encore. So this huge festival crowd was definitely a departure from that last show; the people around me weren’t dancing as much but the crowd nearer the stage was giving the band proper love. And for the first time I got to hear them play "Norgaard"!
As soon as The Vaccines left the stage, some drums started up on the right side of the field. We had seen signs earlier about a “Powder Paint Fight” commencing after The Vaccines’ set so we retreated through the crowd. In a square of grass marked off by yellow caution tape were fivedrummers dressed all in white, each wearing a bowler hat of either red, yellow, blue, or green. When the drumroll ended, all the people inside the square (also dressed all in white) reached solo cups into bags full of colored powder and began the onslaught. Everyone in the vicinity was quickly engulfed in a thick cloud of blue and red and green and yellow. The white-clothed people were now covered in a rainbow of color, and they turned the powder on the observers. Pretty soon Abby and I were inside the square, powder being flung at us from every direction. Abby took a big shot of green to the face and my back was hit hard by a shower of red. By the time we exited the cloud, hardly an inch of us had escaped un-dyed.
We still didn’t know who would be filling Fun.’s slot after The Vaccines. I hadn’t even heard any rumors. Everyone in the crowd was all ears when Big Mike took to the stage. “We promised we’d give you someone great. And we’ve got him! We got you a legend! He’s in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame! Ladies and gentlemen, supported by the Gentlemen of the Road house band, JOHN FOGERTY.”
Whoa. John Fogerty.
The crowd was going crazy and hardly had time to process this information when Mr. Fogerty entered the stage and he and The Vaccines launched into “Susie Q.” He sounded great, like he hadn’t aged a year since the 70s. The Vaccines (Winston from Mumford & Sons was up there too, on the maracas) looked beside themselves; Pete and Arni had huge smiles on their faces, while Justin looked intensely focused, as if he were concentrating harder on playing the guitar than he ever had before.
They couldn’t have found a more fitting artist for the weekend, for that place and atmosphere. To be part of that huge crowd singing along to undeniable classics like “Fortunate Son” and “Down on the Corner”, I’ve never felt so connected with music past and present, and just really goddamn American. I never expected to hear and see those songs live, and certainly not that weekend. He even played us a couple new songs, which I’m sure his backing band had to learn quite quickly before the show.
Somehow during the course of the set The Vaccines switched with Mumford & Sons, who were just so excited to be up there with their hero. They even wore matching plaid shirts for the occasion. And by matching, I mean Ted and John Fogerty were wearing nearly identical shirts, and Marcus and Ben wore the exact same. Winston, aspiring mountain man that he is, probably already had one.
I later learned that John Fogerty had previously expressed interest in working with Mumford & Sons, and upon receiving the call flew overnight from L.A. He arrived in St. Augustine ready to work, and he and the bands rehearsed for four hours before the show. My guess is that The Vaccines rehearsed until their own set, and then Mumford took over – hence the mid-set switch-out.
To sum up, seeing John Fogerty at Gentlemen of the Road with Abby while we were covered in brightly-colored powder is definitely going down in my book of Best Life Moments.
SO MATCHY
The 50-minute set came to an end, though it seemed everyone felt it had just begun. The crowd seemed sad that great moment was over, but the feeling didn’t last long because it meant the Band of the Weekend was up next! Mumford and Sons were the reason for the whole festival, after all. As we stood there, filled with anticipation, I began to see flashes of lighting illuminate the clouds. They were far off, but I was still nervous. If the storm got to close I’m sure they’d have to cancel the show; it was a crowd of 25,000 people facing an enormous metal stage. Of course, I thought, it would storm right as the moment we’d all been waiting for was about to happen.
But, right on schedule, the lights dimmed, and Big Mike entered the stage. He gave a speech about how this was the best weekend of his life. “I’m ready for what you’re ready for,” he said. He ripped off the shirt he was wearing, and with that, marched offstage. No introduction needed.
It started quietly. “Love was kind… for a time. Now it just aches and it makes me blind,” Marcus Mumford lamented as he picked his guitar. By the time he was declaring “I’ll walk slow” the crowd's silent, rapt attention had transformed into a chorus, the audience and band united into one entity of euphoria. The feeling lasted the entire show. They wasted no time with “Little Lion Man,” whipping it out second. It got everyone jumping and dancing and segued perfectly into one of mine and Abby’s favorites, “Whispers in the Dark.” The crowd was too packed to do the hoedown dance that that song demands, but we made do.
I was beyond pleased when they played “Lover of the Light.” It’s been one of my favorites since I saw them for the first time in 2009 before I’d even heard their full album, before I knew that it wasn’t even properly recorded yet. This song was full of excitement and happiness and, most importantly, DRUMS. For some reason they cut down this best part on the Babel recording, but live "Lover of the Light" still shines.
Meanwhile, the lightning was getting closer. I was nervous but the band showed no sign of stopping, even after Winston, their loveable scruffy banjo player, noticed a flash. “Did you see that lightning? F**k!” But the storm provided an incredibly fitting backdrop for the dark and stormy “Thistle and Weeds,” with actual thunderclaps accompanying cymbal crashes. “The sky above us shoots to kill.” Indeed.
By the time the band were standing around one mic for a very quiet, beautiful rendition of Springsteen’s “I’m On Fire,” the storm apparently decided that it couldn’t possibly interrupt the bliss in St. Francis Field, and just… went away. A Mumford miracle, if you will.
I was sure the encore would be great, and I was correct. After they’d serenaded the crowd with the acoustic “I’m On Fire” and the a cappella (!) “Sister,” Marcus traded in his mandolin for an electric guitar and they turned it up to eleven by bringing out their longtime friends The Vaccines and Bear’s Den. “These two bands… have inspired us for longer probably than even Fogerty has,” Marcus Mumford told us. “We love them to f***in’ bits.” He then informed us that they were all ‘[freaking dingbats]’ (actual language changed because this is a family-ish blog), but in a loving way, of course. And with some very familiar chords, the three bands launched into “Come Together.”
Mumford & Sons a capella, or, How to Get 40,000 People to Shut Up
They couldn’t have chosen a more fitting song. One of my favorite things about Mumford & Sons shows is the feeling of togetherness and celebration they create. Nearly every time I’ve seen them they’ve brought other bands on stage for an encore jam session, and you can tell that they are having just the best time up on stage, playing music with their friends. The incredibly good vibes spill over into the crowd and everyone is caught up in the same moment, reveling in music and the joy of being alive. Everyone had come together, so to speak, to sing along with their favorite band to one of the most iconic songs ever written; whether you were Winston Marshall or Justin Young sharing a mic on stage or a festivalgoer in the audience, you had a huge smile on your face.
Of course they could have ended with that, but why only do a three-song encore when you could fit in five? They followed with Babel’s title track, and then closed out the show with the ever-rousing “The Cave.” After the final note was played, the band took a bow and waved goodbye to the adoring crowd. I, and everyone I’m sure, was sad to see them go, after we had waited so many months for this day.
Masses of people were leaving the field, but the festival wasn’t quite over. Yacht Club DJs were on hand to close out the festival with a huge dance party. Abby and I joined the remaining partiers for a bit of dancing under the iconic string lights, but couldn’t remain long as we had been on our feet for about three days straight. It was such a great festival that we didn’t really want to leave, but… bed. After taking a few obligatory pictures of the glowing Strongman, we left to scrub off the multicolor dust and dirt but not the freaking fantastic memories. God it was good.
Day 5
Abby and I spent the last day re-living the past four days in photos and Instagram videos, driving around Gainesville (home town of Tom Petty!), and swimming in Abby's aunt's pool. I was due to fly out of Orlando that evening... which of course meant we had one more stop to make before the weekend was over...
Friends, Disney, Doug, music, Mumford, and montaditos. I can't think of a better way to fill five days.
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