(Fake) Interview with Uber Chef Eric Ripert

pulled from PBS...

pulled from PBS…

Looking at him is like listening to the Beatles for the first time…

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Tapas on Ecstasy

MAKING LIFE MORE PALATABLE:

Barcelona. Tapas. 2 chefs who trained under the Adria Brothers. Rioja Blanca. Tuna Belly. Razor Clams. Patatas Bravas. ‘Hamburger.’ Iberico Skewer. Chocolate Bar. Champagne.  I almost OD’d.

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Making Life More Palatable

 

This tastes like disappointment...

This tastes like disappointment…

Who has the best cheesesteak in Philly, Pat’s or Geno’s? Geno’s or Pat’s?

 

Neither, they both SUCK!

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Take a Link

 

 

 

This gets my heart racing...

This gets my heart racing…

Check out this great link from GoSeeWrite.

 

After traveling for a period of time — I think somewhere within the 3-4 week period — you begin to feel as though you don’t have an address.  You don’t have a home.  You don’t have a life except for the one you are going to live that day.  Your heart beats in almost a different rhythm.  One beat scaring the shit out of you, the subsequent beat exhilarating your heart at the prospect of your next step.

 

It’s a good read with some great pictures.

Make a Fucking List and Check it Fucking Twice, Part 2

Now you see it.  Now you don't.

Now you see it. Now you don’t.

 

 

Dear Sleepless in Barcelona,

 

 

So after getting the wine, I tell Adam I’m tired, I’m not at all, and bee line for the ATM I saw on the walk over. It’s do or die at this point. I can feel sweat start to bead up behind my knees. When sweat rolls down your calf, things are not going well for you. If I wasn’t so constipated I’d be scared shitless. I come to the conclusion either 100% of the credit card readers in Spain are faulty and broken, or in the time it took me to get from the airport to my apartment, Union Bank had shut off my card.

 

Swipe. Type. Declined.

 

Good job, Union Bank. Heck, I’m not even mad. That’s amazing. They’re like a tiny miniature Buddha.

 

I slam the door to my loft and now feel a steady stream of perspiration running down my back like one of those baby-angel fountains is taking a piss down my spine. I scramble to figure things out. Before I was thinking, ‘What the fuck do I do?’ like in a macro sense. Now I’m thinking ‘What the fuck do I do?’ in the micro sense. My phone is useless. My credit card is shut off. I can’t call my bank because I have no phone. I can’t really do much online to figure this shit out because my laptop is dying and the genius I am left my charger in Los Angeles. (Probably still plugged in) And the cash I have, melting away faster than the ice sculpture Kanye West had at his wedding. (Probably of himself no less.)

 

Half a glass of wine matures into a half a bottle, and I slip on the banana peel known as exhaustion and into sleep for a decade. My headphones and the random playlist of songs on my iTunes dictate the extremely weird dreams I have. I’m in my grandma’s living room, who’s been dead for years, with my ex? What the fuck!? I don’t even want to begin to analyze that bullshit. (Some stones are better left unturned) From my decades long slumber, ‘Rip Van Winkle’ gently awakes with astonishment, disbelief, and questions sliding off my tongue. ‘Where am I?’ is the first question as I slowly open my eyes as the romantic musings of Wiz Khalifa play on my headphones. ‘What time is it?’ 3:15. Three-fifteen in the morning!? ‘What the fuck is jabbing me in the back?’ My knife kit and all my camera equipment. Aside from my words, these are the two things I think will make me a success. And at this present moment all three of these motherfuckers are keeping me from sleeping.

 

Now I’m wide awake.

 

Have I mentioned, fuck my life?

 

Anyway, I’m going to try and sleep.  Write back soon.

 

Best,

 

Rick Scott

Traveling With Baggage

This is Marrakesh, but it's in Morocco so it counts!

This is Marrakesh, but it’s in Morocco so it counts!

 

For all the Game of Throne NERDS!  (I’m talking to myself as well, because I am addicted to Game of Thrones…but not enough to actually read the books.)

 

Great post from Go See Write!

 

I just recently got back from Morocco a month or so ago, but didn’t make it to the cities on the list.  However, I’ve been to Dubrovnik and Split, and without a doubt Croatia is one of the most slept on cities in the world.  I went there a few years back, with plans of going to Spain, Croatia, and Greece, in that order.  Spain was amazing, but when boarding the plane to Dubrovnik, I found myself wanting to skip Croatia and just get to Greece already.  I could not have been more wrong.  It’s like the random bar your friend drags you to cuz he’s heard good things and you end up getting lucky and going home with someone at the end of the night.  The bar will always have a soft spot in your heart and you will always want to go back. That’s Dubrovnik.  It was amazing and still proves to be one of my favorite European cities.  In some ways it’s the girl who I did crazy things with one night and can’t wait to do those things again.

 

Also check out Land Lopers for Matt’s awesome pics from Dubrovnik.

And my unrelated post on the Knockout Game of Thrones.