I adore Medium Rare in Cleveland Park. They have a limited $25 menu (steak, fries, French toast, bread, drinks) but they do it so well. This is coming from a vegetarian.
The first time I went for brunch, I took my family who were visiting my DC abode for the first time and it was, errr, slightly stressful. I took full advantage of their unlimited screwdrivers, mimosas, and coffee, and basically passive-aggressively sucked down their very strong screwdrivers while thinking “Vodka, yeees, vodka will help with this stress.”
This time I was much more relaxed.
I went with N, who is fast becoming my favorite brunch partner (and whose bridal shower I went to over the weekend, but that’s another blog post for another day.) I demanded iced coffee (“Do you have iced coffee? Can you MAKE iced coffee? Like, just throw some ice in your coffee?”) I wasn’t expecting much, but it was the. best. A little cream, a little Splenda, and lots of ice with really good coffee. I had two, plus endless mimosas. N originally had a screwdriver, but she deemed it “well vodka” because she’s fancy (and they really do make their screwdrivers very strong) and ended up with a mimosa instead.
We had yogurt parfaits, a bread basket, French toast, fries, steak, and “secret sauce.” I am fully aware that their secret sauce is full o’ meat, but it is insanely delicious and addictive. After watching N eat secret sauce on her fries with the same look I imagine Gollum has looking at Frodo with the ring, I requested some of my own.
Our table was a complete mess, covered in drinks, bread scraps, fries, yogurt, and plates and dishes of extra cream, sugar, fries, and Lord knows what else. It was awesome. After we shoveled fries into our faces, I informed N that she could request more fries, if she wanted. This resulted in a funny exchange with one of our many awesome servers, in which he thought she was asking for French toast (after her steak) and he looked at us like we were training for a competitive eating contest or something.
Then he brought her a single fry on a plate with this expectant look, like, “Look how funny I am!” and we roared with laughter because we were many mimosas in, but then we were like, “No seriously, where are the fries,” and we ate more fries. And it was joyous.
Siam House in Cleveland Park is, without a doubt, my absolute favoritest Thai restaurant ever. Every dish is bursting with freshness and flavor, plus they DELIVER, plus its owner is a friendly, perpetually drunk man with wise (ahem) views on marriage, childrearing, and traveling in Thailand. I always magically become a total pro with chopsticks when I go to this place, because I’m just shoveling food Pad See Ew into my mouth as fast as possible even if I have to stab chunks of tofu with a stick.
It has a tiny little patio out front and a tiny little interior and I. just. love. it.
I always get the Pad See Ew or Pad Thai with fried tofu, and J always gets the mango curry. You can’t eat this stuff without literally saying “Om nom nom” with every mouthful. Siam House has funny little appetizers arranged in artful ways and a cheapo happy hour, but I seriously always just go for the gold: the main course. It never disappoints.
1/ Have I mentioned that there’s a little park-type-thing directly opposite my building? Someone built it as a community space, with benches, strategically placed trash cans, etc, but luckily for me no one uses it. It’s like having my own giant back yard—no joke, I wore a bikini top out there the other day. I’m wondering if I could get away with a full-blown back yard party out there, with beer, can jam, cornhole, etc. But probably not. Can’t push it too far. Stick to bikini and a Kindle. P.S. Isn’t my new baby Dooney the cutest thing ever? Love!
2/ I’ve written about Firehook here, and they really do have the best hidden gem little garden space. J and I got the best seats in the house, with two red deck chairs under a grape vine and our own little red table. Good stuff.
3/ I wouldn’t have been caught dead taking selfies back in the day, but to be honest, I’m starting to give less and less of a poop. This is one of J’s childhood Orioles shirts, repurposed as my woman-sized Orioles shirt for my latest O’s game. Full disclosure: I also have a Nationals shirt I got for $8 from the kid’s section at TJ Maxx. So sue me.
4/ Went to Ardeo Bardeo a few weeks ago, and my favorite thing was this fancy version of pecan pie. Was not keen on my salmon, though (in fact, I might never eat salmon again. It came topped with what looked like scummy sea foam.)
5/At a friend’s BBQ in Annapolis on Saturday; my veggie burger is a sad, sad outcast.
6/ What I wore to said BBQ. This is my go-to dress for when I’ve gained a few and I still want to feel skinny. Honestly, I could probably hide a full-blown pregnancy under that thing. It’s also covered in a mini Scottish terrier print, so basically, it’s an all-around awesome dress.
7/N and her fiance live in Silver Spring, which I can’t recommend, but one of the perks is that their apartment complex has this great pool and they very, very nicely let me visit and sneakily drink raspberry cider from a plastic cup. My first time swimming this summer—obviously, I got burned. Gentle reminder from my body that I am pale as milk and I need to vigorously apply sunscreen every ten seconds for the rest of the summer.
8/ J brought this monstrosity back from a family trip to Philly on Sunday. It had three kinds of fish. He ate it with a knife and fork. How is this sort of thing even allowed?
9/ J feeding treats to a friend’s goldendoodle and lady bulldog at Saturday’s BBQ. Must own, adopt, buy, steal, or barter for a doggy ASAP.
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Why is there an apostrophe in “O’s”? These are the things that keep me awake at night.
Despite my general lack of interest in all things sports, for the past three years, I’ve been to a Nats-O’s game at Nationals Park. This year, after spending Memorial Day weekend trapped in my apartment with a fever (joy, let me tell you,) I went to two. Let me explain. On Memorial Day, we hung out in the Bullpen (now known as the Fairgrounds) while Y and B tried their hands at pitching in front of everyone, J and I drank frozen daiquiris (you’d be surprised what a frozen alcoholic drink can do for a sore throat and a fever, practically medicine,) and Z cackled and judged people’s pitches on the sidelines with the excuse of a “pulled shoulder.”
Our ticket seats weren’t together so we spent our game time huddled under the scoreboard, drinking Miller Lite and Coors because the bar next to us wouldn’t serve anything else.
J and I got pretty tipsy, but not blasted, which I consider a VICTORY, or maybe just an improvement on past years. When we got home, we made our respective tipsy bad-decision purchases: I ordered pizza. J bought more baseball tickets for Tuesday.
Typical.
The crazy thing is, the next day I had what I’m now calling my “baseball breakthrough.” We had work on Wednesday, so we didn’t drink. We got there early and had to huddle with the crowds inside, eating nachos, waiting for the storm outside to end. And J had bought really nice, close seats, because he’d been drinking at the time. Obviously. So I actually watched the game from ceremonial first pitch onwards, surrounded by die-hard fans (from opposing teams. Nats and O’s aren’t exactly a rivalry, but we were *thisclose* to a fight breaking out,) and I actually enjoyed it. I like baseball now, I think. BREAKTHROUGH.
Unfortunately, as someone who does not care about baseball, on Memorial Day, I wore an Orioles shirt, but on Tuesday, I wore a Nationals shirt, just to be fair. This proved to be a dire mistake, because the Nats gloriously won that game. J is a die-hard O’s fan. I got a lot of side eye on Tuesday. My bad.
P.S. On Tuesday, this guy holding a beer nonchalantly caught a foul ball one-handed. As in, the ball just sailed through the air and landed in his outstretched hand with a perfect POP. It was so badass.
P.P.S. Unlike previous years, Nats Park now has vegetarian food! I spied veggie burgers AND vegetarian chili. Awesome stuff. I feel very validated, warm, fuzzy, etc.
I’ve talked about my personal Disneyland before. By my personal Disneyland, I mean “rooftop bar, serves drinks, pizza.” Also—pleasantly crowded, within walking distance of my apartment. Basically, perfection (along with St Arnold’s. PERFECTION, y’all.) Up top is J’s burger (just a regular ol’ burger. Except better. Look at it.) and my regular pizza which I get every. single. time. because the fact that it’s topped with arugula tricks my brain into thinking I’m eating a healthful salad. A delicious, guilt-free salad.
I should note that I’ve never been to Disneyland. But if it doesn’t have a rooftop bar, drinks, and delicious pizza, I don’t want to go.
I did it! It’s actually shorter than it looks in these pics. It really does look like a bob. I loves it and I want to go even shorter. Bobs forever. I even found a pic of me when I was little and had a bob and bangs and I have it sitting in my living room. My 8-year-old bobbed self stares out of the pic at my 24-year-old bobbed self in a sort of poetic, creepy, life comes full circle way. Funnily enough, back then my Mom and I had matching bobs, and my Mom called me right after I cut my hair short last week and told me she’d just cut her hair short, too. On a mutual, undiscussed whim. Cue the Goosebumps theme song.
But it’s just hair, obvi.
Fabulous, fast-drying, easy-to-care-for, LIFE CHANGING, HAIR.
