Before there was NYC, there was Paris - Part 2

I had made it all the way up the narrow circular stairs to my b&b the night before in a blissful haze, both drunk on various types of booze and new comradery.

The next morning I think I may have woken up with the same smile that I fell asleep with. Walking those same winding steps, I trekked up to the top floor to meet with Neal for another bready, delicious breakfast. Here we sipped tea, coffee, grapefruit juice, and orange juice, while discussing our upcoming subway path to the 20th arrondissement to tour the Père Lachaise Cemetery. So far the weather had been nothing but spurts of misty rain, and soggy, grey clouds. Chill had been in the air, but lucky for us the sun was out and we were going to try to soak it up amongst the dead. Mélanie and Nicolas waved us over immediately upon exiting the Metro Station that we had planned to meet at. We were only about 15 feet from the cemetery when we reached ground level, and before even going in, I knew this was about to be remarkable.

 

Looking for Jim Morrison's grave, and notable stops along the way.

 

 

 

 Found. Very serious, indeed.

 

With hardly any room between the plots, we wandered about. Highlighted by copper that was turning turquoise from corrosion, the moss thickly covered cobblestone and graves. This was definitely the most beautiful cemetery I had ever been to. Walking up and down uneven paths, through hills, amongst the trees, we were lost in serenity while all of Paris bustled on around us. 

After a few hours of exploration, we were starving. Taking direction from Mélanie, Neal and I hopped back onto the Metro and met them a few stops away since they were traveling by scooter. We walked around the 12th arrondissement looking for a particular place to eat, and when we arrived, it was closed. Luckily, plan B was just around the corner at Chez Dugule. Mélanie had been there before, and she was right, it was great! Most of the restaurants in Paris have set daily menus for both lunch and dinner, better know as "prix fixe". You pay varying lump sums, and can get 2-4 course meals from a variety of mix and matches on the board. Also beer or wine may come with as well. This was the first time I had experienced this thus far while in Paris and was stoked. 

 Lionel Richie's permanently reserved table above. (Not really.)

We started off the meal with a charcuterie plate full of salame, prosciutto, French cured meats, cornichons, onions, and a pad of butter. I had chosen a garden salad topped with a bloomy-rinded goat crottin and an Amstel Light to drink. (Blech.) Speaking of the beer of Paris... for the most part, it's crap. Luckily Leffe and Grimbergen are trusty fall backs that are typically on tap.

  

Succulent chicken sauteed in a mushroom cream sauce, served with cheesy potatoes au gratin was what I chose for my main course. I noticed a difference in "their" birds in comparison to "ours". They we much more tender, less fatty, and had a much more gentle flavor. Perhaps it's because they are less factory-farmed, antibiotic free, and fed a better feed? A novel approach, isn't it? While we had been finishing our meal, their close friend Olivier called and invited me on a night out in Paris with him that evening. He is a sound technician at Crazy Horse, a world-renowned cabaret theatre in Champs-Élysées near the Arc de Triomphe, and had a guest pass for me!

Since Neal was going to see P.J. Harvey again that night, this worked out perfectly for me. A few hours to relax in my room, and then I was ready to go out for another night in Paris. Olivier, and his friend/co-worker Olivier #2 (as I called him) arrived at my temporary residence to be my dates for the evening. After a few beers and introductions at Olivier's flat, we set off into the night on a mission, and that mission was nude women and a good time. Now, let me get something straight about French Cabaret, my experience was that it's very tasteful and not at all trashy, even quite funny at times. Granted Crazy Horse is definitely very risque, it is however in no way tacky or offensive, unless you're a really uptight asshole who hates nakedness in general. The choreography, set design, and musical scores were great, and the women were absolutely stunning. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before. (Sidenote: I've never been to a strip club, which is shocking to many people that know me well.) The kicker was that at every table there were bottles of AOC Champagne chilling in ice. It all was such a truly unique Parisian experience that I couldn't believe I was actually a part of.

Two hours later, the show had completed. Left with most inhibitions set aside from a night of visual temptation, we were back out on the streets with a few more of Olivier and Olivier #2's coworkers who had just completed the last show of the night at Crazy Horse.

Some of the "équipage bariolé" (motley crew) from that night, minus the bouncer/Mounty. Both Olivier's are in grey. #1 to my right, and #2 to my left.

Hunger had stricken us all, and we also needed somewhere to quench our thirst. One of the fellow coworkers had a friend that managed a restaurant nearby, so this is where we went! Café Delmas is a bold, yet hazy cafe open late with tasty cocktails and great plates. The problem I had been running into most places was being able to fully understand the menus. I had a lot of the French words memorized for what meat was being served, but had to rely on my trusty French-to-English cheat book quite a bit to know what exactly I was ordering. This night I failed and had chosen very unwisely. Expecting a pan-fried fillet of fish in olive oil, this is what arrived:

 

Realization hit me that I would be eating a "snack" (a slightly embarrassing one at that), while everyone ate their platefuls of warm, delicious smelling dinners. No one really seemed to notice my disappointment, except for one fellow named Cadet. We made eye contact and started laughing uncontrollably. Another friend, Olivier #3 (if you can believe that... yes, there were three of them now), who had helped me understand the menu, felt so bad that he didn't warn me that it wasn't freshly prepared. Regardless, I was going to enjoy this $15 box of Ventresca tuna, damnit. So I did, and it was indeed very tasty. A few of the others couldn't finish their dinners and wouldn't allow me to refuse their leftovers out of pity. (The steak and pasta dishes were excellent, by the way.) To appease my need to have crème brûlée at least once in Paris, I took the opportunity there following the "meal", and it was delightful in every way that you'd expect from a flamed vanilla custard. Nothing amazing mind you, but enjoyable nonetheless.

After dinner, into the night we went, and on into the early morning. Wait, more like late the next morning. After the bars had closed, we had all stayed up through the night at Olivier's flat, once again laughing, drinking, and acting like fools in general. It had been an absolute blast! By the time I was heading out the door it was daytime, and I was drunkenly disorientated on top of lost. Luckily Olivier #2 and a few others walked me all the way back "home", but only after we had stopped at a corner pâtisserie (aka: French bakery)! I asked one of my new friends to order me a cream filled pastry (that upon eating I found was still gooey and warm) and some oddly large ball of hardened meringue rolled through coconut. Before even reaching my front door, the pastry was devoured, and then out of no where, I recognized where we were... back on my street, Rue du Mont Cenis. We hugged, kissed, and bid adieu, all parting on our own ways. Once again I walked those narrow, circular stairs to my room in the b&b, relying on the wall and rails to guide me to my door. Back inside my room, and a few bites into my meringue (which was cream filled), I literally fell on my bed and that was where my night/morning ended. I hadn't partied that hard for some time. My battery had died and I was out cold without any regard for the next day.

No turkey for me this Thanksgiving. Just good ol' fashioned vegan buffalo wings.

This Thanksgiving was my first holiday spent in a new city and away from my loved ones. Other than not being able to see my family and friends, it didn't really bum me out to not participate. To be honest, I'm not much of a holiday celebrator any longer. After 8 years of holiday season retail hell, hating unnecessary consumerism, and having much issue with the slaying of the indigenous tribes of this land... I pretty much give it all the middle finger. Granted, any enthusiasm or energy I have for it goes into my performance at work. However, you will find that I'm the boss vetoing holiday music within the department to keep my sanity and the sanity of those around me. (In fact I think it may have been Fugazi and The Buzzcocks that keep me going last week...)

With that giant rant being said, it was great to have two weeks of Louisville friends in New Jersey to spend time with during the Thanksgiving craze! The first round of friends were in town to play shows in NYC, and since Cranford is so close, of course they stayed with me! J.Glenn and Scott Mertz were the first of my friends to arrive. Finally, I could show others what my new life was like, both visually and through food.

Rewind to my first trip to Jersey. My friend Everett (whom I co-manage Gourmet Library with) and his girlfriend Meg took me to Harold's NYC Famous Deli, which just so happens to have it's last location open and running inside a hotel in Edison, NJ. Upon entering, I was greeted by signs directing me to their pickle bar, and later found that the sheer amount of pastrami that could be piled on two pieces of bread was over-the-top hilarious.

Let me quit explaining, and look at the pictures from my first visit:

 

 

 

 

Before. 

(Note the the lady laughing at our sandwich.)

And after.

Even three of us couldn't take this mother down.

Back to the here and now... 

I had had such an amazing experience previously, I just had to take Scott and J. there so they could experience it for themselves. After a crazy day full of holiday madness for the upcoming Thanksgiving Day, and with my friend Allie along for the ride (she had never been either), we met Everett and Meg for a guaranteed meal full gluttony and grease. Everything on the menu is family-sized portions for the most part, so we put our order in for two sandwiches (pastrami and corned beef), one potato pancake (with a side of applesauce and sour cream to slather it with), an order of onion rings, and then got in line for the fist-pumping, mother-fucking picklebar. You don't understand ya'll, this is the "King" of all picklebars. They even brag they have the "World's Largest", and I won't argue. There were half-sours, sours, new, dill, bread and butter, and spicy dill. On top of that they have pickled tomatoes, pickled slaw, pickled cherry peppers, sauerkraut, sweet cakes, and rows upon rows of extra pumpernickel and rye bread for the obscene amount of meat that would be awaiting us from our return from the island of future flatulence. Needless to say, everything was exactly what you would expect and yearn for in a deli like Harold's. After a very similar meal to the other shared previously, everyone was pleased with the giant feast of artery-clogging goodness. We all left Harold's full, farty, and with doggybags. A righteous success indeed.

After a great weekend in both New Jersey and the city with J. and Scott., it was hard to see them go, but what made up for it was my friend Shawn's arrival from Louisville just a few days later! Shawn and I had become best friends after I had moved in under she and her boyfriend Marty's apartment a few years back. We shared the "secret staircase" that conjoined only our apartments, in what was once a large single-family Victorian home. When we lived together we were both vegetarians, but she's now vegan and I'm once again a full fledged meat-eater. Since she came in specifically for Thanksgiving, we had to find a way to compromise with what we would eat together. This wasn't really very hard for me simply because I do still enjoy and appreciate foods that are without meat or animal products. In fact, I try to stay as meat-free as possible, and when I do submit to temptation, I try to only buy it from Whole Foods Market, Gourmet Library, or local restaurants. Not having dairy on the otherhand... yeah right. I have a cheese tattoo. I'll probably die with a wedge of 3yr aged Comté clutched in my hands, I just know it. 

Anyways, at first we thought about fixing dinner with some friends, but after a change of plans, we decided to hit up a restaurant in the West Village that she had been scoping out online. Turns out she chose wisely. Soy and Sake is an absolute vegan's paradise if they enjoy fake meats and Asian cuisine. Before I even looked through the overwhelmingly amazing menu, I was in love with the dim lights and the way the fish tank cast a blue glow all over the glassed-in main room where we would soon be seated.

(The following pictures are courtesy of Shawn Price. You can find her beautiful photography at www.shawnpricephotography.com. If you want a really good laugh, go here for the holiday portraits she did of me and my kitties in her studio a few years back...)

As we walked to our table I noticed that they also had a sushi bar featuring  soy "shrimp", "crab", "chicken", and even "scallops" in the refrigerated glass case. That night they were running a couple of fantastic sounding Thanksgiving specials, which I noted from other tables were impressive amounts of food, but instead I went with many other options off of the regular menu. Along with the giant bottle of MOMOKAWA Organic Nigori Sake (which was deliciously creamy and full of flavorful notes of banana), and Shawn's choices, we had a table full of delicious "wannabes". The highlights for me were the Coconut Soy Shrimp and the Soy Buffalo Wings. Both were full of flavor and texturally very realistic.

The coconut "shrimp" were almost identical to other real coconut shrimp that I've had, minus the fishy flavor. Even the way that the soy separated when I bit into it made me feel like I was eating real shrimp. The coconut was perfectly crispy and browned, adding a subtle sweetness that complemented the spicy tang of the sweet and sour chili sauce.

The buffalo wings were beyond delicious. Coated in a (not so)spicy citrus barbecue sauce, these drumsticks were moist, meaty, and an excellent substitute for anyone who has missed chicken, or barbecue in general. Served with celery, carrots, and a vegan sesame garlic blue cheese sauce, they were truly completed with a wooden stick that you had to chew around as if it were a bone. 

What I didn't like was any of the fancy sushi rolls that we ordered. Part of this is probably due to the fact that I haven't been living without the glory in which sushi brings to the mind and body. In fact, sushi is one of my most enjoyed and consumed foods. My love of it started as a tiny child, when my family and I lived in the bay area and would drive into San Francisco for rolls, sashimi, miso soup, and tempura. Only out of curiosity did I order the Soy Scallop Roll, and what a mistake that was. The "scallop" was a hard lump of nothing tasty, the tempura flakes were stale, and I was bummed. Shawn seemed to really like hers, and while they were better than my awful pick, I still wasn't into any of them.

Aside from the disappointing sushi experience, everything else at Soy and Sake truly was delicious. When more vegan/vegetarian friends come to visit, it will definitely be on the food agenda.

I must also not forget to mention Barbes, another great restaurant that Shawn and I hit up while we were staying near Times Square last weekend. Looking primarily for cocktails, we sort of just stumbled upon it and were literally lured in by the very welcoming staff. What awaited us inside was an amazing menu full of Parisian meets Maghreb (Morocco, Algeria, and Tunisia) cuisine. With the drinks ordered (I went with a mojito), we were ready to get down to business. While I am an artichoke fan, and have had them cooked whole several times before, I've never had any that were nearly as good as the Artichoke A'la Moutarde appetizer that I ordered on a whim. Tender petals pulled from the whole choke and dipped in a house-made mustard sauce, leaving the hearts for last, I was in heaven. Saving my debating skills for the entree, I finally ordered the Tagine de Poisson (marinated fish and seasonal vegetables with a charmoula sauce served in the tagine it was cooked in) with a side of Moroccan couscous, and was pleased with my decision. Bright red and stew-like, this dish was nothing but tender, aromatic goodness. Yellow and green squash, red and green bell peppers, lemon confit, and a flavor-absorbing fillet of whitefish, I ate all of it and never looked back. For a dessert the manager sent us our third round of cocktails on the house, and upon leaving, we were all smiles and giggles. Luckily, the guilt I felt about all the calories I had just inhaled vanished as soon as we started walking.

Now I'm back to sitting around the house with my cat Emma, and my roommate Pam's dog Trigger. While I'm still exhausted from the "go-go-go" of the retail rush, and non-stop entertaining of friends for two weeks, I still feel so mentally refreshed from some of the familiar faces I hold so dear. Truly, I cannot wait for the next round of comrades to come visit, and I'm so excited as to who it might be and where we might eat.

Before there was NYC, there was Paris - Part 1

Ever since last September's trip to Seattle for the 2010 American Cheese Society Conference, I've been on the go and traveling all over the place. I've been on a minimum of 20 planes just this year. Granted, several of those planes were just connecting flights, but I put in the hours damnit. They count.

Regardless, the best trip for me this year by far has been my week in Paris with my friend Neal. Neal, a fellow cheesemonger whom I had worked with for years, is one of the most unique and quirky fellows I know. He has great stories and impeccable tastes in music. Get this, long ago he ate ice cream cones with Jim O'Rourke during Jim's "child prodigy" phase after doing an interview with him, and he was also the executive producer for the first Stars of the Lid album. And if there is one thing above all that rings true about Neal, he loves PJ Harvey more than most things that have ever existed. Which leads me into why we went to Paris in the first place... to see her perform at Olympia Theatre!

I prepared for months for my upcoming 8 days in Paris. Sure, I was interested in sightseeing, museums, nightclubs, parks, shopping, architecture... but what I really had to hold back on peeing my pants over was anticipating everything I was going to eat and imbibe. Of course I didn't end up going anywhere I made sure to note previously, but everywhere I did end up dining at was fantastic. Well... there were a couple of exceptions that were "just okay", but they get out of jail free purely due to geographics.

Here we go...

Febuary 24, 2011

Waking up for the first time in Paris was one of the greatest feelings. We were staying at Au sourire de Montmartre, a very hospitable b&b run by Ihlame Aurenty, and her family, near Sacré-Coeur. After a breakfast full of Cantal cheese, chocolate-filled pastries, baguettes, french butter, and various fruit compotes in the b&b's kitchen, it was time to explore. We spent the day sightseeing around the Seine, and checking out all of the impressionist and post-impressionist art (and omg to the art nouveau furniture collection...) at the Musée d'Orsay.  After dedicating hours to the museum, we found ourselves to be absolutely starving! Lucky enough Le Deux Musees was right across the street waiting for us as we exited. I was reluctantly skeptical however due to the fact that this restaurant obviously relies on museum traffic. Could this be the Applebee's of Paris? Am I wasting precious stomach space on crap? Absolutely not! Forgive me for forgetting what the name of my dish was, but basically it was the most delicious seafood pot pie one could ever imagine. Beautifully presented with a shrimp stowaway, the flakey, buttery layers of puff pastry were the perfect match for the brothy cream sauce, full of the scallops and shrimp that resided inside. The restaurant itself was reminiscent of what I expected Paris to be like 50 years ago, and to be honest, most of the waitstaff looked like they had been there almost that long as well. With all due respect though, those were the most prompt 65-70 year old waiters I've ever met. Those hip replacements must have been a success!

 

We were to be going to the PJ Harvey concert later that night, so we decided to walk to the  8th Arrondissement and do a little shopping in the bustling area known as Champs-Elysées. We were surrounded by high fashion retail stores, quaint specialty food shoppes, and restaurants with menus that were more than impressive. As much as I would have loved to come home with a new wardrobe from Paris, instead I found myself (and my palate) being drawn to places uniquely French, such as a store dedicated to mustard and nothing but. I could have dropped $100 there, but commonsense took over, and I moved along. And actually I should take back what I said earlier, because I did find a place that was on my list... I had stumbled upon Ladurée! Eating French macarons in Paris had been a goal of mine, and this was the place I wanted to experience them first! I wagged my tail all the way in, and the entire time I waited in the line that seemed to take forever. Finally, it was my turn to pick out which of these colorful gems were going to be mine. While making my choices I had to play a guessing game with colors and the French language. I ended up with Coffee, Orange Blossom, Caramel with Salted Butter, and Blackcurrent Violet. I also picked out another pastry based off of aesthetics alone, which I found out later was full of whipped peanut butter cream. After being denied the pleasure of taking a picture of their pastry cases, they boxed up my items in fancy paper and ribbons, and out the door I went with an accomplished feeling of sweet success.

Going into this, I knew French macaroons were unlike any other macaroon I had loved before. Two firm shelled, lite-bodied meringues sandwiching one another with cream or fruit filling? Yes, please, and thank you. After eating only two, I knew I must save the rest for later. They were literally "melt-in-your-mouth" delightful, and so flavorfully sweet, but not overly. I was now madly in love.

With my delicious treats now in tow for later, Neal and had I moved along towards Olympia Theatre in search of PJ, John Parrish, and their tour bus. Instead of locating either of them, we found ourselves in a dive bar for a couple of preshow Leffe Belgian ales and storytelling. I had seen PJ perform a few years back in Covington, KY, (across the river from Cincinnati) with Neal actually, and was eagerly awaiting a revisit. The beers had gone down quite enjoyably, giving us the strength to move on and into line. I should state drinking and standing in line does not typically fair well with one's bladder, but luckily this day mine was being a champ. Especially when my friends Nicolas and Mélanie showed up on their scooter to surprise me with beer and hugs! Although we had never met before, I knew it was them immediately. Months before, I had randomly reached out to them both on Facebook hoping to make a few contacts that I could possibly hit up the nightlife with upon arrival, and many emails later, a fun friendship had come about. After many laughs and beers, the line started moving along, and we were going in. I bid temporary adieu to my nouveaux ami, with the promise that I would contact them after the show to continue our introduction.

The show was simply amazing. PJ, beautifully adorned in a black feather headdress, John Parrish, and the rest of the band were spot on. If you've not checked out this year's Mercury Prize winner , "Let England Shake", I really suggest you do. She played it in it's entirety, along with other favorites of mine such as, "Big Exit". (Which by the way, I almost lost my shit over.) Neal and I couldn't stop gushing over what a great performance that had been as we took the subway back to Montmarte.

After we had arrived at our destination, I met back up with Mélanie for my first night out in the city as a "young Parisian". She handed me a helmet and off we went! Had the wind not been chilly and beating against my skin and clothes, I wouldn't have believed I was actually zipping around, taking shortcuts through the streets of Paris on her scooter. After a few stops at Sacré-Coeur and Moulin Rouge, we went to her friend's bar Proibido to meet up with Nicolas for beers, wine, shots, you name it. While alcohol does aid with social interaction, it truly was almost as if I had known them both for years. Mélanie is an energetic, thimble-sized tigress, full of laughter and imagination. Nicolas is a hilariously animated man of art, who can only speak very broken English. To keep me amused and participate, out of nowhere Nicolas would throw a bunch of English words together he knew would make me laugh, and end up exclaiming phrases such as, "awesome shit, really cool mother fucker bitch"! Luckily, Mélanie on the other hand could speak it fairly well, and impressively continued to do as we continued to drink. In fact, it somehow seemed that Nicolas started to speak even better English through his alcohol haze! My French on the other hand was terrible.

It was a little after 1am (7ish-pm, Kentucky time), and we had closed the bar down... but we weren't ready to part yet. Off to their flat just a few blocks away we went! Clutching the 6-pack of baby-sized Heinekens we had just purchased, I walked up the stairs behind them to their colorfully painted maison, peering down on the residential streets of Montmarte. Walls covered with Nicolas' artwork, I felt overjoyed and at home. We talked well into the morning, laughing, and sharing stories as if we had been friends for years. After making plans to eat lunch and check out Jim Morrison's grave in Père Lachaise Cemetery the next day, Mélanie handed me the helmet once again and we were off. In no time I was back at my b&b. Hugs and kisses were exchanged, and off to bed I went with the thrilling realization that this trip had only just begun.

So many macaroons. So many calories. So little concern.

I'm finally starting to catch my breath since landing a great new job in New Jersey. I hit the ground running back in late August with the move/s, the challenges of being the new girl/boss, my new lifestyle, and the new territory. I was no longer surrounded by good friends, familiar faces, favorites restaurants, or even southern charm. I was now in a cultural epicenter in every way you can imagine. Attitude wise, I fit right the fuck in. Jersey isn't known for it's filter, and neither am I.

I moved to a city called Cranford, and work in a city called Springfield. The distance between the two is only 4.5 miles, and on good days it takes me 25 mins to drive it...  Early mornings, count on 40 mins... Yeah, that's right. at least 10 mins per mile. Luckily I drive through windy, lush, park-filled areas of suburbia at it's finest. Truly though. While these suburbs are still suburbs, they are filled to the brim with local businesses and restaurants, not to mention mountain ranges in the distance. The food though... The food is what's got me feeling the most excited. Not only are most of these places "Mom and Pop" establishments, they are also ethnic and cultural food havens that have their recipes down to a science. And please don't let me forget all of the other local restaurants full of young and innovative chefs that are taking gourmet cuisine to the next level, and this is just in Jersey folks. I haven't even touched on the fact that NYC is just a short train or car ride away (25 miles/40-60 mins...). and yes, I make the trip at least every other week, if not every week, in search of the city's finest cuisine and cocktails.

A couple of places I'm obsessed with right now are A Toute Heure and Bovella's Pastry Shoppe
 
A Toute Heure, loosely meaning "anytime", is hands down my favorite restaurant so far, and lucky for me (unlucky for my wallet) it's a short walk up the street from where I live. I had been eyeballing it on my way to work for the past 2 months, and after reading their menu online (which changes often), it's where I chose to celebrate my 30th birthday with friends. The food we ate that evening is a blur. Somewhat due to all the beer and wine we "BYOB'ed", but mostly because we all ordered so much of EVERYTHING. Highlights from the evening were the beet and arugula salad with blue crumbles, frickled pickles, cauliflower fritters, marrow bones, my dinner of scallops over turnip mash, and the most amazing pork belly sandwich I've ever tried. This experience only left me wanting more, and of course I've been back since! How could I possibly ignore their unusual varities of mussel pots, decadent cheese plates completed with honey comb, East Coast raw oysters served with an amazing mignonette, innovative entrees reminiscent of home cooking, and don't let me forget about their assorted "bites", appetizers, and desserts... This very cozy, low-lit restaurant sources most of their goods locally, and even has a fishmonger who arrives to NYC at 2am to get his flippers on the best fresh seafood NYC has to offer. Trust me, I will definitely be posting more about them at another time (time and time again, I'm sure...).

This brings me to Bovella's Pastry Shoppe... Located in Westfield, maybe 2 miles from where I reside in Cranford, lives this tiny little bakery that absolutely made my jaw drop upon entering. One night in search of a quick bite to eat on the go after work (while also trying to eat somewhat healthy since that's pretty much ended after leaving Whole Foods Market) I stopped into Wild Greens (which by the way was a tasty and enjoyable choice) to check out their menu and just how "Wild" they actually were. I promptly noticed Bovella's staring me down from across the street upon exiting. Taunting and teasing me with the delicate treasures inside that were illuminated through the windows, I knew I had found trouble and that it was going to be delicious. Stepping inside instantly evoked feelings of how I once felt upon entering Roselyn Bakery back home in Indianapolis as a child. Granted though, Bovella's is much higher quality, way more delicious, and hopefully doesn't have the ignored rat/bug infestation that shut Roselyn down for good 15 years ago. (Which broke the hearts of Hoosiers across the land upon exposure, but that's a whole different story for another time...) With 4 service cases packed full of different delicacies, it was hard to make a decision on the fly. Luckily their cookies are sold by the pound, so I just started pointing. Best of all, they have at least 8 different types of macaroons, which are by far some of my favorite delights on Earth. With a $10 minimum on credit cards, I was forced to get much more than I needed, and truly I'm not complaining. After sealing the deal and signing my name, my bag of goodies and I came home. And yes, in one sitting I promptly ate them all. I'm sure my neighbors heard piggy noise coming from the front door that night. But let me get something straight with y'all, these cookies aren't the run of the mill, boring rounds I'm used to in the Mid-West and South, these are cookies that have been recreated time after time for the past 60+ years, and their recipes probably started back in Italy even before that. Sugary sesame seeds, moist coconut, amazing chocolate shells, bavarian cream, and buttery, flaky edges sent me into a near diabetic coma. But had I overdosed, at least I would have died with a smile.