May 20, 2013
During our day-trip in Ajaccio, I had what was possibly the most charming encounter with a stranger that I’ve ever experienced.
A couple of us were eating lunch on the terrace of a small Italian joint in the old town, and I was sketching the small church just across from us, when an older gentleman came up and, in French, complimented me on the drawing. He proceeded to tell me that I should make sure to get the bell tower in the sketch, and I assured him I would as soon as I finished filling in the details of the face of the building. He wished us a good day and went on his way.
As we paid our bill and were getting ready to leave, the same gentleman came by and asked to see the finished sketch. After looking at it and complimenting me on a job well done, he asked if he could draw as well, to which I responded, bien sûr!
He spent about five minutes drawing the little church for us, during which time I learned that he’s been living in Ajaccio, and in fact on the same little street as this church, since he was a little boy.
May 16, 2013
During our trip to Corsica, we took a day-trip to Ajaccio, birthplace of one Napoleon Bonaparte. Perhaps you’ve heard of him.
The ancestral Bonaparte home, Casa Buonaparte, is still intact, having been continually owned by members of the family until 1923. It is now a national museum housing relics of the Emperor and his family.
I did this weird thing where I was completely uninterested in the historically significant pieces inside the museum, but fixated on the windows and what you could see of of them instead.
May 14, 2013
Like English muffins, good towns should be filled with nooks and crannies.
Tempting little buggers, aren’t they?
May 11, 2013
Walking around the towns in Corsica, you start to notice something… fluttering… out of the corner of your eye…
Clearly, the people of Corsica are taking advantage of their good weather.
May 9, 2013
Surprise! I’m on an island!
A jaw-droppingly beautiful island. A photographer’s paradise.
Seriously, I have to leave thirty minutes early for everything because I know I’m going to stop to take photos a hundred times on the way to wherever I’m going. We spent the entire first day walking around with our mouths open in near outrage at the relentless charm of the place.
May 8, 2013
I’ve had a mild obsession with Jamie Oliver for years — I used to come home from school and watch him on Food Network. It’s cooks like him that started me on the road to being the food-obsessed girl I am now. So, I couldn’t go to London without visiting one of his restaurants.
Barbecoa is on prime real estate with floor-to-ceiling windows that look out on Saint Paul’s Cathedral, specializing in dishes centered around meat and fire, whether it’s steak on grills, chicken roasted in wood-fired ovens, or pit-smoked beef. It’s a testosterone-filled menu, though with the occasional delicate touch like my cocktail: a Death in the Afternoon with a rose petal for garnish.
Honestly, I felt a bit out-of-place. We went during lunchtime and were quickly surrounded by suits. Not that there’s anything wrong with suits, but the folks around us were clearly more interested in closing the deal than the (quite good) food in front of them.
May 7, 2013
Duck Soup is the little wine bar I mentioned on my last post about London. We passed by it on the street and I did a double-take: I was sure I’d read about this place somewhere. The menu looked good. We walked in, and were immediately seated at two empty bar stools.
But it was our first meal in London, so it felt wrong to get a glass of Bordeaux. We went for beer instead.
Wikipedia says that hipsterism “fetishizes the authentic.” Well I guess that makes this a hipster bar, what with the hand-written, daily-changing menus (with both smaller “bar” plates and larger “kitchen” plates), the wine menu scrawled on the wall, and the bring-your-own-vinyls policy for the record player, which was spinning Nirvana and the B-52s that night. Not to mention how of-the-moment the plates are.
Torn bits of rich, milky mozzarella atop warm sweet peas and a puddle of olive oil. Spring on a plate.
Wee olives for snacking are always appreciated with a beer or three. Continue Reading
dining out, travel |
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