Since I started blogging, I’ve written about shoes and food several times. For some reason shoes are consistently the most exciting fashion purchases I make. And I’m not foodie or master chef, but I just love how something so essential to life can be so creative and enjoyable.
With that in mind, here are three snapshots of my life relating to fare and footwear.
Saturday was gray and lazy. After observing the gloom from my blanket for a few too many hours, I decided to finally emerge and go grocery shopping.
This is probably not usual, but I actually really enjoy grocery shopping. There’s something about being around all those basic ingredients waiting to be merged and mixed that I find strangely energizing. And the personalities of stores really resonate with me: Trader Joe’s is whimsical, wholesome, delightfully low-priced — my happy place; the Giant by my house is so hectic that I can’t stay for more than a few minutes, unless I’m standing in the sanctuary of the international foods aisle.
Anyway, on Saturday, the thought of venturing to Whole Foods (which has the personality of a hip glasses-wearing 30-something living in Chicago’s Lincoln Park) was enough to get me out of bed and into the bustle of D.C. It ended up being, overall, a mixed experience. On one hand, Whole Foods is healthy grocery heaven. On the other, it exhausted my self-restraint to not buy everything I saw, and even then I caved and impulsively bought a bar of fancy organic chocolate. (But can you blame me?)
At the thrift store:
I try on metallic gold disco pants
(Too outrageous and ill-fitting to buy)
Then I spot the shoes
Slip them on, Cinderella-style
My feet, to the shoes:
“Where have you been my whole life?”
Yes, I’ll buy them.
I’ve finally found it: A taqueria with tacos that taste like Southern California. Well, almost. It’s, like … 80% there. I’ve been eating tacos since I got to D.C. I live in a neighborhood with tons of Salvadorian/Mexican restaurants, but I have yet to find one that makes me think of the street trucks in L.A.
It’s weird to think about, how food can be made out of such simple ingredients yet nearly impossible to recreate in a different part of the world. “Chicago-style” pizza in Texas tastes nothing like Giordano’s. Falafel is never as good as it was in Israel. Gelato outside of Italy is usually a disappointment. Do the ingredients make the food, or does the place?