(As usual, all photos are enlargeable for better detail if you simply click on them, which I highly recommend for the shots of DC's gorgeous architecture!)
It has actually happened: After being close to each of them for almost fifteen years and trying to hook them up, Saint Cat and Superstar finally met this Saturday night... and totally hit it off. I knew it!!!
(Of course, it doesn't hurt that they're both immensely kind, bright, ballsy, hilarious, well-travelled, fond of some of the same obscure off-the-beaten-track villages in Latin America and Europe, literary nuts, and fluent in French, Spanish, and English. They've also both lived or are living in Montréal and Toronto, have received similar degrees from the same universities at some point or other, have made independent documentaries and films, are both talented writers, photographers, and visual artists, worked in broadcasting, and share common ideals and keen interests. Neither suffer fools gladly, either... although they both seem to have a soft spot for me!) Yarp, they're purdy cool-ass chicas, and it's about time they finally hooked up.
So yeah... my tank got filled to the brim this weekend with loads of cuddles and love, belly giggles, obnoxious cackles, addictive books, fabulous music, sumptuous wines, and gorgeous food. I had a blissfully amazing time and feel super, super blessed, thanks to you guys. Saint Cat and Supe... I adore you.
Luckily for us, one undeniable little perk of Saint Cat's insane 12+ hour days at work is that while she puts in four dementingly intense days in a row, she then gets three off to (try to) recover. Thus, we were spoilt rotten and got to spend the entirety of Supe's visit together, which was entirely unplanned and amazingly lucky. If there was one thing we were doing a hell of lot of, it was killing ourselves laughing.
And no... I don't think we'll ever grow up.
Saturday.
Our own little Mini!!! As promised, Saint Cat booked us one of my dream cars so we could zip around town rather stylishly during Supe's visit. Unfortunately, as is our horrendous pattern...
Supe and I got into a little tussle fighting over who got the backseat. Saint Cat gamely tried to capture the bitchfight. Supe still maintains she had a better hold on the seat (come on, you just had your face planted in it, whereas I got both cheeks of me arse!), but I still got it in the end... ha ha.
Wow... they don't really bother disguising the fact, do they?
Our first stop was the Canadian Embassy for a craft fair and wine-tasting to which Saint Cat received an invitation. Our automatic reaction upon seeing the silly blow-up thingie out front: Oh, Canada... noooooooooo. Whyyyyyyyy? Yes, it's good and all to show your big Southern neighbour just how harmless and wussy you are, but really... geez.
And yet, we just... couldn't... resist.
Quick, before security comes down!!!
Success!!! Shit... shit, they're coming. Run. RUN!!!
Supe and Bean, together again.
My Bitch (and her Ho).
After finding some gifts at the Embassy and discovering that $5 Nanaimo bars could be both a rip off and too soft, we trundled our giddy little selves to Georgetown and Anthropologie ~ Supe's favourite weakness also. Funnily enough, the three of us have actually picked up some of the same clothes from there over the years. Ah, my friends... they have such great taste. ;-) After returning the Mini, we came back, read and napped a little, then went to SC's village local, The Heights, for some dinner. It was my first meal out since I got here, and damn was it ever worth it.
This is my supremely exquisite, fine-boned Superstar, a nickname bestowed upon her by our friend John the Spy (aka Uncle Giggles) when we were 19 and studying French in Chicoutimi (a town in the heartland of séparatiste Québec). Now an author and children's librarian at an inner-city library in Toronto, she's the greatest activist for early and teen literacy you'll ever have the pleasure to meet.
And here is my luminescently majestic and whimsical Saint Cat. (SC is the nickname I gave her during our bookstore years for her patience, clairvoyance, and sheer inspiration. At that time, I'd also just gotten back from Tuscany, where St. Catherine was the patron saint of Siena, and in whose convent I stayed during my visit. Furthermore, it's also one of the most interesting and funky streets in Montréal, SC's hometown. Thus, apt!)
Flipper, or Bean (depending on who you ask).
Haven't had Surf and Turf forever, and it was SO. GOOD.
The only irritant of the evening: A creepazoid troll a few feet away from us at the bar would simply not stop blatantly staring throughout our entire meal, despite being shot several "What the fuck?" looks. Trying to stare him down didn't really work, either... until I pulled the camera out to take pictures of him to try to make him stop. I know it was a bratty and maybe somewhat confrontational move, but he was literally *right* in front of me, and I didn't feel like involving waitstaff for something so stupid. But anyway, he resumed when SC and Supe forced me to put it away, saying something or other about that being the one thing about Latin men. I don't know... it was still really disturbing and hard to ignore.
After dinner, though, the fun continued as Supe and I continued on our rampage of the town and went to The Black Cat (co-owned by Dave Grohl!) to do a wee bit of tush jiving. Turns out I got the weekend wrong and we ended up with DJ Bliss instead, who was actually kinda crappy, made a lot of mistakes, and left a lot of silences. Wasn't what we were expecting (thought it was going to be Britpop and indie stuff, which is actually set for next weekend), but we still got a really good sweat going... which should make my Ninja-conditioning instructor vewwy prowd.
Sunday.
Right. Got the coffee'n'booze, we're good for the day.
The Shadow Mistresses out for a fearsome morning stroll to glean their pastries and daily diuretics: coffee for sun-up, vino for sun-down.
Menacing an innocent bysitter.
"Yeee-esss... you called?"
Nothing quite like some saucy little Arabic T'n'A.
Some quiet companionship before heading out again.
Taking a walk through the eclectic neighbourhoods of Columbia Heights, Mount Pleasant, Adams Morgan, then Dupont Circle to check out Kramer Books for the afternoon and eventually Bistrot du Coin ~ SC's favourite restaurant in DC ~ for dinner. Can't get over the incredible mix of startlingly beautiful architecture here.
And the bus says, "I will ride with others." Cute.
A travel photographer, Claude Taylor ~ from whom SC has bought many a print ~ has done well enough for himself he's set up his own very lovely gallery and storefront on 1627 Connecticut Street NW.
Vapour trails are sooooo fricking cool.
C'est temps pour le souper!!!
I have no idea what the others chose, but I had la salade de magret et gésiers de canard fumé, which was essentially smoked duck breast with gizzards, green beans, mixed greens, and grilled scallions. Heavenly, and ever so highly recommended.
Les Salades. Note the vibrant, earth-sprung colour on our dishes, as opposed to...
the main event. SC faithfully stuck with her old favourite, les steak-frites en béarnaise, Supe had herby raviolies in a luscious gruyère sauce, and I had la bouchée à la reine (Queen's Mouth), a vol-au-ventie thingy filled with chicken, sweetbreads, and mushrooms. DEEEEE-Lish.
If ever you find yourself in DC, you should definitely make a point to come here at least once. It's remarkably inexpensive for a top-notch French restaurant, the service is astoundingly perfect, and the nosh is absolutely, unbelievably good. Take it from a picky Montréaler (SC) and someone who's married to the star graduate of his prestigious little French culinary school (me)... Bistrot du Coin kicks effing ass.
Perfect contentment with our bookstore treasures while awaiting the arrival of our desserts, coffees, and digestifs.
I've been caught in the steely grip of a poached/candied pear and marzipan/frangipani obsession lately... it's hard to look at this picture and not slip around in my own drool.
"Ooooh, Holey Tights..." Once we got back home, we were treated to an improvised, hysterical "Stop... STOP!!! You're going to make me pee!" serenade to SC's last-gasp leggings.
More perfect contentment while swapping travel stories, especially about near-death, shootingoutbothends experiences in Mexico. Maybe not so strangely but still suckily enough, all three of us had frighteningly similar experiences, despite being really careful.
Monday.
More shots of Catherine's cool neighbourhood as we head to pick up a car to have a bite and take Supe to the airport.
Having our last meal en masse at Busboys and Poets before Supe heads back to T.O. The cool thing about this café ~ aside from having gorgeous food and great service ~ is that it's in my new favourite neighbourhood of U Street and 14th St NW, a historically black area. The spot, which also boasts an indie bookstore and back room for spoken-word events, is dedicated to poet/former busboy Langston Hughes. Incidentally, this is also the neighbourhood I happened upon the other night where I found the Mocha Hut, as well as the Black Cat!
Yummy... grilled paninininini, and the most beautiful, freshest, and ripest fruit bowl I've seen this winter...
And yet another reason to adore this café: Up at the front, someone scrawled out a quotation from Naomi Klein's newest book, "The Shock Doctrine." I've been meaning to read her highly-acclaimed "No Logo" for ages, so I'm really excited about the attention she's getting for her new book as well.
Obama-fever has swept this community hard. The day before, when we were at Kramer Books, I was noticing how many families were in the kids' section, buying books on the Obama story for their kids. It's really interesting and hopeful to see a group of people who have been persecuted for so long find a champion in whom they experience such justifiable pride. I'm guessing it's much like what JFK did at the time for the diasporic Irish, as well as the ones back in Ireland.
One last shot with Supe before she goes into the airport and flies back to Toronto. This was probably our shortest break in seeing each other (she was in Seattle just this past May)... but in previous years, we'd actually gone up to two years between visits. I wonder when and where we'll get to see each other again?
Juxtaposing beautiful and hideous architecture can be so shocking sometimes...
"Bureau of Misdirected Destiny" ~ a wonderful bit of graffiti Saint Cat had found. Indeed.
Today.
For the first time in well over a week, I stayed home today and in my jammies, reading, writing, and basically not saying much at all except the occasional chat with Grendel... and once when Boy called this afternoon. Other than that, it's been me in pure, happy hibernation mode... and it's been feckin' grand. Also, just after having my cozy night-time shower, I set to work after 10:15 tonight, cooking for the first time in also well over a week. Dare I say it feels rather weird ~ yet wholly liberating ~ to get back into it since it's something I normally do a few times a day, but haven't done in what feels like ages. It also hints at something somewhat illicit as well, doing it in someone else's kitchen, with someone else's toys...
Ah, the many steamy pleasures of life.
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