I traveled for 24 hours straight yesterday. I almost missed my flight, lost my aisle seat, and gained a middle seat (suppressed groan), next to a screaming baby. My solution was to drink beer profusely until I passed out. Success! Once I arrived at the Tokyo airport, a mere 11 hours later, my ride was no where to be found and I ended up taking a bus to my hotel a whole hour and a half away. (But what a hotel it is, The Peninsula Tokyo is lovely) I was so exhausted, dirty and pissed off I had reached my threshold of insanity: not only did I want to kill every person next to me, but I was ready to shoot heroin, drink paint thinner and run through the streets naked. Moral of the story: don’t travel. Seriously. Just never ever leave your house. It will save you pain and heartache, and a murderous like rage that will build up inside of you, devour your soul and take away all that is good, whole and true.

I was starving. We ended up going to a great little sushi restaurant and I ate enough maguro (tuna) for two. It was so fresh I swore it still fluttered lightly in my mouth. After that, we proceeded to drink a couple bottles of wine and I made it to bed sometime after midnight. I didn’t bring my camera because I am a jackass. I left it at the hotel and all those pretty food porn shots came and went. Alas, I will have it stapled to me this afternoon and will shower you food shots soon.

Sincerely,

Worst Cook Ever

I’m leaving for Tokyo, Japan on Monday for a few days. While I am very excited to see the cultural hot spots and tourist destinations, all I can think about is the food. Is that bad? A very large part of me thinks I will reach ultimate Zen after 3 days of solid Japanese food. In the past year, Tokyo surpassed Paris as the greatest culinary destination in the world.

I am titillated by Kaiseki Ryori, said to be the ultimate in Japanese cuisine pictured below.

“Kaiseki is a meal of courses, consisting of a number of small dishes: steamed dishes, simmered dishes, and grilled dishes. It often includes sliced raw fish (sashimi), tempura, grilled fish, soup, rice, and so on…Kaiseki-ryori uses the fresh ingredients of the season and are cooked in ways that enhance the original taste of the ingredients. Each dish is simply seasoned and presented beautifully..” (via About.com)

The last time I was there, I made it as far as the airport and became fascinated with their electronic beer dispensers and amazing technological toilets. It takes so little to amuse me. In any event, I will be posting here regularly on all things Tokyo and by that, I mean everything I eat and devour.

Last night, spur of the moment, my gorgeous gentleman lover stumbled upon Dave Matthews Band tickets. I’ve never been to one of his concerts before, and while not fanatical, I do enjoy his music. Unfortunately, the concert was an hour away and it was cold and rainy but it didn’t stop his die hard fans from pleasuring themselves in their seats among a sea of Abercrombie clad, collegiate, white people. Truth be told he’s great live and the violinist was extraordinary. Though, it’s no substitute for a Tom Jones concert. And if you think I’m joking, attend one. Not only will you witness the average sixty year old grandmother sprinting to the stage with their bra and panties, but you may just want to throw yours as well. Oh Mr. Jones, the web you weave.

Yet again, it’s chilly outside, making my weather in-tuned pallet think Fall. Two things come to mind: apples and pie, preferably together. While I was hoping to save this recipe for chillier seasons, it simply can’t wait. My caramel apple pie is not only easy, it’s versatile… like a lover who will whip you with chains and then kiss you gently.

Ingredients:

8-10 apples (granny smith) thinly sliced (the thinner the better)
1 cup sugar, plus 1/4 cup for the top
3 Tbls. of water
1/4 cup heavy cream
1 Tbls. Vanilla extract
1 lemon, halved
1 tablespoon flour
1 Tbls. cinnamon
1/4 cup unsalted butter
Splash of dark rum

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In 1969, Susan Atkins and other members of the Manson family brutally killed five people at a Benedict Canyon mansion and a couple the following night. Among them, was the eight-and-half months pregnant actress, Sharon Tate, whom Atkins testified to stabbing repeatedly. “She asked me to let her baby live,” Atkins told parole officials in 1993. “I told her I didn’t have mercy for her.” She then killed her, tasted her blood and wrote ‘PIG’ in Tate’s blood on the front door.

Now, almost forty years later, it is Atkins asking for mercy. She’s dying of brain cancer, has only months left to live and is asking for a compassionate release after serving 37 years in prison.

Having known little about the ‘Helter Skelter’ scare of the late sixties, Charles Manson and the sensational trial that followed I picked up the novel, Helter Skelter, by brilliant prosecutor, Vincent Bugliosi. The book is over 500 pages long and is the best true crime novel I’ve ever read. Who knew race, The Beatles White Album and The Bible could create such a dangerous concoction all named after a slide in Britain. My conclusion on Susan Atkins is that compassion is the last thing she deserves.

I’m also sincerely pissed off about the name ‘Charlie’. It has been a great desire to name a future offspring ‘Charlie’ because honestly, I’ve never met an asshole named Charlie. Then, I read this book. Thanks.

I fell in love with a man who described his day job as a mime on Culver Avenue. When we met, Dean Martin played in surround sound in my head. Butterflies didn’t just flutter; they had explosive orgasms in my stomach. The world as I knew it changed forever. But that is just being in love, which any of us can convince ourselves that we are. Love itself is an entirely different animal. Everything you need to know about love is found in one quote in Captain Corelli’s Mandolin (an extraordinary novel). But how do we separate love from the feelings of being in love?

The divorce rate in the United States is actually the lowest it’s been since the 70’s, around 36%, but it feels closer to half (it’s hard to find anyone over 40 who hasn’t been divorced at least once). So what’s the problem? Is it the fascist state of marriage that destroys relationships? A friend of mine swears by polyamory - openly having more than one mate at a time. Others suggest life partners are the road to committed bliss. Whatever your feelings of commitment are, most of us try and try again to find “the one.” And considering most of us don’t aspire to be single parents or go through divorce proceedings, we need to look carefully at not only ourselves, but the one sleeping next to us. That same person who once sent butterflies to tickle our insides may one day disembowel us with a spoon in divorce court. The traditional clues aren’t cutting it - that they make you laugh and share your same values is nice, but what else should we be looking out for? Here’s a list I’ve gathered to help me find the one.

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Just my luck, disease stricken tomatoes are on the prowl; salmonella is ruining my summer. This recipe looks so good, it just might be worth the risk. Sure you may die from it, but what a last meal it will be. Sigh. Recipe via Bon Appetit:

Ingredients:

1/2 cup fine dry breadcrumbs
1 tablespoon olive oil
12 medium tomatoes
3/4 cup crumbled blue cheese (about 3 ounces)

Preparation:

It is mind numbingly hot, especially in the house, working without air conditioning. I have drank an entire pitcher of iced tea and dreaming about this cooling punch: Negroni.

4 cups assorted fresh fruit (cherries, berries, peaches)
2 to 4 tbls. of sugar (optional)
1 cup Campari
1 cup sweet vermouth
1 cup gin
2 750-ml bottles chilled Prosecco
Ice (lots and lots of ice)

This morning I woke up and began the 300 Workout. Anyone familiar with the film, 300, will recall how greatly out of shape you felt after watching it.

It’s daunting, and includes these weight-training moves:

• 25 pull-ups
• 50 deadlifts at 135 pounds
• 50 push-ups
• 50 box jumps with a 24-inch box
• 50 “floor wipers” (a core and shoulders exercise at 135 pounds)
• 50 “clean and press” at 36 pounds (a weight-lifting exercise)
• 25 more pull-ups — for a total of 300 reps

There’s no rest between movements and the score is based on total time

My 300 workout was more like 10. I feel shame.

Kate Beckinsale believes there are two types of people in the world, the ones who rule in the kitchen and those who rock your world in bed. Guess which one she is:

She told Glamour magazine: “I’m the worst wife in the cooking department. I always thought you can’t be good at food and sex, but you can always order the food in…”

I’ve had better.

I’m quite certain I missed my calling as a doctor. In the past few days I have performed various surgeries. Among them, pulling a tick out of my cat Tim’s neck after explaining to everyone else “that is not a skin tag. He is not Italian.” Cleaning a nail wound and extracting glass from a child’s foot. Sure, they’re not life saving tasks, but I feel so focused and calm while performing my “surgeries” which probably alludes to the fact that I am more likely to be a serial killer. Excellent.

I’m extrodinarly broke lately. Which means I’ve been consuming coffee to starve off hunger and eating tomato sandwiches constantly. It’s good poor man’s grub. Place thinly sliced tomatos on the bread of your choice (white bread really makes it spectacular, but it will also probably kill you. Honestly, what happened to white bread?) add a thin layer of mayo (they make it with olive oil now — who knew!) and add salt and pepper. Enjoy.