In Which Things Happen

I suppose it probably doesn’t deserve such a bland title but as I look back over the past week from my uneasy perch on Tuesday I really can’t seem to pull out a cohesive theme. I expect you’ll all get on alright despite my titular failure.

So what did I do on this otherwise unremarkable week? Well Tuesday found me enjoying a last bowl of ramen and a long rambling conversation with Martina before her return to the West Coast.

Wednesday however, proved somewhat less restful. Immediately after work I set out for the French Consulate for a Women’s Day discussion of women in entrepreneurship and funding. Now the invite had proclaimed a non-negotiable start time of 6:30pm SHARP after which no later-comers would be admitted. Is it any surprise to any of you that when I ducked out at 7:15, the event had only been going for half and hour and there was still a steady stream of late-comers making their way through the tall wooden doors into the painted and tapestried audience chamber. Les Françaises!

After hurrying back across Central Park I hopped a train back to Midtown to grab a bite at a shishi little French wine and tapas bar before heading to dance. We had the most attentive of waiters to go along with some very tasty food and we even made it to dance on time.

Thursday saw me attending a talk about ethics in AI which was meant to end with a workshop but actually concluded with a fairly baritone debate as to whether or not we were even asking the right questions. I ate free pizza.

Come Friday, I fled the office later than intended in a flurry of submissions and questions and ran home to throw clothing in a bag before catching the train to Jersey. I may have managed to snag a Krispy Kreme and a coffee in the station. By the time I reached Jersey, it was time to toss together a dinner and melt into some very lazy movie watching. So lazy in fact, that I fell asleep before the movie ended.

Saturday morning, started with a lie in until the half-made bread on the shelf started demanding attention. Now if we were reasonable we would have stayed at home to tend to the bread but we are not reasonable people and a Princeton-based pizza craving had burst onto the scene. So we bundled ourselves (and the dough) into the car and drove to Nomad. If you’re curious, we did bring the bread in with us, we may have even folded it in there and the insanely professional server didn’t even blink.

On the way back, the siren call of Costco beckoned so we slipped into the land of bulk and emerged sometime later with a miscellanea of goodies and a 10lb bag of carrots. You see, we had decided to make carrot soup! Which is how I ended up peeling and chopping the better part of the bag and then lording over two pots of soup for a substantial chunk of the evening.

After soup, it was time for cheese. Chuck’s roommate and his girlfriend had decided to have a wine and cheese party so we soon found ourselves all arrayed about a cheese board stuffing our faces, sipping local wine, and chatting about everything and nothing. I think it might have been adulting?

Sunday we were up early and headed back into the city to do dim sum with the NYC westies and one visiting dancer from DC. Our first port of call was the famous Tim Ho Wan but famous as it may be, a four hour wait just didn’t seem worthwhile so we headed down to Jing Fong in Chinatown where the wait was only 45 minutes. When we finally got upstairs we found ourselves in an orgy of edibles and with three dim sum masters on board we ate like kings for under $25 per person. 10/10 would recommend.

After dim sum I headed home to clean the flat, do some laundry, and sort out my taxes. Courtesy of the latter, I would spend over an hour in the post office on Monday but the staff looked after the idiot Canadian quite well so I can’t complain (too much).

When I finally escaped the post office, I caught a train back to my neck of the woods where I was soon out on the sidewalk scavenging supper. I ended up at one of my favourite holes in the wall: North Dumplings. I left with two scallion pancakes, 12 potstickers,and a vat of beef noodle soup all for $9.00. Let’s pretend I just wanted to have leftovers.

Later in the suspiciously balmy evening, I found myself at the French basement bar across the street drinking a fantastically bitter cocktail and eating saucisson sec over excellent conversation.

And now it’s a snow day and I’m in a cafe, having worked from home and ventured into Midtown only to get my hair trimmed. Soon I will be back safely under my duvet, dry and warm.

Feeling unusually Canadian,

The Salsa Girl





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