Love, Loss, and What I Ate

A few weekends ago, seven McCarron women (3 aunties and 2 cousins by car, 1 cousin by train, and 1 surprise cousin by plane!) took a road trip to the Big Apple, where another cousin - the sole male - awaited us in the heart of Queens. Once in the car with the trip officially underway, the already coined phrase surfaced describing whenever a group of McCarron women were all gathered in once place: "Hold on to your hats!" But, as Gigi was informing (warning?) Johnny of our ETA, a newly coined, next generation version of the phrase manifested: "Hold on to your hats! ...And maybe pop some valium..."

Needless to say we were excited and enthusiastic about our weekend ahead, full of fun, laughs, sightseeing, and...of course...eating.

On the first night there we all went to see a show called "Love, Loss, and What I Wore". It was a unique portrayal of a woman's life narrated by 5 actresses seated in chairs at the front of the stage. Very simple, yet very effective. The storyline revolved around the protagonist's life trials and tribulations of being a woman. Each story was associated with some article of clothing she had owned, and the memories and feelings that surfaced when she thought about such clothes.

As I was sitting there hearing these narratives, I thought about how I would write my own story if I was up there at center stage. Hmm...uhh... My mind strained to crank through my memory files. Being one of the more lackluster 'fashionistas' I know, I could only recall a handful of memories that were sparked by references to clothes. My ballet costume when I hit my head on the bar during the recital? The green corduroys that split right down the seam between the butt pockets during a classroom play in kindergarten? (I was dressed as a bottle of ginger ale). Although classics, clothes memories like these were few and far between.

Then I thought of the pages in my journal. If someone were to ever come upon it wanting to uncover juicy details about my life, relationships, deep dark secrets...theyd be in no such luck. All of the juiciness they would really get would be about moist roasted pork. The relationships would be about attachment with vats of peach jam, and the deep dark secrets would reveal ingredients and methods of recipes I would only share with a piece of paper.

The same theory could be applied to my camera. You can scroll through a series of photos of a trip to Italy expecting to see monuments and art pieces from thousands of years ago, only to be presented with photos of carts of fruits and vegetables and plates of antipasti. That's when I realized, sitting there in my chair in the audience of a broadway theater, that my life story wouldnt be told through what hung in my closet, but what was served on my plate.

So here are a few of the many photos taken during our three wonderful days in NYC. Perfect weather, great walks, and delicious bites. ( And no valium necessary :c) )

Cheese walrus.

Cupcakes at 10:30AM are that much more tasty.

Bologna disguised as salami...Balami.

Mmm with grainy mustard who cares whats in the inside of your sandwich.

Honey roasted peanuts and fresh pretzels in Central Park. Important fuel for power walking.

A second trip to Billy's was a must.

My barbie cake to Tori was almost identical...ha!

All cake and frosting, I swear.

For Molly. (I'll be cookie monster)

Overwhelmed by smells and choices.

The BEST blue cheese from Chelsea Market.

Cornmeal, golden raisins, fennel seed...amazing flavor combination all rolled into a fresh loaf.

Pumpernickel baguette, why dont you exist more often?

A spreadable treat and a handy 15 lb dumbbell all in one. Thanks Nutella!