Well, Aimee was just in town, (she left this morning; I was half-asleep and crazy-haired) and while it was brief and boiling hot and we were exhausted, we made the most of it. I made, for us:

sloppy sandwiches on baguette filled to the brim with boiled egg, fresh slivered mint and basil, dijon + mayonnaise, Louisiana hot sauce, crushed fennel seed, and vibrantly ripe tomato, with potato chips and sour cherries; an earthy, sweet-sour, jewel toned chilled beet soup, with large dollops of creme fraiche, slivered basil, and hot potatoes cutting the gorgeous color and vivid flavor; more big salads of tender young lettuce and brilliant tomatoes with croutons; a humble lentil salad with a damp, citrusy dressing, of both lemon and lime + olive oil with cucumber, boiled potato, julienned carrot, chopped parsley, and sriracha.

We also got coffee and Mast Brother’s chocolate at the Ace Hotel, and ate some ice cream from a big yellow truck and people-watched in the meat-packing district. As for that: I had spicy-cool ginger and Aimee had a mixture of espresso and vanilla, the former deep and smoky, the latter quintessential— rich, unassuming and elegant. Beautiful people were in a frenzy over soccer everywhere, and the air was damp, the evening wistful.

And every morning and evening we walked the dog— my roommates’, that is, while they are out in the mountains for the weekend. His name is Charles, he is a Pomeranian, and he is the sweetest creature of all time, with his fluff of fur, unabashedly loving grin, and excited trot. I officially want a dog— specifically, the little muppet that I like to call ‘Chaz’.

Perhaps I will overcome my genetic disposition towards crazy-cat-lady, after all.