Sunday, July 31, 2011

Shark Weeeeeee(!)k

It's Shark Week, which, if you did your reading, you'll know is one of my very favorite times of the year.  Andy Samberg is the 2011 Chief Shark Officer and will hopefully make up for the inevitable countless reruns of "Air Jaws" and Craig Ferguson, generally.

We're ready.

Saturday, July 30, 2011



Things have been kind of hectic in the past few days, but I've found it's easier to deal with my other responsibilities if I reward myself with a project.

I've already missed the window to make my favorite maple taffy (no more fresh snowfalls this year), so I decided to focus on something more decadent: a super chocolaty, intensely buttery, ludicrously expensive chocolate chip cookie. This is no ordinary Tollhouse pleb. It is refined. It is deeply rich. It is complicated (sounds like Facebook).

The prep alone calls for two kinds of flour (neither of which are AP), sea salt, special chocolate known as Valrhona féves, and a full 36-hours of fridge time for the dough to rest before baking.

Disclaimer: you must be at least this pretentious to ride.

Impostor féves.

Deb of Smitten Kitchen said on her website that she was able to find les féves in her local Whole Foods, but we're not so lucky here in DC. I ended up purchasing a suitable substitute in the cheese section: flat, extra bittersweet 73.5% discs sold by weight. As in, $16 worth of 'roided up chocolate chips. If you're able to get your hands on the real deal, I highly recommend stocking up because of their special design: a slight hollow in the mold minimizes scorching if the chocolate bakes too long, which happened to a few of mine. That's right: surface area. And here I thought I'd never apply what I learned in middle school to Real Life.

Despite the fussy prep, the waiting, the hiding of raw dough from my roommate to ensure I'd have enough to bake in the end (no such thing: there's never enough), these cookies are well worth it all. Salty-sweet, tender dough gives way to chocolate that has melted into layered sheets, like strata.

Studs are out. Stripes are in.

A glass of milk, the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills reunion, and a solo binge of every last crumb will ultimately make for a very pleasant, albeit lonely, break from reality. Although if middle school taught me anything else, it's that you don't need friends when you have food.

Friday, July 29, 2011

Mix and match: Textured colorblocking

I'm pretty sure that if I wore Isabel Marant's Xacala fur vest (S/S 2010) while working in this office designed by Confetti System, I'd have a seizure.

Still...totally worth it.

Rhymes with Goop

  Ain't that some shit? (Ain't that some shit?)
Despite all the crap I talk about cleanses ("crap" being the operative word here)--how it's basically genocide against any living thing in your digestive system and will leave you chained to your toilet for days after--I caved and bought this book at the recommendation of a friend. (Not Gwyneth. We haven't spoken since "Shallow Hal.")

If I'm going to hate on it, at least I should be informed, but good lord, the first page is already intolerable.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Bar done

I finished taking the bar exam yesterday, and the entire experience is already a blurred memory. I do know that I wore denim cutoffs and ate barbecued chicken on both test days because I do what I want.

The months leading used up to it my entire reserve of patience and work ethic, so this is as much space and time as I will devote to talking about the subject anymore. Until I have to take it again that is, which I sense is a very distinct possibility.

Now that the law school process is over, I plan to catch up on all of the activities and trends that took a backseat for three years: reading for pleasure, traveling, happy hours, renewing my driver's license, and, I don't know, stretching.

Speaking of which, have you heard of this "Zumba" business? Amazing stuff!

Just kidding, guys, I may have been out of the loop for a while, but I know what Zumba is. (It's like Ethiopian food, right?)

Wednesday, July 27, 2011


I don't make very good first impressions, so why don't we skip the formalities, the drunken hookup, the awkward morning-after, when you wake up to find me (and a box of your cereal) gone? We can jump right ahead to our now platonic friendship, in which that night is already something we joke about, and we feel like we've known each other forever.

Let’s pretend you already know I’ve just graduated from law school. That three years out of college, I still don't have my bearings. You know, of course, that despite my degree, I want to be a DJ slash attorney, and not the other way around. You’re familiar with my fondness for whiskey, my penchant for lists, and that I bake for looks primarily, not taste. That I like to quote rap lyrics ironically. That my dad is crazy (the good kind) and that my mom is too (the mom kind). That I idolize Ina Garten but would be Anthony Bourdain any day. That Shark Week is right up there with Christmas, my favorite food is soup, and I pray to the god that invented Gmail. That I’m a neat freak, a gadget freak, and most importantly, a DIY freak.

That this blog is one part shopping, one part baking, two parts recycled, self-plagiarized posts, and a lot of filler for the void Facebook created when I joined the Real World and it stopped being all about me and more about "Jill is...just signed her first mortgage!"

How you like me now?