Posts filed under ‘Julie Powell’
Then I guess it’s a party.
Someone who’s managed to get drunker than me knocked down a spectacular pile of glasses. It was a miracle no one lost an eye. The poor waiter who instantly arrived to clean up was chastised by a guest with an orange tan for not instantly corralling every last sliver of glass with his bare hands.
I love that even surrounded by wonderful food people and wonderful pork products and Jacques Pépin, I can find at least on person to hate. Yay!
I can hold my egg-topped scrapple or my martini or my iPhone, not all three.
(Also, damn but these people have some sharp elbows.)
My first bit of real sustenance was lamb garlic sausage from the Prairie Grass Café. The second was my beloved fried squash blossoms. My third was pork belly. The blessed fourth? A pomegranate martini.
And you will see none of it because live blogging killed my iPhone.
The entire world is live blogging the beard awards, apparently. There’s like dozens of lit up cell phone screens in the auditorium.
The woman who won for best photography book is lean and elegant and very French, and she just thanked her wife. I have another crush.
Oh, and the river cottage meat book won! My bestest favorite!
At last, sustenance! I am allowed a square of cheese… Two! Thank you Wisconsin Artisanal Cheeses, thank you!
… Except no, because apparently live-bloggers don’t rate booze before 9. Some people are drinking though. They must be much more fancy-pants than me.
The natives are getting restless… The ceremony is a little more than half over, and the sound of clacking cocktail shakers is ringing through the summer air. Outside is also where the smoking chefs and the bobbleheaded girls who will NOT be eating Berkshire prosciutto I plan to soon be downing by the pound. I think I will have a bourbon.