A Modern Marie.

What could be the perfect finish to a wonderful weekend?

 Why, Marie Antoinette of course!

I had brought a suitcase full of Marie Antoinette-inspired clothing and accessories for a morning photo shoot with my fellow blogger, Emily and Maggie. We scoured our closets as well as Emily’s sewing room  for some interesting pieces to layer: vintage prom dresses, flouncy skirts, gold ribbon, antique brooches, massive feathers, and even my mom’s 90s bridesmaid heels. After three hours of coordinating outfits, powdering our hair excessively in the shower, and applying a week’s worth of blush onto our pancaked  faces, we were ready to frolic and fan 18^th century style.

Emily was “Pastry Marie”, and I was “Garden Marie." Maggie’s haute red dress was ideal for Madame du Barry, Louis XVI’s notorious mistress.  We popped bottles of sparkling cider in the sun, feasted on grapes, and sprawled across our fantasy French countryside. It was truly liberating –a lavishly lackadaisical reverie of a queen’s life. All we needed was Sofia Coppola’s nod of approval, and we were there.

  

On a humorous note, a senior citizen on his afternoon jog whipped out his

 Iphone and started snapping pictures of our shoot. A modern Marie would declare that every queen needs her paparazzi peasants!

Photos courtesy of Debbie and Emily Sewell

Empire State of Mind.

For living in suburbia, visiting downtown Houston is a special treat that I only encounter a few times a year. If it were up to me, I would go everyday during the summer to entertain myself with some sort of mini adventure that would break the monotony of the movie theatre or Sonic. Sadly, my mom is "not too crazy about" the prospect of me driving downtown. Me behind the wheel? Totally not scary at all.

I made you think about it, didn't I? You can trust me, though. I can decipher the amateur driver sightings of  fresh green from a point of no return. I have been didactically ordered to shout the slurred chaos of "SNIPER-CHARGER LEFTRIGHTCENTERPEEK-BACK" [insert pseudo Texan accent] by my driving school. You would think they would just let you drive without the verbal baggage of acknowledging every corner you turn and every hue of the stoplight you see. It's a longstanding joke between my friends that will never lose value.

Let me not veer off the road. 

Empire Cafe is my destination. My friend Sarah and  I had been craving the ultimate refreshment, the "Mojito Limonada" for months. We basically drove 45 minutes for a sip of this seriously amazing concoction of sugar, limes, and fresh mint. To my dismay, the cashier tersely told me they had ran out of mint. It's not like you can make this at home either. Imagine sugar strewn across the floor, a bloodied finger thinking you could chop mint like you are the great Martha, and worst of of all, lost faith in the I-can-totally-whisk-crap-together-and-make-it-edible department. I guess lemonade would have to suffice.

We all shared the "Dips of the World," a plate of warm pita slices with a Tuscan marinara, black bean dip, and Mediterranean spinach dip. I was slightly disappointed that the dips were the size of shampoo caps despite the $6 price tag. The spinach dip was the favorite. I could have snacked on it all day. I'm obsessed with sauces and dips of kinds.

My other friend Lydia (my twin from another life) ordered the Margherita pizza. Sarah and I made it obvious that we would devour her leftovers if she graced us with a slice for the hungry. She did. SO GOOD.  

                                      

 I ordered the eggplant panini and the cream of potato soup. Both were wonderful; the panini came on this delish focaccia bread with basil pecan pesto, slices of grilled eggplant, and caramelized onions. Really hearty with a hint of sweetness.  I would nix the greens, but that's just me. The soup was equally tasty.

Posing my food for a photoshoot despite the quizzical/disapproving stares from customers

I was at a slight disadvantage because I received my meal  last (I am the slowest eater EVER). Sarah's prompt and wonderfully blunt statement of "the stores are closing soon so we might want to pick up the pace" accompanied with her classic hand gestures meant it was time to start savoring the last bites. She keeps me in check. We got a slice of the massive tollhouse cake to go for dessert on our way to the Galleria; I can say it rekindled my love of homemade icing and natural desserts (sorry boxed cakes...you have had your fair share of glory moments!)

The aftermath.

If you have not tried the Empire Cafe in Houston on Westheimer (in between Shepherd and Montrose), now is your chance. It's in a wonderful location with a fresh spin on casual cuisine that should not be overlooked.     

   
  
    

No garlic needed.

This is more of a glog (gush blog) than a true post today.
Yes, I’m veering off into my personal life. But, I should. This topic deserves its own praise.

IN 18 DAYS I WILL BE SEEING VAMPIRE WEEKEND IN CONCERT.

This was the fruit of many efforts, including memorizing all the lyrics to California English from habitual listening and telling my mom to take the ticket money out of my savings account. I can’t deny that I got a rush of teenage hormonal excitement when I zapped the CONFIRM button on the online ticket. Because I totally did.

I never like all the songs an album puts out. But since the first day of last summer, I can easily say that Vampire Weekend has been my counterexample! Their album is my sleep playlist; I’ve even had dreams of being their back-up dancers. You could imagine my sheer disappointment when I realize that I’m not jamming to Mansard Roof but stuck in a cocoon of blankets with a I-have-sweaters-on-my-teeth feeling. Sigh.

There is a long list of exactly why I am so excited. Maybe it’s the sick instrumentals, their understated prep vibe, or their degrees from Columbia. Not to mention their deliciously infectious lyrics and array of sunglasses. It’s a combination of all it. Plus, lead singer Ezra Koenig doesn’t hurt (and that’s a definite understatement!)

You can’t call something like that hot. It’s just not appropriate. Haute is suitable. Beautiful. Gorgeous. ______ (any adjective your heart desires!)

But I can’t just mention Ezra. Rostam Batmanglij (keyboardist), Chris Baio (bassist), and Chris Thomson (drummer) are all super-talented. I also love Discovery, Rostam’s experimental electronic group (check out So Insane and Swing Tree). Baio is also a DJ. Lawd knows how many late nights I have spent tweet-stalking them. It’s a hardcore obsession, folks.
  

In a nutshell, these guys are brilliant. If you haven’t heard their latest album, Contra, I highly suggest you purchase it or snag a copy from a friend. You won't be disappointed.

Meow Mix.

"I like ruffles, I like glitter, meow mix meow mix please deliver!"

Inspiration: Vintage egyptian-inspired cat ring. Kind of reminds me of the Great Sphinx of Giza, but wearable.

Objective: Make a frishkay outfit out of it.

I started out with quirky kitty tank from Forever 21- their expressions are priceless! I layered it with a basic cami and a grungy denim mini-vest. To capture the intricate detail of the ring, I paired the tank with a bit of blingage. This cascade silver necklace from Urban is one of my favorite pieces- an understated yet off-the-wall elegance.

Marshall’s Mega Shoe Store is my shop of choice to scavenge for shoes! It is a little gem often glossed over for DSW, Macy’s, and the like. The prices are anything but glossy. I guess I let the cat out of the bag. Speaking of Macy’s, look what I discovered at the store only hours after I bought my steal sandals: Steve Madden's "Dazler" for $89.99.

Pretty close, eh? Except mine were a DAZZLING $68 less! Purrfect.

Cat got your tongue, Steve?

I added a feminine touch with a champagne ruffle skirt from Target to soften up the outfit. It seems like I can’t go anywhere without some sort of pastel.

I’m feline fine. I hope I delivered!

REDy, Set, Pout.

The 40s rocked it. Stefani rocks it. We can rock it. The classic red lip look.
I have always admired this timeless trend. It's the perfect way to be bold yet effortlessly elegant. The key is balance- lighten up the rich red with a minimal eye.

I know you may be giving that daunting little tube the stink eye in a bathroom counter battle. I know what you may be thinking: I will look like a(n) _________ (fill in the blank with an insult of your choice). Don't let that little insecurity lurk in the back of your mind...just go for it. Remember, Marilyn Monroe is applauding you. If that doesn't do it for you, I don't know what will.

Instead of submitting to your usual beauty routine (or should I say regime), mix up your makeup! Trade out that tired gloss for a red pick-me-up! If you are still hesitant about going full-on-red, ease yourself in with Revlon's Sheer Coral; it’s less intimidating. This lipstick allows you to adjust the color with layers without compromising the punch of red. For a more authentic color reminiscent of the 40s, Retro by Rimmel does the trick. Its matte texture provides creamy coverage with an orangey undertone.

The love is evident.

I tried to channel my own inner Marilyn with my favorite beauty weapon: the killer MAC bullet. MAC Red is a brilliant red with a fuchsia flair. Simply stated, the muse of my lipstick collection. One secret to red lipstick is to focus attention on one element of the face. Use a cream-colored shadow to cover the eye and a coffee-colored shadow for the crease. Line the eye with small wings or a cat eye shape. Follow with your favorite mascara and a sweep of light pink blush on the apples of the cheek. Tah dah! Marilyn is still applauding.

In the words of a modern day starlet:
“Beauty, to me, is about being comfortable in your own skin. That, or a kick ass red lipstick.”
-Gwyneth Paltrow










A special thank you to the lovely Laura for her wonderful photography and patience.

Ain't your vanilla child.

It's 3:14 am. A little overdue for a midnight snack, but not late enough to totally call off a munchies mission.

Question: What in God's great earth are you going to eat? The SunChips bag crinkles like death. Frosted Flakes require a clattering spoon and bowl, sorry Tony. Say your prayers if anything falls on the unforgiving tile. You are craving a waffle bowl full of something sinful, perhaps some M-Slab or Coldstone. Except you don't have five Washingtons to drop, and by now your ice cream is abandoned in a dark shop freezer- an abyss of bliss that we all fantasize about- to endure the rest of the frosty night (or morning?)

Enter Target's Madagascan Vanilla Ice Cream. 56 ounces of velvety frozen heaven.

The unassuming blue carton boasts a description of a "silky smooth ice cream with aromatic Madagascar Vanilla extract." I immediately thought, cut the BS Target. Who uses the word aromatic? "How is your ice cream madam?" "Splendid. Simply duh-vine and aromatic." The only person I could imagine blurting those words would be a pruned English socialite at the end of an extravagant seven course meal. But with one bite of this utter lusciousness on a spoon, my opinion changed. I was even contemplating that Target somehow stole Haagen Dazs ice cream, slapped an Archer Farms label on it by mistake (or perhaps for clandestine kicks), and got away with its profits. I was sweetly stumped.

With a dash of quiet confidence and steady hands, I managed to scoop some Madagascan Vanilla from my ethereal, arctic freezer without clanging into my ice cream bowl. I have never in my life had a better vanilla. It was like the dessert gods received a new deity- a gorgeous, glowing white- ball -of -decadence kind of deity. A perfect yin and yang of delicate and creamy. An irresistible taste and texture- a rich yet subtle flavor harmonized with a satiny finish. Yes, I'm talking about ice cream people.

Did I mention how unfairly photogenic it is?

So whenever you happen to be strolling the frozen aisles of Tar-Shay amidst the ample amount of ice cream candidates, keep on the scoop-out for the aromatic Madagascan Vanilla. Ignore the overbearing Breyer's. Give the cold shoulder to Ben and Jerry's. You never know when you need to impress an English ice cream elitist.