Definition of LIFE: work, kids, work, kids, work, kids and a pool… that we’re putting in ourselves (yes, we are). And while that last sentence looks like humdrum and a lot of work, it’s our LIFE. It’s very big and bold and (ahem) italicized. Far from humdrum, thank you very much.
This is how the day started on Friday, August 13th. We watched a glorious sunrise and it was mere minutes (if that) between these photos.
The fear of Friday the 13th is called friggatriskaidekaphobia and I’m definitely more afraid of that word than the actual supposed impending doom of the day. I felt lucky and in love. The LoveOfMyLife,referred to hereafter as the LOML, and I just dropped one of the sons off at the airport for his 5:30 am flight and headed to the nearest shore point to watch the sunrise. The other son-type is on vacation with his dad so we are positively giddy: 3 whole days – KID FREE!! I love you guys, but let’s keep it real here.
And so it begins with a sunrise and the LOML:
And toes in the sand:
We were up at 3:00 am for that drive to the airport. So, after a stop at Geets’ Diner where my wish was granted for a breakfast of epic proportions and lingering, we headed home for SLEEP.
After sleep and more wishes granted, a drive to our favorite city was in order. Philadelphia here we come! Our first date was in Philly and it’s our city.
Rittenhouse Square Park for chit-chat, smooches, people watching and more smooching:
Across from the park for dinner at Parc, sitting outside (78 degrees in the middle of August!) and continuing all of the above plus more:
This was quite possibly, the best dinner I’ve ever eaten. It was definitely the best bouillabaisse, ever. The LOML mentioned that Marc Summers was walking by and (slurpchewslurp) I did (slurpchewslurp) see him (slurpchewslurp) and note that (slurpchewslurp) he did take a seat further down (slurpchewslurp) from where we (slurpchewslurp) were sitting. But just barely. I was definitely in my own version of blissed out. Friday the 13th you say?
Our waiter Eric was very accomodating:
Off to the Parkway and Logan Square (which is really a circle) with sunset beginning:
This is so beautiful and sits on the grand (Benjamin Franklin) Parkway amidst museums (remember those steps from Rocky?), a basilica, library, City Hall and so much more . History and the wow factor especially on a night like this.
On this particular night, the LOML got down on bended knee and asked me to marry him. I said YES.
It all started with my genes. I come from a tradition and heritage of food and cooking. The women I grew up with: my mother, grandmother, aunts, cousins and their friends, were great cooks and bakers. They were not foodies or formally trained chefs. They did not have state-of-the-art kitchens. Their skills were formed from generations of cooking out of necessity and tradition.
Their kitchens were the centers of my family’s collective universe and where we always gathered. I watched and listened, talked and laughed amidst the bustle and aromas while they used their best tools (their hands) to create. In many cases, they weren’t following recipes.
Everyone shared recipes. So this is where I arrive at the name of my blog. I decided to call it “Pirate” Kitchen because what I cook is not original. Everything is stolen (“borrowed”) and I’m ok with that. I have notebooks with recipes handwritten by my mother and grandmother. I have cookbooks, articles, recipe indexes, and on and on and on to (what seems like) infinity all taken for my own use. Hang on to your recipes – I will steal them! This is also where I’ve grown to love the internet. You can find a recipe for anything. Yes, anything.
So, Pirate (verb): to use or reproduce without authorization. To take or entice away for one’s own use. There it is. Welcome to Pirate Kitchen.