Christina Follow

A penchant for details. A thirst for words. A cynical dreamer. A budding raconteur.

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Dear @olmstednyc , we need to talk. Having been here three times, in three consecutive years, I feel as if I have a right to voice my thoughts. Let’s start off with the positives. There’s a reason why the carrot crepe is still on the menu, despite your seasonal offerings. It’s divine, and a perfect example of textures working in harmony. The plate settings are interesting and vibrant. So are your quite eclectic tastes in music, jumping from jazz, to TLC, to black keys and 90s hip hop. I get it you were trying to work out your kinks, and your need to be different. It’s Brooklyn, after all. You don’t want to be categorized as yet another nouveau American, or French restaurant on the block. So you incorporate inspired Asian flavors to shake things up. No, make that blatantly. The chawanmushi, the yakitori, and now, the crab Rangoon. You have your fun playing around with flavors, but you’re at least 10 steps behind the essence of these dishes. They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but the same cannot be said of yours. Please at least have someone with a firmer grasp of Asian flavors, so those of us who grow up with these are not enraged by your “liberal” takes on them. Thank you.
Dinner would have been splendid...if the table was as empty as a surfboard (what’s with the linen napkins on stainless steel tables?), the bread as warm as the service, the butter as plentiful as the cutleries - Winston s Churchill, if he went to @frenchettenyc ps. Razor clams + fish soup dipped with bread AND BUTTER, and something else (acidic. To cut through the richness) = 👌🏻 time.
Channeling Caravaggio. If he did paintings of apricots, instead of just fruit baskets and renaissance, that is.
Nothing a pot of good tea can’t resolve, even in this horrid summer heat.
One of my favorite parts of traveling abroad, is the abundance of new books I get to peruse. @fnac_officiel, the equivalent of barnes & Nobles (but with better buyers), became a must visit for me. They had an exceptional selection of graphic books, and I mean stunning. Even though I was used to paying 40% off on amazon, I still managed to procure my share of books at full price. Sure, my heart might have winced once or twice, but as I caressed them in my loving arms, everything else became oblivion. Over the weekend, I had the greatest pleasure to relive the moment in New York. Now if only someone had the foresight of making the adventures of Tintin affordable, I’d be a very happy clam indeed.
A birthday should be spent in ebullience. After all, one only turns 28 once. Unfortunately, turning a year older, does not necessarily equate a year wiser. Not yet 30, but over 25, i can no longer make mistakes, and let youth take the blame. Finding a path is no longer imminent, but a necessity. Maybe it’s time to do some serious self reflection, of what truly matters. No one can predict the future, but surely I can be prepared.
I’m not sure why most pictures from Paris are so undersaturated. Paris is filled with grimes. With vines intertwined, a thick layer of muck covers majority of buildings. It’s dirty, but also deadly charming. We miss what we can’t have, and right now, as I’m falling asleep working, I dream about my early morning walks in Paris, where me and pigeons are the only ones awake. I dream about walking down the blocks, stopping every so often to snap a picture. I dream about Paris, in its most banal, fundamental form. Not about the prospect of amour, or luxury goods, or even the food. But Paris itself. Tu me manques.
“This” close to hop back into bed and take a nap. Reminiscing the comfortable bed at Sp34 hotel, when I didn’t have impending work, and could lounge all day if I wanted. Also dreaming about changing my bed frame (not likely) and grabbing new bed sheets. Summer sale is coming up, after all. These linen sheets will work out great for those of us who don’t have ACs.
8 days from now, I’ll be turning 28. Six incredible months have flown by thus far. Two international trips within two months, four countries, and the most insane co op process that left me sleepless and agitated for over a month. Work stress, finding a strand of white hair (and another. And another. Please stop), juggling between having a social life, to enjoying time of solitude. They say there’s no place like home, and there really isn’t. Down to the garbage truck that beeps at 530 on Fridays, live music on Friday nights down the block, and the incredible afternoon light that leaves me wonderstruck. Like any other day, I worked, and got to rummage my fingers over these incredible strawberries as my reward. Then I cooked, like I’ve been doing almost every night, while watching some show on Netflix. Hearing the soft rumbles of subway outside my window is the definition of comfort. Who knew routines can be so sought after?
My favorite game to play on the subway, when devoid of phone battery, or internet, is to visualize what else I’m missing from my life. It can range anything from a new broom (check), a handheld vacuum cleaner (still working on it), or my philosophical outlook on existence. Time passes rather quickly this way, and before I know it, I have arrived to my destination. It’s an interactive way for me to mirror my thoughts, and weave them into coherent ideas. So if you ever catch me staring into space on the train, I’m merely cross referencing check lists. Speaking of lists, my phone only has 16G of memory, and the hardware takes up 8 gig, or something tragic. The only way for me to sustain is to keep deleting pictures. This one was taken a few weeks ago, during design week. Would it be weird to say that the best part, literally the very best part of all the show rooms was the drop dead gorgeous flowers ? Don’t believe me? See exhibit A.