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Day 1: Peace

I snapped this photo of myself when I was at work last week because I was writing an article for work and I had this sudden and overwhelming realization that I was getting paid to write. And more than that, I got to choose what I was writing about. And people were respecting the fact that I was writing and leaving me alone.

For how long have I said that this is what I want to do? How many blog posts have I written, plus the novel, plus the countless PR pieces and marketing documents and, and, and.

It’s all led me to here, to this moment in my life, where my job is largely writing.

And as I reflected on that, and looked at that self-potrait, I realized that I was at peace with myself, who I’ve been, what I’ve done, the roads I have and haven’t taken. I’m where I’ve always wanted to be, doing what I’ve always wanted.

Then today, while stopping to pick up dinner at the Thai restaurant on the way home, I was lost in thought and stumbled, lost my balance and in a very slow (and not graceful) sequence of events that almost but not quite defied gravity I fell onto the promenade that, fortunately for me, was deserted with the exception of the people I could hear around the corner on a restaurant patio.

And because I was wearing a skirt and a summer blouse, too many of my body parts scraped the pavement in a rather rude way. My elbow and wrist received minimal scrape-age, as did my ankle. My knee and shin, not so much.

Clara took one look at me when I walked through the door and seeing my bleeding knee, diagnosed me with a boo-boo, which she offered to kiss. My father-in-law asked how it happened. I pointed at my shoes and (only slightly exasperated) said, “Seriously? The shoes I wear? It was only a matter of time before I fell wearing a pair of these.”

The irony being that only a couple of hours prior my boss and I had being discussing the very shoes I was wearing.

Clara, of course, remained very concerned about my bleeding knee and insisted it need a band-aid. She escorted me upstairs where I eventually changed into sweats, cleaned my knee, applied polysporin and let Clara pick out a couple of bandages from her collection.

“Kiss boo-boo!” she keeps insisting and I’ve got to admit, every time she kisses my bandaged knee, it feels better.

On some of these streets, it almost felt post-apocalyptic. A world potentially overrun by zombies and I was one of the few survivors, searching for other survivors. Slightly creepy, but only if you’re me, with my over active imagination.

But can you imagine if my commute is like this every day? That’d be freaking awesome.

I HATE being stuck behind people in stop and go traffic. The worst is stop and go on the highway, but, as I’ve learned in the past week, stop and go on congested side roads filled with people trying to avoid the highway is just as bad.

Because seriously? Inching your way towards an intersection only to have the light turn yellow is beyond frustrating. My new commute is a third of what it was before (think 30 minutes vs 90). But I think I swear more during those 30 minutes than I have in the entire two years I was off with Clara.

So I’m on a mission. To find the route to and from the office that gives me the best driving experience possible. Few lights. Less congestion. Lots of speed. Corners optional, but desired. We needed a second car for me to commute in and so after extensive research on his part (not mine, I just randomly said I like X, Y & Z), we bought and ordered this:

The Focus Titanium Hatchback. Manual transmission, 18″ wheels, a sport suspension (I actually don’t know what I’m talking about but I can pretend), leather seats and sunroof, touch screen. Our salesperson let me take the car out on a couple of different test drives unaccompanied and the night we bought the car, I drove it how I like to drive. Sunroof open, music playing. Like Jack, nimble and quick.

I do not want to be in stop and go traffic in this car.

The most obvious route to and from work is this:

It’s the route everyone takes, hence the stop and go. It’s brutal, it sucks and I hate it.

In the past week, I’ve detoured down numerous side roads and pulled a couple of U-Turns on major roads to avoid the mass congestion ahead. Yesterday’s short cut on the toll highway had me stuck in traffic from an accident and I was reminded of that trapped highway no-where-to-go feeling. And taking it this morning only saved me less than 5 minutes off my commute so not worth the toll fee really. Despite how much I hate stop and go.

But then this evening. This evening I did this:

An extra 6 or so kilometers but mostly the same time as the direct route, door to door. Fast and scenic. Lots of corners too.

I need to test it a few times to make sure today wasn’t a fluke but my instincts are telling me it wasn’t. It feels like the right route.

The Focus is going to thank me.

Tomorrow. In less than twelve hours.

The decision to return to work was not an easy one. In fact, I blogged about not returning to work just five months ago here.

I’ve been asked a few times what motivated my desire to return to work. Nothing has changed between Clara and I, I still enjoy every single minute of every hour and every day we spend together. I don’t need a “break” from her. She’s still (and always will be) my favorite girl. But my father-in-law agreed to relocate here if I wanted to return to work and there’s certain realities to being a single income family. Such as we can survive, and still even afford the once (or twice) a year modest vacation and dinners out, but it’s difficult saving money on one income. And we’ve got someone else’s future to plan for. So there’s that.

There’s also that little nagging feeling I’ve been getting (and ignoring) late at night when I toss and turn and can’t sleep and I’ve been hearing an insistent little whisper asking me if this is it. If there’s not more.

There had to be more, I realized, and as much as Clara fills my life exponentially, it’s not her responsibility to do it 24/7. That’s a lot of pressure to put on such a little person.

And well, I did say I’d return to work for the right opportunity. Something close to home, less stress, part-time if I could find it.

I found it.

I’ll be coordinating the communications and social media for a large child care organization, 20 minutes from home. It’s a junior position, one which I had to convince those interviewing me was exactly what I wanted and it’s doing what I love to do most. Writing. Blogging. How refreshing, I confided to my husband afterwards, to interview for a job which consisted of the things I love to do in my free time. At the same time, how nerve-wracking to have to provide samples of my blogging and know that those posts could determine whether or not I got that particular job.

And yet I did.

I got the job.

And I start tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

We opted for the nine course tasting menu (as we did only 7 months earlier while there for my birthday) but this time, we were more responsible (or more seasoned) and opted to share the wine pairing so instead of individually drinking 5 full glasses of wine, we were each only responsible for 5 half glasses. Which still allowed for us to visit Vesper after dinner for one last cocktail (I ordered my new favorite drink, a purple squirrel with instructions to the bartender as he’d, not surprisingly, never heard of it).

Following are the individual courses served, with photos that required an extreme amount of discipline to capture prior to consumption as well as the notes that I jotted on my iPhone should I forget.

Robuchon. Chef of the century. Those words are not to be taken lightly. But for me? One of the best things about dining at L’Atelier (on top of the exceptional food) is this; that every request is met with a yes, certainly, of course. So very accommodating. You feel as if you could ask for anything and your wish will be granted.

Menu Decouverte de Saison (April 23, 2012)

L’Amuse-Bouche
Foie gras* parfait with port wine and parmesan foam.

“Rich and creamy. Delicate.”

Les Legumes
Confit of Mediterranean vegetables with fresh mint in a cannelloni.

“Drizzle of curry oil spices up the delicateness of the roasted pepper, thin cannelloni almost rice paper in texture. Superb.”

Les Huitres
Poached baby Kussi oysters with French salted butter.

“Beautiful, buttery, exquisite. The accompanying bread, when dipped in the butter sauce? Popcorn. Heavenly.”

Les Langoustines
Langoustines cooked in their shells with green curry and coconut milk.

“Tender, delicately seasoned with green curry and coconut. Beautiful balance of flavors. Interesting seasoning that perhaps brings out the flavors?”

La Cebette
White onion tart with smoked bacon, quail egg “mirror” and green asparagus.

“Makes you want to cry. Delicate balance of onion and asparagus. Beautiful cheese.”

La Lotte
Monkfish cheeks and baby leeks, buttery shellfish sauce with lime and ginger.

“Ginger and lime linger. Buttery and delicate, monkfish a little chewier than I’d expect. Still best mashed potatoes ever tasted, buttery and smooth.”

Le Veau
Veal flank steak slices with shallot and mashed potatoes.

“Dill beautiful accompaniment. Veal superbly tender. Capers. Lovely,
savory dish. With MASHED! (potato purée)”

Le Burger
Beef burger, topped with foie gras and caramelized bell pepper, served with crinkle-cut pommes frites.

“Ketchup is ginger, vinegar, garlic, spicy ketchup. Burger remains the definition of perfection. Juices run through the tiny burger and into the bun. Soooooo tasty. Divine. Best French fries on the planet. Perfectly salted. Worth adding to the tasting menu, even at $30+ for the pair.”

La Fraise
Caramel panna cotta topped with fresh strawberries and yogurt foam.

“Caramel panna cotta, sweet, light, delicate. Balanced beautifully w ice cream, yogurt foam, strawberries. Beautiful take on strawberry short cake. Exquisite light, flavorful.”

La Mure
Fresh blackberries infused with cassis, tender chocolate cake.

“Perfect chocolate with the tartness of the blackberries and the sorbet. Not as lovely as the strawberry but a nice balance with the ice wine.”

Le Cafe
Coffee or espresso.

“L’Atelier is single handedly responsible for my newfound appreciation of coffee. Bold and full. Added cream and sugar, the amateur I am. A little too good.”

* I overheard a customer ask one of the servers if he thought that foie gras would be made illegal in Las Vegas like it is (?) in California. His reply? “Here? In sin city? Las Vegas is guilty of far worse things than eating foie gras”. Baha! Awesome answer.

With limited time and a limited number of meals while in Vegas, we opted to have lunch one of our days at MOzen Bistro at the new (to us) Mandarin Oriental. What’s interesting to me is that the Mandarin Oriental, while on the strip, is part of the City Centre and while the other properties in the centre have that distinct Vegas feel (the Cosmopolitan, Aria), the Mandarin Oriental does not. Some could argue that it’s because it’s one of the few hotels on the strip without a casino, but it’s more than just the absence of ringing slot machines and the cloud of smoke that dominates most of the hotels.

It’s the feel that takes over you when you finally find the somewhat obscure entrance, cross through the threshold of their property and then, suddenly and somewhat unexplainably, quiet descends.

I was hushed (and awed) by the towering bamboo in the hotel’s taxi drop off area. Days later, I came across this quote by Chinese philosopher Huanchu Daoren that accurately captured my feelings about the Mandarin:

“Calm in quietude is not real calm. When you can be calm in the midst of activity, this is the true state of nature.”

It could be the result of spending six years or so working (and submersed) in the Chinese culture, but I responded to the hotel in a way I haven’t responded to a Vegas property in a very long time. I felt the stress of the strip, the effects if the traveling, the fatigue of my cold that accompanied us all but fade away almost as soon as we strolled through the doors.

The beauty about the Mandarin? Their checkin lobby is located many floors above. The entrance lobby is eerily quiet and barren, with an unobtrusive concierge desk staffed by individuals who seem to know when to make themselves noticed and when not.

We had fifteen minutes to wait before MOzen opened and I was perfectly content to spend those moments in the lobby, in the quietude that the hotel provided so simply and elegantly.

I wore a skirt and sleeveless top to lunch, with flip flops and felt neither over or under dressed.

I snapped this photo in the hotel bathroom as well as this one:

Lunch, as had been reviewed on prominent foodie websites, was as promised. I ordered the chicken tikka wrap that included some of the best tzatkiki I’ve eaten and an incredibly spicy mint chutney that I obsessed over long after the meal was gone. At $14, including the wrap, a salad and fries, it was exceptional value and helped ease the pain of the $7 lemonade that I ordered for the Vitamin C. Taylor ordered the murgh makhani (their version of butter chicken) and while it’s price of $33 was a bit steep, the dish included the chicken and sauce dish, a black lentil dal, rice and a basket of nan. Easily shareable for two people. We started off with the spicy tuna rolls as an appetizer and at $12 for 8 pieces, it was fresh and very well prepared. We had so much food that I suggested we save the leftovers and have them for dinner that night in our room, which we did.

View from our lunch table.

I’m desperate to stay here next time we’re in Vegas and not just for the quietude and the isolation.

Because honestly? I can’t stop thinking about that damn murgh makhani.

The red-eye last night meant a late check-out yesterday, breakfast at John Philippe Patisserie at Aria for crepes and coffee, all afternoon at the pool, a stroll along the strip and then an early, light dinner of wine, cheese, bread and salami at Sage. The ideal meal, as it turns out, when you have a full night of travel ahead of you.

Dark in the cabin of the plane, a hushed quiet as the passengers read, slept, talked quietly amongst themselves. Sleep failed me despite my best efforts and instead I stayed awake, watching a movie (something I no longer do at home).

But aftermath of not sleeping, of being so tired that my vision blurred when I stepped off the plane was worth it.

For that last day in Vegas, yes, but almost more for that early morning solitude, the quiet. A chance to decompress.

Above all else, that sunrise above the clouds.

The red-eye.

The memories that I have from Denver International from when Tay and I were doing our long distance relationship are intense, to say the least.

Seventeen years ago, for fifteen months. Three separate trips to Colorado, three weeks at a time, trips that were never long enough and are not lost to me.

Nor is it lost on me that we’re back here, seventeen years later, headed back to the place where we got married eight years ago, to celebrate our anniversary.

Some of my happiest moments as a young university student were in this airport. The anticipation sitting on the plane, waiting to deboard, seeing him when I walked through those gate doors, back when that was allowed. His young self, sometimes with flowers, always with a smile on his face.

And then, some of the saddest moments of that young girl’s life (because absence of a loved one was the biggest sadness she’d known then and still is, in some ways). Those too quick drives to the airport, locking myself in the bathroom the night before to cry in the bathtub and give myself migraines, how he’d escort me to my gate and I’d go into a bathroom and the entire time in there, I’d pray that he’d be gone when I came back out because those goodbyes killed me.

He never left. We said goodbye. And each time, I was convinced it’d be the last time I’d see him.

Seventeen years later. In this same airport. Parents of a beautiful, perfect girl. Crowded around a phone as we facetimed our good nights to her.

Seventeen years. Not the same people by far. But still so much the same because we’re here again.

Together.

Basking in the peace and quiet of the house, the cool spring air coming in through the patio doors, the sun on the counter tops, I cooked. There’s something about creating something from scratch, especially these days, that’s so satisfying. The fresh ingredients, the sharpness of the knives and the cutting boards beneath them as I chop, the sizzle of spices in hot oil.

I’ve been obsessed with a layered dip I love to make and that was first on my list.

Mine isn’t exactly like the one pictured above (from top to bottom I do cilantro, shredded cheese, salsa, guacamole and a cream cheese/sour cream combo) but it’s as good as that one looks.

Dave, who was coming tonight, was bringing chicken tikka, spicy hot and already seasoned from the Indian place he buys it. It only requires 5 or 10 minutes on a hot grill and it’s done.

I woke from napping with Clara thinking about the tikka and suddenly craved cucumber. With red onion. And a vinaigrette. A quick google search produced this:

Peeled cucumber, red onion, cilantro. Dressing made from ginger, rice vinegar, sugar, fish sauce and red chili. The whole thing tossed with sesame seeds. It paired perfectly with the tikka.

The chicken was going to be too hot for Clara so I also made a chick pea curry – the coconut milk keeps it mild and slightly sweet while ginger, onion and just a bit of jalapeño gives it a subtle flavor. Normally when I make this dish I’m also making my own chicken tikka from scratch and as a veg dish, the chick peas are upstaged. Not the case tonight, I gave them my full attention and it showed.

Fluffy basmati rice and I was done, dinner was served.

And because I took my time, cooked with care and precision and with (yes) love, it was the meal I’d expected. Indian with a slight Thai twist. East meets west. The unexpected Mexican fiesta (in a bowl). Simple but not.