First the Pirate's Booty...

...and now this.

At Trader Joe's, at the register, a sign for store-brand lotion:

"A midsummer's night cream."

And you thought this was a family store.

Ciao, pasta

Sophia Loren has attributed everything she's got to pasta--and I lived that since I moved out of my parent's house. That's 10 years of triweekly pasta, minimum. With cream and lemon; with avocado, basil, blue cheese, and bacon; with a winter sauce of sausage, sundried tomato, and porcini mushroom; with peas, spring onions, asparagus, and chevre; with roasted butternut sqash and onions...

And then there was the genetically ingrained call of my German ancestors: "Eat bread. Eat cheese. Eat sausage. Drink beer."

So, naturally, I have reached the point where my body isn't so forgiving of late nights, blended margaritas, or--yes--wheat and dairy. I can't ignore it any more.

I'm taking it slow, but the more I cut these things out, the better I feel. My allergies, my skin, my energy, all improving. And until this becomes second nature, I take comfort from Gluten-Free Girl , who found opportunity in constraints.

And I get my triweekly pasta fix from rice noodles.

Dreaming of creme fraiche, wood-fired pizza, cappuccini and brioche...and semolina.

All footie, all the time

We won't be doing anything around here for a while:

World Cup madness

Almost done

Tiles straight, moldings cut at 45 degrees at the corners...