Her eyes were bigger than her stomach, maybe?

Florent didn't really close.

New York is so annoying, tugging at my heart strings like this.

For those of you who don't know, Florent was this old restaurant in the Meatpacking District. I loved it. Cheap French bistro food in a crappy diner space, in this cool old neighborhood. It was one of the first restaurants I went to when I got to New York, and I had no idea where I was going. I only knew the numbered streets on the midtown grid, so when an Italian friend, in her heavy accent, told me to meet her at "Flohr-aaahnt on the Gahn-tse-voorhte", I could only hope that the cab driver would know what the hell I was talking about.

My old clubbing haunt, Mother, was only a block or so away from Florent, so we used to go there fairly often in the wee hours. Where else could we get escargot, veggie burgers, a charcuterie plate and a grilled cheese sandwich, to please all our varied palates?

In 1999, Keith McNally opened Pastis, a French bistro. Then, around 2000, that neighborhood became HUGE trendy. Mother closed, a Scoop boutique went in, and we headed further downtown for our clubbing thrills, to Kitsch Inn and Rubber Monkey Revenge.

The MD, in the meantime, teetered on the verge of trendy for about five more minutes, then crashed deeply into bridge and tunnel territory. It went from the cheap and dirty home of tranny hookers and S&M dance clubs, to eurotrash bling with $600 haircuts (and worse!) and Stella McCartney boutiques, like overnight. As Jay McInerney said, and he of all people should know, "'Pastis was, of course, the beginning of the transformation,' the instant when the neighborhood suddenly appeared on the collective GPS of the Black Card set, after which, goes the argument, there was no stopping the carnival of excess that followed."

Anyway...
Florent's lease was up. The rent went up from something like 6K to over 50K a month. Florent could not afford, so they decided to close at end of June. Lots of tributes, lots of tears.

But today I see: Florent diner to re-open with new name.

Was Lucas too greedy? Did she have a bout of family tradition and sentimentality? Or is she just stealing Florent's winning idea out from under him? It does, after all, sound a bit like the epic Ball Square feud, does it not?

I just wish New York would stop toying with my emotions like this. I think it's why I had to leave in the first place.

I have the worst knife skills ever

And my boyfriend handles a knife beautifully. SO here's what I'm wondering, is this resource targeted to amateurs, or to men specifically. Because we all know that men and women learn new skills differently.

Or do we?

Fishy Google ads

Where is the best chowder in Boston? Boston.com wants to help you find it, and wants your suggestions.

But Google Ads thinks you might actually be looking for something else...


Oh, those wags in Mountain View. Who knew their content matching was so sensitive to subtleties?

Those Brits sure know their bait and tackle, don't they, Becks?

From BANG!, our British gossip feed

David Beckham was left with red hot genitals because of a faulty car heater.

The English soccer star ran into trouble when the heated seats of his 4x4 car malfunctioned in Los Angeles. The Los Angeles Galaxy player was driving when the setting jammed on heat, forcing him to pull over and find something to cushion his scorched manhood.

An onlooker told Britain’s Daily Star newspaper: “One minute he was tearing across Los Angeles, the next, he was rolling down his windows, panting and staring down at his crotch in horror. There were lots of fans and paparazzi following him, making it even more difficult for him to sort out his boiling bits. He was gutted to be caught cushioning his seat from the hot leather.”

David recently showed the world his seemingly impressive tackle in a series of new adverts for Emporio Armani. The 33-year-old sports superstar models the fashion house’s autumn and winter 2009 underwear collection.

Meanwhile, Will Smith revealed at the premiere of his latest film ‘Hancock’ last night (18.06.08) that David is going to give him soccer lessons. Smith said: “David Beckham is one of the best soccer players in the world. I begged him to teach me how to play and he promises he will. I can't wait.”

Sorry, I just could not resist

Not so retro, after all

This has been bouncing around for a few weeks, but now it's been made into a handy intarweb-style quiz with auto-scoring.

31 As a 1930s wife, I am Poor Take the test!

B of course scored 99 = Very Superior. Mind you, when we tested on paper, I was a 23 and he was an 81. I was still totally undeserving of his goodness, but there seems to be a bit of grade inflation going on with the online edition.

I quizzed my parents on Father's Day. Oh how fun when we got to the "marital congress" questions, let me tell you.

How did you (and your sweeties) do?

Get on that treadmill!

My roommate has joined my gym, and has also joined Weight Watchers online. He's promised to try to drag me to the gym with him, and it will be easier than ever to eat healthy with someone to share the joy and pain.

Then, this morning my inbox contained the best motivation ever to drop some serious poundage (better even than my upcoming high school reunion):
Will airlines charge by weight? - SmarterTravel.com

Time to hit the gym!

Runaway Grain

Make something healthy and tasty for dinner tonight. I haven't tried this recipe yet myself, but it sure is popular. People are raving about it on Chowhound and in the letters section of the Globe Magazine, and someone just wrote me asking for the recipe (PS: there's a search box at the top of Boston.com, if you're ever looking for a back article).

Looks tasty to me! If you try it, please tell me how you like it.

My husband the free man

So Clooney is single again because "Sarah Said Too Much"? George, dear, let's review the facts:

• You are private, and shield yourself from the intrusions of fame behind a wall of humor
  
• I shield myself behind a fake blog identity
  
• You don't want your girlfriend using you to advance her career
  
• I have my own career, thanks.
  
• You have a house in Italy
  
• I have a house in Italy. Also, I speak Italian.

Darling, I wouldn't even want to walk the red carpet. You can go to those events on your own.

The Great Boston Lobster Bake

Forget about the Boston Tea Party -- there are tons of steamed lobsters right outside my office at this very moment. Where are the vats of drawn butter?

The most excellent Hook family owners vow to rebuild after blaze destroys landmark seafood business. And I believe they will, and quickly. Better, stronger than before even. Behold, the next-generation bionic lobster company!

What particularly saddens me at the moment is that something "devoured 60,000 pounds of lobster...", and it wasn't me.

I'm guessing arson. That lobster pound sat smack in the middle of some prime waterfront real estate, in the hottest development area in town. And the Hooks have fought to stay there before.

There's another possibility, though, one too terrible to believe. Could it be my fault? Could this be another one of my mystical powers?

You see, I recently gave up lobster. (Yes, I know that report says I can have it as often as three times a month, but considering the massive quantities I've eaten in my lifetime, I figure I'm probably already way over my personal quota. I mean, it's not like the mercury ever leaves your system.)

So, I give up lobster, and then my fave lobster place burns to the ground. This would be merely a coincidence, if it weren't for the Raven bar in New York. I used to celebrate my birthday at the Raven every year, and there were many other messy celebrations. But right after I accepted the job in Boston and prepared to move, the Raven burned down and was shuttered.

Honestly, what kind of superpower is this? Nothing I love can live on after I leave it? (wait, don't ask any of my ex-boyfriends about that one...)

Well if the Raven has hopes to rebuild, then maybe we can still hold out hope that the Hook family will persevere. In the meantime, any intrepid souls with scuba gear in the mood for some smoky lobster bisque?

Ko-thario Picks Food Blogger Over ...me!

For all who are breathlessly awaiting the final chapter in my sudden foodie sort-of-fame:
Ko-thario Picks Food Blogger Over Atheist Carnivore

I had a hysterically fun time with this whole adventure. And what a bonus -- I now have two tags of my very own on Grub Street!

For the record, despite B's encouragement, I wouldn't have responded to the ad at all if I hadn't found the Ko-thario's writing witty, charming and funny. I'm in no race to go to Ko; I'll dine there eventually. If anything, it was the pork fat that was extraneous in this equation, not him.

Ko-thario, Dominique -- I hope you have a lovely time.

Happy Memorial Day weekend, everyone! Eat well!

Farmer Dave -- Somerville CSA

Woo Hoo! I'm Supporting Community Agriculture!

I am about to sign up for a local CSA, so I'll be getting a steady supply of fresh, locally grown fruits and veg all summer and fall.

The minimum share has food for two people. I'm going to ask my new roommate if he's into sharing it, but if not, I might be looking for someone to share. Let me know if you'd be interested!

Body news and translations as poetry

As much as I wish I found more foods to be unappetizing, what really sets my heart a-flutter is that translation.

Ko-thario and me -- more banter

He replied! Funny, charming, lots in common, cute. Looks like a tall dark Jewish Michael Cera.
Even though he's made this whole quest public, I'm not going to post his e-mail here without his consent. But I did write back again:

...67 replies -- behold the power of Grub Street! I'm glad you didn't stop counting at 69, too cliché and puerile. That said... the last time I went to a Trivia Night, our team name was "We're Not Gynecologists, But We'll Take a Look." So of course our final, losing, score was 69. The trivia master was at a loss for words.

I'm an omnivore / recipe anthologist / windowbox gardener / online journalist. I have a Master's in Journalism, but beat reporting isn't really my style. It also pays about as well as abstract expressionism, I suspect. So now I run the online events calendar for a major newspaper, as well as all the new-fangled mobile action. If you absolutely need to check the baseball score while we're out to dinner and you have a cell phone handy, I'm your girl.

I also used to edit a magazine for NYU, and my dad was a physics professor, so I still have a soft spot in my heart for academia.

Is there really that much demand for abstract expressionist porn music? Do you have sexy librarian glasses you toss aside just before breaking into a pole dance?

--Maggie

PS: I like your smile.I hope it's not really *that* rare.

And then I saw the latest update on Grub Street. I was one of only five people he wrote back to! (though I was also one of nine people who mentioned Brazilian waxes, alas.)

Grub Street posted the update at 4:15, and I didn't send off my reply until 5 -- I had it open on my desktop since this morning, but it's been a hectic day at work. If I'd finished up a little sooner, I might have more interesting gossip for you.

Stay tuned!

With uni you get two

Grub Street tells of a funny foodie mensch who's looking for a Ko-date on Craigslist. B insisted that I reply (if this works out, he will have only himself to blame...):

Hello, you hysterically funny foodie!

I'm not a Brazilian porn star, but I have gotten an occasional brazilian, and I always find rock star parking. Haven't played Rock Band yet, but my 11-year-old niece got me hooked on Guitar Hero. But I digress...

Baggage -- does my Samsonite wheelie bag count? Because, seriously, it's amazing. Ten years old, travels with me about every other weekend on average, it's been as far as Japan and the Caribbean, doubles as a cat bed whenever I forget to put it away, and it's still going strong. Also, it may have saved my life, as I was dropping it off for repairs instead of commuting down to the WTC on the morning of September 11.

I speak five languages. Unfortunately, Dutch is not one of them. That said, if you're "romantically forking foie gras into [my] mug," I'll let you cop a feel. Left or right breast, your choice -- each is magnificent. Feed me uni too, and you can touch both.

You want a link? Here.
You want a picture? There's one in this post.

Ko ho,
Maggie

Hmm, I might have to make an OK Cupid profile out of that.

Not as green as they claim to be - The Boston Globe

Not to say "I told you so," but I'm glad to see my local paper discussing issues of the new Green craze that have been concerning me for a while.

When "green" became a positive catch phrase, products started tossing it around for the marketing benefits. But the term is meaningless; there are no guidelines or restrictions. This article includes many examples of "green" products that are no better, or even worse, than other products that don't wave that flag.

Of course I'm all for environmental protection and awareness. I drive a Civic with amazing mileage; I recycle religiously (and more importantly, I reuse as much as possible first, as the recycling process uses up energy); I even bought a "green" house that's highly energy-efficient and contains no off-gassing synthetics.

But I don't want the term to be cheapened, or an unaware public to be fooled. Take the Poland Spring bottle. Sure it uses 30% less plastic, which is great. But bottled water is a huge waste of transport energy on top of all the plastic. People should be drinking tap water and carrying it around in reusable containers.

When cars were introduced, they were a solution to the existing problems of that time. But flash forward a few years, and they've created a whole new set of problems. Our environmental crisis is a complex issue. Simplistic solutions are only going to create new problems for us in the future. And simplistic promotion of anything that calls itself green feeds right into that.

For all the semi-colonists

#99 Grammar � Stuff White People Like

BY the way -- apologies for being such a slacker lately. I know that for some people, no excuse is good enough, while for others, no excuse is necessary. Therefore, let me only say that the ironic truth of amateur blogging is that exactly when life gives you lots to write about, is exactly the same moment when life gives you no time to write about it.

But I love you all, I swear. And I'm fine, so no worries.

Make this for me and win my heart

Umami love:
Picholine’s ‘Oceanic’ Sea-Urchin Panna Cotta

For the record, I heart Dana Vachon

I don't care what you think.

Alas, while reading the Gawkers as they mock my darling, I gained a new insight:

"A Field Guide to Wall Street Men.

'Pink Shirt Guy' is from Connecticut or Westchester. Secretly wants to sleep with his mother. Went to some prep school you've never heard of and is in banking because of his insecurities.

'Blue Shirt Guy' is from Long Island or New Jersey. Secretly wants to sleep with his sister. Went to public school and is in banking because of his insecurities.

Both are total douchebags."

I never realized before that the suburban New York class wars are oriented on a North-South versus East-West axis. Me being from New England, I am honorary North, pink-shirt team. Excellent!

Cloonacy

I hope Cloomydia isn't bad for a baby...

You can't afford me

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Thanks, Nina!

(I don't know, though. Considering I just went through another insemination, somehow I think I should be worth more.)