Long Time No Blog

This blogging experience reminds me of trying to keep a journal, which I've never been very good at. My bookshelves are stocked with dozens of "begun" diaries, all decorated in some flowerly/Asian theme, all with only a few entries that are somehow 5 years apart. On one page, I'll be a heartbroken 9th grader, and on the next page a heartbroken 22-year-old. To say nothing of the (clearly) depressive tone that colors all my "Dear Diary" writing because the only time I feel compelled to purge my thoughts are those moments when they way too heavy on me.

And we're off to a riotous start!!!

So where should I pick up from? I guess I never talked about my trip to Australia. Well, it was terrific. I swam with dolphins, took my first surf lesson - I got up twice! - held a koala, and avoided sunburns (thanks to my mother who took to stalking me with her SPF 60 spray gun.) Spent a lot of time on the set of Starter Wife with my mom, where Chloe and I reverted to our favorite childhood pastime of watching the "adults" in awe and hoping that none of them try to engage with us.

Some visual aids:












































































(See the kangaroo?)

Fun with Photos!!!

I spend a lot of time looking at photos online. I know that sounds vague, but unfortunately I have a rather low threshold for what I find entertaining and, apparently, 'pictures of anything' meet the criteria.

I just caught this one here. It's a photo taken by the Columbus Police Department, and it shows the passenger seat side of football player Maurice Clarett's SUV after Clarett was arrested for driving recklessly with arms.



So, we've got a gun. Actually, a few guns. Some expensive liquor, a DMX cd, okay, okay and...what's this?...a LINT ROLLER!!!! Because if you're gonna go on a shooting spree, really best to do it without all that cat hair.

People are bizarre. Back to the pictures I go.

(Does this make me an investigative journalist?)

Where to start...

Gosh, I have so many things to tell you. November was quite the busy month. I visited my dear, about-to-be-married, friend Christina in Seattle, traveled to Mendocino for a romantic, and best-of-all free (thanks Gentry!) weekend with Florian, then over to Australia to swim with dolphins and watch my mom be tough and producer-y on the set of Starter Wife, and then to Vegas to celebrate said altar-bound friend.

So I'll begin with Seattle. Christina has set up a really lovely life for herself there. I spent the majority of my visit asking her various domestic questions like, "So do you use your pots?" and "How did you get your bathroom so clean?" because I was so amazed by the HOME she had created. I mean, it's a home. Not an apartment, not a house. A HOME. Like the kind my mom makes. A far cry from my frenzied, photos-taped-on-the-wall, sheet-as-a-tablecloth existence.

She also showed me all the treasures amassed during the course of multiple bridal showers and I couldn't help but feel as I did a decade ago, when I sat beside a girlfriend unwrapping her piles upon piles of bat mitzvah presents. "Is it too late to become religious," I wondered at the greedy age of 13. And now I found myself now contemplating marriage with a new seriousness. Commitment-phobic, I am indeed. But a lover of things, I am also.

So anyways, it was a terrific visit. Christina kept apologizing because the weather was a bit dreary and all we did was eat and talk. Which is ridiculous - her apologizing, I mean - because everyone knows eating and talking are the only things I like to do. (It's not called "trippingonmycouch" for nothing.)

In fact, I'd say this pic - snapped in Seattle (that's Christina pouring me a cup of something hot) - captures what my happiness looks like:

Killers and toilets and pens, oh my!

So my boyfriend and I were in Yosemite last month for a romantic weekend of hiking/whining. Our first night there, he had fallen fast asleep and I was up late reading my newest trashy detective thriller. I get up to use the restroom one last time and notice that the door is closed. Peculiar, I think, as I continue to approach. I go to open the door, and it won't give. It's locked. FROM THE INSIDE.

Which could mean one of two things, I quickly realize: either a) somehow the door has swung closed on its own (it was next to the patio, whose door we had left open for some air) and gotten locked in the process, or b) a killer has climbed through our patio and locked himself in the bathroom, laying in wait until we're asleep. I figured the odds were 50/50. (And of course, though I hadn't really needed to use the restroom when I first got up, discovering the toilet is unavailable makes me really have to pee.)

I decide not to wake Florian because he has insomnia so falling asleep is a really big deal and, again, there's only a 50% chance a murderer is in our bathroom.

So my first brilliant thought is to unscrew a pen and use the cartridge as a faux key, wiggling it around inside the lock with the big hope of clicking something into place. That doesn't work. OH, and when I accidentally drop the pen and it rolls ever-so-slightly under the door, I reach for it and it's gone. Which makes me think that there probably is a psycopath in the bathroom, but still - now I'm determined so I try not to let my pending death slow me down. Fast foward through 20 minutes of various other tactics, and then I finally spy my spiral notebook. "Aha!" I say quietly to myself, making sure not to startle either boyfriend or killer. I unwind the metal spiral and attempt to use its now sharp end to click open the door's lock.

And it works!!! The next thing you know, I'm prancing around the room, gushing quietly, "I am so amazing. I am so f#$%&@ing amazing." And I mean it.

Isn't that a good story? Wasn't I really brave? Couldn't I be, like, a police detective or something in real life? 'Cause I'm pretty sure unlocking doors is really clutch in that profession.

Uh...hey...

So it looks like it's been a whole lotta days since I've last posted. I'd like to submit the following excuses:

I've been completely crazed with work. Which is good when you're a freelancer and bad when you're someone who doesn't like working that much. I'm doing the annual Dining Guide for Gentry, a feature on Lance Williams and his writing partner Mark Fainaru-Wada for CAFE, a few food stories for San Francisco Magazine, and some blurbs for BizBash Magazine because they're really sweet and overpay. (Though I recently made some crack to them about their outrageously generous rates and I think they might be retooling the numbers. Forward-thinking, I am not.)

I've also been in L.A. with the family. And my cellphone broke. And I was kinda sniffly for a few days. So there! That should cover any of the ways I might have let you down recently! I'll issue one last blanket "My bad!" and now we can be done with it.

Have lots of stories to tell you - some wondrous and magical, and some about listening to myself sneeze on a tape recorder. I have to return to work right now, but I'll leave you with a bit of entertainment. It's a home-made montage - to clarify: not from my home - of great moments from 'The Office,' my new favorite television show. (I surely did not spend 2 hours last night watching related bits of footage instead of working. That would be unprofessional and indicate serious problems with my work ethic!!! )

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY TO ME/WE

So yesterday was my three-year anniversay with said-boyfriend. Big day. Big number. Go us! Florian had instructed me to meet him at 5:15 p.m. outside his office. (Much like I had instructed him to plan a surprise. ) I was told to dress warmly and wear comfy shoes. Something with nature, I suspected. And with food, I hoped.

I really love surprises. Or maybe it's more that I love anticipating them. So of course, when we get into the taxi and Florian has to tell the driver where to take us, I jam my fingers in my ears and start humming and then Florian has to yell so that I can hear, "Okay! I'm done! We're done talking! Take your fingers out of your hears! Mali?!?" I feel bad that he's dating an eight year-old but there's not much anyone can do about it. So we then arrived at Pier 39 and I learn that we're going to take a 'Sunset Cruise.' I don't know how fun I am to surprise because I promptly asked "Are we going to be alone!?!?" ("Uh, I don't think so") and "Is there gonna be dinner??" ("Uh, no.")

Of course, the boat ride was completely lovely. There we were, snuggled together, Florian and I, headed off into the sunset, under the Golden Gate and then back around Alcatraz. Great jaunt. My favorite part was probably when the "Captain" put out some bread and cheese, and I put up a good fight to consume these snacks despite all the bouncing around and getting sprayed with water. (I was a sight to behold. Really. At one point my sunglasses felt into the spinach dip and I picked them up only after cramming another piece of bread into my mouth. I think that act alone brings shame upon my family.)

Anyways, really great day. Really great boyfriend. Happy Anniversary loverboy!

Thanks Google...I guess...

So this 'Sitemeter' thing I keep referencing is really fantastic. I spend most of my day pouring through its graphs, trying to understand what the x- and y- axis are and what they indicate about my value as a person.

One piece of information Sitemeter can tell you is when a person's been directed to your site from a different one. Which means that any time an individual finds you in a Google search and clicks through, you're shown what they searched for.

I present you now with the sometimes obvious, sometimes laughable, sometimes sketchy list of terms that have, apparently, led the rest of the world to TrippingOnMyCouch:

"Amalia McGibbon"
"Amalia McGibbon" restaurant
"Amalia McGibbon" magazine
"Mari Kryder"
"Josie McGibbon"
"Lana Sanchez"
"lez talk"
"dramatic music dun dun dun dun"
"fafi"
"riding horses"
"zzzzzzz"
"baldness"
"burden of blood"

...and my favorite: "tests on cats."

Interesting, ain't it? I've used these phrases in such random contexts, and can only assume the people searching for information on blood burden/cat-testing/baldness/etc. did not find what they were looking for at my little blog here.

I suppose that makes me a disappointment.

I hate Sitemeter.

"Work"

So every few weeks, I actually have to get up off my couch and eat some free food. I recently visited Bernardus Lodge in Carmel Valley (I was calling it Monterey for a while but I understand now that that was a bad thing to do.) Bernardus Lodge is this jewel of a resort tucked into the green hills of middle-California. The lodge has won all these incredible awards, but remains off the general public's radar. Not quite sure why this is, though I suspect Google's wildly incorrect driving directions aren't helping the cause.

Anyways, I'm doing a piece on the resident Executive Chef - Cal Stamenov - and Bernardus Lodge offered to have me stay the night and enjoy a meal at the chef's table. The chef's table, for those not quite clear on the concept, is a table erected in the kitchen and reserved for VIP guests. You get to talk with and watch the people making your food, and I suppose that's a real luxury or something. It strikes me that as a VIP, I'd much rather enjoy my meal in the plush, hushed setting of a restaurant's dining room than the whistling, clanking kitchen. But this time around, perhaps because I went solo and didn't need to talk above the clamor, the chef's table was indeed a special treat.

I tried to take pictures of every course - there were 9 - but was distracted from this very basic task by all the glorious fare. I even laid my camera out in front of me so as to not forget, but each time a new dish arrived I swatted my camera to the side without a thought and dove in head first to the food. In the end, I only got a few good shots and then the rest were pathetic afterthoughts like the one below:















At least, I captured dessert in full (all three courses):














(above: yummy cheese.)














(above: banana brule, truffle caramel, chocolate ice cream.)














(above: financier, oak ice cream. yes - oak ice cream. they take oak tree bark, bake it, then boil it with milk and sugar. it tastes like you'd think it would, but is also somehow delicious.)

Perhaps the most wondrous part of the evening was swiveling around in my chair to read all the signatures of those who'd dined before me at this chef's table. I present you with a couple -

Julia Child (who wrote Bon Appetit!)...














...and Leonardo DiCaprio.















I'm ashamed to admit which one excited me more.

While you wait...

...for my next uproariously funny and insightful post, entertain yourself with these links:

1) Dress up your computer desktop with one of the thousands of movie poster images offered at http://www.shillpages.com/
movies/index2.shtml. At the very least, I know my sister Chloe will like this. Which perhaps means I should have just emailed her, but too late.

2) Check out the crazy story told in pictures at http://www.flickr.com/photos/hansvandevorst/216200392/
in/photostream/. Trust me. Just click on it. And make sure to look through the subsequent photos.

Oh, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM!!!!

Coming Soon!

Just came back from the most wonderful trip to Monterey's Bernardus Lodge. Need to finish an article right now, but wanted to post this pic as a teaser.

Tales of tasting menus to come...

(That's foie gras on top of duck, beside a roasted peach.)

Hoooray Mommy McGibbon!!!

I want to exploit this platform and congratulate my mom (Josann McGibbon Temkin) and her writing partner (Sara Parriott) for their recent success!!! Ya see - they've been a successful screenwriting team for the last twenty years, penning flicks like The Favor, Three Men and a Little Lady and Runaway Bride. But the thing about writing movies for a living - and I'd call this "unfortunate" if I didn't think being paid to write was so darn fortunate - is that you can make a decent living and still watch most of your scripts end up tucked into the dusty corners of the living room credenza. You can brainstorm countless stories, get paid to tell them all, and somehow that doesn't mean any have to end up on the big screen.

So "greenlight" is a really really special word, and the entire family is crazy excited about the following press release that just hit the trades today:

Messing stars in USA miniseries

Cameras are due to roll in Australia this winter on a six-hour miniseries for US cable starring Will & Grace's Debra Messing, in an adaptation of 2005 best-seller The Starter Wife.

Gigi Levangie Grazer's novel is being adapted for USA Network by the writing team of Sara Parriott and Josann McGibbon (Runaway Bride). They will also exec produce along with Stephanie Davis (The Caveman's Valentine) and Howard Klein (The Office) from 3 Arts Entertainment.

NBC Universal Television Studio is producing the show, which follows a woman after her divorce from a major Hollywood studio head, with Laurette Hayden, senior VP of longform programming for USA Network, overseeing the project.

"Debra Messing is both a superstar talent and America's sweetheart. Her incredible range and comedic brilliance made her our first and only choice for this role," said Jeff Wachtel, executive VP of original programming for the NBC Universal Cable-owned channel.

Parriott and McGibbon, meanwhile, are also working on animated movie Rapunzel Unbraided for Walt Disney Animation, and Stuart Cornfeld of Ben Stiller's Red Hour Films is in development with their movie script Staying Power.

Woooohooooo!!!! Amazing!!!! Fabulous!!!!! Terrific!!!!! Insane!!!!!

(Can you tell I'm hoping she flies me to Australia? I looooove you moooommmmyyy...)

Evidence of Employment

So my job doesn't exactly lend itself to crazy and hilarious anecdotes. My roomate will come home from work at a lawfirm, filled with tales of court transcripts and evil-doing perps, and all I've got is "I wrote more sentences." The life of a freelance food writer takes place on a rather predictable eat-write-publish schedule. And while it's nice knowing that all my work will show up on newsstands, this experience does lack the highs and lows of unexpected success.

But if I can't give you stories of zany coworkers (got none) and bustling workplaces (just my couch), then at the very least I thought I could tell you what I've been eating recently.

Without further ado, some tasty things:

• Natural angus steak served alongside blue cheese ice cream and tempura beets (Citizen Cake)

• Foie gras atop a walnut waffle, drizzled with squash cappacino (Parcel 104)

• Scallops drezzed with yuzu, almond oil and bee pollen (Scott Howard)

• Lobster Pot Pie in a puddle of truffle cream sauce (Arcadia)

Suddenly, my cottage-cheese-and-maple-syrup snack looks rather paltry. (Someone out there is saying "Suddenly"???)

Randomness...

I have to, how-do-you-say, work.

Enjoy.

Off the couch...

The boyfriend and I went to Big Sur this weekend, accompanied by the boyfriend's brother and the brother's wife. (Felix and Ute are their names, should you want to retell this story with more detail.)

Big Sur has become our go-to vacation spot, and we've found this little town called Lucia about 20 miles south of Big Sur that we like to stay in. Actually, it's not really a town. It's just an inn called Lucia Lodge but somehow the surrounding 200-ft. of land has earned the town-like nomination of "Lucia." Here's a pic of the place:















Great weekend with expected big beautiful views and quality sweetheart time. Here are more pics:
















































*** Of course, the real highlight was Florian (the boyfriend) bumping into the dresser, and then the bed, and then the table and the sink. He chalked this up to "the room being too small for his large frame." I was highly entertained at this bold attempt to redefine clumsiness as manliness.

It's come to this.

I was making scrambled eggs this morning, but there weren't enough eggs so I added water. (Would've opted for milk, but that had expired.) It didn't taste very good, so I dumped on a pile of salt. It was then that I looked at my pile of water/eggs with salt on top and drew the self-pitying parallel between myself and a peasant. I don't really know how the peasants of yore ate, but I decided it probably involved lots of water and salt. And maybe eggs because they had so many chickens.

(Plus, the mushrooms and bell peppers I sauteed caught on fire, and I bet the peasants faced serious sautéing problems.)

Alms...checks...credit cards...

Make it stop...
(Craigslist Discussion Forum, Part II)

Someone just posted this final blow to my ego:

nice writing; hope she dont plagarize...

The compliment is intended for my foe (see below post), and the
"she" is me. I should be offended at their suggesting I might
copy and paste the mean man's response because I'm so hungry
for content, but really I'm too busy being shocked. How did I
become the person to topple from her high horse?

I don't even have a horse...

and if I did, it wouldn't be that high...

No actually - if I had a horse, it would look like this:



That's right. It's a miniature horse. In a costume contest. :(

I just got bitch-slapped on Craigslist...

So I've been writing this article about California cooking and decided to post on a Craigslist discussion board, asking any non-Californians for their perspective on the topic. "What fun!!" I thought. How was I to know?

This is what I wrote on the New York discussion board:

I'm a food writer in SF, writing a piece on California cooking and its impact on the American culinary landscape.

Was wondering if any of you New Yorkers could speak to the spread of "fresh and local"? Do you sense a return to backyard produce? Would you credit this to California cooking?

Thanks!!! With your permission, I'd love to quote those who respond! Just imagine your name in lights! (Or Times New Roman, as the case may be...)

So I slapped that together, posted, and waited with baited breath for someone to respond.

This is what I got:

The notion that the "Fresh Local" mantra started in California is plain wrong.

San Francisco is blessed with a special climate that allows a year 'round growing season, but that is climate, not a special enlightened consciousness at work.

It might be useful to think about the roots of California cuisine before you start to pontificate about how it has changed the American food scene. Look at the broader picture and you will see you are not all that special.

(BTW, why don't you actually go spend a couple of weeks in New York to see what teh food scene is really like, rather than ask people to pay acquiescence to your false preconceptions and misplaced sense of importance?)

Um, what???? I think my first response was a shocked gasp. My second was this:

Actually, I'm already detailing the various ways in which California's "fresh and local" emphasis is a regurgitation of ideals held by other communities, past and present.

Which is not to say that the recycling of such principles in restaurants like Chez Panisse and French Laundry has not had some interesting effects on the country's definition of gourmet, what people are demanding from grocery stores, etc.

And I've spent many a week in New York, but thought it might be interesting to pick the brain of a native. You bring up many a good point...it's too bad I seem to have offended your purpose. "Misplaced sense of importance"...my goodness!

To which he responded (and yeah, I'm getting a "he" vibe):

You say: ""Misplaced sense of importance"...my goodness!" Yes, sweetie, you have a profoundly misplaced sense of the importance of both the Chez and the Laundry.

Do you see Alice Waters ever having her kitchen in the Smithsonian? If so you are dreaming, my friend. She is a regional celebrity, not a national movement.

I could go on, but I suspect I could never shake you of your delusions that California cuisine appears much beyond the subscription radius of Sunset Magazine.

And that's where it ends. I was hoping to fashion a nasty response, but figured I might as well pour that "passion" into my article. Or whatever. But I think it's fair to say I've lost whatever innocence I had left. This guy clearly knew what he was talking about, and it's too bad he buried that underneath piles of condesenion. People are nasty and evidently don't like Californians. Or maybe just this Californian.

Watch out for that Craigslist. It harbors meanies...

(p.s. I hope you caught the symbolism of my color-coded dialogue. I worked really hard on that.)

Zzzzzzz.....


On Deadline! Didn't Sleep Last Night! So Amazingly Tired!!!

(sorry - this clip is all i have to give today. have to write 4,000 words in the next 24 hours. ha.)

Tales from a Cafe

So I've gotten off my couch, and ventured out into the world. To the cafe across the street. (Do my adventurous impulses threaten you, Claire and Lara?)

I like going to the cafe because 1) they make a mean Thai Iced Tea and 2) it feels more professional to sit amongst other people typing. I'm trying to create a pseudo-work environment, because my only daily companionship at this point is the sound of our 85-year old landlord shuffling around in her apartment unit above me (though the woman can move).

Of course, it's hard to measure what this new worldly life will mean for my blog. But here's the first, incredibly interesting story from my time across the street:

I was at "Cup a' Joe" yesterday, and overheard the man next to me distributing professional advice. He was probably 30, and I'd say his "mentee," a woman, was around the same age. Unfortunately for her, I've never heard such inane, empty counsel. He insisted on murdering metaphors, drawing out their bloody deaths over hours and hours of aimless "wisdom." It was so exagerated, I finally began transcribing it all. Here are my notes:

"You have to know when to get back on the horse, and you have to understand where the horse is trying to get next. So many people are too scared to ride "horses," and there's a difference between bravery and courage. Riding a wild horse is about as dangerous as driving a broken car, but if you're brave then you'll suceed. It's a gamble. There could be an earthquake today, but are you going to live in fear? People are afraid of making investments and taking risks, because they know the horse might throw them. When someone has courage, it's not that they're not afraid - it's just that you're not afraid to act. I'm not afraid. So I will get on the horse without a rein..."

And so on, and so on, and so on. There was a 10-minute stretch also devoted to dolphins - didn't understand that at all - as well as a conclusion that touched upon David and Goliath. And not once did I hear mention of the specific industry this woman was interested in. And I was listening the ENTIRE time.

I really wish people wouldn't be so absurd, 'cause I'd get a lot more work done...

An Ode to Colbert:

Well, not so much of an ode as a post. I don't really know what an ode is. Anyways...

As many of you know, I'm a devoted fan of The Colbert Report - a show on Comedy Central that parodies celebrity anchor news commentary shows like The O'Reilly Factor and Scarborough Country. Stephen Colbert performs the entire show in the character of a blustery right-wing pundit. The man is completely hilarious. The kind of funny that threatens your boyfriend's standing, if you know what I mean. (Actually, I don't even know what I mean.)

Not much going on today (the highlight was a Thai Iced Tea around 2:00 p.m.), so I figured I'd shift the burden of entertaining you to Mr. Colbert's capable shoulders. Take it away funny-man...


Watch This.

And this.

And this!