I’m in the process of finding someone to sublet my apt and treat Denver with tender lovin’ care, while I’m in Bali. I think I’m narrowing the gap on that, fingers crossed. Once those details are sorted, Bali can have all of my heart! Lately, my chocolate consumption is in direct proportion to my subletting anxiety. Enough said. (Unless you’re of the belief that there’s no such thing as too much chocolate. In which case, I wouldn’t want to persuade you otherwise …)
Yesterday afternoon I joined the crowds criss-crossing the streets of Kensington Market for Pedestrian Sunday. From May-Oct, the last Sunday of the month is a vehicle-free zone, so it becomes a street festival with plenty of live music, grills set up for street food—including my fav Portuguese sardinhas!—performance art and local artisans. If you’ve never been, it’s definitely a fun way to experience the market and soak up the community vibe. I didn’t bring a camera this time, just my appetite.
I’m having a blast doing some personal chef work. I’d say that of all the culinary experiences I’ve had (restaurants, catering, farmer’s markets) this has been the most gratifying. While it lacks the camaraderie, wildness and fun of those professional kitchens, it doesn’t carry an ounce of the stress either. Or the crazy hours, intense heat and off the hook behaviours. So, it’s had me thinking about possibly throwing that into my bag of work tricks when I’m back from traveling.
And talking of traveling, I’ve been combing my apartment, figuring out what I want to keep available and what I want to store while I’m away. My self-imposed ban on trinket-acquiring this year has made that process a lot easier. Also brilliant, because the fewer things I buy, the less desire I have to even look at shiny, new things. So, instead of acquiring any new vases (which I adore, by the way) I’ve either used the few that survived the monumental edit I made when I moved, or I’ve pressed my drinks bottles into service, effectively indulging two addictions at the same time: kombucha and flowers. Go, me.
P.S. I don’t get paid to drink the stuff. I just do it greedily.