London Britches Falling Down

Some of you know I'm a Loser.

A group of Cincinnati women are blogging together with the goal of getting slimmer and sexier.

I just penned a post about how my pants are falling down - you're welcome to check it out here.


Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

All Aboard

I'm not going to lie, I was pretty excited when New York City came calling today.

It's not every day the nation's largest public radio station picks up the phone and calls Kate the Great. Okay, confession: that's never happened before. And I was pretty excited about the prospect of snagging an interview that would broadcast my random synaptic thoughts brilliance to all of my old Connecticut high school classmates now living in the Five Burroughs.

WNYC shot me an email after reading this blog post I penned last month about my thoughts on public transportation following a trip to San Francisco.

Long story short: I don't get a chance to use public transportation the way I'd like in Cincinnati. We have a poorly designed bus system that could greatly benefit from a complete overhaul, as well as the addition of a comprehensive streetcar and light rail plan. My latest trip to San Francisco gave me a chance to indulge in the idea of public transportation I love so dearly.

Getting to a place efficiently and cost effectively, with a crowd of people representative of the entirety of humanity.

After exchanging a couple emails, Margaret Teich called me to inquire about my passion for public transportation.

We shared pleasantries, information about where I live and what I do to earn my keep. Then Margaret wanted to know about my experience with public transportation.

"So, do you take public transportation now?"

I replied by explaining that, although I actually live in the City of Cincinnati, it would take me about an hour to make the six mile trip from my residence in Oakley to my office in Mt. Auburn/Corryville. A hop in my car makes for an eight minute trip on I-71 southbound.

"Have you ever used public transportation before?"

I should have said more about the time I had to ride Metro for two and half months while my Turbo was getting fixed. Instead, I focused on how my real frame of reference involves riding trains into The City from Connecticut, or to Boston from just over the Mass line.

Then Margaret asked me if, other than being just a blogger, I have any personal interests related to the support of public transportation.

I mentioned that I'm a board member for CincyPAC, a non-partisan political action committee that promotes initiatives in the best interest of local Young Professionals. Transportation is one of our top priorities, and we are deeply committed to any effort that is going to support bringing a streetcar, the 3C light rail, high speed rail and other transportation improvements to our region.

That's when Margaret shared with me that WNYC is looking for someone who has, "Already made the switch to public transportation."

My heart sank.

Not because I was going to likely miss out on the media opportunity (though I'll confess, I was kind of jazzed at the prospect), but because Cincinnati's circumstances inhibit my ability to make the switch to public transportation.

There is no reason why someone who lives in Oakley and works near Reading/McMillan roads should spend an hour+ on a city bus.

There is no reason why thousands of local citizens should have to waste hours and hours of precious life in traffic jams - time away from family, friends and worthy causes that improve our community.

There is no reason why we cannot have a transportation that is equally efficient as it is cost effective.

There is no reason why I should have to tell a major media outlet that I can't make the switch to public transportation, because ours is an incomplete system.


Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Top Hat 'n Tails

He looked like Bat Masterson.

Tails, spats and even a cane, my prom date appeared better suited for the life of a gambler/dandy or dancing Puttin' on the Ritz with Fred Astaire (or even Gene Wilder and Peter Boyle).

Spring was erupting with much fanfare in Connecticut, circa 1995, and that meant every boutonnière and corsage was adorned with sunflowers or white roses. Sunflowers everywhere! My date was no exception.

Jason normally drove a black Jetta, but was compelled for some reason to borrow a massive Lincoln Towncar for the trip from our shoreline hometown to a place up I-91, halfway between New Haven and Hartford.

I had no idea where we were going; my exploration behind the wheel was mostly confined to Boston Post Road between Common Grounds in Branford and the movie theater in Old Saybrook.

For those of you readers not from the Shoreline, that's a 24-mile stretch of road.

That's what freedom tasted like at 18.

Jason was an interesting guy. Of Italian descent, he shared animated stories of him and his grandmother making homemade pasta together during Christmas break.

He regaled us with tales of doing odd jobs for his uncle that involved mysterious tasks and cash payments.

We always teased that Jason was in the Mafia. He never denied it - but I think it was only because it gave his AP-everything persona a bit of mystery.

My prom dress is still hanging in my closet. Black, empire waist gown with spaghetti straps - it is timeless, and I fully intend on losing enough weight to wear it someday, maybe even to a reunion.

How very Peggy Sue Got Married.

It was the first dress I ever wore that showed off my cleavage. I was so insecure about my physique back then; I had no idea women were envious of my God given gift. (Editor's note: is it really a gift?)

Likewise, I was not aware of the gift of growing up in a family that could afford my $95 prom ticket (Class of '95 = $95 prom ticket. Cute? Maybe. Overpriced? Definitely), dress, shoes and other necessities appropriate for this teen coming of age ritual.

Yes, I had a job appropriate of a high school student. I waited tables at a restaurant along the water, saving my pennies for outings to the afore mentioned coffeehouse and Reverse Fit jeans at the GAP. I don't think I was grateful my parents stepped up and bought me yearbooks, cap and gown and the other rites-of-passage accessories.

Now that I know how much a utility bill costs, I am doubly grateful.

So many teens face hardships these days - uncomfortable experiences I can't even fathom at my sage age of 33. I will admit, I was pretty sheltered in my early years - it has taken careers in broadcast television and human services to shed light on the needs that are so prevalent in our community.

Some girls don't even have the means to buy a pretty prom dress.

Sure, some folks may write off prom as frivolous, expensive, even decadent. But really, it's not so much about the gown, the limo ride, the booty dancing on the floor - it's about the opportunity to create a memory that much of the rest of society can share.

Whether I am at a Connecticut country club, an Akron office building or a rodeo in Tulsa, chances are most people I meet will be able to identify with the experience of "prom."

It's an occasion nobody should miss - regardless of whether they wear spats or not.

_________________________________________________________

Cincinnati-based Kenzie's Closet is preparing to open the doors for its first "shopping day" of the season, scheduled for March 1.

Kenzie's Closet is a one-stop-shop that provides prom dresses and related accessories to local girls who can't afford them, allowing teens to attend their big dance, regardless of their family's financial limitations.

Beginning March 1, all local Appearance Plus Cleaners locations (Hyde Park, Downtown and Anderson) will accept donations to Kenzie's Closet, including gently worn dresses, jewelry, handbags, wraps and new shoes.

Your financial support helps Kenzie's Closet buy larger sized dresses, ensuring teens of all shapes can look beautiful at their prom. Monetary support also supports the organization's operations.

Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

OBEY

I coulda been a millionaire.

At least, that was my thought upon seeing a cultural treasure.

I walked through Cincinnati's Contemporary Arts Center loading dock Saturday afternoon ahead of a moonlighting gig for my friend's catering company. I passed the vehicles packed with pans of mini hamburger meat, crispy golden mac 'n cheese cubes and and other delicious bites, walking deep into the garage. Strewn about the space were coat racks, shelving with serving bowls and other random junk.

And that's when my heart skipped a beat.

Behind some tubs stocked with serving trays, cocktail napkins other catering goods, I spied two charcoal gray rubbermaid trunks, one topped with a pile of brightly colored, folded paper.

OBEY.

One of the crates was labeled, "Ship to HI." The other "Ship to NYC." The pile of brightly colored papers was topped with a paper that said "NOT CAC."

The synapses didn't have to shift in to overdrive for me to figure out that I was hanging out in a garage-cum-prep kitchen that just so happened to house a treasure trove of Shepard Fairey's work.

Woah. Heavy.

I joined my fellow servers in unpacking the van, bringing back tubs and pans to the garage. With each return trip, I'd eye that brilliant pile of swirls, patterns and graphics. My hands longed to drop the antipasto/crudités/roasted veggie wraps/whatever and rapidly leaf through the makings of a mural.

My thoughts swiftly raced to a vision of my apartment - awash in a technicolor pop-culture statement on propaganda.

It would be an apartment makeover I'd get to enjoy for, oh, five minutes or so until the cops busted me for Cincinnati's latest art heist.

Ahhh, but for one brief minute, I coulda been a millionaire.

______________________________________

You can check out Shepard Fairey's Supply and Demand exhibit at the CAC through August 22.

Special thanks to Molly O'Toole of the CAC for snapping a pic of Fairey's crate for me when I discovered I was sans phone!

Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Let's Put This To Bed

I had no idea a blog post would rile up so much.

Lots of people responded to/commented on the now infamous Vanity Fair article well before I; for some reason it was my post that ignited the conversation.

And that's the most important thing - this week's turn of events led to a conversation and celebration of Cincinnati, our cultural forays, our history and a multitude of other great things happening inside the I-275 beltway.

God, that's awesome.

Like I've said in some of my tweets - I didn't ask to be the messenger, and this whole fiasco isn't about who was first or who was last.

It's about how much we all love our city.

As far as I can tell, that puts us all on the same side; I can't figure out why some of the comments I've read had a tone that made me feel differently.

Regardless, thanks for the comments, the criticism and the celebration of my blog post.

And a big thanks to Vanity Fair for actually responding to the uproar and providing a link to my blog on your site. I guess this isn't the time for me to burst out into a, "You like me! You really like me!", huh?

I think maybe next week I'm going to take on a posthumous Mark Twain for his remark that Cincinnati is 20 years behind the curve.

That guy didn't know a thing.


Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Nuts and Bolts - All Six of 'Em

"You're not here to make friends."

That was the first lesson I learned about the television business, passed down by my first news director at WTVQ, the ABC affiliate in Lexington, KY.

Jay Mitchell was one of the first reporters signed on by CNN when the cable network launched in Atlanta in 1980. In 1999, I found myself soaking up his wisdom first as a tape editor, and then as a news producer.

As news producer and weekend editorial decision maker, I had a tough time because I wanted to make everyone happy while accomplishing Job #1 - producing the 6 and 11 pm newscasts.

Mitchell taught me early on that the news business wasn't about making friends and being nice - it was about getting solid content on the air.

The second lesson he taught me: A news producer is going to get all of the blame, and none of the credit.

That's what happens when you're charged with managing the stress quotient of an air traffic controller while crafting a newscast of breaking news, compelling teases, a couple live shots and a clever kicker before the anchor desk says good night to the good people at home.

When that breaking news is slow to confirm, when a reporter inaccurately delivers a piece of information, when one of those live shots crashes - the producer is the one who has to take the blame/explain what happened/cry herself to sleep at the end of the night because the other 97 details went on the air flawlessly and unnoticed (see also: Holly Hunter's spot-on performance in Broadcast News).

The flip side to this paradigm is this: the producer rarely gets the credit when something goes spectacularly well. An ace story lead or source? The reporter will get the glory on that one. A clever "prop" and perspective moment for an anchor? The anchor will get a nod.

The producer almost never gets any credit.

It's a scenario I got used to and am actually almost more comfortable with these days. I'd prefer to stay behind the scenes and orchestrate the moment rather than be the one to get the acclaim/attention/affection for something.

It's just the way it is.

Jay Mitchell was succeeded by David Foky, also an experienced newsman who happened to pass on a couple nuggets of his own.

It's not as important to be first as it is to be best and most accurate. The TV news business is fiercely competitive - whereas some towns only have one daily newspaper, almost every city has at least three, if not four network affiliates. Those newsrooms fight tooth and nail to unfurl a breaking news story - some stations rush to air news and fail to fill in all the facts (and even occasionally air inaccurate information in their haste). Other newsrooms hit the air minutes or hours later but present a more comprehensive picture to the viewer.

Foky taught me that it's not about who gets on air first to report the breaker - the kudos go to the one who respects the story and tells it well.

Speaking of telling it well, Foky also showed me the words you choose are the difference between presenting a report of crime blotter scrim and a descriptive piece that connects with the viewer and compels the viewer to think/take action/feel.

The crux of storytelling relies on good words.

Several years later, I packed up my junk, left the heart of the Bluegrass and headed back to Cincinnati - my childhood home and the home of Local 12. News Director Elbert Tucker offered me a job at WKRC, the same hallowed halls - literal or otherwise - where Nick Clooney, Ira Joe Fisher, Edie Magnus and even Rod Serling (yes, that Rod Serling) worked in different capacities.

Tucker taught me my fifth rule of TV news while we sat around the morning editorial meeting.

"What are people talking about?"

The answer to that question will likely lead you to discover an element that is a must-run in one of your daily newscasts.

It doesn't matter what it is - if people are talking about the Delhi Skirt Game or a horrific missing child case-turned murder in Clermont County - that's a story that warrants coverage in some capacity. It's a question that any journalist worth their teeth asks his or herself every morning as they head in to the office. If they're not asking that question, they're missing a major part of local news.

Which brings me to my final lesson learned about television news. Tucker didn't necessarily school me on the concept of Local, Local, Local, but he certainly was the one news director who made a concerted effort to drive home what's important to the viewer at home.

Whether it was in Lexington or Cincinnati, my day consisted of combing any number of local, online newspapers (at one point in Cincinnati, I think it was about 30), listening to the police scanner, making beat calls, calling up contacts and sifting through press releases.

Most local newcasts don't have much use for national news, save for something monumental or completely outside-of-the-box.

I think my favorite international news discovery still goes down as the one about how people in Asia were "recycling" used condoms by cutting them up into rubber bands and wearing them in their hair.

Yes. That was a real story. I ran it in my 4 PM newscast, and Cammy Dierking read it.

But I digress.

Local TV news is, for the most part, hyper local. It gets caught up sometimes in the fleeting drama of a robbery/shooting/car crash du jour, but for the most part, it's about stories that affect your neighborhood, or your mom's, or your co-worker's or your frenemy's.

Gosh, thinking back to those days gets my blood boiling, and that's kind of why I left.

Life's too short to get stressed out over chicken salad - or chicken shit.



Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

To Whom It May Concern

Dear Vanity Fair letters@vf.com,

I am sorry if the words or letters in this note to you are a bit jumbled, I am trying to type this missive on a sticky keyboard - a keyboard that is sticky only after I spewed the contents of my nonfat, vanilla latte.

I am not in the habit of spewing, but it was a Pavlovian reaction of which I could not help, for it was inspired by one of the articles in your February issue.

Upon reading said piece, it's apparent your writers and editorial staff are in the habit of spewing, and that is an utter shame.

A. A. Gill's Roll Over, Charles Darwin! rag is a complete disrespect to the art and ethics of journalism, if for no other reason than the writer's first sentence.

"It’s not in the nature of stoic Cincinnatians to boast, which is fortunate, really, for they have meager pickings to boast about."

Really. You don't say...

It was a statement that impeded my ability to press on to the writer's review of the Creation Museum (which is completely disregarded and ignored by a good portion of the population in Cincinnati).

But you know what? You're right.

We don't have a single thing to brag about. This coming weekend, hundreds of people will converge on Cincinnati's Contemporary Arts Center (b.t.w., the nation's first ever structure designed by the internationally acclaimed architect Zaha Hadid) for an opening of renowned street artist Shepard Fairey's first museum retrospective. Surely you've heard of him, right? Does this refresh your memory?

(P.S. Since you all clearly don't research what you read and/or write, Shepard Fairey is not the gentleman pictured in the piece. That is President Barack Obama. Fairey is the genius who created this instantly recognizable work).

I'll be at Friday night's opening and hope to meet Fairey personally, so I don't really have time to dig up something and appropriately brag to you about Cincinnati. But I'll be happy to share with you what Fairey discovers about the Queen City when he installs a variety of semi-permanent murals around our city this week and in May.

Regarding food, you're right again. We don't really have a damn thing to brag about. Yes, our best acclaimed restaurant closed its doors a few years ago (as the nation's longest running five-star restaurant at 41 years), but we still have other restaurants to rival some of the nation's finest dining rooms. Case in point: I ate at Boca, arguably Cincinnati's best restaurant, just days before dining at Chez Panisse in San Francisco. Again, since you all don't have a solid perspective or reference on things, I should point out that Chez Panisse is Alice Waters' restaurant and regarded as one of the best restaurants on the West Coast.

There. That's probably someplace you've heard of. The West Coast. I know it's hard keeping the rest of Flyover Country straight.

Anyway.

On both evenings, my dining partner and I shared sentiments leading to this conclusion: Boca is miles better than Chez Panisse. And yes, while we are both from the sticks of Cincinnati, I guess it is good perspective for me to offer that my dining partner and I have dined around the globe - in highfalutin' places like Paris and London and Amsterdam and Rome and you. name. it.

So, even though we have lots of worldly experience, I guess it doesn't give us the right or opportunity to brag about Cincinnati. And you're right - we sure as hell wouldn't be able to find a single thing to brag about close to home.

One final thing that I guess Cincinnati has no right to brag about or celebrate:

The good people of Greater Cincinnati have created a long lasting tradition of charitable giving, and collectively they're some of the most generous donors in the nation. I guess I should tell you that I work for a major (read: $63 million in LOCAL contributions annually) non-profit organization. Ours is an organization that has sister offices in cities large and small across the country. We are proud to say that, while Cincinnati ranks 32 in media market size, our metro ranks fourth in the nation for per capita charitable giving.

Fourth in the nation. How 'bout them apples?

But you're right. Millions (and I mean millions) in charitable giving is really, uh, what did your article say?

Oh, yes. "Meager pickings."

We don't have a goddam thing to brag about, indeed.

Thanks for taking the time to read this letter. I hope you enjoyed my spewing as much as I enjoyed yours.

Next time A. A. wants to visit Cincinnati, have him hit me up. I think we could find a few great places to show off. Hell, the New York Times had a great visit here last summer.

Cheers,

Kate

PS: The Scotsman that he is, please tell A. A. I'd put Cincinnati up against Edinburgh any day of the week. I've been there - and I did a hell of a lot more than see the airport and some whacked out museum.

Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Tim's Angels

Nobody loves crazy winter weather more than a meteorologist.

Local 12's Tim Hedrick is a former colleague of mine; a mutual friend shot me a message saying Tim had an idea that she knew I'd love.

And, oh, how I do.

Please join Tim Hedrick and me for the first ever "Doppler Tim and Kate the Great Snow Angel Party" under the lights of Nippert Stadium tonight (Wednesday) from 8 to 8:30 PM.

Tim talked to some of his peeps at UC who agreed to keep the lights on a little bit longer this evening.

As I said in a tweet this afternoon - I will never rush for a touchdown or kick a fieldgoal. But I can make a mean snow angel on the gridiron.

BREAK!

Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Bibbity Bobbity Boo

I am so glad I'm not Cinderella.

As the story goes, I'm fine with her lap of luxury-turned-hard knock life. Ditto, even, with the wretched stepsisters and hideous, master manipulator stepmother. And I think (though they may be extremely painful at times) I could even tolerate the glass slippers.

No, my big problem would be the whole midnight curfew deal.

What fun is wrapping up a good night out at the strike of twelve? Everybody knows the really crazy shit goes down at White Castle after the bars close.

But I digress.

Whether you are a fan of Prince Charming's dashing good looks or the bad ass way Cinderella wields a broom, you can get your fix of the classic Once upon a time fairy this weekend.

The Cincinnati Ballet is dusting off its glass ballet slippers (aside: I wonder if strippers are the symbolism for the modern day Cinderella...) and unleashing the ugly step sisters starting Friday evening at the Aronoff.

The Corps De Ballet and crew hit the stage Friday evening at 8 pm, Saturday at 2 pm and 8 pm, and Sunday at 2 pm. Click the link above for more information on the show and to purchase tickets.

*** *** *** *** ***

Maybe you're not in to fairy tales. Maybe you like something a little more saucy.

I have just the thing...

The Bacchanalian Society is flinging open the doors once again to one of Cincinnati's hottest parties of the year.

Now, I know lots of people throw that adjective around, but Krewe really delivers (note: you'll have to enter the password "krewe10" on that page to enter).

Last year's inaugural event turned the old Maisonette digs into a swanky, Bourbon Street lounge complete with belly dancers, sword swallowers and limitless Hurricanes (well, the bar actually ran out of Hurricanes, but here's to hoping that issue is fixed this time around).

The Black Tie-encouraged evening brings out some of the most sparkling ensems this side of the Left Coast, ditto for feathers, beads and other glittery accessories.

As is tradition for this hopefully annual event, the location has not yet been announced, but one of my dear friends is helping to plan it and gave me some clues as to this year's soirée whereabouts.

I am thinking the sky's the limit for this year's fête.

Note, that is the clue I'm offering you.

Tickets are $55 a person (and includes top shelf open bar, live music and debauchery a plenty).

See you there!

(Photo Credit: Mandira Jacob)

Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

HOIST: Lift Me Up

Don't let anybody tell you different - sometimes it's hard to party like a rock star.

Thankfully, some Cincinnati-based entrepreneurs have your back.

Check out the latest beverage to hit your favorite hot spot - its goal? A little hydration help so you can bounce back the next day and take care of bidness.




Thanks to the folks with Hoist who were kind enough to send me some samples. Now I'm hoping I can find it at my local grocery store...


Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Doorbell Ringer

I've never really been afraid of rejection.

When I was little, say, an eight year old girl with a blonde pageboy haircut framing my face, I would hop on my blue Schwinn bike and cruise our neighborhood until I found someone who could play with me.

I'd go from house to house, knocking on doors and ringing door bells until I found a playmate interested in riding bikes, playing dress up, swinging on swings and digging for fossils.

Sometimes my friends would be busy, others would be waiting for better offers from more grown up girls. I wasn't too picky in choosing my playmates; I even stood by the fickle ones who weren't as loyal to me as I was to them.

I guess that's one of my blessings and curses - I am loyal to a fault. There are times when I should let go of my loyalty, but my heart has a hard time surrendering.

The lessons we learn while riding bikes and chasing boys on the playground apply to adulthood, too. We stick by our friends in good times and bad. Our friends are the people we're supposed to feel comfortable trusting with our deepest aspirations, heartbreaks and dreams.

Our friends are supposed to keep us accountable.

Whether we're 13 or 33, our closest relationships are supposed to be circumstances of reciprocity, not scenarios of one-way support, affection and kindness. When we don't feel that mutual respect and commitment, it's easy to grow hurt, confused and disappointed.

The swell thing about having a nice sized social circle is that it gives me the opportunity to foster a variety of relationships. Like a glorious garden of flowers, sometimes I sit back and discover some of the most beautiful blooms are the ones least attended to.

And that's when I begin ringing doorbells.


Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Tartine Bakery - The Mission District, San Francisco

A line is always a good thing - at least where bakeries are concerned.

Sure, they royally suck at the airline's ticketing counter and at the DMV, but when you saunter up to a door to get a croissant and discover a line of 15 people waiting - you know you're in the right place.

I had some solo time in San Francisco, so I grabbed an umbrella from the concierge and hopped on a bus headed for the Mission District.

The Mission is one of the more gritty neighborhoods in SF; it's home to a large Latino community and experienced gentrification in the 1990s and 2000s. People flock here to sample the San Francisco style burrito, and apparently also Tartine Bakery.

I strolled up to the corner of 18th and Guerrero St. and found a line of people out the door and standing beneath the scaffolding outside the building. I stood in queue, waiting to see what all the buzz was about.

The buzz is likely in part because of a glowing write up by former New York Times food writer Mark Bittman. He said it was his favorite bakery in the United States, which is a pretty amazing statement coming from a man surrounded by Magnolia, Bouchon and dozens of other Big Apple bakeries.

Anyway.

Tartine.

I stood behind a distinguished man in a tweed coat, waiting to inch closer to the doorway and a stack of laminated menus. Once there, it took me forever to decide. Pressed sandwich? A couple of the many breakfast pastries? Quiche? A Croque Monsieur?

Making decisions can be difficult, especially when your stomach's growling and you're just a few people away from carbohydrate heaven.

I went whole hog and ordered a Pecorino and Almond pressed sandwich - made with sheep milk cheese, with almonds crushed with olive oil, lemon and sage. I asked the gal at the counter to throw in a croissant, a double pain au chocolat and a morning bun.

Number in hand (actually, it was the letter "I"), I grabbed a cup of coffee from the self-serve station while waiting for my package. The half-and-half and skim milk were out, but the canister with soy milk was filled to the brim.

I am so not a soy person, but I've got to say, it didn't taste that bad.

The clerk came by with my pressed sandwich, and I popped it in my bag and decided to hit the road since I couldn't find a single vacant chair in the place to claim as my own.

Thrusting my umbrella open, I set out for Dolores Park, hoping there was a tall tree I could crouch under and avoid the rain while eating my sandwich.

The sandwich (I was surprised to find three halves in the to-go box) was spectacular. The cheese held the bread and crushed almonds together, but its flavor didn't overpower the sandwich laced with fresh lemon and sage.

Sadly, ours was a trip of extreme eating, and I never got to finish the sandwich. We noshed on the breakfast items the following morning - I loved the chocolate croissant, but Wingman said he thought the plain version was a bit burnt.

Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.