I'm too old for you.

I'm too old for you.

Look, when we started hanging out, I thought, no big deal. It's all in good fun! I like cheese, you like cheese, sounds like a perfect night out to me!

But now that we’re spending nearly EVERY DAY together I am starting to question whether this is really appropriate. It’s not that you’re not good enough, Mac n’ Cheese, it’s me. Really. I’m THIRTY TWO. I just don’t know if we have a viable relationship.

That said, I REALLY LIKE YOU. I’m willing to give it a shot. But I can’t keep pretending I’m still a kid. We’re going to have to do this grown up style. We may even need to get you out of the box and start making you from scratch. At the very least, I’m going to dress you in grown up clothes. I’m adding tomatoes, peas, maybe even butternut squash. Mmmm…..

Ok we may have a future. But if I start hankering for Flintstones vitamins, we’re done. I have to face facts that I’m an adult and need to eat grown-up food. And I’m pretty sure they’re not going to make me sit at the kiddy table at T-giving this year. Big stuff for me. I can’t have you holding me back. But for the moment, I do like you. Let’s eat! xo

I’m tired of being your booty call

I get it, fried food, I’m waaaay more into you than you are into me. But must you take advantage of me in this way? I'm not a piece of meat.

I’ve tried to quit you cold turkey. I haven’t eaten fast food since Morgan Spurlock brought to the big screen my single largest phobia.

But when it’s late and when there are cocktails, that’s when I’m weakest. I know this. You know this. And you take advantage.

My friends tell me I shouldn’t take your late night calls; that you’re only using me. And they remind me of every single time I woke up in a terrible state from too much nachos or too many fried mushrooms or god forbid, that one night at the Bosnian night club where the outside vendor’s burger WASN’T made of soy…

But I’m weak. I succumb. In the moment I think I really do mean something to you, and I listen to you when you whisper sweet nothings in my ear…. “cheese….. chips….. friiiiiiieeeeeeeedddddd ....... thiiiiiiiinnnnnnngggggggsssssss……”

And in the light of day I realize it was just a booty call.

Well, we’re drawing boundaries. I may take your call, but I am not going to put on that school girl outfit. Nope, only certain fried foods will I eat late at night.

Moonrise: your spinach raviolis are on the list. The marinara has hints of real tomato and not a trace of meat. Both tasty and not overly-laden with grease. Acceptable.

Nick’s pub: your nachos complete with stale chips and neon glow nacho cheese that comes out of a machine – out of the question. And don’t even think about asking me to try your fried provel cheese sticks again. I may have an open mind, and yes, I’m a girl that likes to have fun, but those are tasteless, heartburn inducing, full of enough sodium to make my face puff in seconds. Never again.

Sub Zero: your fried zucchini is great. I almost count this as a vegetable. I’ve even known to make two separate orders and eat both, and still walk away upright without too much limping. You know how to treat a lady. Real, fresh zucchini spears, house-made breading, not too greasy. Acceptable.

But Nick’s again: your fried zucchini is hideous. Frightful really. Lacking in flavor and artery-hardening. I’m starting to wonder if you add any value to my life at all. Unacceptable.

And Amsterdam. Good lord your undercooked provel cheese frozen pizza served on its own cardboard circle is just shameful. Don’t you have any self-respect? At least take your socks off; late night calls do leave in room for certain allowances nobody would make in the daylight. Beer goggles, if you will. But this is unacceptable. Though I dig that you bring your own roll of paper towels for post-consumption clean up. That's a nice touch.

Here’s the thing, fried food. I am a big girl, and I know you’re bad for me. I want something more. But I also know that sometimes, late at night, I might get lonely and I might make bad choices. I can live with this. There are limits, however. You can’t just steamroll me willy nilly anymore. Or else I’ll be unable to face my bloated, splotchy face the next day. Let’s keep this mutually beneficial, OK?

Talk to you this weekend.

The universe played a dirty trick on me.

With my last dollar I tried to purchase some peanut m&m's to get me through two hours of con law. The vending machine thought I meant this:




Not that, vendy! Not that. Not ever that.

Somebody kindly lent me another dollar though!

I think I'm ready to be friends.

I'll admit, I was angry at first, Pueblo Solis, and hurt and betrayed.

When I found out that your beans were pork-laden and your rice infused with chicken, I couldn't believe my ears. I mean, you offer a VEGGIE BURRITO on your menu and don't even BLINK when I ask for it without cheese!

Don't you think letting me know that you're already taken - that your heart is with MEAT and you'll never be anything more to me than a few passionate moments - was worth mentioning?

You led me on. I believed we'd have a love affair to rival all others but now I know that I meant nothing to you.

But I'm over it. Well, mostly. It's all about perspective and figuring out how you fit into my life. We are not right together; we aren't compatible as full-time lovers. But I think we can be friends.

The key is to find a place for Pueblo Solis in my life that is comfortable and safe. That place is happy hour. Chips, three salsas, perhaps some guacamole, and many margaritas.


I may not trust you again, but I can be civil. See you at 5:00.

I don’t think we’re going to work out.

Its not you, it’s me. Really. I think you’re, um, incredible. But We’re just not compatible.

Me and vegan shepherd’s pie, um, no.

Seemed like we’d work –on paper. I mean, eharmony would have matched us on at least 97 points – peas, mushrooms, lots of corn, sweet potatoes, tempeh, veggie stock, tomatoes.

Mmmm….. but. no.

Problem one is that YOU JUST DON’T GO AWAY. That’s a lot of shepherd’s pie for a single lady! I have needs, yes, but I also need my space.

Problem two: it’s the meatiness. I dig you tempeh, but I don’t need you. I have a full, happy, well-rounded life without you. And nutritionally balanced. Your fake-meatness really doesn’t add value.

I did my best, in the end, though: I worked my way through the reheating and rewrappings and reseasonings. I mean, I committed to your creation, I’d like to try to see it through to fruition. But I’m glad it’s over. I’ve cleaned out my fridge.

Moving on to roasted green been salad!

I think I've met someone.

He's a little quirky, totally ironic, extremely healthy, and 100% vegetarian. I fear this one might do me in, as I'm not sure we have a future together, and I know how these kinds of relationships can let you down.

As it is, Shangri-la is only open weekends and accepts only cash. These are red flags in the world of love as far as I'm concerned (in addition to living with your mother or having an empty fridge).

Nevertheless, I hereby vow to take this restaurant, to have and to hold, from this day forward, until death do us part.

How do I love thee, Shangri-la? You encourage me to embrace my freedom of choice! I can order everything - EVERYTHING - on the menu. Let me count the ways:

vegetarian slinger - eggs (though tofu is available), hashbrowns, cheese, onion, and vegan chili

chihuahua cheese quesadilla in whole grain non-trans-fat tortilla with house-made salsa

homemade veggie burger with grilled bellas and onions on it coupled with sweet potato fries

veggie omelet (there's broccoli in there!)

"magic carpet" wrap filled with house made black bean hummus, sundried tomato relish, green peppers, onions, lettuce, and non-trans-fat tortilla

veggie biscuits and gravy

veggie burrito

sunday brunch buffet

So MANY CHOICES!

side of green beans. S I D E O F B E A N S.

and what I haven't tried yet but fully intend to:

Veggie gyro

veggie BBQ burger

vegan caesar

soups without chicken stock!

OTHER GOOD STUFF.

It's love. This is the real deal. I'm shutting down my vegetarian restaurant dating service profile.

Another one bites the dust.

I'd like to take a moment to pay homage to yet another great restaurant that has died the sad St. Louis death: REVIVAL.

Why, I ask WHY? Because they're turning into a sports bar! Great idea! It's what every beautiful garden patio, five-star vegetarian-friendly menu, and hip urban locale aspire to! Giant TVs!

As a memorial, I'd now like to take a moment of silence and recognize the greatness that was Revival.

Oven-roasted cauliflower topped with shaved granny-smith apple was the tops.

In fact, revival really knew their way around a cauliflower: cream of cauliflower soup with chive oil drizzled on top was the bomb.

Mmmmm.... nobody made a better bella burger with slaw.

Carrot. Ginger. Chilled. Soup.

If you're going to fry something, why not fry potatoes, tomatoes, or balls of corn bread goodness? That's what Revival thought, anyway. Rightfully so.

And salads. Everybody does 'em. But not everybody has arugula, oranges, citrusy-pepper dressing. Holy Revival, Revival.

A tiny pot of mac-and-cheese. I would wager tiny pots of anything are good; but greatness surely must be a tiny pot of something cheesy.

Rest in Peace, Revival. You're gone long before your time.

secret lovers

Garlic and I have had words before.

It's not that I don't respect his lingering scent or his strong presence - I mean, I dig that in a potential partner. But the three-day garlic hangover after he's long gone, the middle-of-the-night garlic hot flashes, the taste of him on your lips well after you know he's moved on.... Those kind of things can haunt a woman. And I'm not into suffering.

But roasted garlic, that's another story. Whole clove, oven-roasted, tiny forks to remove the melty goodness and spread it on the toasted olive bread, that's my kind of lover. Steamy but not overpowering; complex, yet also gentle. A perfect presentation of in-the-moment passion without the long-felt heartbreak.

Cardwells' Mediterranean plate is a long-standing tradition with chunks of feta, toasted olive bread, dolmades, rotating salads like tabbouleh or cous cous or ratatouille, and of course, the roasted garlic.

Don't tell though - I don't want him to get any ideas.

life lessons.... cheese plate edition

Friend and I have started a list of life no-nos. It's more or less a compilation of general rules to be followed by the general public.

1. No chewing gum with your mouth open. just don't do it. Smack is whack.

2. No chicken salad in class. Don't bring it and eat it with crackers. This also applies to tuna salad, egg salad, ham loaf, corned beef hash, and anything else made by injecting recognizable edible items into jello moulds.

3. Never tell a person that you will "shoot them an email." Emails are not shot, no matter how "Wall Street" you think you are, they are "sent."

4. The four-minute hip hop sex ballad on your voice mail before the message begins? Really? I mean really?

And I would now add 5. Don't slice the cheese on a cheese plate; it's meant to be chunky. You have to use nuts. You must include dried fruits. And don't forget the freaking bread.

Modesto: you made a good effort with the honey-slathered walnuts and grapes; but your american-cheese-like slices were a huge turn off. Massive.

And 33, you're a wine bar; get with the program. 4 cheeses is great! But you gotta at least gimme a cracker, darnit.

Everyone, take some life lessons from your wiser counterparts:

* * *

Mosaic in STL:

Ok not great photos - but there are several chunks of cheese, nuts, a little shot glass full of aged reduced balsamic, grapes, garlicky crostinis, watermelon slice. The works! And the cheese is standing upright. How often do you see that?! Awesome.

* * *

Niche in STL

I've had the pleasure of enjoying a cheese plate at Niche on three occasions. They rotate their cheeses frequently, as well as the spread (quince paste? apple dill compote? raspberry rhubarb jelly?), and always accompany with house-toasted crostini and candied nuts. Fabulous.

* * *

In Chicago, some wine bar across the street from Union Park on the green line.

This one rocked - multiple bread choices, tons of dried fruit, including figs!, goat cheese, brie, mancheygo, and more, nuts, apples, pears. Oh my. This may very well be the best cheese plate I've ever had. Even better with the $19 glass of wine (I am not kidding). Not sure I get the onion roll, but at least this plate diversified.

* * *

Sashas in STL:

First, the cheese comes on a slab of marble. That's just classy. Second, you get an abundance of cheeses, breads, nuts, and fruits. And they are named charming titles like "French Tickler" and "Euro Trash." Ok not so clever... but better than not having a cheese plate at all, really. Isn't it?

Garlicky homemade crostini, walnuts, dried cranberries, mancheygo, mahon, some sort of goat's milk cheese, and the yummiest of yummies, the caramelly delicious Geitost! Darn good. Good wine too.

* * *

Cardwells in STL

Now they are most accomplished in the Mediterranean-plate arena (see coming post "secret lovers"), but they are nevertheless adept at putting together a decent cheese plate. Especially given their West County locale! (eegads)

Note the cube of quince paste and buttery toasted olive bread.... yum!

* * *

RL in Chicago (for those not in the know, that's the Ralph Lauren bar near Mich Ave.)

So it's in a haze; that doesn't change it's goodness. Everything's better name-brand, too, right? (I wonder what a Louis Vuitton cheese plate would look like?! oh my!)

* * *

The secret? chunks of good, if not rare, cheese.

Salted/roasted/sweetened/candied nuts

Fruits - dried and otherwise.

Jellies and pastes - such as quince paste (Cardwells!) or apple dill jelly (niche!).

* * *

There's a method; a formula. Don't mess with success. Take it from a near-vegan cheese plate connoisseur!!!