He's pumped! I'm pumped! We're pumped!

Go Rafa, go Rafa, it's your birthday, you're going to be No. 1, hopefully get the GOLD, go Rafa!

Looooooooooooooove him!

Time Passes

Time is so short
and I’m sure
There must be something
more -

- Coldplay

When I turned 10, I was visiting Israel for the first time since I moved there, left there.... My grandmother bought me a yellow shirt and skirt set. The skirt was ruffled and the outfit had little black polka dots. I thought it was the best thing ever, and I remember thinking, even then, what an amazing thing she did, a woman over 70, going into a neighborhood boutique, buying this outfit for her youngest granddaughter. It must have been expensive, but I was 10. How did I know about things like that? I still think of her often. Thinking of that summer and seeing her face clearly hurts like hell. I can't believe how much I miss her. Why didn't I tell her I loved her more?

When I turned 20, I was psychotic. I broke up with my boyfriend of more than a year -- an eternity when I was 20 -- and I was on Paxil and smoking cloves -- and basically I wasn't me. I sorted myself out pretty quickly after that. I came to the realization that I wasn't a baby anymore. How destructive I could be. My footprint on life, on others, was firmly planted, and no matter how I tried to un-do things, they couldn't be undone.

I'm turning 30 in just over a week from now. Who knows what the day will entail, what I will be feeling, who I will be missing or pissing off... I'm not really excited about turning 30. Part of me doesn't want to be an adult, ever! But a lot of me wants to change, to fit into my skin. To like people again and not be so afraid of them. To like cleaning floors. To be a mother. To be a really great wife. To go to a Coldplay concert. Life doesn't end at 30, I know. Life continues.

Yay, California!

Picture courtesy of NY Times -- Photo: Monica Almeida

Little Blue Flower: Preface

Exile -- Ellen Bryant Voigt

The widow refuses sleep, for sleep pretends
that it can bring him back.
In this way,
the will is set against the appetite.
Even the empty hand moves to the mouth.
Apart from you, I turn a corner in the city and find,
for a moment, the old climate, the little blue flower everywhere.

Clarity

"The will to blog is a complicated thing, somewhere between inspiration and compulsion. It can feel almost like a biological impulse. You see something, or an idea occurs to you, and you have to share it with the Internet as soon as possible. What I didn’t realize was that those ideas and that urgency — and the sense of self-importance that made me think anyone would be interested in hearing what went on in my head — could just disappear." -- Emily Gould

WHATEV!

Uploaded on Flickr on May 21, 2007 by Slice

I would love to jump on the bandwagon and proclaim like everyone else that the best pizza in the world is Brooklyn's own Di Fara, which is a stone throw's away from where I grew up, in my old neighborhood of Midwood.

But I can't. After 20 years of of refusing to step foot into the pizzeria again (a bad experience with an extra cheese slice which led me to see my pizza slice in reverse), I finally decided to give in to the madness and go there for a Friday night meal with most of my familia. (Rafa, sis, Roman, Liam and Mia.) Roman is adamant that this is the BEST PIZZA EVER! Well I have to say to Roman, and to everyone else that thinks the same way, WHATEV!!!

This pizza is NOT the best pizza ever. It's not even close to being the best OK pizza ever. It's gross! The pie is too salty with parmesan cheese, too oily with all that olive oil smeared on the top, too much trouble to bother with having to wait close to an hour and a half for a pie. I'll say it again, I DON'T GET IT! There are so many amazing Brooklyn joints for pizza; why single this one out, especially when it's not even that good. Ah, I give up!

Four Dresses and a Wedding

Rafa and I are forces to be reckoned with whenever we enter a shopping mall. The other day, we entered the Jersey Gardens outlet mall with every intention of buying one (1) dress for myself and one (1) white dress shirt for him. It's for my cousin's daughter's wedding that we are attending next month.

I came out with four dresses, not all for the wedding mind you (I'm not going to do wardrobe changes a la Madonna circa Blonde Ambition Tour), and Rafa came out with said dress shirt, plus a $45 tie from Brooks Brothers. Oh, my gorgeous metrosexual. He also got a Ben Sherman wallet, a Ben Sherman newsboy cap (my little Brad Pitt!), and loads of other things he didn't need... but I really didn't need three out of the four dresses either, but they are fabulous!

Dress 1:

BCBG Max Azria -- kind of gypsy-ish meets bohemian sexy number with a 'scarf'?? I believe a 'scarf' is what the crazy kids are calling that flap of fabric that kind of flaps around -- erm, Rafa thought it distracting. I thought it fabulous. BTW, THIS is the dress for the wedding. Here's an Ebay pic of the same dress. NB: It's priced over $200 on Ebay and in retail. I got it for $60. Yeah!

Dress 2:

Bebe Outlet -- kind of crochet sweater dress with short sleeves - funky turquoise which I don't usually do, but why not?! It has pockets too at the bottom, which I just love. In the fitting room, it didn't seem see-through, but now logic proves since the friggin' dress is actually entirely knitted, it is indeed see-through. I wore it to work today, but was very discreet in my underthings. ;) At least the holes in the dress will be good for those hot summer days. LOL. Here's another Ebay pic - FYI, I do not look like a hoochie mama like this woman does.. sheesh! Push-up bra much?! The seller on Ebay is selling it for a starting bid of $60. I got the dress for $20 at Bebe itself. Yeah x2!

Dress 3:

I'm really excited about this one. I think the brand is Velvet Torch, which I haven't heard of before, but for $20, I'm not one to complain. It's a double V neck dress! Fabulous. It covers up the parts you don't want people seeing, and emphasizes the ones you don't mind people seeing. I got mine in black, but here are similar pics of the back and front. I don't believe mine has a tie at the back, but I'm blanking now.

Dress 4:

This is a simple summer dress from Abercrombie & Fitch. It was an impulse purchase because it's A&F and it was only $20. I have a thing about Abercrombie. When I was a teenager, it was the coolest brand to wear. Of course, not having my own money, I could never afford it. I remember going to a store, though, once, and finding a really marked down white peasant shirt. I loved it. I wore it all the time knowing I'M wearing Abercrombie & Fitch. A&F is still kind of costly, but you could get really good deals at an oulet. The dress I got is similar to the below, but it was blue... Very soft cotton. The dress I will probably be wearing the most this summer. The kind that looks great at work and equally great at Sunday brunch 'in the city'. :) Sort of like my pink madras shoes.

Would you pass the baby, please?

There is a strange phenomenon that occurs each time a new baby comes into the world and my small family surrounds him or her. The baby becomes totally inaccessible. And it's not so much with my side of the family -- hint, hint -- but I literally get two seconds to look at Mia before someone snatches her up, and it's bye, bye baby.

Mia is just over two weeks old now.. and I have literally seen her, awake, maybe once or twice. I tried to spend some one-on-one time with her the other day after I got back from being out of town for work, but Mia, alas, was sleeping. And then the two minutes she was awake, my sister's friend took her in her arms, so that was that.

I just don't get it! I feel a certain right to have access to the baby the most because she is my sister's baby. My sister is my blood, Mia is my sister's blood. I don't think I've ever accepted the fact that I'm married and my sister is married and we have to be content with all the other people that have come into our lives and disrupted our perfect world. Get the f*** away from my niece, please. I have never said it. But I'd love to say it.

It's hard to get to know babies. That is my conclusion. They sleep, they nurse, they poop, they don't really look you in the eye. Unless you're a boob capable of giving them milk, they pretty much don't care that you exist. But I'm willing to live with that. Liam used to be like that, and now we're BFFs. Well, he's my BFF. Not so sure if he feels the same way. The other day he blurted out that I was like my mom, which is, by the way, the biggest compliment I could get from him because he ADORES her, and I am also the undefeated Lego champion in his eyes, but he has his moments too where he couldn't give a f*** that I am there, and I'm cool with that too.

I guess I'm experiencing the bridesmaid thing -- always an aunt, never a mother. But my time will come, and when it does, I could be really REALLY selfish of keeping the baby all to myself. And that's my deep thought for the day.


Yup -- this moment lasted two seconds...


Liam obviously takes after me in the appreciation of food sense -- go, pizza, go!

Mia

Deep in my heart, there's no room for crying
but I'm trying to see your point of view
Deep in my heart, I'm afraid of dying
I'd be lying if I said I'm not

Welcome in, welcome in
Shame about the weather
Welcome in, welcome in
You will come
It's a sin, it's a sin,
We're birds of a feather, are welcome to, land on you

Ya Ya Ya
Ya Ya Ya
You've got my eyes
We can see, what you'll be, you can't disguise
And either way, I will pray, you will be wise
Pretty soon you will see the tears in my eyes..

My niece, Mia, was born yesterday morning. A feeling of relief and utter joy erupted inside me - she was finally here. I could finally look into her eyes and say, 'Mia'. Of course, all the family gathered into a small visitor's lounge brought on the usual chaos, but I was still able to steal a couple of moments away with my girl. The doting grandmothers' and know-it-all aunt's consensus was that Mia had my lips, and my eyes. Who am I to argue with them?! :) I looked over at my sister, tired in her eyes, and you could see each painful burst of contraction she felt in the way she squinted her eyes and gritted her teeth - I told her, you did all the work, I get all the credit. Truth be told, Mia will probably not end up looking like me, but it's nice to see that a part of me, a part of our family, is now breathing, sighing, yawning, crying. I love her. Liam was very curious about his new sister - and said, in his now flawless English - 'this is MY sister'. The emotion quickly came back to me, I had to hold back tears, I looked at my sister, gave her a knowing look amid all the chaos, as if to say to her, 'yeah, you did a great thing'. Welcome in, Mia.

Thinkin' Pink!

Spring is in.... Time to wear pink again. I have to say I'm a girlie girl because I just love pastel and Spring happy colors. Bring it on.

Just this week I made two Spring purchases I am extremely pleased with... and I paid tribute to my gods of Target and H&M.

My first purchase is some Madras pink flats from Target. And they were under $12.



I've discovered that places like Target and Payless Shoe Source totally allow me to stay with the fashion but without spending a bazillion dollars. And I LOVE them... I've already worn them to work to coordinate with my salmon pink linen button down shirt that I wore with a black woven tank top cum vest!

And today the weather was definitely cooperating, and I wore my new favorite purchase (oh how fickle I am!), an A-line pink and hot pink linen skirt from H&M. I've discovered they work really well with black leggings...

I'm a bit of a flats nut at the moment. I wish I could go to Payless and BOGO till my heart's content, but alas, even really cheap retail has its limits.

Think pink, ladies. Think pink!

The Copper Chef

I came across an interesting and funny, if not bizarre, article in the New York Times today. A writer had challenged himself, and as it looks like some top chefs too, to cook only using ingredients from New York's 99-cent stores. One awesome 99-cent store mentioned in the article is Jack's, which I only recently discovered myself on a lunchtime walk with my co-workers. It is huge, and quite surprisingly, actually has food too - canned and refrigerated. If I lived nearby, I'd definitely shop there for quick dinners. But, although I was quite impressed with the writer's ability to work with these ingredients, I think I may make similar meals only not using so much processed stuff, opting for fresh where I could get it.

The article follows below and the links to the top chef recipes are here, here and here.

March 26, 2008

How to Survive in New York on 99 Cents
By HENRY ALFORD

I LOVE shopping at my local Gourmet Garage as much as the next guy. But sometimes I plop a can of chicken broth down on the checkout counter and think, “$2.19? For someone to boil chicken bones? I want that job.”

So when I heard that the food you can buy at 99-cent stores is more diverse than you might imagine, I decided to conduct an experiment. I’d make dinner every night for a week using mostly ingredients bought at these stores and then, on the eighth night — once I’d gotten my game down — I’d prepare a meal for friends made only from ingredients bought at 99-cent stores.

There are 99-cent stores, and then there is Jack’s. It’s Closeout Central, an off-brand oasis. Located at 110 West 32nd Street, near Herald Square, with satellite stores at 16 East 40th Street and 45 West 45th Street, Jack’s has not only lots of freezer cases and five or more aisles full of food, but also an upstairs gourmet section with more upscale items — Buitoni and Bertagni prepared pastas, Lindt and Ferrero chocolates, Hero jams — at prices ranging from about $1.99 to $4.99.

Making Jack’s my base of operations, I started with both the 99-cent and gourmet offerings.
I quickly met with my first surprise. Though there’s a constancy to the food items for which 99-cent stores are famous — pasta, rice, nuts, cookies and candy — other items sometimes ebb and flow.

Because the main Jack’s store can have an unpredictable inventory — yesterday’s huge display of Progresso soup is today’s much-smaller hillock of marinated mushrooms is tomorrow’s sad heap of slightly battered boxes of Royal gelatin — shopping there is a return to the improvisatory cooking of yore, when people made dinner with whatever was in the market.

The Tuscans have a saying, “Icché c’è c’è,” meaning, “What you see is what we have.” Only here, of course, your deity is not seasonality, it’s availability. Your seat, their pants: get to know them.

My first few meals mined the wealth of Jack’s staples. I made rice and beans one night, which we zested up with 99-cent canned jalapeños and sofrito (like enchilada sauce, with a slight burned taste); another night we had penne with cream and some pancetta I found in the gourmet section. Another night, after amassing some brown rice and cans of bamboo shoots, water chestnuts and baby corn at Jack’s, I bought some Chinese broccoli off-site for a big stir-fry. For dessert each night we turned to the slightly wanton charms of the Little Debbie product line, particularly young Debbie’s Oatmeal Creme Pies, whose velvety filling so perfectly captures an imagined marriage between buttercream frosting and Noxzema.

Whenever I hit an obstacle — Jack’s, like almost all 99-cent stores, has no butter, no good olive oil, no flour, very limited cheese and no fresh vegetables — I either supplemented with Gourmet Garage items, or got busy.

What kind of busy? I used frozen broccoli from Jack’s to make cream of broccoli soup (pretty good), frozen peas for pea soup (excellent), and a soybean oil-butter blend called Admiration to make soufflé (awful).

I trod more carefully when it came to meat — though the $4.99 Al Fresco chicken sausage that I tossed with some peas and farfalle one night was fine, I found myself neatly dodging the 99-cent ham cubes and the frozen fillets of tilapia and salmon, subconsciously putting them on my list of things I want to pay full freight for (surgery, sushi).

One day I grabbed some 99-cent Oscar Meyer sliced chicken breast, though, and served it with Inglehoffer horseradish mustard and some pumpernickel for a tasty $2.97 light meal, with leftovers. If I could make three sandwiches for what it usually costs me to buy half of one at a deli, then my investment was paying off at a rate of 600 percent. Sandwiches: the next stock market bubble.

Did I ever encounter spoiled food, or alarming sell-by dates? No. Other than some slightly leaden pumpkin ravioli from Jack’s gourmet section — it had the sludgy, earwax-like quality of something that had been unfrozen and then frozen again — the only bump on the road was the aroma emanating from the black plastic bags that Jack’s and other 99-cent stores use: they smell alternately like an electrical fire or a fish in transition.
(Ira Steinberg, vice president of merchandise and head of operations for Jack’s, said: “They’re made of recycled products. They may carry a smoky odor.”)

As my dinner for friends approached, I was feeling my nerves. Eager to test my true mettle, I’d decided that the ingredients would have to be exclusively 99 cents or less — the gourmet section had dulled my skinflint edge. So I cast my eye across the 99-cent world to see what other delicious treasures lay out there.

Over the course of three days, I visited 21 more 99-cent stores in Manhattan, including 12 in Harlem and Washington Heights, 4 in Chinatown and 1 in Spanish Harlem. Though this Marco Polo unearthed some delightful surprises at his price point — star anise, cinnamon sticks, capers, pecans, white balsamic vinegar — I fell hardest for Goya’s delicate dulce de leche wafers and their golden, slightly salty caramel filling. I have shown Little Debbie the door; Dulce’s my girl now.

The four friends I served dinner to included two who had shopped for food at 99-cent stores and two who had not. Guests were met with an antipasto tray — pepperoncini, olives, artichoke hearts, crackers, very greasy salami and a hockey puck of Brie that I had softened by baking.

Disparate nibbling yielded several polite, neutral comments. My guests stared off into the mid-distance as if in the throes of Art Appreciation. But the compliments started flying when I served my chilled pear soup — nothing more than a mixture of Goya and Kern’s pear nectars that I served in beautiful Chinese bowls with star anise floating on top. (Mark: “I feel like I’m at a chic restaurant.” Heather: “I’ve cleaned my bowl.”)

Our entree of penne with peas and turkey bacon in a light cream sauce gave way to much conversation about frozen peas. I explained that food luminaries like Marcella Hazan and the Silver Palate women approve of them. Heather told us how she had used bags of frozen peas to help soothe her mother after her hip replacement surgery.

The flourless pecan torte that I served for dessert met with approval, but nothing like the semiriotous adulation inspired by my subsequent offering of a 3.5-oz. Toblerone bar. (Scott: “Wow!” Heather: “Nice!” Greg: “Airport candy!”)

What has been my experiment’s legacy?

I will continue to serve my “pear soup.” I will continue to worship at the altar of Goya’s dulce de leche wafers. I will continue to make my pea soup using frozen peas, particularly as the recipe I devised is so wonderfully easy. (Slice and sauté an onion. Add 3 cups chicken stock, a 1-pound bag of frozen peas, 1/3 cup oats, 1/8 teaspoon cardamom, some salt and pepper. Bring to boil. Purée in blender.)

But more important, I will continue to look for incredible value. As I’m sure the folks at Jack’s know, bargain-hunting can be addictive.

Consider the Web site for the national chain 99¢ Only Store, which proudly displays an Andreas Gursky photograph of endless rows of candy and canned goods called “99 Cents,” taken at a franchise in Hollywood. The Web site informs us, “This photograph recently sold for over $1,999,999!”

One man’s penny is another man’s dollar.

Three Spanish Popsicles and me: Part 2

I'm so sorry for the delay in between Washington DC posts. I guess I have run out of steam these last few weeks. I am at work all day, and by the time I get home, all I want to do is sit in front of the TV and go into a daze. Weekends are pretty much spent curled up on the couch, watching B movies from the 80s. My computer hasn't been feeling well for a while so not much Internet surfing for me (which is a relief to my credit card!), I can't be arsed lately to look up recipes in cookbooks; I can't even bring myself to watch the Food Network because I know I'll start salivating at the food, realize I have nothing to make in the fridge, and then have to be forced to go out and buy groceries.

So, I'll elaborate on my path of self-destruction another time..

Back to DC. The first evening we spent there, we weren't really sure where to go to have dinner. And did I mention it was FUCKING COLD. We didn't want to walk around aimlessly. We needed a plan. On the map the hotel gave us were some restaurant suggestions; capital! One of them was a tapas place called La Tasca. The name has special meaning to me and Rafa. It is the name of a Spanish restaurant we used to frequent quite a lot in Liverpool, and where I discovered I had an unhealthy obsession with chicken croquettes. We thought it was funny that there was another Spanish restaurant of the same name across the pond in DC.

So, we went there... And it was the same La Tasca!

It turns out that the franchise has a few locations in the US. Yay! Another reason to go back to DC! We were there on a Wednesday, and lucky for us, Wednesday was all-you-can-eat-tapas day! So, for a set price to each guest, we could order as many types of tapas as we wanted. Until we literally bust a gut. And we did... bust a gut, I mean. I had about ten chicken croquettes, gambas al ajillo up the wazoo. I ate so much food that night I'm actually sick now remembering it. I think my body somehow knew that in the next few days I wouldn't be able to taste food at all, because I was making up for it all that night. It was lovely to be in the restaurant; it felt somehow familiar in a place I wasn't familiar with at all.

I learned something about myself when it comes to sharing food. I am extremely greedy. Usually it's me and Rafa, and we get our own thing. And even if we go out with my family as a group, we get a few appetizers to share but the main course is all mine. But if I'm in a group just ordering small appetizers or tapas, I literally want it all to myself. I run into a panic where I think I will still be hungry. What is it about small portions that makes us all the more greedy?I think the whole world needs to move to the Mediterranean or southern Europe to learn how it's done.

Washington DC: Where I got some peace and where I got a bitchin' (and not in a good way) cold!: Part 1

After about 10 days of non-stop touring in New York, I was going bonkers. Huge crowds and lots of noise is OK in small increments, but New York around the holiday season is completely and totally insane. Even walking across the Brooklyn Bridge turned out to be crowded!

Rafa had time off after New Year's and we all went to Washington DC for a few days. I wasn't really looking forward to it that much, to tell the truth, because at that point, all I wanted was to just relax at home, even for a little while. But, I don't really get many opportunities to see 'our nation's capital' - I've obviously seen too much of Forrest Gump. And most importantly, Paki and Kike have never been to DC, so it would really have been a waste if we couldn't use this extra time to explore another city.

Being in DC was surreal. It was actually quiet. And it wasn't all about sell sell sell and commercialism. Just a lot of historical buildings and a lot of walking. It felt nice to be able to actually hear my own footsteps. But somehow the silence was eerie too. I am so used to having to shove my way down the street, it felt odd to walk and not have people bumping into me.

And DC felt soul-less. Maybe it was because there weren't many people around, or maybe because we weren't in an area where there would be a lot of people walking around. But something about the city felt empty. Which goes to show that not all big cities are the same. I could feel totally at home in crazy New York, and totally not-at-home in quiet DC.

But the only real downfall of the trip is that it was SO FUCKING COLD! We were there a couple of days after New Year's Day when the temperature took a major dip on the Eastern seaboard. I am not exaggerating when I say it was cold. Oh My God! Even with many layers and so many hats, hoods, gloves, and scarves on, so much so that I looked like a yeti for most of our trip, I still managed to get really sick, and the last 36 hours of our trip were just a muffled, drugged, fuzzy blur. It really REALLY sucks to be on vacation and visiting a new city while being sick. Maybe that is why DC didn't make a big impression on me. I didn't feel like myself at all - I felt like my body was completely disconnected from my head. And toward the end of the trip, it was pure adrenaline that was seeing me through.

Quite surprisingly, though, I found the energy to actually go ice skating. There was a small rink in the sculpture garden just opposite the National Archives.
And maybe it was because I was completely drugged and delusional, but I totally rocked the ice skates. Of course, at first, I was scared shitless because the ice was just cleaned and it was super slippery. But then, as I got my groove on, I was really gliding down the ice. For the first time in my life, I was actually elegant. LOL. But of course, I could only keep it up for an hour or so. It was SO FUCKING COLD, and I was so tired and worn out... but it was fun. And skating was definitely on our 'to do' list while our guests were visiting. So that was good.

So my DC wrap-up is that it was quiet. I get that the buildings were beautiful and historical, but politics and government is really boring! No wonder it was my worst subject in high school. And we went to an assembly of the House of Representatives, and they literally stood around for 10 minutes talking to each other in private conversations, then we all had to stand up and do the Pledge of Allegiance and then a chaplain spoke (how inappropriate??!, whatever happened to separation of Church and State??!), and then they asked the person in charge if they could be adjourned, and then they adjourned. I rocked the ice skating. I ate pretty well (in my next post). I got a massive cold I haven't even gotten over yet and it's been over two weeks. I realized that NYC is my real home and yes, it's all that. Despite the crowds and the crazy tourists. NYC is my home. DC could only be a place I visit every so often.

The happiest little brunch place on Earth...

{Image taken from Penelope's website: http://www.penelopenyc.com/}

Penelope, a little brunch place in Murray Hill (often called Curry Hill because of the Indian restaurants in that 'hood), is my little piece of heaven. The food is not that cheap breakfast-wise, but then again, I don't think $3 eggs at our local diner is that common in the rest of the city, or the rest of the world, for that matter. But, the eggs aren't that great either. Penelope is yummy brunch food -- fresh eggs, fresh bakery bread, tea or coffee in mugs that don't match each other. It feels like home, there is no other way to describe it. And it's not only my little piece of heaven, judging by the long line to get a table most Saturday and Sunday mid-mornings.

But it is a place I wanted to take our guests to while they were here because it is not a place you would ever find in Spain. We actually made it there on a weekday, and it was closer to afternoon than morning, so we missed breakfast by a hair. We had to 'settle' for lunch; and I was pleasantly surprised lunch at Penelope wasn't half bad at all.

Kike and Paki both got chicken clubs -- I had wanted them to be a bit more daring, but they seemed to order chicken wherever we went. I don't really get it, considering how diverse the food in Spain is... but I figured since they couldn't really imagine what the different kinds of things America had to offer would taste like, I suppose they thought chicken would be the safe bet... And these chicken clubs happened to look, and as I understood with my limited Spanish, taste fantastic as well. I got the chicken pot pie. Oh, how I love chicken pot pie. I think currently it is my number one of top five things I love to eat... And this one did not disappoint. The chicken was lovely in tender, in a creamy and flavorful filling, with loads of veggies too -- butternut squash, asparagus, peas, mmmmm.

Kike couldn't really find the word in English to describe the feeling he got from Penelope, but I think after a few giggles and perplexed looks at each other, we agreed 'cozy' would be the most appropriate word. So the happiest little brunch place on Earth is cozy too, or at least that is what I think he said. LOL.