I lived in Orange County California until I was around 10 years old. My favorite So Cal memory is going to this restaurant called Souplantaion. I remember thinking it was so 80s, even though we were totally in the 90s. The concept is cafeteria-style make-your-own salads. It’s supposed to be healthy but it’s actually the kind of place for a kid to put a bunch of bacon bits and creamy ranch dressing on a pile of bleached lettuce and call it dinner. I loved it. And I especially loved dessert, which was a killer soft serve bar. Tons of sprinkles were poured on top. Tons of crushed Oreos were added when mama wasn’t looking. I was sneaky.
Up until recently I’ve never been a big salad eater. Now–if I’m at a particularly good restaurant–I’ll always order a salad. Always. A good salad is what dreams are made of. (And this is coming from a girl who loves biscuits.) Too often than not salads are treated like an afterthought for vegetarians. They aren’t properly dressed. The lettuce isn’t dried off properly. The leaves aren’t properly seasoned. That stupid ubiquitous kale salad is always on the menu. I can literally go on and on and on about my salad gripes. I will stop. You didn’t come here to listen to me be a brat about salads. Instead, I’ll share with you a fancy-ass caesar salad. I loooove a good caesar salad. They’re so simple, but so amazing when done correctly.
Sometimes I just get the urge for crazy and drastic change. Like, maybe chopping my hair all off and having a pixie cut like Michelle Williams or marching into Barney’s and buying a dream bag or moving to a new city where I know no one.
Dreaming about moving to a new city has been doing it for me lately. I’ve been thinking about how awesome it would be to eat in new-to-me restaurants, visit new parks, museums and just create a whole new routine for life. And even the prospect of making new friends in this very new town makes me really excited. Of course Amelia and my dude would come along, too. I have a feeling that Amelia would aide greatly in the whole making new friends department.
This is probably a pipe-dream. I mean, I love Los Angeles, but I’ve been a-dreamin’ lately, hard. And it’s fun.
I’m freezing. Are you freezing?! I know I’m being sort of a child when I say I’m freezing. And yes, I do realize that 50˙F is amateur freezing weather. But it’s cold. I’m cold.
I got the sniffles this past weekend. I ran into Jeff Goldblum (my childhood crush) as I was sniffling…with no make-up…in sweats…as I was walking through Whole Foods. This happens in Los Angeles from time to time. It’s usually famous people I could care less about. But this time…whoa. It was Jeff Goldblum. As I walked past him, he said hello to me (!!!), probably because I couldn’t stop smiling. I tried. I just couldn’t. So I said hi back and then promptly did one of those run-walks to hide in the flour aisle.
And then I just imagined him getting eaten by that T-Rex as he was sitting on the toilet…chanting. I’ve had a crush on him ever since. I do realize that I’m now on an official tangent..and I do understand that my “crushes” are confusing and random. But…back to being cold!!
So yeah, when we’re cold…soup is in order.
I’ve been making renditions of this soup for years. It comes from one of my favorite Ina Garten books, Barefoot In Paris. It’s full of beautiful simple, French recipes that are perfect for the cold chilly weather.
Wrap a blanket around yourself, put on some cute socks and let’s make some soup!