Dat smile
Sometimes I stare. It’s hard to believe someone so beautiful could have so much of my DNA, you know?
Nestled comfortably on 8th Avenue beside a tanning salon (the window says it’s a “skin studio,” which sounds kind of gross and awesome) is Eighth and Roast, the coffee company whose name I cannot write correctly on first attempt because “eighth” is a weird word that starts to lose all meaning once you stare at it too long. The shop is airy and open and so cozy. I am squeezing in time for this coffee…
1. I am forever losing the bread tie. 2. I leave the top loose on the jar of peanut butter. 3. I will eat all the damn peanut butter. 4. Putting laundry away is my least favorite thing to do ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, so it just piles up in the bedroom. 5. I snore. 6. I don’t cook. 7. I suck at buying groceries because I don’t cook and therefore don’t understand how…
Wednesday night a group of us from work went to the first of two Nashville Nights events hosted by 12th and Broad, a newish group in town seeking to bring together local creative types for events and collaborations that celebrate Nashville. The Nashville Nights event was a two-night celebration of food writing, held at Arnold’s (where I’ve still never been for lunch). We listened to some local writers read excerpts of top-notch food writing while…
Nestled in the repurposed and kiiinda out-of-the-way Marathon Motor Works building is Garage Coffee Company. Their shop is tiny but warm, leathery and garage-y in the best, cleanest way possible (no grease!). I stopped in and asked for recommendations from the two baristas and felt awkward enough that I blurted out that I just wanted a black coffee before they had time to really come up with something good for me. I sugared it up…
Equal parts acid bath and warm, honeysuckle-smelling hug. You never know what you might get and if you’re lucky or unlucky you might get a dose of both in the same breath. It’s not for everyone, I know.
Nashville is lousy with coffee houses and roasters. I have done a truly shameful job of investigating any of them, as I tend to stick to my 7 a.m. Kroger swill at home and the occasional Dunkin’ drive-thru extra large hot with cream and sugar (which I consider a real treat). My routine is busted and sad, it’s true. Nick gave us a bag of Velo-roasted beans from Chattanooga for Christmas. It had been so…
“Why don’t you gather some toys and come into the kitchen so we can have naked time while I cook your dinner?”
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