Behind You I See the Millions

Pete can take a gorgeous picture of our craptastic city, can he not?

In restaurants, I order only what I can't make myself. Lately, I want soup. Today, minstrel mentioned pho at the same moment I was searching the NJ restaurant listings for a good Hungarian restaurant. The only one I could find is the one in a formal basement in New Brunswick. I've been there. It's okay, but I longed for the kasha and mushroom sauce and creamy paprikash of Aranka, a restaurant that moved from town down Route 27 to Franklin Park. One night, a friend and I drove down there and found the building painted pink and containing an ice cream parlor. We were crushed! Since then, I haven't found a new Hungarian restaurant to love. My friends and I also lost the Russian restaurant that was like a trip through the looking glass with roasted meat. So I've been thinking it's almost time to make a pilgrimage to Veselka in New York for the borscht. Pete's justifiably fussy about food. I wonder if he'll touch pink soup - which, if you haven't tried it, is as close to unsightly public rapture as you want to be unless you're Jenna Jamison. Eventually, we went to the Greek restaurant, where I had the arni fricase with artichokes. I'm reconsidering. I might be able to cook that.

I've never had pho and now I must try it.

Bonus picture of Topaz lying on the floor, adoring Pete.

She's just so gorgeous. One of these days, I fully expect her to don her napkin and gnaw on our leg bones.

Topaz is not just a gushing teenage fangirl. No. She's a wild jungle cat. I must never run out of cat food.