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122 days and some boot cut jeans

delaneylundquist — Sun, 27 Jan 2013 10:31:00 -0500

It has been 122 days since my last blog post and 1 day since I last wore boot cut jeans. This is a startling fact, I know. The boot cut jeans were so startling though that they did manage to bring me out of a four month blogging hiatus.

I am so scarred by my apparel choices yesterday that I felt the need to blog about it. Maybe that’s the trick, whenever there is nothing to write about, just put on one of my uglier pieces of clothing that I inexplicably still own and see how I feel after wearing it around all day in shame.

It does sound semi-fashion snob of me to be so dramatic about wearing a certain cut of pant, but I just shouldn’t be wearing pants from American Eagle from high school. End of story. (I almost lied and told you middle school. Boot cut jeans are not as far in my past as I would really hope.) For the sake of the story about my boot cut jeans we are all just going to accept that this is basically the faux pas of the century. Not to be dramatic or anything.

Time really flies when you are trying on the oldest and ugliest clothes from your closet. I know for a fact this is something that we all do and so I feel no shame in it. Every once in a while you just get these crazy thoughts like “why don’t I ever wear that crochet poncho anymore? I loved it in 8^th grade!” or if you are me “man, I really did think boot cuts jeans were the way to go, why did I ever stop wearing them?” Because they don’t look good, self. That’s why you stopped. And why you persist in owning them is beyond me.

So anyways, here I was just taking a leisurely stroll down my greatest hall of fame fashion looks when suddenly it is TIME TO GO. Like I have to be at a required resume design workshop at the art school at 9am on a Saturday in 3 MINUTES. Do you know how long it takes me to walk to the art school? 13 minutes if I am walking at a speed that induces shin splints. Do you know who is leading this resume workshop? MY PROFESSOR, WHO IS THE BIGGEST STICKLER ON TARDINESS. Do you know who will be at this workshop? DESIGNERS FROM ALL OVER ST. LOUIS.

After two minutes of scrambling around my room, just panicking about how I was going to be late and thus making me even later, I hustled from the dorm dressed in a pair of pants that is the social equivalent of wearing bellbottoms when acid-wash taper-leg was really the way to go. It was an outfit straight out of my 11^th grade closet (like I said, not as far in my past as I would prefer). Stupid faded American Eagle jeans (I’m pretty sure the cut was called “The Artist”, I remember that being a huge influence in my purchase) with a dumb, ugly gray sweatshirt and my freaking Vans sneakers. Did I just walk out of a Pac-Sun in 2009? Basically.

Another awful thing you forget when you don’t don legwear with flare anymore is the noise they make. When the leg openings of your pants are wide enough to brush against each other (a note to my future self that I SHOULD NOT BE WEARING THEM), they make an awful swishing sound with each step. So, It was just me and the sound of my pants reminding me at every stride that I had made a very pivotal error in time management that morning and I was paying for it. With boot cut jeans.

That’s how it happened. That’s how I wore boot cut jeans for a whole entire day in front of a panel of St. Louis creatives who were critiquing my resume based on my sense of design. At least my future hire-ability is based on a single, critically designed sheet of paper and not a photograph of me on that day.

Now, did anyone really even notice? Probably not.* But it makes a good story, doesn’t it? Where would we be if I didn’t have an extraordinarily well-developed internal conflict about the cut of my pants? Probably on Day 123 of no blogging.

*Except for Julie. Julie definitely noticed because I texted her on my way saying “I am wearing boot cut jeans. It feels like the apocalypse.” (Yes, I am incredibly level-headed and calm at all times). When she saw me, she said “Wow, are you sure those are just boot cut? They look like they could be flare!” I almost passed out on the ground.

Look! Pictures! We love pictures! The first thing is the front...

delaneylundquist — Thu, 27 Sep 2012 00:18:00 -0400

Look! Pictures! We love pictures!

The first thing is the front and back of a postcard I made. This was an in-class exercise of pairing text and image to communicate a valuable lesson you have learned in life. Obviously my valuable lesson was about chicken and waffles.

The second thing is the logo I designed for my sorority’s philanthropy week. Alpha Phi promotes heart health with a week of activities on campus every fall which culminates in a kickball tournament (Phi Ball) and a gala (Red Dress) which benefit charity.

…and I am also one of the coaches for the kickball tournament on Saturday. Hence the last picture. Basically each fraternity and sorority that participates has 3 or 4 coaches from Alpha Phi who cheer them on (coach definitely overstates my responsibilities) during the game and is in charge of building spirit throughout the week. Even as I write this, I am questioning if I am qualified for the position. Spirit and this girl do not mix. However, I will fully dedicate myself to making a hilariously photoshopped version of my logo and putting it all over Facebook in support of my team. That is the kind of Greek spirit I can get behind.

Who am I becoming? (but actually I will make certain SAE wins Phi Ball if it’s the last thing I do).

I don't even know what I have been doing.

delaneylundquist — Thu, 27 Sep 2012 00:02:31 -0400

I couldn’t even tell you how long it’s been since I posted without looking back on the blog which is shameful in and of itself, let alone the number of times that I start a post with some sort of acknowledgement about how long its been since I’ve posted.

What have I been doing while away? A lot of homework. Everything that is the anathema of excitement. For example, just now I finished a 3-page summary of a critical essay on the history of landscape photography. If you think reading that sentence was boring, try reading the whole article.

In more breaking news, I already know where I will be living a year from now. Is that weird to you? It’s weird to me. What’s even weirder is that one week ago I drove to downtown St. Louis with seven other girls and $1,100 dollars in cash on my person to sign a lease at the apartment of my future landlord at 9pm. That is actually true. I mean, I’m a pretty good liar, but that is pure unadulterated fact. And if that sounds incredibly sketchy to you it’s because IT WAS. However, please take solace in the fact that I am writing this blog post meaning I have not been robbed or kidnapped.

Some advice would be: if you were ever thinking about trying to get housing off campus for your senior year at WashU, don’t. Don’t try, don’t think about it, and avoid it at all costs because it is the most competitive, least transparent process you will ever take part in. Basically, you call a million landlords who force you to make snap decisions about agreeing to rent which you obviously acquiesce to because it seems like everyone else on campus secretly found apartments overnight and you already feel like a future homeless person so you skip class to run to banks and lease-signings like you are a crazy woman. And this all happens in 24 hours.

I can say this with certainty because it’s exactly what happened when me and a group of my friends found an apartment building, hounded a landlord, and then spent an entire day freaking out until the fateful call when he told us we each had to get our hands on a grand and sign a lease in 5 hours. I’m sorry, what? You do know I go to college, right? And the bank closes in 15 minutes? And there is no way we can just do this tomorrow? No? OKAY, GREAT, YEAH I’LL SIGN THAT LEASE.

But we did it. By some huge stroke of luck me and 11 of my friends found a building and signed a leased for every apartment in the place in less than 24 hours later. The stress and terror of potentially losing the apartment to some other group of ruthless apartment-seeking college girls probably took 3 years off my life.

That’s whats up. I do homework and when that isn’t enough fun, I find new and improved aways methods of self-inflicted stress, like apartment hunting and thinking about how long my walk to art studio will be from off-campus and potentially moving from Tumblr to WordPress. HOORAY FOR SENIOR YEAR.

back in action

delaneylundquist — Thu, 30 Aug 2012 00:07:06 -0400

First, let’s all collectively bid ado to my old laptop, Harold. He is dead. Fortunately, the brand-spanking new MacBook that I have been lusting for since I was in the womb is warming my lap as I type.

It was almost as if Harold could sense that our time together was coming to a close because he stopped functioning entirely a full week before my new computer was delivered. Awesome, thank you for that Harold. Even in your absence you are the absolute worst piece of machinery I have ever had the misfortune of dealing with. GOOD RIDDANCE.

Here are my most recent life highlights:

My internship is done. I did it. I designed a fifty-page handbook for university fundraising volunteers and I do not need to do another one for a while…or forever?

I go to school again now. I am a junior. As part of my major, you get a bunch of shiny new computer things to distract you from the fact that in the near future you will be doing SO MUCH WORK. I remember now that school doesn’t follow the strict 9-to-5 policy of my internship. WHY NOT?

I now live in a suite of 8 people. It has a giant kitchen, and a giant living room, and I sleep in a giant single bedroom, on a bed that is so giant I have to use a step stool. All of this is contrasted by the tiniest and worst shower in the world. If you can imagine a space pod that would take you to Mars in the 1960’s you can imagine our shower.

On Friday, I start my new internship at Cheree Berry Paper as a production intern. ULTIMATE SCORE! What better way to practice dressing as an ultra-hip design student and flex my public transportation skills?! Except those don’t actually need to be tested because I have a sneaking suspicion I was born on a Portland MAX train and have been learning how to use mass transit since day one.

Is it sad that I only have four new life updates for you? Maybe. Or it’s just a sign that I’m learning how to not eat too many cookies and blog about puke.

I am 20

delaneylundquist — Thu, 02 Aug 2012 21:20:00 -0400

Though I like to think that I am the most alluringly eccentric 20-year-old ever, I am not. 20 is just a weird age. It is a bizarre in between year where I occasionally act like an ultra-mature adult but most of the time it seems like I should still be living under my mom’s supervision. Here is me being 20 today:

Being 20 means you are still young enough to get care packages of the most delicious goods you can imagine from your sister. The contents of this box deserve their own blog post, that’s how phenomenal they were. I refuse to stop talking about my sister because I am her biggest fan.

20 is also still young enough to eat too many care-package-cookies too fast. However, at this age you do have the awareness you are eating too many. It doesn’t matter. Nothing stops you. You eat TOO TOO TOO MANY.

20 does mean you are old enough to have your own gym membership. No more YMCA family passes for this girl (unfortunately you are also too old to qualify for the YMCA teen price, alas a double-edged sword!).

It also means you have the Nike Training Club app on your iPhone, because everyone knows that’s the trendy thing to do. So when you are 20 and have your own gym membership you can conveniently not go to the gym and exercise in your own ugly apartment.

And when you are 20 and all of these things happen within a half hour of each other YOU COME SO CLOSE TO PUKING YOU ARE AFRAID.

Now I am fully aware that this would be a better story if I actually did toss my cookies (literally, pun intended, everything) and I even considered lying to you because all Lundquists love a good story. But Lundquists are not liars, usually.

Regardless, the fact that I had to stop my Nike Training Club workout at 14:38 minutes during my Russian twists because I ate too many cookies and worked out immediately afterward because I have no understanding of digestion and thought I was going to throw up is absurd. I had a lot of time laying next to the vent absorbing the air-conditioning in my bathroom near the toilet to contemplate this. Because I thought I was going to puke. Honest to god. The being afraid of barfing was probably worse than the actual act would have been.

As I was languishing on the bathroom tiles, sweating so much in full work-out gear, breathing very heavily, mentally preparing myself to ralph, I was mainly thinking “is this what happens when you are 20? You wear fancy blazers and pencil skirts to work at an office and then come home and immediately eat so many cookies you think you are going to be sick?” And then the meaner version of myself rolled my eyes and said something scathing, like “I cannot believe this is all you have learned in two full decades of life.”

At this time I would like to apologize to my grandma if she is reading this because I know she will not think it is appropriate to talk about vomit so much to other people. Except you do have to admit I used just about every synonym for puke, which rocks. Except up-chuck. I hate that one.

So I am 20. And when you are 20 it sounds old but you don’t feel like it at all. You do things that make you seem like a fully capable adult, like paying electricity bills (hot damn, those are the worst!) and being an intern at an office for 40 hours a week and cooking your own dinner EVERY NIGHT. But then you do things like eat so many cookies you haven’t been so close to vomiting since you got food poisoning at the ice cream shop freshman year.

You can all take solace in the fact that my is lesson learned. Sort of. I will definitely eat the cookies, maybe lay off the exercise? Plan.

Here I am at my worst and my best. My worst: Remember when I...

delaneylundquist — Tue, 31 Jul 2012 20:51:00 -0400

You'd never guess I didn't go pro

THIS IS YOUR NEW MAYOR

Here I am at my worst and my best.

My worst: Remember when I said I wasn’t a natural waterskier? Here is the photographic proof (thank you Leslie for making this your desktop background, I’m sure it’s a hit). Do I look like a natural at anything to you? Naturally a drowned cat? Naturally someone who really is better at being on land? And to my sister that says having ugly photos of you on the internet is character building: my character is so built right now it’s like a brick house.

My best: Being photogenic thanks to Instagram filters after I became Foursquare mayor at Chill (what my poor dad must be wondering while reading this). Froyo has never tasted as delicious as when you are the mayor.

Are these even photos of the same girl? Probably not. The second one might be my better looking body double that I occasionally hire for candid photo-ops. But the first one is all me.

lobsterfest the aftermath: onion

delaneylundquist — Tue, 31 Jul 2012 20:37:00 -0400

Current sunburn status: peeling. Hence the onion title. My skin is peeling off like papery onion flakes. You think this is gross? TRY HAVING IT ON YOUR BODY. This striking imagery is to make up for the fact that there haven’t been any pictures lately. Disappointing, I know. It’s hard to get through a whole blog post with out something pretty to look at.

In other news I have finally resigned myself to the fact that my perfect purple sketchbook is lost. Forever. I have been denying it for a month saying that it would just turn up somewhere but now I must come to grips with the fact that someone out in the world is really benefiting from my bad drawings of chairs and personal lists on topics like “things I didn’t learn because I am not Jewish” and an illustrated guide to “things I will consume immediately upon arriving in the states”. It’s a sad, sad day indeed. Except for the lucky idiot who has my sketchbook, because I’m positive they are having the time of their life. YOU ARE THE WORST. Fortunately, I wrote my name right in the front of the damn thing so there wouldn’t be any sort of confusion about who the person was behind all of the really bizarre personal lists and bad typographic drawings.

Other things I have lost and lament this summer:

My perfectly sized water bottle

My (perfect?) keys

My gym pass (GOD NO!)

My perfect headband that doesn’t hurt my ears or give me a headache

My phone charger

I hope this gets all my bad karma out for a while. Seriously. No more lost stuff. I’m still reeling from the purple sketchbook.

And as a final note: everyone needs to stop acting like summer is over (yes, I know you already went home, Ali and I know you are leaving this weekend, Leslie). I HAVE ONE MORE MONTH OF WORK. Yes, that is 30 days. Aka one-third of my summer is left. And yes, I will spend it whiling the hours away in a small office with an oscillating fan designing a university handbook without any sort of creative control. But it is still 100 degrees, still acceptable to eat froyo everyday, still no homework, SO IT IS STILL SUMMER. Everyone back off.

You thought that was the last thing I had to say but this is actually it: I BECAME THE MAYOR OF CHILL FROYO ON FOURSQUARE. Now I know this won’t mean a lot to my less tech-saavy readers (dad) but basically it means that I have been to Chill Frozen Yogurt more than anyone in all of St. Louis lately. It has been proven by my iPhone app and thus it is true. In case you guys were thinking I was exaggerating just how often I get frozen yogurt, I was serious. I have frequented Chill more than anyone and I reign supreme. I have never been more proud of myself. All in a summer’s work.

lobsterfest

delaneylundquist — Tue, 24 Jul 2012 20:36:14 -0400

And so I have entitled my sunburn healing process. Lobsterfest. How many days will it take for my skin to return to a normal tone? No one knows. It’s current shade is somewhere between ripened tomato and firetruck. All over my body. My whole entire surface area is red, thanks to six and a half hours spent floating down an unknown Missouri river. I will say that the six hours were definitely worth it. No one has had as much fun floating down a river (okay, maybe Huck Finn since he basically has a whole book about it) than this girl (okay, maybe also Jordan. He wins the float trip constant enthusiasm award, which is on an entirely different level). It was also worth it because I now have a gnarly Chaco sandal tan to validate myself as a proud Chaco-wearing, outdoorsy, Idahoan. Also I would like the record to show that I applied AND reapplied sunscreen. And not in the way I normally do that attempts to strike a balance between appearing concerned about skin cancer while actually trying to become a golden-brown goddess (I have yet to find the balance). These methods include applying only the smallest dollop of sunscreen, or putting a lot on and then immediately jumping into the pool before it can soak in.

Highlights of the float trip include:

1. Actually managing to organize a float trip for 14 people. 20-year-olds are generally awful at coordination. All kudos go to our friend Annie for making this happen. No one could have done it but her. Seriously. Everyone made it to the raft and it was a complete act of god.

2. Being repeatedly attacked with water guns by a roving family (gang?) of Missourians (hicks?) in canoes. This was varying levels of amusing depending on how much time we had already spent on the river. The first time was kind of like a thrilling river pirate show-down. The third time was more like a lot of annoyed 20-year-olds wondering why they were being tormented by middle-aged adults with water guns.

3. Ending the float and discovering that a single, miraculous bag of pretzels remained dry. Everything else was entirely soaked and had a mildewy river stench.

4. Getting out of the raft and seeing the glory of my new Chacos tan.

5. Having an excuse to eat an extreme amount of snacks. You need energy when you are out in the sun all day doing nothing but sitting on a raft!

6. Peeing in the river. There are no bathroom stops along the way! No one can fault you for this and everyone does it! I’m not saying peeing in places that are not bathrooms is something I really look forward to, it’s just a lot more socially acceptable in the river than at the pool.

7. Being so so so tired from paddling because there was no current at all that you definitely need some froyo from Chill once you get back. And when you get to Chill you realize they have toasted almond flavor AND lime tart (not as good as salted caramel or coconut, but it will do). SCORE.

8. Everyone made it out alive.

Less awesome things that happen two hours later when you realize that no amount of sunscreen could ever have prevented the kind of burn you are currently suffering from:

1. Not being able to sleep, sit, or wear clothes because they all feel like sandpaper on your sunburn. I have never been so aware of my lower back in my whole life. Undeniably the most sunburned portion of my body, I feel it when I try to fall asleep, it touches against my office chair at work, I cannot wear a pencil skirt because it is literally bound to the small of my back and is the most abrasive thing ever.

2. Feeling about three degrees hotter constantly. As if it was not hot enough here already (IT IS).

3. Putting on a lot of lotion to heal the sunburn and then walking to work only to sweat it all off. If you haven’t experienced the lotion-sweats, I envy you. I would say it is three stages worse on the Sweat Severity Scale than when you go for a run at four in the afternoon. Not only does lotion seem to make you sweat a lot more, it generates a really appealing and not-at-all-obvious greasy/sweaty film all over your skin. I arrived at work today looking like a swamp monster.

4. Looking weird. Sunburns aren’t attractive.

Fortunately the list of pros outweigh the cons so we can all rest easy that the float trip was worth it! My hot tips for the coming week: sunscreening liberally, lotioning with moderation, sitting in air-conditioning as much as possible.

Here is Rita (one third of our dream team of roommates)....

delaneylundquist — Wed, 27 Jun 2012 00:06:36 -0400

Here is Rita (one third of our dream team of roommates). It’s just a small hint of the glory that is our apartment. Obviously camp chairs are our main source of seating. Don’t you know we are in college?

water sports for all

delaneylundquist — Wed, 27 Jun 2012 00:02:00 -0400

So I took a one month hiatus. I mean, who wouldn’t deserve an extended blogging break after studying (gallivanting) in Europe and working hard (hanging out) back in St. Louis? Blogging is so taxing, let me tell you.

Before I get to the point, here are the highlights of what I’ve been doing for this month:

Sweating. It’s very hot here. Sometimes the air is so humid it’s almost like drowning while you breath.
Working. I’m an intern. “Cool,” you think to yourself, “you and every other college student on summer break.”
Eating. I eat frozen yogurt on the regular (no thanks to my roommates Rita and Danielle for trying to curb this addiction). Just tonight I received my ninth punch in my frequent purchaser punch card. You’ll be pleased to know that not only is my next froyo is free, but it also means I have been averaging about 2 froyos a week since my arrival. Thank you universe, I really did need a gelato substitute. WRONG.
Eating not a lot of things that aren’t froyo. Like I mentioned, it’s hot here. I break a sweat chopping vegetables. If it requires the oven or more than ten minutes on the stove, it’s not going to be made. I eat a lot of black beans and fake meat. I’ve regressed since Italy.
Watching tv. I LOVE TV. I FORGOT HOW GREAT TV IS AND I AM NOT ASHAMED TO SAY IT. Shout out to the best sister in the world who hooked me up with online HBO. Sometimes it feels like nothing better has ever happened to me.
Hanging out. This generally is me doing things with my friends that allow us to stay as cool as possible. Sometimes it’s going to Target, sometimes it’s going to the botanical gardens to hear free music, sometimes we go to the pool, which is the perfect segue for the point of this story. Me and bodies of water.

We went to Wisconsin this weekend to visit our sweet friend Katie and her awesome parents at their beautiful house on Lake Kegonsa. Despite what could be taken as a sarcastic overuse of positive adjectives, I had such a good time! We road tripped and ate cheese and shopped at the Saturday market and had meals cooked by a mom, all things I really really love!

But we also did some water sports. Because we were on a lake. And everyone excels at water sports because they are so fun and carefree! NOT FOR THIS GIRL. To say I am unnatural in the water is an understatement. When I jumped into the lake with the water skis on, they came off immediately. I WASN’T EVEN GOING, I WAS JUST GETTING INTO THE WATER. I should have taken this as a sign. I then spent a lot of time rolling a round in the water buoyed on both ends by the life jacket and the skis. It was awkward. It was really awkward. Everyone else of course had a fine time. There was no tangling up in the tow rope, no floundering around losing skis for no reason.

Whatever. I’m not even embarrassed because I found my true calling as a leisurely sun bather. These are the only things you need to do as a leisurely sun bather and literally everyone can be good at it: you sit at the front of the boat (the prow if you are as knowledgeable in boat vocab as I am) and bask in the sun, with an amount of sunscreen on that suggests you are skin cancer savvy, but interested in not being pasty white. Whenever you get too hot/need to pee you hop out of the boat and swim around for a couple of minutes and get right back on to be driven around the lake some more. Take in the views, nap a little, it’s all possible when you are a leisurely sun bather. When I am filthy rich, I will consider buying a boat and a driver just so I can ride around, its delightful. My friends can bring their water skis whenever they want, but you will find me basking upon the prow in a sunhat. Doesn’t that sound refined? I’ll tell you, a semester in Florence and this girl is one classy broad.

Check you guys later. And not in one month, I swear.

HEY I LEAVE TOMORROW

delaneylundquist — Fri, 27 Apr 2012 15:39:00 -0400

…and by leave I really mean start my four day saga of going home. There will be overnight stays in Bologna, Paris, DC and then I finally get to Portland! It’ll be a marathon but I am ready. I have spent my last days being lazy all over town, eating all the classics in excess (lots of panini, kebabs, and gelato) and enjoying the sun after last week’s rain. The great news is that if you look really closely at the back of my left shoulder there is what may or may not be a tan line from my tank top, SUCCESS.

I’ll miss Florence (aka the riso flavored gelato), but for now I am looking forward to putting on my Chacos and drinking a whole gallon of skim milk. Or diving into a swimming pool of oatmeal. Either one. (Hint to Morgan: please have these ready for me upon my arrival).

We had the final art show last week and it was just chock full of the most conceptual stuff you could imagine. Which is really just how the semester should have ended, with as many esoteric art references and extraordinarily vague themes as we started with. Here’s the roomie Q and I at the show:

Such artists we’ve become!

In closing: PEACE OUT FLORENCE. It’s been real. Seen you in a very long time from now. Not because I don’t love you, just because I need a chance to loose all this gelato weight and you need some time to restock your pistachio flavor.

LOVE,

DELANEY

(and in case you were interested, Italy, “ho due piscine” is still my favorite phrase, and a toddler could still speak better Italian)

The Last Suppers. Here’s how I finished my semester in the...

delaneylundquist — Fri, 27 Apr 2012 15:37:03 -0400

Chicken stir fry with peppers & broccoli

Farro with sundried tomatoes and feta

Coconut chicken & cilantro rice by Quin

The Last Suppers. Here’s how I finished my semester in the kitchen strong. With grains. With sweet chili sauce. With my favorite feta-as-goat-cheese-substitute. And if you must know, as tonight is my last night in Florence, Quin and I did it up in true style at Best Kebab in the World. A real, authentic Italian meal (not). It’s not actually named that, but it should be because no one knows the real name of it and they do serve the best kebabs in the world. Like I said, we are going out with a bang. BYE FLORENCE.

The Home Stretch (steak and goat cheese)

delaneylundquist — Sat, 21 Apr 2012 10:51:00 -0400

HEY LOOK I’VE ALMOST MADE IT! I have one week left of classes before I set (figurative) sail for the homeland. You might want to be hearing some sort of personal reflection on how my semester has been. No. I don’t want to talk about that right now. I just want to tell you about my troubles with goat cheese.

I would say that I spend at least one hour each week in Italy in active pursuit of goat cheese. I cannot find it. I buy lots of cheese thinking it is goat cheese only to get home and realize it is definitely not (I have had a lot of strange cheeses as a result). There was a brief glimmer of hope when my sister and mom came into town and we found goat cheese surrounded by brie at the market. GOAT CHEESE AND BRIE IN ONE, I’M NOT LYING. I couldn’t even believe it. I ate it right up. And apparently experiencing the pinnacle of goat cheese means I will never be able to find it again and my life must go back to being a very barren, goat-cheese lacking place. There are one million types of cheese here AND I NEVER FIND GOAT CHEESE. Ugh. Whatever. Sometimes I have to use feta. I get over it.

Now that we’ve spoken about that, we can also touch on the delicious six meals of steak Quinlan and I enjoyed a couple weeks ago. We went to Borgo Antico (the restaurant of hallowed hamburger fame) and shared a giant, bloody T-bone steak. It was sooooooo good. Could you tell by how many o’s I used? It was that good. So good and huge in fact that Quin and I both ate two more meals each from that steak. That’s a total of six meals. I am very good with numbers when it concerns food. GOD IT WAS GOOD. So here is a picture of the steak sandwich I made the night after.

I’ve also had a recent re-discovery of pesto. Something about having only one week left to stuff my face made me realize I have absolutely not been eating enough pesto. So now I make up for that by eating it with every meal. Snack time, lunch time, dinner time. All the time. I love it. It’s good on everything. Here are the roasted brussel sprouts, potatoes, and broccoli I made as a vehicle for my pesto.

Magic Pumpkin. It's real.

delaneylundquist — Tue, 10 Apr 2012 17:05:00 -0400

So no one told me that squash season is not spring. Maybe they didn’t tell me because that is a pretty common knowledge kind of fact. However, I was undeterred by the seasons because I HAD to make a squash and farro and spinach recipe I found online (all my number one fave ingredients). I was on a mission. I took myself, mission in mind, to the central market only to realize that there was really, really, seriously no squash to be found anywhere because it is not, in fact, October.

BUT I DID FIND A PUMPKIN. A really weird, not bright orange pumpkin. But I thought to myself, “Aren’t squash and pumpkins like cousins? They are like best friends in the food kingdom. I gotta get it.” So I bought myself a pumpkin, and I walked through the streets back to my house with a pumpkin. And I proceeded to spend 45 minutes chopping up this pumpkin. But you know what? It was totally worth it because it was delicious AND I got multiple meals out of this baby. This was not just some one meal pumpkin. This was pumpkin and farro, pumpkin risotto, pumpkin cream sauce pasta. It was a great week, seeing as pumpkin is probably my third favorite flavor of food (after coconut and coffee, duh).

Here are the before and after shots. I’m practically a magician. (Shame on me for taking the picture before I added the balsamic reduction, just like my sister taught me.)

You guys have been missing the food pics haven’t you? How...

delaneylundquist — Sun, 08 Apr 2012 06:20:37 -0400

Minestrone with cabbage and white beans

Butternut squash casserole and brussels

Farro with kale, white beans, & sausage

Cranberry walnut and brussel barley

Fam din with baked sausage and apples!

You guys have been missing the food pics haven’t you? How could you not? I love nothing better than a good drool in front of my computer screen so I know where you are coming from. Here are some of the latest highlights.

Here we are in Venice. Highlights include birthday tiramisu...

delaneylundquist — Sat, 07 Apr 2012 08:25:00 -0400

Here we are in Venice. Highlights include birthday tiramisu (with candles - thanks mom!), taking a night ride on the vaporetto (Venice’s public transit system, kind of like the bus only in the water), and riding on the tiniest little boat across the canal to get to the fish market. You can see the priceless expression at the bottom. I clearly love the water.

The Lundquist/Rhodes Ladies do Italy

delaneylundquist — Sat, 07 Apr 2012 08:07:52 -0400

So the rumors are true, my mom and sister did visit me. Either they love me enough to take a hectic overseas flight or they were just really craving some lasagna, I’m not sure which. Regardless, we had a wonderful time! For over a week I completely disregarded my homework and forgot that I knew how to cook so that I could only eat out. It was GREAT. We visited Venice for my birthday weekend and ate some killer seafood at the restaurant across from the apartment where we were staying. I also managed to only go in to one museum (the Guggenheim in case you were interested) and if I had told this to my professors they would have been appalled. It was a really proud moment.

No self-respecting Lundquist ever likes to celebrate their birthday for just one day. We draw those kind of parties out, so it was important that we have not just one pre-birthday dinner in Venice, but another dinner on my actual day of birth in Florence. I like to think of this as celebrating Italian-style one night, and American-style the next because you want to know what I ate on the twentieth anniversary of my birth? A HUGE DELICIOUS HAMBUGER. My first since being abroad. THAT’S FOUR MONTHS WITH NO BURGER ACTION, EVERYONE! It was life changing. I’ve never had a burger so good. I can’t stop talking about it. I bring it up in conversation like everyday. This is serious. I like to think of me ordering this burger at a very delicious Italian restaurant as a way of saying to the world, “YES, I AM TWENTY NOW AND I WILL EAT THIS VERY AMERICAN MEAL IN THE HEART OF ITALY, LAND OF PASTA, AND I WILL NOT BE ASHAMED ABOUT IT BECAUSE I AM AN ADULT.” Of course I didn’t actually say that out loud because I was inhaling my food so fast I almost blacked out from lack of oxygen (which would have been a terrible waste of a stupendous burger).

Anyways, back to the mom and sis: I was definitely sad to see them go, real life means cleaning up after I make a meal and spending time in studio doing work. LAME. WHATEVER. Morgan made it back to the U.S. safely (as elaborated in a very long and hilarious email) and mom is still roaming around the south of France with a friend (JEALOUS). Fortunately for me, the semester is winding down and I will be home soon enough. Some of the things I am looking forward to most back home:

Gallons of skim milk, none of this 2% that only comes in liters. You don’t understand how much I have had to cut back my milk consumption.

Oatmeal.

Bananas not costing the earth.

Chocolate chip cookies. No more of this crunchy biscotto stuff. I’m talking the real deal chewy melty classic.

Not paying for water. Hence why everyone drinks so much wine.

So I realize now that my entire list is food related. Well. I don’t know what to say. You guys already know about me and food. I just spent more time describing a burger than talking about what my mom and sister and I did while they were here (shopped. ate. slept. ate). What else do you expect?

Photo

delaneylundquist — Fri, 16 Mar 2012 17:44:00 -0400

The butterfly house in Vienna

Cafe Demel's. Vienna. YUM.

Kaffe Torte from Cafe Demel

Hooray for libraries!

The monastery in the Vienna woods

On the train to Budapest

Georgia at the Lennon wall in Prague

Q and I in Prague

I'm back! (Again)

delaneylundquist — Fri, 16 Mar 2012 17:32:00 -0400

I’ve returned from spring break fresh-faced (not really) and ready to buckle down for the last part of the semester (definitely not true). Quin and Georgia and I went through Vienna, Prague and Budapest by train for nine days and it rocked!

Highlights include staying in some sweet digs courtesy of Georgia’s neighbor back home. Her family has an apartment in Vienna that was one million times better than I could have hoped. From our home base right next to the Naschmarkt (where I ate an awesome almond brioche, fyi) we museum hopped, saw a ballet at the State Opera house, frequented the sausage/hot dog stands daily, and generally did all those things that good tourists do: EAT AND WANDER AROUND. Also to be noted was our visit to the National Library. BOY DO I LOVE A GOOD LIBRARY and this one was unbelievable. Though they probably didn’t have Harry Potter available to check out (as all good libraries should) I think the two-story, sculpture-filled, one-gillion leather bound book collection kind of made up for it.

On our last day, Georgia’s neighbor’s mom and sister (just try keeping track of that) gave us a tour of a monastery just outside of town in the Vienna woods because they are both travel guides. SCORE. Not only was is beautiful, but it was really nice to spend some time outside of a city and get to hear some interesting stories about the design of the monastery (an unusual mix of Gothic and Baroque architecture if you were wondering). For our last dinner I ate wiener schnitzel so I felt complete and could say I did it all in true Austrian style.

In Prague we stayed in an awesome hostel called the Mosaic house, which is supposedly one of the most environmentally friendly buildings in the Czech Republic (so much so that the lights will automatically turn off in your room if you sit still for long enough). In Prague we saw the Lennon Wall, the astronomical clock in the town square, were serenaded by an a cappella group from University of North Carolina on the Charles Bridge, heard the Prague symphony, and ate at a seriously delicious vegetarian restaurant. Did you know that polenta gnocchi was a thing? Because it probably actually isn’t but I will tell you it’s wonderful. We were also certain not to leave the city without trying the 8 beer sampler at a local microbrewery. The verdict: nettle beer is awful (not to mention acid green). Coffee beer is the best (and colored normally).

By the time we got to Budapest I was touristed out, but we managed to hit most of the highlights in our one full day. During our first night for dinner I ate a meal that I’m positive was made for me. Wild mushroom risotto baked in a pumpkin with goat cheese. ALL OF MY FAVORITE THINGS COMBINED ON A PLATE. I couldn’t believe it. It was unreal. I even took a picture at the table, which is probably pretty rude but I felt like it had to happen. After recovering from my serious food baby the next day, we hit up the synagogue (the 2^nd largest in the world!), the chain bridge, the castle, the baths, and the ruin pub. Budapest is known for their ruin pubs (I first pictured an outdoor bar in the Roman forum, which was really not at all what they look like) which are bars that started out as kind of unadvertised underground hangouts in abandoned buildings from the Communist era. Now they are a lot more popular but definitely just as cool. They take up whole apartment buildings so there are a million different winding rooms basically decorated with junk and graffiti (but really in the most charming and funky way). And don’t worry because I totally had some goulash and fried bread before I left town. I will check it off my gastronomical check list. Because I actually have one of those.

Even though our train didn’t depart until three p.m. on the last day, I think it was probably an indicator of our tiredness levels that we ended up just sitting at a fountain in a skate park for the couple of hours before we departed. We wandered and wandered and once we sat down, we couldn’t move or bring ourselves to look at anymore landmarks/museums/scenic vistas. That is until a wedding photo shoot moved in and told us we needed to get out of the background of their photos. What are you doing taking pictures in a skate park? For your wedding? That’s weird! I would really advise against that! Oh, the Hungarians.

One overnight train later and we were back in Florence. Spring break complete.

I would like it to be known that we managed to use at least one mode of public transportation in every city. I say this mainly as a shout out to my mother, who doesn’t feel like a visit to Portland is complete unless we have taken the Max train at least once. I was also sure to eat my fill of all foods that were not Italian and open my eyes real wide to get in all the stuff that was not baroque/gothic/renaissance (ART NOUVEAU EVERYWHERE I WAS IN HEAVEN). I love Italy, but a girl does grow to miss her Chinese food (Vienna has great Chinese food, I will tell you).

That said, I’ve settled back into our apartment nicely, the central market has welcomed me with open arms and the weather is so sunny and fine I can hardly believe it. Life in Florence is good! The mom and sis will be here next Friday, and I can hardly wait. Mainly for my mom to take us to dinner at Acqua al Due, but I guess I’m excited to hang out with them too.

Surprise! I'm not dead or kidnapped.

delaneylundquist — Tue, 28 Feb 2012 10:20:49 -0500

Hey, so maybe it’s been a while since my last post. I would blame that on the persistent lack of internet in the apartments right now, but if I was honest with you it would really be because of the artist funk that I seem to be wallowing in. What’s a semester in Florence trying to be a real fine art maker without spending a lot of time moping around not having any great ideas? AN UNAUTHENTIC TIME, that’s what. In actuality, I’ve have spent that past couple of weeks doing not a whole lot on the art front, panicking about my midterm critiques this week, and forgetting all about my art history test that is suddenly on Thursday. I’m a Florentine wreck! Wow! Get your act together!

Whatever. I’ve made a lot of stellar food to make up for it. I will leave Florence fifty pounds worth of gelato heavier and with an entire mental cookbook, and that is really enough for me. Who cares about art anyways? Not me! It’s not like I’m not here to study it or anything.

Here is the update:

Things have declined since the Chocolate Fair has left town. PLEASE SOMEONE GET ME A FRUIT STICK.

The weather has been great. I now wear my pants (stylishly?) cuffed (because 55 degrees means my ankles can easily overheat) since it’s practically spring and spend even less time in the studio than I already did. Which was the absolute minimum amount.

I went to the Boboli Gardens. Number one place to get really really lost. Don’t try and get out of there in under two hours because you won’t. You will be lost. Happily, contentedly lost, but definitely lost.

I spend a lot of quality time at the school’s main office and the British Institute of Florence (my current location) using up their internet. The latter is awfully close to La Carraia gelato, now in my top three gelato places. Who even knew lemon cookie was a flavor? I do now and I couldn’t be happier about it.

Quinlan found Barley Man (the man who sells barley in the market). There were three full days of horror when I went to the market and could not find barley man anywhere! I was out of barley and I needed more and he wasn’t there! Every day I would return and wander around aimlessly (the market has a layout that I just cannot grasp. I spend almost as much time lost in the market as I do in the Boboli Gardens). Thank god Q is around to handle these sort of situations when I am on the verge of a major barley meltdown, she went the next day and found him no problem. Why must you hide from me Barley Man?!

I ate my first kebab. This is a thing they love around Florence and now I love it, too. I could not tell you exactly where kebab’s come from, but they are a wonderful thing and the only not-weird ethnic food you will find around here. It is meat (that you don’t want to look at while they cut it off the giant rotisserie conglomerate that it is cooking on) and lettuce and onions and tomatoes and garlic and spice and French fries (I skipped that part) all put into a tortilla. Now I realize while writing this that that sounds really abysmal, but it’s not. Somehow putting five strange ingredients together makes one delicious thing. I wouldn’t try that formula too often, but Italy has its kebabs on lock.

Quin and I went crazy for butternut squash, leading to some serious culinary successes. First was the baked squash and spinach casserole, and then it was the classic butternut risotto. We had dinner with our neighbor friends and I made a huge pan of roasted rosemary potatoes, apples, and sausage. HUGE SUCCESS.

The great news is that I am about to forget all about art for one week (do not tell my professors) and head off to Vienna, Prague, and Budapest! THE FOOD! THE SIGHTS! THE POSSIBILITY OF NOT ALWAYS BEING SO EASILY IDENTIFIED AS AMERICAN! That last part might be a long shot, but I am really hoping. We leave on an overnight train in a couple of days and I am getting fully pumped for some schnitzel. I had to Google what it is exactly, but I was going to eat it regardless. I also bought the three of us (Georgia, Quin, and I) tickets to the ballet at the Viennese opera house on Saturday so we can do it up real classy.

TALK TO YOU GUYS IN A LITTLE BIT! MAYBE GET SOME PHOTOS GOING ON? NO ONE KNOWS! IT’LL BE A SURPRISE!