Thirty & Dirty

That's what it says on a shirt that my friend, Anne, was given for her big 3-0. This is the year for me, and the date is actually exactly three weeks from today. I remember when I was 12, I thought by the time the year 2000 had come around that I'd be hitched and, at the very least, knocked up. Alas, it seems that I am finally hitched (wow, can you believe I made it under the "30" radar?!?) but definitely not putting any non-flour buns in the oven anytime soon.

To celebrate the occassion of this momentous day, I told E that he'd have to give me 30 little "gifts"--not necessarily monetary--to commemorate me. He's already suprised me with one: the cute (Otsu vegan) t-shirt featuring a selection of dainty mushrooms pictured here. Of course, the gifts I'm most excited about are the tongue-enticing ones! E has promised a foray to somewhere -- maybe we'll return to the delicious olive-oil rich bocadillos at Cesar or try the Rockridge's rave of Oliveto! Regardless, that my restaurant-phobic hubbie is taking me out is cause to celebrate. I mean, come on, if turning 30 doesn't get him to do it, what will. Right?

I've also got the thought--time permitting--to make many lovely dessert treats. This is the year to make 3 (one for every decade) birthday cakes for myself. Not just ordinary cakes, but the sort that line the glass cases of Citizen Cake. Absolutely perfect! Absolutely fabulous! All decadent goodness! (I am obsessed with coconut shag, especially!) If any of you out there have many brewing ideas for the perfect cake, please send them along. I'm taking notes! I'd also like to hone my not-so-hot frosting skills. It's so "old school" but handling a tube like a master, piping out colorful, quaint sugary flowers, is something put on your resume. Perhaps old school is the just the ticket for this practically over-the-hill event.

To continue the spirit of my fogie-ness, I am attempting to learn the words to "Churaliya," desperately hoping to sing my heart out, desperately trying to conjure the lovely spirit (and she is quite a spirited person!) of the 72-year old Asha Bhosle. Though I'm years younger than her, I'll simply never (heredity did not bless me in this respect) be able to croon the way she does. Cheers to her! By the way, for those of you who haven't yet done so, pick up a copy of the new Kronos Quartet homage to Bhosle & Burman. You won't be sorry.