This coming weekend I have VERY big plans to roast a lamb in honor of mine and my friend Pete’s birthday. But before I blog about my upcoming roast I wanted to share some photos from my past roasts. PIG roasts that is! I have been lucky enough to host not one but TWO pigs roasts in my life time, all thanks to my bestie Spencer (as you may remember from earlier Party Pirls posts) and his loving parents (who just happen to be my unofficial god-parents) Marsha and Steven, who donated their lovely home and yard for the festivities.
Hopefully by now you’ve all realized what I mean when I call myself a “party girl”. This blog is more about my adventures in dinner parties and fun gatherings than social escapades around NYC. Don’t get me wrong, I used to be the ULTIMATE party girl – I went out at least 5 nights a week – to bars, warehouse parties, you name it. These nights usually included at least four vodka sodas with a splash of lime juice (VodSoLime) and dancing until the sun came up (bonus points if they played “Party In the USA“). In fact, the name “Party Girl’s Perspective” was thought up (by yours truly) after a drunken evening debate. I can’t remember what we were talking about, but I interjected with my own opinion, stating firmly, “Well, from a party girl’s perspective…” and my friends never let me live it down. I pretty much was the MOST FUN.
I even threw my fair share of (if I may say so myself) EPIC house parties (back in the day when I lived with three boys and our house was in a constant state of trashed). Even though I now live with FOUR boys (a little misses dog) my house tends to stay in a state of relative cleanliness and I hardly ever “rage”. Though some of my favorite party spots have shuddered their doors (RIP OG Coco66, Paris London New York, and my very first apartment 541 Lorimer – which is now an AirBnb Hostel that YOU can actually stay in), the downfall of my party girl ways had way more to do with owning my own business, in particular my own bar. After working five to six days a week, serving drinks, the last thing I want to do is go out drinking after a ten hour shift (though, strangely this doesn’t have the same effect on my desire to cook in correlation to running a restaurant, TG).
Now a days, I still enjoy a good evening out (though the boyfriend and my friends would agree that I should probably go out more) but I definitely no longer hold a “Party Girl” title. In fact, just last month, I was out and about on a Saturday night (at Call Box Lounge to be exact – I highly recommend you check out their website, by the way), when my good friend saw me and freaked out “OH MY GOD, you’re actually out! You never come out!”. She was totally right (and I was totally sober). SO when my roommate Al and his bandmate Taka wanted to throw a house party their band could play (it might have been just a little bit of my idea too) I was TOTALLY DOWN. We had only thrown two house parties since we moved in last August and it was time for me to show off the other spectrum (e.i. a RAGER) of my party planning abilities! Continue reading
To follow up on my last post, this one’s all about the day I made the boyfriend take me (and Misses Loretta the dog) to the beach! The boyfriend isn’t the biggest fan of the beach (even though he grew up in a beach town) and neither is Misses (which is mostly my fault for capsizing a canoe while I was holding her when she was just 3 months old and forever traumatizing her). Me, however, I LOVE the beach. I love swimming in the ocean, I love tanning, I love picnics! Beach over pool any day. I had only been to the beach twice all summer (once at the boyfriend’s little beach town, sans the boyfriend, and then once when we were in Cape Cod), so I was SUPER PUMPED to spend a day lounging by the sea before the summer ended. Continue reading
This past Sunday the boyfriend and I had tentative plans to join some friend’s out on Shelter Island. But after driving to and from the Hamptons the day before for work the boyfriend just wasn’t up for it. Though I was slightly bummed, I understood his plight (especially since I’m a big unlicensed 26 year old loser), I got over it (though forced him to take me to the beach the very next day). He made up for it by bringing me to my favorite Sunday shopping spots: The Cooper Park Farmers Market and The Meat Hook! We bought way too much food for just the two of us (mostly tomatoes) and prepared a decadent dinner. Luckily, I ran into my oldest friend, Spencer, while running out for some pink wine and I forced him to join us. As per usual we had a lovely roof top BBQ and I finally got to make SUN GOLD BUTTER. Continue reading
As a “restauranteur” (I put restauranteur in quotations because I feel uncomfortable calling myself one when I only own 50% of one restaurant) I don’t get many weekends off. Friday and Saturday nights are my busiest of the week, so more often than not, I’m working while everyone else is playing. (And the weekends I do get to take off nowadays are booked up with weddings, oh being in your late twenties…). Instead, I usually take Sunday and Monday off as my “weekend”. Luckily, the boyfriend (who work’s for a photo booth company) also has an erratic schedule, and can take the days off with me. This post is about my lovely “weekend” on the last hot days of July (I mean, can you believe it’s August right now?! I feel like I’m in San Francisco with this weather!), which culminated with a little roof top gathering (of course). Continue reading
Every other summer the boyfriend’s extended family (his mom’s brother-in-law’s brothers, to be exact) throw a Dodge Power Wagon Rally at their family’s farm house in Vermont. Before last weekend I had never heard of let alone seen a power wagon, though I found out plenty about them and the people who love them over the weekend. You can learn more about the Dodge Power Wagon, but basically they are vintage pick-up trucks, made between 1945-1980 that are super bad ass. There is a whole community of Power Wagon collectors, many of which congregate at the rally to talk shop, show off their rides, swap parts and most importantly, go off roading. People drive from hundreds of miles away, some with crazy souped up cars too nice to even drive, most towing beat up old wagons, all to ride, drink and EAT. Continue reading