Her rough Spanish accent really does tire me and she does look a bit “plastic” at times. Yet, she is a Columbian goddess who is as hot as an 18 year-old even at 40. She certainly proved that to me once again at this year’s Golden Globes.
This awesome dish is intended more for the Turkish crowd as some of the ingredients are only found in Turkey (more specifically in Istanbul). Yet, you can certainly replace them with the things you can get and like in your own country.
Ingredients:
Preparation:
Cut the Foccacia into thinner pieces using a bread knife. It is essential to keep the slices as thin as possible. If not the dense Focaccia bread that will take away from the taste of other ingredients. Grill the slices in the toaster for less than a minute to give them a bit more crunchiness. Put in a few drops of the white truffle oil or spread a nice portion of the black olive paste on the insides of the slices. Lay the thinly sliced string and Ayvalık cheese and the veal tongue (to your taste) in the middle. Cover the top slice and grill inside the pre-heated toaster.
Deliciousness served on a white breakfast plate.
Get ready for an intense psychological thriller if you haven’t yet seen this movie. Martha Marcy May Marlene is based on the troubled life of a teenage girl who has been neglected by her family. Without support and care, Martha (played by Elisabeth Olsen) is driven into the shelter of a completely isolated cult that rejects modern day facts and embraces violence against capitalism, hatred towards monogamous marriage and total submission to leadership. We meet the main character at the point when she gathers the strength to run away from the group she voluntarily joined a year ago. Shaking with fear, she makes the uncomfortable call to her sister (as we find out later on) and desperately seeks her help. The siblings finally meet once again in years. They lead us to the troubled past of the younger one whose life wasn’t as fortunate as her older sister’s.
As Martha finds new shelter inside her sister’s luxurious Connecticut summerhouse she is be constantly haunted by her conflicting past, emotionally stressed and deeply troubled between the two completely polar lifestyles. Her disturbing reach for reality and the constant leap for a clean start loads this movie with guilt and despair. The audience hardly accepts the fact that such a beautiful girl went through such a nasty and wounding time in her life. She can’t get the break she desperately yearns for and there is nothing we can do but watch her try.
The movement of the camera plays a major role in this movie’s success. It constantly leaves the audience anxious to find out what the heck is going on. Martha sees something in the woods and starts walking towards it. She has her eyes looking forward but we have our eyes completely focused on her face. She goes for a swim in the lake and we sneak on her from a great distance on the other side. We see her tiny head in the water and she notices us. We instantly become the pervert making her uncomfortable. We are constantly stuck on her while she struggles to make it out of her tragedy. The camera forces, constrains and tires us, giving the storyline the spice it needs to make it even better.
Elisabeth Olsen is a wonder as Martha Marcy May Marlene. She depicts the psychological trauma so well that the audience can’t find the break to infiltrate the actress from the main character. The fact that she is a new face on the white screen helps her a bit in that aspect. She is definitely one of the more talented and mature Olsens. Hope she continues to amaze us behind the camera.
PS: Be ready for a very unorthodox ending. It is so unexpected that it will make you sit and wait for a bit more of what is already left to your imagination.
I had the opportunity to visit the historic Bahar Patisserie in Nişantaşı last afternoon to shop for some chestnut candy. I remember going into this place as a child and sticking my chubby face all around the displays hoping to get my hands on all the cakes and chocolate. Not much has changed over the years. Bahar is still a legend although it hasn’t successfully transformed into a super famous chain like its competitors. Seeing it in good condition made me wonder what the reasons behind such a lag could be. The taste is still there in my opinion but there is a serious problem in presentation. I got out with a small Bahar souvenir to show you how bad the problem is. I couldn’t resist. It was the last one on the shelf and I had to have it.
I think this is some kind of a completely unproportional gay basketball player who is actually going bold on the back of his head, but sports healthy long red hair in the front. His patch of curly hair is casually glued together at the top with the residual glue chunking out at the sides. He is stuffed with little stone-like chocolate inside his hips and has a hole on the back that could be used as a temporary piggy bank.
What kind of a sick creative person comes up with such a design? I totally get the “playful doll + delicious sweets + save your money while spending” idea for the kids, but I am utterly shocked by the final product. If you say “the doll is a disaster, but there is still good chocolate inside” think twice. Since the chocolate inside looks like little stones, the kid who eats them will probably grab a few actual rocks thinking they are also edible goodies: From the bakery to the emergency room with love.
As I cheerfully play with the hair of my monster I can’t help but think about its little customers. I feel sorry for the kid who goes in and reaches up for this transvestite toy just because he/she has playful curly hair. Parents beware. Bahar please please take action and come out with some “decent” inspiration for our future generations.
A great song from yesterday’s movie marathon: How Can I Remember by Michael Dees. Can’t find anywhere to download it from. If you have a link please send over. Until then enjoy…
We all experience it more than a few times in life. We pass through a cycle when we push the limits to be healthy and fit. Proteins, vitamins, work outs. We crash and burn every muscle to stare at that mirror and feel much better than ever before. Yet, the iron man days do not, can not and should not last long (especially if we have the appetite for good food).
Just when we think we reached a new high in our physical stamina, we are delivered an unexpected package: a promotion at work, a new exciting relationship and/or a deeply saddening circumstance. The 6 km. cardios, the 40 min. weightlifts, the tiny dinners slowly make way to cozy movie nights, longer meetings and/or chunky family dinner parties. Loose pants become a little tighter leading us to believe that the sweet fattening can be reversible anytime. The mirror reflects a little more “bloating” above the hips making us believe its just temporary gas. Even the scale leads us to fantasize about nominal decreases in numbers, helping us think we are back on a diet filled with sweets and carbs.
The voluntary sacrifice we made to fully commit to our new “package” only becomes the elephant in the room when someone random we haven’t seen for months casually (and rather evil-like) drops the bomb on our weight situation. Only then we become the elephant who has hopefully transferred his/her satisfaction in fitness to some other aspect in his/her life.
The Turkish Apachi has the means to an uncharted luxurious life. Probably born outside the metropolitan city to a working class family. Educated in mediocre schools around town and most probably never made it to college, the Turkish Apachi yearns for the “glamourous” life he has witnessed around the posh neighborhoods throughout his teen years. He finally gets his break. An old relative leaves him a field/land that once valued nothing but is now a fortune because it lies on the outskirts of the ever-expanding city. Or he is the son of a famous folk singer. Or he teams up with a clan of mobsters and becomes one of the big guys doing the dirty work. Or he becomes a famous soccer player or an actor in a popular TV show.
He drives around a flashing red or a dazzling neon color pimped up sports car. Even the Porsche is not enough to reflect his glamourous status. Only a Ferrari, a Lamborghini, a Chevrolet Camaro, a Chrysler Viper, a BMW M5 or a Corvette can match up to his needs. The car windows covered with deep black filters. The rims never come standard, are large in inches and abundantly unique in color.
Hair is gelled to the extreme. Sunglasses never small. He prefers the patent leather black shoes and recently bought Dolce&Gabbana jeans. White tight cotton shirts and big lettered thick brand belts complete his taste in fashion.
The Turkish Apachi is almost always accompanied by a friend or a lover. If the friend is male, he will probably be a photocopy of the main subject (possibly only much more fatter so that he will not be an immediate threat to his friend’s aura). And if the friend is female, she will escort thin high-heel boots (no matter what time of the day) with extremely skinny jeans tucked in, a fitted turtleneck sweater and a white faux-fur coat. The shoulder handbag will be tiny but will preferably be covered in a brand’s logo.
The outing will almost always include a meal and will be cherished at the most “exposed” cafe/restaurants around the city. The popular shopping malls will be the first choice with a constant pedestrian traffic and well-tipped valet service. After the stomachs are full, the Apachi will lead his friends to a coffee shop near the Bosphorus for a game of backgammon, dominos or a hookah session. 
The night, if there is any energy left, will continue only at Reina.
In recent years, with the unexplainable boom in real estate, The Turkish Apachi became an unavoidable part of the metropolitan life. He seems to be clueless about the future and yearns to make the most of today with an unhealthy flush of money. For me, he is one of the most exquisite examples to how our values and dynamics changed so dramatically in recent years. I cherish the opportunity for analysis, but greatly regret the unavoidable spread.
I recently watched a movie and I can’t get over it. I keep going back to the trailer just to get a snapshot of how much I laughed. I hope you can complete the title of this post by yourself because it lies in the core of my recommendation. Once you do, I need you to block all the sophistication, reasoning and class you think you have and delete your “cookies” at least until the end of a few paragraphs.
Released in 2009, Miss March is the story of a guy who awakens from a four-year coma to find out that his once virginal high-school sweetheart became a Playboy bunny. He and his sex-crazed best friend set out on a cross-country road trip in order to crash the famous Playboy party and win the girl back.
This movie is an American Pie saga. It is below the hips, in between the legs and around the ass cheeks. It is simply nasty and its blend with naivety is what makes it hilarious to watch.
Go home one evening, call over a few close friends, order food and let Miss March play in the background. You will be hooked after a few minutes in.
There are moments in life when we are reminded of how precious and fragile our existence is. Unfortunately those moments mostly come packed with the loss of a loved one. Within despair and melancholia we crave to reattach our thoughts to reality. Only at that moment do we separate ourselves from the nonsense that disturbs our peace and contentment. We once again believe in our simple being and embrace the simplicity with a bit of disappointment and an unexpected flow of joy.
It was only a few days ago I watched our baby French Bulldog, Coco jump around with joy and chug any delicious food she could get its paws on. She was as healthy as a puppy could be. And today I receive notice of her sudden death as her heart couldn’t take the narcosis injected in prior to a necessary hip surgery.
As I look back at her rather short stay with us, I would like to believe that she lived a happy life surrounded by the people that unconditionally loved her. She was simply a great friend and will be long missed.
All those years in the U.S. and I have never been to Canada. The closest I got to it was when we drove up to Stowe, VT for skiing. So it is with somewhat of a regret when I talk about this unique apartment in Montreal. It is located inside the 1929 Sir Mortimer B. Davis building, named after the first knighted (by King George) Jewish Canadian tobacco king businessman, Sir Davis. This 600 m2 pad, although not among my favorites, reveals one of the most refreshing and well-preserved interiors and terraces I have seen in a long time. The 4 bedroom, 4 bathroom apartment is on sale for USD 5.8m.
