I am full of clafouti!

Clafouti! A classic french breakfasty/dessert thing. First attempted about 4 years ago with cherries. Found out that fancy "clafouti" is secretly crepe batter (which is secretly runny pancake batter with an extra egg or two) poured over berries and baked. Ha! And so, today was strawberry clafouti. I just like attempting to say clafouti. I'm sure I'm saying it completely incorrect. As I attempted to say the name of the street in NYC ("Houston"... "House-ton".. "huuston".. mer.)

Yea for Saturday. And, also, yea for Friday! Halloween! It's just fun to walk through Uptown and see random wandering pop culture things, possibly dead and/or sexy. Woke up bright and early on Saturday and attempted to run with out a sweatshirt yesterday - - foolish foolish Jen. It was cold!!! Even the geese seemed a'tad nonplussed.

A full day of science-museum-ing, dinner at Jasmine Deli, and then sat and listened to Serge Gainsbourgh. Although the hipsternish inside of me thought I knew this man and was quite familiar with his work, my true self only knew that he was the father of Charlotte Gainsbourgh, and that's it. My take on Serge Gainsbourgh:
- it's the best if you can have someone translating each verse as you listen. The best in the world.
- yes, he WAS incredibly influential. I'm an idiot. Look, there's Leonard Cohen! Look, there's David Byrne! Look, there's Pet Shop Boys! Look, there's a path for Paul Simon to follow into Graceland! Look, there's Pulp! Look, there's Ween! Damn you, Serge Gainsbourgh!
- He was naughty. Oof. Thumbing-your-nose-at-you naughty. "Lemon Incest" has been running through my head for hours.

Onto a wonderful Halloween housewarming party.. it was spoooooky.. and wonderful. Sigh. Eric K. was f'in freaky. And David B. offered one of the damn Tim Gunn impressions ever. (Fred and David might be a super hero team. ... yes.. just like Hawk and Dove.. just sayin'.)

And now I'm full of claflouti. And it's warm out. Time to get off butt. And do clafouti-covered dishes.

Onward.