The birthdays were coming, so I flew to Los Angeles to celebrate with Laura and with Ben. After a rainy Friday night, Saturday shook off the rain and brightened outside while Laura, Vera, and I brunched at Bouchon, before walking Rodeo Drive and then watching the sun set over the Santa Monica pier.

During the day, we walked by a house covered in mosaics with fruit trees on front,

almost as big a contrast to the houses surrounding it as the sun was to the clouds on the pier,

as the Trapeze Schoolers attempted derring-do, and we flew back to the Viceroy Hotel to change for Laura’s big birthday party.

LJ joined us for dinner,

where we led with protein,

and then the staff emerged with our box, boldly labeled and destined for our next destination.

As Laura’s guests arrived, our dedicated server whisked the cake away to the kitchen to cut and return the Fleur de Sel chocolate slices with Laura’s requested hot pink icing from Vanilla Bake Shop,

and toward the end of the night, we sang to our very favorite vagabond news junkie.

The next morning (the evening ran until early with much more toasting, a red convertible, and a yoga mat), I set off for the Santa Monica Farmers’ Market, where Ben met me, after I found an interesting potato mix,

a sausage vendor intent upon the scramble,

a wonderful mix of chorizo, spinach, eggs, potatoes, and cheese.

Market finds included bundles of slender asparagus stalks,

raw pistachios for David and roasted corn for our picnic,

at Cielo Wine Bar in Malibu that followed a drive along the PCH with birthday boy Ben in the driver’s seat.

LJ met us there, as Ben dispensed wisdom, smartly analyzing situations, as only he can,

Jessica considered broccoli after picking Rosé,

the perfect choice for a celebrity sighting of Pink and her husband,

and with s’mores bars from Vanilla Bake Shop.

Inside the rustic wood cabin where the wine flows from, LJ modeled the garb on offer,

perhaps an omen of the strangeness ahead as Laura and I met David at Encounter, a retro restaurant of the future (the lava lamps are still) hidden somewhere in LAX—fresh from travel to Austria and Portugal, David ordered a “Cosmos” (to complement his shirt?) and together, we all examined the “Halo” Caesar salad that arrived with a crouton ring.

Flying back into a wintry New York, I smiled at the fun of the occasion, the reclamation of Rosé, and how nice it is to still feel close to good friends on the opposite coast, marking important days with wine and fancy dress, and casually, other important days with memories of a road trip and long, winding conversations to continue…

On Friday night, my charming and witty friend John drove with me from Brooklyn into The Great Snowpocalypse of Charlottesville. Other areas lay claim to the storm, but I think with around twenty-four inches of snow, the title belongs to that beautiful area of Virginia where I lived for five years.

As soon as we arrived, we walked into a bar full of friends while the storm raged on outside, and I woke early to watch the snow still falling heavily, blanketing the town with an additional layer of quiet. It wasn’t my first Snowpocalypse, but it was still startling to see the fabulous Severine standing in the snow piled higher than her knees.

We ventured out on Saturday morning through Friday’s snowfall into the brightness of downtown, to the Pavilion that looked like a landing spot from the future.

Somehow, the chalkings on the Charlottesville wall survived the drifts,

and Severine and I walked the length of the Mall,

blinking at the whiteness of the snow and the curiously mod shapes of iced lights,

to meet up with Eric, Ben, John, Will, and Dan (watch closely to see Ben’s glasses transition, Sara joined us later).

The beloved Christian’s Pizza was among the few restaurants open and served as the gathering place for Charlottesville news (I am eating a pesto-artichoke-feta slice and a pepperoni with local Starr Hill Jomo) as busy as the entrance papered with flyers.

With a foraging trip to Market Street Wine to talk Grecian grapes with incredibly helpful wine researchers, we proceeded to while away the hours in a big hotel room,

before venturing out that night to Zinc. On the way in, thrown snowballs whiffed; inside, excellent versions of confit with cassoulet, onglet frites, onion soup gratinée, and brussel sprouts with lardons were brought out to the long table at the center of this bistro.

Stories were invented, a Famous Professor stopped by, and we adjourned to decanted wine in a municipal building with a ceiling of possibilities.

I departed Charlottesville around noon on Sunday, when skillful strangers unearthed my car and help push the vehicle toward the road. I find it difficult to leave this town, particularly when close friends convene for holidays, and I am surrounded once again by brilliant literature geeks of the first order.

For the days of this week though, I’m circling further South…

I spent yesterday walking Brooklyn, admiring costumed children celebrating Halloween,

concentrating on painting pumpkins and unwrapping candy,

while their parents picked gourds to decorate tables and Brooklyn stoops,

as the foliage in New York began to look like the Maine leaves of last weekend.

In Camden, Maine for the PopTech 2009 conference, I found it hard not to stop and reflect when the afternoon light outlined edges.

Every street has a brilliant tree, inviting long walks to find more.

Last Sunday, on Ethan and Rachel’s good advice (they were incredible livebloggers for PopTech 2009), I drove from Camden to Belfast, Maine, about half an hour away.

I passed through Lincolnville Beach, with its blue, blue water and sat in the quiet,

then happened upon raw milk near happy chickens running around a large yard.

Fortified, I arrived in Belfast and ordered a lobster melt (I would recreate with: thick slices of toast, lobster piled high, a dollop of homemade aioli to cook through, slight grating of Parmesan, all broiled for a few minutes with tomatoes, if desired),

then walked the Belfast shops before opening the door of Scoops and Crêpes (I join Ethan and Rachel in highly recommending), filled with families sharing sundaes, walls papered with drawings, and long menus of crêpes, ice cream specials, and flavors.

This is the turtellini, a warm popover with pecans and two scoops (pumpkin ice cream instead of vanilla) under chocolate and butterscotch sauces.

Delighting in the difference between well-preserved and precious towns, I kept pulling over on the way back to see what was shining on the side of the road.

And with a last lobster roll on Monday, I left coastal Maine,

chasing the colors back, that subtle trick played by Fall…

I’m in Camden, Maine this week and next for PopTech 2009, and yesterday I drove to Maine from Brooklyn, leading to this morning’s milestone of 100,000 miles on my car odometer—something I’ll celebrate on the way back to Brooklyn later this month.

On yesterday’s drive, I stopped at the Maine Diner for very traditional Maine food in keeping with the vintage car in the parking lot:

lobster pie (think hot lobster chunks with crumbled cracker bits arriving with a ramekin of butter) alongside mashed potatoes and a corn muffin ,

and the dessert I’ve been waiting to try, grape-nut custard pudding—hiding here under a hearty ruffle of whipped cream with the cereal flakes softly sitting on top of the firm custard.

Coastal Maine makes you think, as the bright foliage begins to fall away, about resolutions, and one of mine may be to recreate lobster pie—a clever recipe that keeps the warmth (so hard to retain when cracking the shell), lets one regulate the amount of butter and have the fun of pouring it on top of the dish, and best of all, keeps the charm of a grandmother’s receipt with the cracker crumbs binding it together…

On Saturday, I drove to Washington for my friend Andrew’s talent show birthday extravaganza. The party began with his sister Caroline’s parody card,

and Andrew opened the night’s slate of featured performers with an original song he composed for Annie, who is in library school, called “I Want You to Check Me Out”:

Highly referential and a very difficult act to follow, warm vegan banana bread was a good, gooey thing after the birthday Piano Man,

and folding an origami fox another great talent drawn randomly out of the bowl,

Cardmaker Caroline, who has just started nursing school, demonstrated her new skills taking Andrew’s blood pressure,

I donned a hat and shoes for Tap Like a Pirate Day (it’s really Talk Like a Pirate Day that is widely celebrated, but I subbed tap shoes for dramatic effect);

all the African countries were named,

some joint flexibility displayed,

a couple, newly married, impressed with athletic synchronicity,

a buried flask was opened (freshly filled with whiskey),

and used as a prop in a Eugene Debs reading (many of the guests work at a progressive think tank in the area, so more than a few of the acts alluded to the room’s high collective political and geographic knowledge).

A gentleman in an unusual tie did acrobatics (furniture was relocated),

and “Gin and Juice” was reinterpreted for the guitar,

(here’s the chorus)

and Annie closed with a German song and a truly incredible cake with diverse layers and a splendid sour cream icing,

The next morning, I was recovering from potent tumblers of homemade limoncello mixed with hibiscus tea (Annie and Andrew seemed fine), and my friend Cameron met the three of us at the Dupont Circle Farmers’ Market with a ready explanation of how to pronounce “praline” (he poses the quandary in his calm, forthright way):

We four ambled around the market, spotting the praline muffins Cameron had referred to,

and beautiful fresh ginger, a nice reminder of the freshness ginger can bring to cooking and baking.

In Adams Morgan, Annie ordered homemade yogurt,

Andrew a crêpe with roasted peppers and goat cheese,

and my friend Nina arrived on her trusty bike Rusty.

Closing the loop on a weekend of celebratory sugar, we walked with Nina to Biagio, one of my favorite places, where she explained how the white chocolate we were about to taste surrounded a kulfi-like nougat (heavy on the traditional cardamom), that takes her back to the sweets at the end of Ramadan she waited for as a child.

I think D.C. is quite lucky to have all of these talented friends of mine that I hope to have occasion to see again soon; happy, happy birthday again, Andrew–

More images of talented people in the Flickr set.