Announcement!

Just found out that a revised copy of "Plate Tectonic Theory" is going to be published in Willard & Maple literary magazine!

I'm going to be printed in something other than the internet and newsprint!

XOXO

(The Only Thing To) Fear Is (Fear Itself)

Fear is

A thief in the night,

A phone ringing at 2 AM,

A hushed voice from the other room.

Fear is

Seeing your on-again, off-again boyfriend's car

Parked in front of his on-again, off-again other woman's house

And having to think of them, twisted together, for over a year now.

Fear is

Watching your aging father

Do the old-man shuffle of caution,

Prematurely.

Fear is

Hearing the blue-collar voices of men

Below your window in the chill of an October morning,

And wondering if they're turning off your heat.

Fear is

Lying awake at night

Thinking about the heat, your father, and the other woman

And finding you can still sleep.

XOXO

Two 20-Something Blonde Girls Seeking Nice 2-Bedroom Apt For One Year And A Good Time.

Looking for an apartment while abroad is a bitch. And a half. The problem is that although Alli and I may be possibly some of the best renters/tenants EVER, no landlord or property owner is going to give is a chance without seeing our faces, in the apartment, to make sure that we are not really scary, scraggly meth-head serial killers.

Right now, we are hoping, praying, and wishing that one of the apartments we applied to rent has an owner who had a favorable study abroad experience back in their college days and so, feels our stretch and takes pity on us. But seeing as this is improbable, re: the above meth-head statement, I find that I really want to take to heart the things that my writing professors and parents have always said about making technical writing forms like application letters more personal and less formal. You know, really making it your own. And so, I introduce you to the ideal apartment application letter that really, if I do not get an affirmative response back from one of the places we've already applied to in the next week, I am going to start sending this out and just bypass all the passive-aggressive bullshit head-on.

"Hello from Italy and Ireland! Our names, respectively to our current locations, are Carissa and Alli. We're soon-to-be seniors at Champlain College, and are currently looking for a 2-bedroom apartment to lease for the next year.

We're very interested in your property and have a few questions about it, but unfortunately, given our study-abroad locations, wouldn't be able to view the apartment until May 16th, when Carissa gets back to Burlington and promptly needs someplace (outside of her parent's home,) to move into. Even though Carissa's native Vermonter parents would be willing to lend their homeowners-for-over-30-years help and view the apartment for us, we have a sneaking suspicion that you would really like to meet us first. Unless you fancy a Skype date, it might be a little hard, and we understand that you are wary to hand over some very expensive real estate to two college girls who you don't know from Adam. So, let us tell you a little about ourselves and try to ease your fears that we are manner-less heathens who want to use the new, nicely installed stove to make batches of meth. Because we're not. We're just two Professional Writing majors looking for a place to call their own and possibly grow some nice windowboxes. Although, given your stance on literature, that may be ever scarier. We're sorry.

We've lived together in campus housing for over two years, and haven't killed each other yet, so that bodes well already, doesn't it? We both are chronic over-achievers who juggle multiple steady jobs (for instance, advising students in Champlain College's Writing Lab, peer-advising freshmen students at Champlain, and working at local retail establishments,) with consistently making the Dean's List and being active in campus clubs and events, and we don't mean keggers. Both of us have a tendency toward being obsessive-compulsive, cook, clean, and practice excellent hygiene skills. Carissa does smoke, but since Alli doesn't like it, is well house-broken and only smokes outside. We prefer NOT to 'shit where we eat', as they say, and so are not the sort of college students who invite other people into our living space to destroy things and hold raging parties. We could be considered down-right quiet and conscious of the hour of the day or night and of our neighbors. In fact, our ideal night goes something along the lines of cooking dinner, watching a movie while eating, taking a stroll to see the sunset over the lake, visiting with friends, and then going home to write and be productive members of society. (Sorry if this is starting to sound like a personal ad.) Both of us have now dealt with living in both college- and foreign-landlord-owned apartments, and have never once had a complaint from the management. We're also environmentally conscious, utility-minded, and terrified to ever have our electricity or, worse, internet and cable, ever cut out from not being on-time with the bills. We appreciate good housing, and KEEPING it good housing, because we've had to live in some less-than-stellar situations. (Ahem, that's you, Italy.)

One would hope that this heart-felt and nearly pleading testimonial would be enough to convince you not to let two 20-something girls become homeless and have to either couch-surf with their friends or go back home to their old twin-size bed and well-meaning but suffocating parents, but in the case that it hasn't done the job it was intended to do, we can both submit sterling testimonials of friends, professors, employers, and possibly even Champlain College's Housing department. We're good people. We really just love Burlington and don't want to have to move back home and leave our friends and jobs.

Thank you so much for your time and consideration, and we look forward to hearing back from you soon!

Ciao and grazie from Carissa, and cheers and thanks a mil from Alli."

Anyone know of any nice 2-bedroom apartments within a less than 20 minute walk from Champlain's campus that are up for rent? Help some sistahs out.

XOXO

The Kitchen Bitches & Flannel vs. Flannel Do Bobcat Cafe and Brewery

Bobcat Cafe and Brewery, Bristol, VT.

Alli: Bobcat Café and Brewery is nestled on Main Street in Bristol, Vermont. Bristol’s mission statement reads something like: “We aim to be the quaint, Rockwellian, New England town where all our residents know each other’s names, our town hall meetings are always full, and our picket fences are always freshly painted.” It’s a picture-perfect scene on a chilly October night in small town Vermont.

Carissa: As you’ve probably already read from Flannel vs. Flannel’s review of Bobcat Café and Brewery, this Bristol hot-spot in infamous for its homemade brews. But Alli and I decided to tag along for the ride with the boys after we got a tip that the food was equally exceptional. Seeing as I was raised “on Kobe beef and pâté—since the womb, trained to only recognize good food,” as the Arts and Entertainment editor of the Current noted, I had to get in. Plus, being with the boys of Flannel vs. Flannel and Friends, we got to witness Man Law in action—pint glasses are ok to share a sip out of, whereas drinking out of the same beer bottle would be a “no.”

Alli: All of Bristol’s fifty or so residents are either tucking kids into bed or congregating in the brewery. In our twenty minute wait for a table big enough for the six of us, we saw a whopping three cars drive by. The only sound in town is coming from inside, the glowing light spilling out onto the sidewalk in front of the big windows marking it as the warmest place on the street.

Carissa: The ambiance inside Bobcat was Vermont woodsman meets French Provencal bistro hostess. Rough-hewn table surfaces were polished to a high shine, and the lighting was dim but cozy.

Alli: This is my domain. Carissa gets her fancy-schmancy gastropubs and French fusion cuisine. Bobcat, the kind of place that plays Nickel Creek and serves down-home, New England country cooking, is mine. For God’s sake, our table is literally my childhood kitchen table. The whole café feels like home, and I suspect that it’s not just a product of the furniture. There’s a steady volume of chatter and laughter and a sense of amity floating through the peppery air. The wait staff laughs and jokes with the diners, and doesn’t say anything when the 21+ portion of our dinner party shares a sip of site-brewed beer (all in the name of a good review). If there’s one thing that Bobcat does exceptionally well, it’s good company (and great beer).

Carissa: The curry in the butternut squash soup I got as my appetizer was a kick to fall’s ass. It opens your nasal passages right up, and the great slightly sweet bread they offered, when dipped into the thick, bisque-y soup, tones both down nicely.

Alli: Carissa’s curried butternut squash bisque kicked a little, but it’s the kind of warm that you want on a brisk fall night, like holding your fingers almost too close to the flame after coming inside on a cold day.

Alli: I started with the Vermont apple and cheddar salad. I can legitimately call this a “cute” salad. A fan of perfectly sliced apples and an adorable little pile of toasted walnuts framed a hill of greens. I got soft-eyed when I knocked over the lettuce and saw the cubes of Vermont cheddar hiding in the corner. The greens were crisp and flavorful but not bitter or strong, and the ginger cider vinaigrette was phenomenal. The sides paired perfectly with the salad, adding a crunch or a bit of crisp sweetness or a hint of sharp creaminess layered throughout bites, adding the depth that I’m convinced every salad should have.

Carissa: As the queen of the “baby salad with extras,” I really enjoyed the apple and cheddar salad. Slightly warm and limp arugula in a ginger cider vinaigrette appeased me, but I am not a fan of warm nuts…roasted nuts, that is. The roasted walnuts that accompanied the salad were no exception. After having one, and then another for benefit of the doubt, I left the rest on the plate.
Carissa: The broth of the steamed littleneck clams we got to share as I took Alli’s clam virginity exploded in my mouth and knocked me outta this world. It was cheesy, and salty, like seawater from the same bay they got the clams from. The clams themselves were sweet and both soft and chewy, with pale pink flesh. However, the slices of garlic clove in the broth were not my favorite, though the chunks of bacon were a nice flavor additive.

Carissa: Henry, our Arts and Entertainment editor from Maine, dug into the bowl of clams with his fingers. “I don’t know what anyone ever taught you—you eat steamers with your fingers.”

Alli: As an entrée, I ordered the Misty Knoll Parmesan Chicken Lasagna. First rule: throw out everything you ever thought you knew about lasagna. Otherwise, you’ll be confused and potentially disappointed by what will be placed before you. It’s lemon parsley ricotta, roasted vegetables, roasted vegetables marinara, and misty knoll organic chicken between lasagna noodles, topped with a small pile of greens slightly wilted from the rising steam and grated parmigiano reggiano, with a balsamic demi-glaze circling the plate.

Alli: Now, let’s get this straight: this ain’t yo mama’s lasagna. This is Vermont harvest lasagna. The roasted veggies gave it a hint of wood smoke to contrast on your tongue with the zing of the demi-glaze. The marinara was heavy and meaty from veggies pureed with a thick red sauce. It was so good that I forgot about the chicken until I cut into it—right there, in the center of my lasagna, was a breast of fried chicken sprinkled with sea salt. Yeah, fried chicken. Like I said, forget everything you ever knew about lasagna, because the crispiness of fried chicken in between sheets of pasta smothered in smoky marinara with chunks of roasted vegetables is genius. Absolutely phenomenal, especially because it wasn’t heavy; all the crisp, none of the grease. And, even better, the portion is home-style, too.

Carissa: The braised duck I ordered for my entrée was so succulent. So moist. So pink. It was almost like a pulled pork, but it was duck, so, SO much better. The orange and cranberry preserves crowning it were almost as good as the jam at the Bluebird Tavern. The mushroom crepe under it was a new idea to me, and well done, the woodsy, earthy flavor complimenting the sweet and savory-ness of the duck.

Carissa: Since we went with the Flannel vs. Flannel crew and Company, we occasionally got sips of what they were reviewing. Though I found heaven on beer, or beer on heaven with the fizzy Heller Bock, my favorite was the Porter “Twan” got—it started out with a bite, smoothed out on my palate, and then came back for a second round of deep, almost chocolatey taste and gave me goosebumps with its goodness. Is it any surprise women want the sweet stuff?

Carissa: Speaking of which, Alli and I split a maple crème brulee for dessert. It was so maple, so Vermont, so lovely, from the torched sugar top to the custard that overtook the crust when broken into like an oozing lava flow of dessert. It was sinful. I would have sold my soul for more. The texture was so smooth and light, unlike some brulees that get grainy. The maple taste waited until after the crunchy sugar dissipated to tickle your taste-buds like a particularly teasing French maid. I myself was called a tease by Nick for only offering a small taste after raving and moaning about it.

Alli: The maple crème brulee is like the soft, slow stroke of a fingertip. The more you explore, the more you uncover. Thank God there’s a church next door, because it’s sinful and I’m going to need absolution.

Carissa: Final verdict? By the time Bobcat started closing down around us—yes, we shut the place down—and I threw in my napkin, I was blissed-out on comfort food. Comfort is what Bobcat provides, from the food, to the atmosphere, to the friendly and accommodating wait staff with a good sense of humor, to what the boys were feeling after a few pints. It is warmingly good, honest food—but we’re never going with the boys again because they’re far too distracting.

Alli: By the end of the night, I had dropped my silverware an extraordinary number of times, we were all stuffed, our sides aching from laughter, Flannel and Flannel & co. had enough to be a little buzzed, and us Kitchen Bitches were drunk on good company. That’s what you get at Bobcat. Great food, great beer, great atmosphere, and great company. It’s well worth the drive.

VISIT IT.

XOXO