Leandra Medine's Blog, page 672

What the F is This and How Do I Cook It?

NYC restaurants have been pushing Kohlrabi like it is The Next Big Thing but I’ve largely remained unconvinced. Recently, though, as I stared at this strange looking vegetable at the Farmer’s Market, I felt sorry for it. Like it was an orange lifesaver, or the Kelvin filter.

Maybe Kohlrabi had just been misused and misrepresented. As I was considering it, someone walked by with a cone of Belgium fries and I tried to remember the last time I indulged in a whole plate of French Fries (ANSWER: When I was stoned in college). Then I looked back at the Kohlrabi and committed to attempting to fry that bitch. Then I remembered that I didn’t have a fryer, so I settled for baking it and when I got home to do a web search, it turned out I was not the first person to have such an idea. And despite reassurance from various Paleo blogs that Kohlrabi fries are “delicious,” I was doubtful (Paleo blogs tend to taut every Paleo recipe as delicious when most of the time, they are edible at best, poison that won’t kill you at worst.)

As fate would have it, the fries were tasty — not exactly regular French Fries (no starch, no crunch), but they’re good enough, which officially makes them a health-conscious (and timely — they are in season) alternative to the deep fried potato. Here’s the recipe:

1 KOHLRABI

1 TABLESPOON OF OLIVE OIL

GENEROUS PINCH OF SALT

GENEROUS PINCH OF CHILI POWDER

SPRINKLE OF CUMIN

SPRINKLE OF PAPRIKA

1. Heat oven to 425°F.

2. Lightly coat a baking sheet with olive oil and set aside.

3. Wash & peel your Kohlrabi (I used a sharp knife to cut off the skin, but take care not too cut off too much of the flesh).

4. Cut the Kohlrabi lengthwise into quarters.

5. Now cut about ½ inch thick slices and then cut those slices into French fry shapes.

6. Toss the Kohlrabi fries in a large bowl with a tablespoon of olive oil, a generous pinch of salt and chili powder, paprika, and cumin. If you like spicy, add more chili. If you love cumin, add more — you get the picture. Remember, though, that you can always add more, but never take away.

7. Place coated Kohlrabi on your coasted baking sheet and give each fry about ¼ – ½ inch to breathe on either side (if you overcrowd, they will steam which is no bueno.)

8. Bake for 30 minutes at 425, shaking once in middle (at 15 minute mark.)

I topped them off with a combo platter of mayonnaise and some ketchup. Sriracha would likely be great too. Go on.

Read more from Elettra Wiedemann’s Impatient Foodie here.

Ship Your Friends Vacuums

Are you sitting down?

Good.

The world is about to get hit with a giant glitter tsunami.

The cutting-edge Australian startup Ship Your Enemies Glitter took Twitter by storm on Tuesday morning when thousands of wronged souls around the world learned that for less money than a multi-mocha Frappuccino, one could ship glitter to his or her worst nemesis.

Seth Rogan, James Franco, are you listening?

Once heralded as the darling of the craft world, glitter is now being deployed for its loosey-goosey nature. The minuscule specks of shimmering material are nearly impossible to rid of, as anybody who’s ever hooked up with a Ke$ha on Halloween knows.

So, who deserves such a cruel and unusual punishment? Ship Your Enemies Glitter says anyone from, “your shitty neighbour, a family member [to] that bitch Amy down the road who thinks it’s cool to invite you to High Tea but not provide any weed.” Indeed, who does Amy think she is?

The site is now reporting that they’re currently glittered out:

Meanwhile, Academy Award winner Freida Lee Mock’s Kickstarter venture, “The Heroes Project,” a “film about seven amputee veterans who take on the ultimate challenge of climbing the highest mountain on every continent, the Seven Summits,” has yet to reach its 20% mark.

But back to the alarming glitter drought. It can mean only one thing: a lot of people are about to receive a shit ton of glitter. Which is why I want to tell you guys about this new site I’ve started called Ship Your Friends Vacuums. For 500 doughnut holes you can help your friend scoop up all the glitter they inevitably get sent without ever having to leave your desk.

Who is deserving of such a precious gift? Why, anyone from your Valentine, to your UPS delivery man, to that co-worker who dutifully replaces the water cooler every Monday — anyone who you suspect might have a glitter-sending enemy, really!

You can learn more about my vacuum endeavor here. And if you feel so inclined, I invite you to pledge for my Kickstarter here.

Image on the right via Wildfox, image on the left via Mane Addicts

Leg Elongation PSA: Invisible Heels Will Change Your Life

You may be looking at the above photos and saying to yourself, self, this is boring. How much more time will Leandra spend subjecting me to the scrutiny of her poorly planned outfits, specifically when they manifest as brown plaid suits that could have easily belonged to Napoleon Dynamite’s brother when he un-ironically ushered the 70s back in during the 2004 cinematic rush.

I will, of course, defend myself, citing a historical proclivity for cropped flare pants, for suits and for an intention no more convicted, no less meditated than to look like a member of the Gainsbourg family.

But to have that conversation would mean that you’re missing the point.

While you may not see it, I am actually standing two inches taller than my regular height, which is exactly the point.

On the week before Christmas, like some version of an agnostic Santa Claus, an anonymous gift giver dropped off four bright pink cylindrical containers at the Man Repeller doorstep. On them read five words — “Say Hello to Longer Legs.” It was assumed that the phrase doubled as the product’s tagline, which really makes you wonder but for only as much time as it takes to open said containers, appraise the interior “lifts” and place them inside your shoes as though you are flat footed and these are your Scholl’s.

And that’s it! That’s the whole thing. Once you insert your feet into the lift-boasting shoes, you are, just like that, two inches taller. No leg reconstructive surgery required, no expensive trend-beaten sneakers fouled (they are excellent inside Stan Smiths and practically invisible in an array of flat boots).

No one knows, no one cares and arguably best of all, now there are only sixteen inches separating you from Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. So cool.

Creatures of Comfort suit, Vince sweater, J.Crew turtleneck, Golden Goose sneakers. Get Invisible Heels here. 

Update: the lifts are actually called “Invisible Heels” — but of course.

The Internet Has Lost Its Shit.

But I guess that’s Wednesday for you, right? Today in the utterly ridiculous:

Stars: They’re Just Like Us Because They Drop Their Phones In Toilets Which Begs The Question, “Then What Are You Tweeting From?”

World gone mad. AND I dropped my phone in the toilet AGAIN!! I should own stock in Carolina Rice.

— Bette Midler (@BetteMidler) January 13, 2015

Grains of rice stuck in phone. This may end my @twitter career. — Bette Midler (@BetteMidler) January 13, 2015

Newest on IPhone saga: so I stuck it overnight in this rice I bought and next morning a tiny worm crawled out of the headphone opening!

— Bette Midler (@BetteMidler) January 14, 2015

They Have Invented A Love Potion, Finally.

The New York Times published a story on Sunday about a woman who used science to fall in love. She and a willing participant based their lovesperiment on a study “that explores whether intimacy between two strangers can be accelerated by having them ask each other a specific series of personal questions.”

There are 36 questions in total, which are probably similar to the ones Match.com asked your aunt. The author notes that in order to fall in love one has to be open to the idea of falling in love, and technically, you’d have to get the other person to sit with you long enough for a full round of romantic “Never Have I Ever.” Still, theoretically it means you could blind side your next Hinge date. “Oh, you thought we were going to see ‘Birdman,’ you total stranger? HAHA THINK AGAIN — WE ARE FALLING IN LOVE.” [NY Times]

You’ve Probably Heard By Now That You Can Ship Your Enemies Glitter.

It’s taken the Internet by sparkly storm, which begs the question: what does that say about us? Frankly, I didn’t know that having personal “enemies” was a thing again. The last time I had one was in kindergarten and it’s because she stole my glitter. The time before that I was defending my family’s honor on Game of Thrones. [Ship Your Enemies Glitter]

Perhaps You’ve Also Heard That Pizza Hut Has Gone Gluten Free…

But what I’m most impressed by is TIME.com’s dedication to unbiased, professional journalism. They’re treating this information with the same integrity as they would actual — you know — news.

Two examples of strong pizza reporting:

1) “A slice of the gluten-free pizza’s cheese and pepperoni offerings come in at 150 and 170 calories, respectively.”

2) And, a correction was amended: “The original version of this article misstated the number of Pizza Hut locations that will offer gluten-free pies. The chain will offer the pizzas in 2,400 of its 6,300 domestic locations.” I respect this. Thank you. [TIME]

One Last Bit of “News” You’ve Likely Already Heard About But Did Not Over-Analyze:

There is a dog in Seattle who has learned to take the bus by himself…

That is wonderful. Good for him. He is reducing his carbon pawprints. But can we please discuss:

1) “Few are greeted by a smile when they slobber on the seat.” – Try taking the bus in SF or Manhattan.

2) The woman at :25 is confused about what is and what isn’t a person.

3) “She often roams the isles of the D line looking for a seat, which makes perfect sense for a dog who rides alone.” – No it does not. None of this makes sense.

4) The overuse of the reporter’s downward inflections, because though that style of speaking is what’s taught in a reporting class (as opposed to a grating, upward-inflection hat makes everything sound like a question), it makes me think I’m listening to a serious human interest piece where I’m supposed to cry at the end.

5) Only I don’t cry at the end, because someone instead makes the noise of a rabid ostrich at 2:07.

Please discuss.

A Case Against the Worst Dressed List

With the initiation of awards season comes chaos for fashion designers who specialize in (or are at least familiar with) formal wear, the stylists who select the designer wear and the ultimate clients, who are expected to appear on this red carpet that is bolstered by an award ceremony in these conceptions that are, essentially, the sartorial equivalent of the precise backslash career we keep coming back to. Because as red carpet culture would have it now, the celebrities who dress for said carpet are not only expected to perform excellently in their chosen occupations (the precise reason that lands them at these ceremonial events to begin) but they are also supposed to be style icons.

The problem with this, of course, is that to be a style icon is to identify with oneself — to emit a sense of genuine identity that is expressed originally and creatively. Of note is probably that most of these people are being lauded for pretending to be other people. And when the big bad b-word — business — comes into the picture, and designers and stylists and public opinion can dig their teeth, no matter how shallowly, into the notion of style, the principles on which style is built: authenticity and singularity, are questioned.

A group of worst dressed lists that populated on Monday following the Golden Globes seemed to have systematically taken every look I identified with and called its fashion bluff. It was hugely infuriating — specifically because all parties involved in the backlash: the stylist, the celebrity, the designer and the viewers who related to the look, hung at the wrath of unwarranted scrutiny. Worst dressed lists are polarizing. They are grating. They accommodate a point of view that runs so distinctly counter to the tenets of style — that the “popular opinion” (meanwhile, who is to say that a Worst Dressed list’s author represents the popular opinion?) is the only opinion — I almost wish more people took to meditated bad dressing on the red carpet.

At least with “bad dressing” there’s a point of view being conveyed. Sometimes it’s humorous, often it’s quirky and there is an unmistakable sense of charm linked to what is candid truthfulness. It’s a sense of expression that, through better or worse, attempts to fight for interpretation. What we’re seeing more and more is a sea of passive dressing — the heartbreaking equivalent of indifference in the scheme of love and hate — that evokes no emotion at all and just numbingly keeps a set of wheels we can see but not quite use in motion.

Of course, one cannot watch the red carpet the same way a runway is to be watched. That’s like eating an apple and facing disappointment when inevitably, it doesn’t taste like an orange. We can, however, fight for emotion. For emotion and for character and the adversity that has been largely absent, perhaps due to the fear of worst dressed lists, from red carpets. Only then can we — and we should want to — celebrate bad.

Saving Face: The Beauty of Sheet Masking

I live in either my torn-knee skinny jeans or trusty pleather pants, every day, for the entire winter. And every night, I can’t wait to get home so I can take them off.

I’m not truly relaxed until they’re peeled away, leg by leg, until ultimately my bra is unhooked, yanked from under my shirt and thrown into mystery pile #2. While my Two Buck Chuck is “decanting,” I wash my face in the bathroom. Then I sink into my couch where, sans pants, bra or makeup (likely with Scandal streaming), there’s a 99% chance you’ll find me sheet masking.

Sheet masking is a process that soothes winter skin. Popularized in Korea, it plumps fine lines and combats painful dryness brought on by sharp winds and furnaces on full blast.

It’s also extremely simple. The first step involves choosing a sheet mask, which arrives pre-soaked in serums. There are two popular types currently on the market: one is made of microfiber, and the other is a hydrogel material (it’s 100% soluble, feels like jello and is my personal favorite because it sticks better to the skin while providing extra moisture).

What happens is that as the sheet rests on your face, you’re forcing antioxidants and vitamins to co-mingle with your skin while you do nothing more than just hang out and chill. Maybe add a glass of wine. Maybe add a glass of Netflix, too. Taking seductive sheet mask selfies to terrify your friends on Snapchat or Instagram is another popular sheet-masking activity.

It’s addicting because it actually works. Many of the skincare products out on the market evaporate before having the chance to penetrate your skin, but adding the damp sheet mask on top helps lock in all the nutrients. Once you’ve finally removed the mask, your skin should be plump, soft, bright and hydrated. You’ll look like a dang baby.

Sheet masks work for all skin types — dry, oily, combo-platter. There are even specific ones that target dark circles, breakouts, or help the pore-obsessed. It’s like a candy store for your face, if candy had the nutritional benefits of spirulina or kale.

The best part is that sheet masks are inexpensive. In fact, you can DIY with these $3 dry cotton masks soaked in your own homemade ingredients like your favorite night cream or…dairy milk. The latter will brighten and firm thanks to the milk’s lactic acid, potassium and vitamin D. Have you thanked a cow today?

Or better yet, have you tried sheet masking?

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Written by Charlotte Cho, co-founder of Soko Glam. Follow her on Instagram here. 

Let’s Get Drinks

At the time of this post’s publication at least five separate friends have emailed me an article from The New Yorker titled, “Let’s Get Drinks.”

An excerpt:

“B: I am total garbage at scheduling and forgot we were supposed to meet up tonight. Could you do Mon? SO SORRY. I feel terrible.

A: OMG, do not feel terrible. You are not as bad as I am. If you’re garbage, then I am, like, the Deepwater Horizon oil spill, because Monday doesn’t work. What about tomorrow?

B: I am worse than the global food crisis. Tomorrow’s no good. This is embarrassing, but I signed up for a yoga workshop. (I know, eye roll.) Anyway, hopefully I’ll get my shit together and stop being the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami by next week. Xo.”

So, haha, because been there, done that and things are funniest when they’re true.

I just searched, “Don’t hate me,” and “I’m the worst” in my archived inbox, a return which proved I’ve said both phrases at least 15 times in the past three months re: plans to which I’ve either run embarrassingly late to or cancelled entirely. Similar sentiments were echoed by my fellow plan-canceling friends, all of us at fault for hyperbolic one-upping and underlining our please forgive me’s with the sign off, “XO.”

A few “drinks” with my fellow XO-ers have recently — victoriously! — been nailed down. Most impressive is one that includes six people and will occur this Thursday evening…which I probably just jinxed. All of the plans are with people that I would genuinely like to see. Friends rule. Drinks are fun. And everyone’s gotta eat. But in the age of multi-tasking, and multi-dating and multi-careering, our social to-do list has suddenly become a greater burden than our jobs. The scale of work-life balance has been tipped because we have too many plans to get tipsy.

That’s just echoing what the writer was illustrating, though. What I find most interesting is not the concept that we overbook (because no shit). What’s interesting is that we feel guilt when we bail.

Yes, it’s considered rude to drop the axe on plans last minute, and it inconveniences others when you need to change a date or switch a time. But isn’t it technically worse if we attend a dinner tired, unable to participate in the conversation because we’re stressed, or spend the whole evening preoccupied because we’re on deadline? I’m beginning to think yes — and it’s become my 2015 goal to come up with strategies and solutions:

1) Say yes to less. (Critics call this one TLC’s “most boring show!”)

2) Shorten the dates themselves. Not everything needs to be a meal, or involve alcohol. Suggesting tea is hydrating, seasonally appropriate and offers enough time to catch up or talk business without it feeling like a sidewalk drive-by.

3) Though this one goes against everything George Costanza stood for: blend your worlds. It’s good for networking, new friendships, and leaves enough nights free each week to wall-stare all by your happy lonesome.

Comedian John Mulaney once said that, “in terms of like, instant relief, canceling plans is like heroin.” Can we just all agree that this is true? That our friendships have the capacity to withstand social dry spells in the name of alone time? Or is this actually a terrible idea? Maybe I was right. Maybe I’m just the worst.

To Watch: Ted Talk Tuesday in Motion

Theory: Tuesdays are more difficult than Wednesdays because they stand as a precursor to the Humpday that has unfailingly proven itself insufferable week and week again.

At 1 pm on the aforementioned, a preliminary case of the Brain Fries seems to set in as it will, causing mental preoccupation that takes the mind far from its desired check list of things that must be achieved by day’s end — but the lag has heretofore been handled far too indulgently.

Watching hours come and go while contemplating which shoes you will certainly not purchase in the next fifteen minutes seems as fruitless an endeavor as, I’m going to say it again, brushing your teeth with simple syrup. So how does one quell this burning desire to waste time in order to get on with the day without actually feeling like time is being wasted?

I’m gonna propose: A Ted Talk. Another one of my New Year’s resolutions was to listen to at least one a week, which, granted, is an underachievement at its best and an honest-though-dismal note on how I delegate my time at its worst, but so far I’ve done a good job executing the goal and have found that in forgoing the e-commerce sites and Instagram feeds of distraction’s yore, I have become a better-rounded shell of a human, with a wealth of knowledge on the topic of exactly nothing but with at least a wireframe that allows me to fake it.

Most recently, I’ve co-opted the opinion of Stephen Cave on the topic of our inability to digest the notion of one of the only inevitabilities of our humanity, which is death.

Any particular favorites you want to share or comments to propose — you know, in the name of the Brain Fries — on the above? Here’s to Wednesday…

Who is Your Accidental Style Icon?

On the topic of sesame seeds and their lack of ability to grow into anything identifiable, comedian Mitch Hedberg once asked, “What the fuck is a sesame?”

“It’s a place,” he answered himself. Specifically, a street. It’s probably located somewhere in the underbelly of Manhattan’s Chinatown or West Village seeing as no one knows how to get there per the show’s jingle, but in the same way that Sesame Street’s location is hidden, so too is its identity as a house of Accidental Fashion Icons.

Case in point: Frank Oz, literal right hand man to the elevated puppet Bert (who happens to be dressed like Leandra). His resume also includes such impressive accolades as: being the voice of Yoda, creating and bringing to life Muppet characters Miss Piggy and Fozzie Bear along with Jim Henson in The Muppet Show, ditto Cookie Monster, Bert/Leandra and Grover in Sesame Street. He also directed the 1986 best-movie-ever Little Shop of Horrors, though note that all of this comes from Wikifreakia, so as with Penn Badgley, who really knows when he — or the powers that be — last updated his page.

But this is about his style. Oz (of whom Arrested Development character Tobias Funke, another accidental icon, greatly resembles) assumes the “accidental” part of his title because he couldn’t have possibly predicted that the 1970s would swing back into fashion in 2015. A quick Google image-search will show you that the man loved indoor scarves, headbands, wore his jackets over his shoulders and was an early proponent of the backpack.

But can this actually make someone an icon? Maybe not — we’ve asked a similar question before — though it seems to go without saying that his outfit certainly is iconic. It’s head-to-toe indicative of both an era passed and Pre-Fall 2015.

You can even go so far as to buy his outfit right now.

We’ve got the pants:

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The jacket:

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The shoes:




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And the turtlenecks! Would you just look at these sassy models?

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They are laughing because their neck-shirts transcend time, and I am laughing because I’m clinically insane.

What about you? Who is your accidental outfit icon? Include a pic or GIF and let’s bask in all of the ways that our apples fell, as predicted, uncomfortably close to the tree.

Making the Case for a Beach Bag this Winter

Science has never attempted to prove the effects that a pom pom can have on seasonal depression, but in a recent study conducted by the Institute of Idiots in Noho, New York, a completely self-fabricated report that is absolved of anything factual has indicated a potential link between anti-depressants and festive beach bags, impressively suggesting that the latter can supersede the former and quell the negative side effects of a bleak winter with the almost-too-simple advent of woven straw, citing only two setbacks.

The first being that bag remains wide open and therefore subjects itself and its belongings to mutilation by snow or rain. Separately, the bag tends to not contain a strap, which therefore guarantees singular hand immobilization.

But the pros — climactic confusion for onlookers, the sort of satisfying disconnect that is only ever stricken by the hypocrisies of “good” style and perhaps most importantly: unfaltering hope that better days lay ahead — outweigh the cons to such a distinct degree that the cons suddenly don’t seem so unfavorable. (Considering, for example, that hand immobilization might finally prohibit you from texting while walking which will, no doubt, move your relationship with your mother from a state of strain to at least vaguely complacent.)

So consider this a call to action, ladies of the webbed foot. Remember your beach bag, appreciate your beach bag, use your beach bag. Allow Herman, the deli man, to joke about your apparent meteorologically-charged disorientation, and then pull from the depths of your weave a bottle of sunblock to throw at his head. One day, he will thank you. The entire Institute of Idiots of Noho will.

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