To illustrate how harsh this is: I haven’t cooked anything in three days! N will have to eat pelmeni, like a typical Soviet bachelor when he gets home tonight.
And the worst part is that the dang conference just has to be this week. I’m leaving on Thursday. I was so looking forward to the conference (my close friend Ol.! Seafood! Romantic memories of Baltimore! CV clinic! Hotel gym! Red Emma’s!) but now I don’t want to go.
You might already know this, but Red Emma’s is no longer in it’s below ground hole in the wall near Mount Vernon. It’s moved up to a bigger space on North Avenue.
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Ah, thank you for telling me, I had no idea. If it moved, I’m not going because I only wanted to go because that’s where I used to live with N back in 2008. . .
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You lived in Red Emma’s?
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Almost. ☺ No, we lived right around the corner but Red Emma’s is where I started my blogging life. All of the early posts were written there.
They hated me and N there, calling us “the Russians ” and trying to get rid of us at every opportunity. Good times.
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“N will have to eat pelmeni, like a typical Soviet bachelor when he gets home tonight.”
To complete the experience, if you have an extra room you can furnish it like this:
Then you can invite some random drunk guy to sleep in the second bed and serve him the pelmeni on a big dirty, chipped plate like this:
Kind of snarl when you slam it down on the table.
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A conservative literary critic and college professor
Clarissa's Blog 
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