Julia Reed, by all definitions, is a writer. And a great one - so good, in fact, that I've devoured just about everything she's ever penned since I reasonably became conscious of what good journalism was. By the time I was wrapping up college, she'd become sort of a personal folk hero to me - someone I wanted to model my own career after, and ostensibly, perhaps my life as well. She was always weaving a tale about some character she'd collected along the way, and I think her enthusiasm for people is part of what attributed to my own life becoming such an ongoing collection of extreme personalities. 

They say you should never meet your heroes. But last night, thanks to Garden & Gun magazine and Ann Mashburn, I met Julia Reed, and she was everything. She gabbed Ashlyn's and my ear off, good-naturedly disavowed herself from the sangria being served for it's lack of blushy color and (most notably) a detectable amount of booze, and then shushed me for calling her "ma'am." It thrilled me that the voice behind her writing was so authentic. Here she was, right in front of me, and she was exactly the way I wanted her to be. 

The entire intent of this blog, from the beginning, has always been to celebrate great people. In her most recent title, Mrs. Reed does the same, lauding lots of the folks she's crossed paths with through food and the stories that accompany her artfully recollected recipes. She goes on in the most charming way about her buddy Jason Epstein, who she met as an interview subject (a way I myself have made many a tremendous friendship), a literary legend in his own rite, who's now carved out (pun intended) a serious name for himself among foodies the world over (see: "Eating".) Her transparent affection for him and their years-long love affair with food rang a little bell in my head. 

It jingled my brain right over to my handsome, refined, and incredibly talented friend Ryan Sand - a culinary talent not (yet) widely recognized, but who has trained under some of the best names in the business (the Culinary Institute of America, Daniel Boulud, Thomas Keller) at barely 26 years. Aside from the bias granted by the fact that he is my closest friend's twin brother, I will say regardless: I know many chefs, and Ryan stands out as the finest I'm acquainted with.

Case in point: one day, many moons ago, in Gainesville, Florida, a bunch of Sigma Chis, one Kappa Alpha, and myself gathered in my shabbily-appointed townhouse to cook and imbibe. It was a weekly gathering, our little supper club of amateur and aspiring food folk - but this time, we were here to revel in our visiting New York chef's professional presence. The veggies were good at the farmer's market, so in a flurry, Ryan whipped up a ratatouille with the sort of grace and confidence a prima ballerina displays onstage. Every movement was fluid and intentional. As he spotlessly lopped a ladelful on each of our plates, I didn't detect the slightest note of pomposity. It occurred to me then that this was so practiced for him, that married with his talent, the art of executing a fine meal had become second nature. That evening silently sealed my premonition of his future celebrity. The aforementioned Kappa Alpha in the room years later decided to attend the same culinary school Ryan did, and I'd like to think that ratatouille had something to do with it. 

I'd be remis if I didn't note that for the most part, this post was penned on the back of JCT Kitchen's Thursday Specials menu. I was so abuzz from meeting Mrs. Reed (exhilarated, sure... but let's be honest, there was liquor involved too) that I utilized the most readily-available paper and started scratching away notes with a stolen red pen from Holeman & Finch. I was afraid if I didn't do otherwise, the booze would make off with my thoughts. I'm sitting on my kitchen counter now, cross-legged with my computer in my lap, chewing on an enamel pen that's so rock-hard my Mother, were she here, would no doubt chide me for endangering what she likes to call my "expensive teeth." Translating sober on a Saturday morning what you wrote down drunk on a Thursday night is an interesting practice, but I think my original point was this: Julia Reed makes me look forward to my adult life. We so fear growing older - maybe because we lose our looks, or maybe because we're that much closer to death, I don't know - but her stories remind me that there is still so much ahead that's good. Perhaps I'll be profiling Ryan one day for some magazine and recall that little moment in Gainesville again. The joy of watching the people you love evolve is truly one of life's best blessings, and her latest title is a latent reminder of that very fact. Further, as I peer into the years in front of me (coming soon: thirties!) I'm reminded there are so many people left to meet, love, remember... and write down. That, my friends, is the good stuff, and if you ask me, really what it's all about.




I guess we can't have it all, all at once, but I'll give the weather this: we're at least getting a little warmth now. Next up, seasonal Gods, may we humbly ask for the sun to accompany the heat? These dreary gray days are no bueno. But I guess that's splitting hairs when life is this good - I've got some big things to announce super soon, but 'till then, here's what I'm pulling on as I knock around town this week.

I had the treat of visiting BoccaLupo during opening week with two great Mamas: one belonging to Van, and the other (who is my new favorite person), none other than chef Bruce's Mom, Wendy. It was a delicious, hilarious, wine-soaked meal and I can't wait to go try the joint's patio for lunch this week. And as far as that book party is concerned? Sorry in advance if I totally fangirl out on Julia Reed... 

New week, full-steam ahead, things on the books:  1. Splendid gingham button down // J Brand skinny jean // ShoeMint Shiva sandal (c/o) 20% off + free shipping with code 20LUVUS // Caran DdAche flouro enamel pen (for Ms. Reed to sign a copy of "But Mama Always Put Vodka in Her Sangria!") 2. Everlane white tee // Sinclair Denim Lisette jeans (c/o) // Stubbs & Wootton camo needlepoint slippers (c/o) // Julie Vos Grande Soho bracelet



GPS: Black Keys + The Flaming Lips concert as a #LexusVIP The Bag: Presmer Honey Python Crossbody (c/o) Inside: Ray-Ban Clubmasters, matchbook left over from drinks at Paper Plane, Fresh Sugar lip treatment, samples from Drybar post-blowout


Last week I was treated to a Black Keys show here in Atlanta courtesy of Lexus - they boozed Ginny and I up, seated us VIP, and even provided a driver (in a slick Lexus, natch) to haul us there and back.  So yeah, we like Lexus. Key play? A crossbody bag from Presmer - big enough for all the essentials, compartments for cards and ID, but totally hands-free... leaving one hand open for a beer and freedom to dance around to "Next Girl."


It's a safe assumption that Gatsby fever has wholly consumed the media. At one point, I thought to myself, "...isn't it really contrived to do the same roundup post that everyone else is doing? If we're going to write about 'Gatsby style', can't we do better that that?" Yes, Gatsby the movie is the kind of cinematic eyeful that aesthetes will marvel over, re-living in screencaps for years to come. And by golly, is Leo just devastatingly handsome, or what? The movie is brilliant in the sense that it shines so brightly you cannot help but linger on it's beauty - and who doesn't love a good artistic reinterpretation, especially at the grandiose fingertips of Baz Luhrmann? But we're teetering on the edge of over saturation here, aren't we? Lest we not forget, long after the movie has lost it-s big-screen glitter, we're left with where it all came from - a classic book from an enduring literary talent.

I first read The Great Gatsby in high school - for whatever reason, we were never assigned it, but my favorite Lit teacher pulled me aside, put it in my hands and said "Read this. Write me 1000 words on it. It's extra-credit for your mind." I had a vague idea of the story's bones - but I had no idea the infinite, life-long fascinations that would spawn from that first read-through. The Golden Age! I fell in love with it's history, it's characters - many fact-turned-folk heroes that I pored over - and probably where my obsession with Ernest Hemingway was born. I was fascinated with Fitzgerald, his tragic heroism, and positively taken with the Southern spitfire that was Zelda. 

We Southerners are born revelers - our particular brand of living big permeates the world at large when our residents outgrow their zip codes, and there is no better testament to that than the folks who have called it home when they could have put down roots just about anywhere - people like the Fitzgeralds, or Hemingway in Key West. Their legends have far outlived them, they have had a ripple effect on the culture of the world - and for that, we are still re-telling their tales to this day. Excess, y'all. Glorious, glorious excess. 


Required Reading: Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald, by Therese Ann Fowler
...and Listening: The Great Gatsby Soundtrack, produced by Jay-Z


Temps up, dressed down, tonics and limes: time for summer. The days are longer, the nights are weirder. You wanna dance with somebody? I've got you. Here are all the songs you love that much more when you're hammered.

Track Listing: 
01. Reba McEntire - Fancy
02. Michael Jackson - The Way You Make Me Feel
03. Whitney Houston - I Wanna Dance With Somebody
04. Alabama - I'm In A Hurry (And Don't Know Why) 
05. Mariah Carey - Always Be My Baby
06. Looking Glass - Brandi (You're A Fine Girl)
07. Michael Jackson - Will You Be There
08. George Michael - Father Figure
09. Phil Collins - In The Air Tonight
10. Poco - Call It Love
11. John Secada - Just Another Day
12. The Outfield - Your Love
13. Nitty Gritty Dirt Band - Fishin' In The Dark
14. Warren Zevon - Werewolves of London
15. Celine Dion - It's All Coming Back To Me Now
16. Wilson Phillips - Hold On
17. Paul Young - Every Time You Go Away
18. Michael Jackson - Wanna Be Startin' Something
19. Go West - The King of Wishful Thinking
20. Righteous Brothers - You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'

...as always, click playlist title to stream, listen & subscribe on Spotify



photo: Caroline Fontenot // shirt: C.Wonder // phone case: J.Crew 

I have a minor complaint to register with my own generation - can we please hang out? Like, in person? Could I maybe hear your voice on the phone instead of a little blue bubble? And when we are hanging out, could you maybe put your phone away and concentrate on the person (that would be me) that you're hanging with? Cool, totally instagram that. But circle back around and let's be present afterward. With each other. Please? Just askin'. 


The thing I most love about an object like the one you see above isn't the fact that it houses little nips of sweet brown bourbon. No. My affection stems from it's innate irony. The quiet way it says "fuck you." Needlepoint - a decidedly preppy convention - in it's full form hearkens names like "Muffy" and "Skip." Paint it black and emblazon a criminal epithet on it's side though, and you have something a little different. Instead of something literal, you've taken tradition, warped it, and reissued it for twisted souls like me to delight in.

I've always failed when I've tried to reference my inner WASP in any literal way. It never felt genuine to prance around in anchor pants all summer as if I'd been issued an odd little uniform. Even though I was immersed in and surrounded by prepdom, my inner rebel (she kind of runs the place) rejected plain-Jane penny loafers in favor of high heels. And while I've always winked at preppy, while I think it will always be the roots from which my great Oak grows, I can no longer take myself seriously when I look into the mirror and see a headband - especially as a quantifiable adult. 

These days, I'm calling Atlanta my home - as a former Texan and Floridian, two places often disputed by Southerners as the "real" South, I no longer have to argue the case for an odd little Dixie subculture. Instead, I'm fully entrenched in the heart of things, and with that, my life has started to cross-reference a little better with the likes of Zelda Fitzgerald than say, C.Z. Guest. And though I'll always be a gin girl at heart, due to my locale, I've recently acquired a real affection for bourbon whiskey. If you keep it in the freezer, it sloshes around a little slower in the bottle, coming to a near-syrup consistency - a state that sends it down easy if you're dealing with names like Evan instead of Pappy.

This little Smathers & Branson flask has served me well. It keeps the bourbon cold and by extension, the body warm, and counteracts long lines of beer-drunk sloppies at music festivals and the like. Its ironic middle finger to the standard-issue  S.O.S. (that's same ol' shit) grants me a grin every time I pull it out. Me and my pirate flask, swashbuckling the South; a gruesome twosome that's sent more than one man off to walk the plank. 




I invite you to read a warm first-hand recollection of Lilly Pulitzer from CJ Laing in Palm Beach over at Taigan's Fetch blog (if you aren't familiar with the outpost, you can read my piece for Garden & Gun last year on the duo, written back when I was still a resident of the colorful island the infamous Ms. Pulitzer called home.) She is survived by her large and buoyant family: revisit the Love Lists of her grandchildren Chris Leidy and Amanda Boalt, who both clearly inherited her creative and entrepreneurial spirit. The world lost a vibrant force and one hell of a powerhouse business role model this past weekend. It stands to reiterate the obvious; that her legacy will likely outlive us all. 



I love me some Lauren Morrow. I crossed paths with her at Sudie's wedding, and we were insta-buddies (just add beer.) As lead vocals for on-the-verge country band The Whiskey Gentry, I can personally attest to the fact that she can grip it and rip it when it comes to a mic and a stage - and now the whole of this fair city and beyond will know (if they don't already) because the gang is this year's official Atlanta Braves band. In honor of opening weekend and the Cubs game tonight, I thought it would be fun to share a playlist that whistles Dixie almost as loud as Lauren sings it, straight from the woman herself. A few of her favorite country tunes of all-time, in her words, below... and don't forget to hoot and holler for the band just as loud as the Bravos this season.


01. Roy Acuff - Tennessee Waltz They call this guy the King of Country Music - he's one of the greatest. Also, did you know this song was one the biggest selling ever in Japan? 

02. Hank Williams - I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry You can't talk about country music and not mention this guy. Listen to that voice. What an icon. 


03. Elvis Presley - That's All Right Before The King wore sequins and studs, he moved his hips to songs like this one. This was his first commercial single, and my favorite song by him. 


04. Loretta Lynn - Fist City My idol. My inspiration. What a badass woman. And, she's not afraid to hit a chick if she gets out of line!


05. Dolly Parton & Porter Wagoner - Just Someone I Used To Know My husband Jason and I sing this song with our band, The Whiskey Gentry. Such a wonderful duet. 


06. George Jones - Walk Through This World With Me This was my first dance song at my wedding. My husband's grandparents danced to this at their 50th wedding anniversary. They had both passed away before Jason and I were married, so we danced in their honor. 


07. Gram Parsons - Brand New Heartache Where would people like me be without Gram Parsons? He really paved the way for alternative sounds and attitudes in traditional country music.

 
08. Emmylou Harris - Boulder To Birmingham Gram Parsons and Emmylou Harris were band mates, best friends, and lovers. When he died, she wrote this song for him. It gives me chills every time I listen to it. Pass the tissues. 


09. David Allan Coe - Longhaired Redneck I like to get a little tipsy and scream out the words to this one with my bandmates. Great drinking song. 


10. Waylon Jennings - Only Daddy That'll Walk The Line This man kicked all kinds of ass. Period.  


11. Dwight Yoakam - Guitars, Cadillacs Dwight, I love you. You can do no wrong in my book. 


12. Patty Loveless - I Try To Think About Elvis Patty Loveless has a voice that gives me goosebumps every time I hear it. I used to sing this song all the time as kid.


13. Garth Brooks - Calling Baton Rogue I ain't afraid to say it - I LOVE GARTH BROOKS. I grew up listening to his music, and I think he's still one of the best performers around. I mean, he used to fly in over the audience on a zipline! WHO DOES THAT?! Garth does. That's who. 


14. Dixie Chicks - Sin Wagon I love the Dixie Chicks. They were a huge influence on me as a kid, and I think they're incredibly talented. I wish they'd get back together, dammit!


15. Ryan Adams - Oh My Sweet Carolina I have a tattoo on my wrist that was inspired by one of this guy's songs. He was/is a massive influence on me and my songwriting, and I can honestly say that had I not be introduced to his music, then I don't know what I'd be doing today.  


16. Wilco - Outtasite I can't say enough about these guys, so I'm not even going to try. If you don't like Wilco, you're just an idiot. 


17. Hayes Carll - KMAG YOYO My favorite "newer" artist and a band favorite to blast in the van on the way to gigs. One of the best songwriters around these days.







Well, I never thought I'd be posting a photo of my own bra on the internet, but here we are.

I'm going to go out on a limb here guys, but I think it's a safe assumption that most of you reading this have had sex. If you have not yet endeavored the act, bear with me - chances are pretty good you will one day. I myself am not a virgin. I know - cat's out of the bag! I mean, hello I'm 27 and I'm single (sorry Mom!) These things happen. That being said, when sex is a part of one's life, it is root motivation for a lot of internal questions. Questions like, should I go to the gym today? How many calories are in this cheeseburger? Just how painful is a bikini wax? Altoids at the checkout line, yes or no? Does this perfume remind me of my Grandmother? Do these heels make me taller than him?  How attractive will he be if I have another cocktail? Should I even have another cocktail? 

It's no wonder we're constantly thinking about it. Sex is a high maintenance thing before you even do the actual deed! And then, we breach the subject of undergarments. Theoretically, if you're doing it right, this should be the last thing he sees before, well, you know... you're naked. Butt naked. And there's pretty much no going back at that point. You're committed. Something's about to have liftoff, and your undies serve as the final boarding call. So one must ask herself of the message her skivvies are sending.

You know a guy's seen his fair share of lady parts when he grumbles "...if I see one more pair of Hanky Pankys..." Yeah, direct quote from my dating past, and okay, pretty foul. But it makes you think - if we're all zipping around in the same stretch lace thong, is something that's supposed to be sexy becoming par-for-the-course... and (gasp) boring? Routine? Un-sexy? Hopefully, he's just happy to be confronted with your delicates in the first place, right? That still doesn't bar the unnerving fact that the bottom half is the easy part though! Talk to any girl about finding a good bra; one that fits, flatters, doesn't dig, and is still sexy, and she'll tell you that's just about as easy as finding the right guy to remove it.

I don't have answers concerning the male mind, but answers regarding the topic of undergarments? That I'm now armed with. Specifically, I'm more abreast - heyo! - with the subject of bras. The founders of True & Co. were pretty sick of the same ordeal that every girl goes through, too. So they wisely rounded up a roster of beautiful lingerie brands and put together a thorough, private online fit questionnaire. After it's complete, you pick three pretty bras based on your assessment, and then True & Co.'s experts drop in another two surprise styles (ta ta, boring and routine!) that they believe will work just as well, if not better. You give them a bit of info, and a few days later, there's a box of lacy goodness at your stoop. 

Of course, you can pick up other pretty little things too - from sleep masks and silk pajamas to items of a slightly racier nature and yes, stretch lace thongs. But I digress, because the real point here is that every item in my box (oh, hush) fit me. I don't need to tell anyone with two boobs that five bras which flatter in one fitting is nothing short of a modern miracle. Whoever Victoria is and whatever her secret, I no longer care. I have the real scoop - the fit revolution is starting anew and online - with True & Co. Secret's out.

So... about that giveaway: Take your True & Co. fit assessment, and then leave a comment below, tweet me, or comment on Facebook once you do. One winner will be given her own complimentary bra box (that's five brand new bras), tailored to her own fit assessment. We'll pick one of you ladies by random drawing next week.

THIS GIVEAWAY IS NOW CLOSED.