Loving these shoes is a stark departure from my normal style–I love comfort, Naturalizer, and an assortment of black! Maybe brown. Never blue! And never at $945!

Here you have the convincing power of film. "Something Blue," photo taken from the Monolo Blahnik for Bergdorf Goodman site.

So I started searching for a pair of blue shoes that would give me the placebo effect of the Sex and the City “Something Blue” shoes. I looked on Endless, and Zappos and Macy’s. Then I started getting desperate and searching at Ebay, Craig’s List, Amazon. Then I starting finding obscure shoes like Something Bleu and Milk and Honey and Butter. And desparation returned as I contemplated shoes from Etsy (never, never buy shoes on Etsy).

Something Bleu

Parisxox from Etsy

What I have discovered are some deliciously elegant shoes, a lot of shoes that feel awful when you actually put them on, and not a single beautiful shoe that I could justify spending $200+ to wear for one lovely day. So, I’m starting to think it might be time to search for something that isn’t achingly popular. Perhaps this?

Milk and Honey

Our thoughts on finances so far have been pretty independent–we both send in checks to our landlord for one half of the rent, we take turns buying dinner, we pay for our own groceries (and competitively see who scores better coupons/deals), and we split most of our household utilities evenly. We’re long past the point of counting single dollars and more focused on equity.

Fact: Couples who argue about money more than once a week have a 30% higher divorce rate. -New York Times

But I wanted us to think about the long-term goals too–retirement, investment, paying off student loans and seeing if it would ever be possible for us to buy a house (read: city pad).

Off we went to USAA in Pentagon City for a session with Chris Lopez, a financial counselor in San Antonio, TX.

Chris: So, what are we planning for? A house?

A+D: Yeah, probably in five years.

Chris: Kids?

A+D: No! Well…maybe…in ten years.

Chris: Ten years?

A+D: Ten years…maybe.

Chris walked through all of our assets and debts, discussed life insurance policies, Roth IRA investments and long-term saving goals. Perhaps one of the best things we walked away with was a pretty simple budget worksheet; David has turned it into an Excel doc if you want to download it here.

Chris shared that he really likes his line of work because in one moment he can be talking to us and then the next, a couple who is twenty years further down the road. He can see where smart financial planning can genuinely impact someone’s well-being. Chris was surprised that we were a little indecisive about whether to combine our finances and he shared his thoughts:

“Marriage isn’t just a romantic partnership, it’s a business partnership. You both have to take the risk if you want to see the profit. So often when people come in here you realize really quickly that it’s not a money problem, it’s a marriage problem.”

A room with a view...

This was a great exercise for David and I and we’re lucky that our bank offers this kind of counseling for free with non-commission-based counselors who don’t need to sell us on anything.

If you do decide to combine finances, one of the best tips I heard was that each six months you should switch which spouse is responsible for paying the bills so that both partners stay in the know about your finances. Finally, here are some great, free tools on financial planning for couples:

Financial Planning for Non-Traditional Couples from Reuters

Financial Planning for Couples from Motley Fool

Love, Marriage and Money from The Simple Dollar

In general, The Simple Dollar is a pretty good financial planning resource.

We’ve booked a great hotel deal (thanks Priceline), we’ve learned just how much of NYC stays open for Christmas, and some of our friends have been kind of enough to steer us away from likely tourist traps.

We all have different expectations for our trip and I love just how distinctly we have all planned our days. Jesse is hoping to try ice skating for the first time at Wollman Rink in Central Park, and David is excited to investigate The High Line. As for me, I can’t wait to eat Chinese food on Christmas and make my way from one city restaurant to the next. In fact, you can check out our individual planning maps below.

My friends, I wish you all safe travels to the people that you love and who love you. I hope your holiday leaves you feeling both renewed and grateful.

Joy.Cheer.Adventure.Gratitude.

-Ashley

SuperBonus: And it’s a lucky day for you because I’m sharing Tammy Gordon’s pretty amazing NYC Food map.

There are three stages of man: he believes in Santa Claus; he does not believe in Santa Claus; he is Santa Claus. – Bob Phillips

From Tim Rice Photography (Flickr)

I think that may have been one of the first times I knew David and I were meant to be. When I realized we both shared a sense of responsibility to people who have less than ourselves. Sometimes that plays out in politics or volunteering or empathy, but from that sentiment a holiday tradition arose–one of my favorite. One that defines who I think we are as a couple. One that I’m really proud of.

Each year, our holiday present to each other is to support kids whose parents might not be able to afford gifts this year. And we do it up big, the way our parents did for us. This year we picked two kids from DC Central Mission’s holiday list and headed to the store.

I’m not particularly girly, but I reveled in my 15-17 year old girl’s list: make-up, purses, jewelry, Seventeen magazine. She wants Hello Kitty? I can make that happen. I lost David as he searched (i.e. played in) the Lego aisles, found a regulation basketball and tossed a Nerf football in the cart for good measure.

The list asked us not to include clothes since those can be complicated and personal, but David and I struggled not to have a pragmatic gift among the collections. The Mission asked us to consider including a “bed roll,” so purple and green sleeping bags it is.

—

Last year we had gotten a late start, missed the deadlines for “angel tree” kids; we were both pretty down about making this mistake. On Christmas Eve, we went with David’s family to their church intending to help out in the soup kitchen while his family attended services. It was the first year that it really became clear that people in these lines were no longer just the truly destitute. These were people living on the edges of poverty, trying hard to keep themselves afloat.

While we were down there we learned that one of the families had recently lost their home and were living out of their car.

Three kids–teenagers–and their parents were living in a van. Each day the father would drive the kids to school before he took his wife to work and he went to the library to submit resumes and look for jobs. We asked what they needed and what they wanted. Their wants were their needs: toothbrushes, sweatpants, gloves.

We went to the nearby Kmart and bought clothes, jackets, pillows, blankets, toiletries. We got them gas gift cards and a gift card to Kmart so they could come back for more.

I have never been more humbled than when we returned those bags of things to the sleeping family. Two parents who were working hard to stay working, kids who were just trying to do their part by being kids.

I have never gotten more joy out of any other gift. Not even my Barbie dollhouse circa 1989.

Photo by Luis Gomez Photography

–

This year I had the opportunity to write about all the ways people in my neighborhood could give back this holiday season. It might be one of the things I’m most proud to have written, to have done research on places were people are helping people and to share with others how they can help too.

I hope this holiday season you find a way to spread your joy. That’s my Christmas wish for you.

Relevant Links

Giving Kicks Ass via HuffPo

Tips for Giving Smart via Charity Navigator

How I Blew $1,000 and Ruined Christmas via Forbes

Anonymous Donors Pay Off Kmart Layaway via Yahoo!

The cards contained letters from my mom’s family in Missouri and awkward school photos of kids she had babysat. Sometimes the cards just contained a signature, and very much the same as now, I wonder why people didn’t share a short note of cheer. I loved the cards that had textures and ornaments, and the funny ones I would read to myself again and again as I passed by, laughing at the Christmas jokes. Over the years the number of cards grew fewer and I worried that people not care as much about our family. Of course the introduction of e-mail made that reason obvious.

Now I do the same thing in our apartment although admittedly it is also looking a little bare this year. I would gladly welcome your card to my “holiday hug” collection–and if it’s funny, I promise to chuckle every time I walk past.

Like holiday hugs, although our doorway is looking a little bare.

ShopHouse...still finding its sea legs, but I want to like it.

In the weeks since our fridge has been out of order I’ve eaten out a lot. Combine that with the rich fare of the holiday season and I’m feeling a bit nostalgic for comfort food. For me, that will always be Aloha Wok.

In my small town there were three Asian restaurants: one of them was probably Szechuan, one was Japanese and one was Polynesian–but they were all called Chinese. The polynesian restaurant was Aloha Wok. On the outside it was a dilapidated building in need of so many repairs. On the inside, an authentic 60′s style tiki vibe is replete with red plastic booths and bamboo. And Linda.

Wherever she is from, Linda Yang still lives and breathes that place. Thick accent, but always smiling. Glasses. I remember she wore a red t-shirt and black dress pants–the same every time we met with her.

Our order never changed: chicken chow mein, chicken fried rice, two egg rolls, duck sauce. On special occasions we had steak and pineapple skewers, maybe wonton soup. The order was prepared by Linda, but cooked by her husband. In the more than 20 years that our family ate at Aloha Wok, I never saw her husband emerge once from the kitchen.

It was mostly just them at the restaurant, and many times it was empty where customers should have been lined. Linda would tally your order on her manual cash register and you could pay with cash or check only. She would ask me about school, tell me about her daughter Ping-Jade and stuff an extra fortune cookie in the large brown paper bag for me.  In high school I brought boyfriends there, she made them laugh and then she’d wink at me, “He very good,” she said. In my own way, I loved her. I loved her food. I loved her company. I loved the way that their heritage stepped through in every bite.

Lovely, oily tastes of crisp cabbage and carrots; large crunchy egg rolls (what are these wimpy spring rolls anyway?) and fried rice with peas still so green and real that I have never seen the likes of them again anywhere.

—

A few years ago I went home in need of the meal, very much like I am tonight. I think my mom may have held some tears in her eyes when she told me that Aloha Wok had shut down. Business wasn’t good, Linda and her husband were getting older, having health issues. I’m sad I’ll never get to take David there.

I drove past the dark restaurant that season and felt genuine hunger pains for a meal of my childhood. A few months later, they tore the restaurant down completely.

—

Tonight I visited ShopHouse, a sister restaurant to Chipotle (which I love, very much). It’s part nostalgia, but I wanted to feel like someone cared about the food–that it had a history somewhere, that someone stood in a room and built a menu that reminded them of what it’s like to feel full. It’s meant to be fast food and I know that, but I felt a real hole in my stomach for that missing narrative. ShopHouse, when you’re ready to find a story, tell me, I’m hungry to listen.

The hostess (who, according to this Washingtonian review was very likely the chef’s wife, Antonietta) nodded us in the direction of a deluxe window seat where we could watch people on the street. The red checkered tablecloths sat upon tiny tables and the wooden chairs completed the rustic Italian scene. The menus arrived and simply stated: cash only, no substitutions, minimum $15.00 per person.

The menu is made for a pre-Adkins era, friends. Pasta, pasta, pasta says the menu. Fussili, gnocchi, fettuccine, capellini, ravioli–an authentic list of handmade pastas. The sauces come in three varieties: cream-based, red sauce with meat or without. There are enormous family style salads (we didn’t try one, but they looked fairly basic) and a bread basket, plus a single dessert (tiramisu) and a hearty wine list if you’re ready to pay $25-$50 for a bottle.

I asked our waiter to tell me about Pasta Mia–he had only been there four months and said there wasn’t much to say. Then I asked the busboy to share anything about the history of the restaurant–same answer. Rough start. Does this mean they will not have food recommendations?

The bread basket appears about 15 minutes into our meal and the busboy pours a little olive oil on to our plate. The sliced bread basket is a sad little thing when compared to amazing loaves I had tried in Florence. The stingy olive oil is disheartening, but I held steadfast–the reason we came here was for pasta.

Ten minutes later the waiter comes to take our order. Recommendations? Tortellini Rose (mix of red/cream sauce) and Spinach Ravioli with red sauce. Done, we’ll take them. Our half carafe of wine arrives and we were both pleasantly surprised by a nice simple red.

About 40 minutes into our visit, the pasta finally arrives. David’s pesto and spinach ravioli is a beautiful, steaming, bold serving (read: bold=enormous). My tortellini arrives in what looks very similar to Velveeta. Also steaming, also bold.

First bites. David’s eyes roll back. A groan from somewhere deep inside emerges. Tortellini is interesting, “Macaroni and cheese on steroids,” says David. The noodles in both cases are perfect. Perfect. Perfection. Word on the street is that the pasta is handmade by the chef–the solo cook in the restaurant.

We eat until we aren’t able to eat anymore, which isn’t very soon into the meal. Those are some big plates. The check comes, ouch. An unexpected nice meal on a weeknight.

We debate on our way out–why is it so good? Why do people, like ourselves, wait in line for their food? The restaurant has a measure of control, their expertise is what’s driving the meal, every dish on the menu is their recommendation. But the control is well, controlling. And it’s because what are our other options? Bucca Di Beppo. La Tomate. Dino. Ah yes, Dino. Next time.

Relevant Reads:

Little Serow review from Borderstan

There are some things that make me feel unabashedly Christmas-y and the brilliant reds of the season are one of them. Luckily, these cookies from my friend Aimee get most of their rosy red color from maraschino cherries. These lovely cookies are not only festive, but surprisingly only lightly sweet.

White Chocolate Cherry Shortbread Cookies

1/2 cup maraschino cherries, drained (save a tablespoon of the juice)and finely chopped (easiest with a food processor)
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup sugar
1 cup cold butter
12 ounces white chocolate baking squares with cocoa butter, finely chopped (I food process it with the flour)
1/2 teaspoon almond extract or Almond Liquor (which I prefer)
2 drops red food coloring (optional)- I use reserved cherry juice for more cherry flavor
2 teaspoons shortening
White nonpareils and/or red edible glitter (optional)

• Spread cherries on paper towels to drain well.
• In a large bowl, combine flour and sugar. Using a pastry blender, cut in the butter until mixture resembles fine crumbs. Stir in drained cherries and 4 ounces (2/3 cup) of the chopped chocolate. Stir in almond extract and, if desired, food coloring (or reserved cherry juice). Knead mixture until it forms a smooth ball. My dough comes out really soft, I think its because I use more liquid than I’m supposed to, but I like more flavor from the almond and cherry juice.
• Shape dough into 3/4-inch balls (I use a cooking scoop, its easier and more uniform) Place balls 2 inches apart on an ungreased cookie sheet. Using the bottom of a drinking glass dipped in sugar, flatten balls to 1-1/2-inch rounds.
• Bake in preheated oven for 10 to 12 minutes or until centers are set. Cool for 1 minute on cookie sheet. Transfer cookies to a wire rack and let cool.
• In a small saucepan, combine remaining 8 ounces white chocolate and the shortening. Cook and stir over low heat until melted. Dip half of each cookie into chocolate (I don’t like too much white chocolate so I drizzle the chocolate instead of dip), allowing excess to drip off.  If desired, roll dipped edge in nonpareils and/or edible glitter. Place cookies on waxed paper until chocolate is set. Makes about 60.
• To Store: Layer cookies between waxed paper in an airtight container; cover. Store at room temperature for up to 3 days or freeze for up to 3 months.

The meal was amazing. Cashion’s Eat Place is quickly becoming one of my favorite places in DC. The chef and his team obviously care about a well-presented meal, but the restaurant is still casual enough to come in jeans.

First Course: Path Valley Butternut Squash Soup with Creme Fraiche, paired with Weimer Gewurztraminer (ah-maz-ing. Sad I didn’t get a photo).

Second: Chilled Tuna with a Salad of Local Pears, Yuzu, Fresh Chilies, Daiikon Radish, and Ramari Soy, paired with Adelsheim Pinot Gris.

Third: Wild Kodiak King Salmon Fillet over Organic Pumpkin Risotto with Velvet Pioppini Mushrooms, Baby Pea Shoots and 20-year-old Balsamic Glaze, paired with Colli di Lapio Fiano d’Avellino.

Fourth: New Frontier Bison Strip Loin with Winter Greens, Truffle’d Potato Puree and a Red Wine Bordelaise, paired with Jordan Cabernet Sauvignon.

Fifth: House-made Cannoli with Spiced Hot Chocolate, paired with Vin Santo.

Combine this kind of menu with a lovely waitress and I would call us all very lucky diners indeed.

Oh, and who I would have dinner with? Easy. Ernest Hemingway.

I’ve lent my copy of A Moveable Feast to someone, so thanks to the interwebs for pulling this selection for me:

…I sat down on the bench against the wall with the mirror in back and a table in front and the waiter asked if I wanted beer and I asked for a distingue, the big glass mug that held a liter, and for potato salad.

The beer was very cold and wonderful to drink. The pommes a l’huile were firm and marinated and the olive oil delicious. I ground black pepper over the potatoes and moistened the bread in the olive oil. After the first heavy draft of beer I ate and drank very slowly. When the pommes a l’huile were gone I ordered another serving and a cervelas. This was a sausage like a heavy, wide frankfurter split in two and covered with a special mustard sauce.

I mopped up all the oil and all of the sauce with bread and drank the beer slowly until it began to lose its coldness and then I finished it and ordered a demi and watched it drawn. It seemed colder than the distingue and I drank half of it.