Embrace the Beige, Part Deux

Remember long ago when DK and I took the plunge, like lemmings, into the abyss of paint chips?  And we fretted and pondered and debated the little swathes of paint randomly adorning our walls?  After much debate, we finally settled on a color named "Calm" for our living/dining area, an ineffable mix of light gray and cream that we so hotly debated and which has ended up looking like . . . plain old basic white.  So, yes, in essence, last June we hired someone to paint our white walls the very barest , the merest hint of off-white, a deviation so subtle that a standard parlor game for visitors has been "pin the tail on the non-painted wall." 

Now, ten months later, having finally admitted we are still living with white walls, we are back at the Herculean task of finding a paint color we both like that is neither too light nor too dark, not overly beige, but not peachy; subtle but not boring – in other words, right but not wrong.  Perhaps hardened by our last experience, we breezed in the paint store on Saturday like seasoned professionals.  No wide-eyed talk of "well, what do you think about a cheerful green?" or leafing through design magazines for the inspiring choice ("look how nice that inset wall of brown looks against the blue.").  No, we marched in, declined help, made for the fan book of paint chips (all THREE separate huge books) and got to business buying up eight different samples.  And there was almost no disagreement; we knew we liked a coffee gray, we knew we wanted it a little darker, and we knew we didn't want to engage in endless speculation about the relative merits of "Cement Gray" versus "Portland Gray" versus "Revere Silver." 

Once home, we opened up the samples, briskly daubed a finger into each tin and smeared a sample onto a piece of white paper under its name.  And then laughed, because the page looked as if eight identical paint swabs had been applied.  Here's to continuity!  Nonetheless, we both liked one just slightly more than the rest, painted a test patch, declared victory and just as I was ready to ring up the painter, DK said something about "mulling" it over for a few days, "living with it,"  "seeing it in the morning light."  Which – well, yes, good idea.  But that way trouble lies, my friends, that way trouble lies.  I know the boy, and given half a chance, he will happily engage in a quixotic pursuit for perfection, only to drive both me and himself raving mad in the process.  There is a reason we had over twenty (2-0) paint samples in our house last June.  My little questing knight, ever tilting at the windmills of aesthetics. 

So you can understand why I was ready to close my eyes and jump, hestitation be damned.  To be impetuous and paint with abandon, and in the process, neatly side-step the morass of indecision.  Sigh.  Not to be.  And sadly, DK just said something that portends certain doom. 

[The scene: 8:30 pm, Sunday night, apartment bathed in the soft glow of lamps.]

DK: Don't you think it's looking a little . . . yellow? 

[Nancy nervously follows his gaze to the 2x2 test patch on the column.]

Nancy: It's the lamps; they make everything look a little yellow.  Even the white baseboards look yellow.

DK: Right, so it looks yellow.  I don't like it so yellow.

[A beat.]

Nancy: Kill me now. 

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What else?  Well, last night I had perhaps the greatest lobster roll of my life.  And friends, I do not say that lightly.  There are few things I like more than a lobster roll.  I have sought out delectable specimens high and low.  I have debated the merits of straight, buttered lobster on a roll v. the slight tang of a lobster salad on brioche.  I have read articles, searched online and debated where The Best one can be found in Manhattan.  And the answer is Pearl's. Holy moses, it is good.  I'd heard the hype of course, but baby, I am a believer now.  Huge, rich butter pieces of lobster, with the perfect touch of lemony sauce on this totally delectable buttered roll.  Seriously, whoa.   

I picked up five for take-out last night for a girl's poker night and we all ate in quiet reverence, an occasional "oh my god" thrown in.  I didn't have a particularly good poker game (luck was decidedly not a lady), but the booze and the food and the (very) late night of laughs were hard to beat. 

Comments

[All Adither]

A good lobster roll can make you forget anything. A good sausage roll too.

[Susan]

Looks like poker was a hoot!
nice photos