sip : infused [honey ginger bubble tea]

most people use ginger to fight a cold and to make back-alley sushi taste expensive. us ginger folk need it to keep our hair bright and shiny [it’s a fact, look it up]. hawa smoothies and bubble tea has given us a reason to keep stacks on stacks of cash. this hole in the wall tea shop has rows of fresh fruit and veggies, sambazon acai and pick-your-own-color straws. brightening up one of the ugliest and most trafficked streets in the east village, we now have something to look forward to whenever we walk to the L-train. the best part about bubble tea is the texture. smooth, supple and round, boba are just dying to become a risque snl skit. add freshly sliced ginger, and it’s a whole new ballgame [ball joke. ha]. a little crunch and a lot of spice, it’s been fifteen minutes since my last big-straw gulp and my mouth is still singing...

the list : [april]

 1. look: bold

   2. spot: breaking spring

       3. taste: transfused

           4. sip: infused

               5. fete: graffiti

                    6. good: activate

                        7. wildcard: chats with strangers

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

[inspiration]

  jannah in florence garden  .  bacon cupcakes  .  keith haring graffiti  .  spray paint can  .  solange knowles  .  infused cocktails  .  lady gaga in g.u.y. music video

[spring breaking news]

look : femme fatale [the dominatrix]

the dominatrix opens the shades. her clients pay for her services, but she pays for the view.

sip: [tequila sundown]

we usually do tequila when we want to get crunk in the middle of summer [coyote ugly table dancing status]. but february was getting really cold, savera was missing the sri lankan sun and i needed something to give my albino face a flush. we recruited our friends patron and cassis to make the ultimate tequila sundown. a splash of lime for an epic time and  a crush of cranberry will make you merry. tequila will turn you into a dr. seuss status poet.

look : femme fatale [la fille de joie]

her chains jingle to the rhythm of her swaying hips. she is that fracture of light that seeps in at dawn forcing an awakening. the room is enraptured. captive. like moths to a flame.

she reels them in, relishing her hold on them. a skilled huntress, paid to toy with her prey. he surrenders. hypnotized by the pendulum sway of her pearled tassel. she will always be in control.

spot : [paris]

in paris, bread, butter and dessert make up the food pyramid. paris means never having to say you're sorry. it never rains cats and dogs in paris [just petite papillons]. all's fair in love and paris. mahatma ghandi said it best, "you must be the change you want to see in the world...or just eat a shit ton of french macarons."

look : femme fatale [the litigator]

the litigator walks out of the courthouse and sees it. snow. she tries to hail a cab, but she knows it isn't going to happen. she has never been in this part of town at night. a man on the corner whistles at her. she shivers. 

across the street, a door swings open, letting out smoke and smooth jazz. she could use a drink. she walks towards the bar; a man in sunglasses holds open the door. he hands her his pool cue and says, "time to take a leak."

the bartender sidles over with a glass of wine. chardonnay, on the house. the litigator smiles and  hands her the cue. the bartender leans over slowly, dress riding up to show a stack of singles tucked into her tights. she takes a shot. the litigator takes a long sip. 

the patrons spill out into the dark night. the bartender pours one last whiskey and the man with sunglasses leaves with a blonde. the litigator is used to watching. she counts, records, takes notes. but now the table is empty. she re-racks the balls, picks up a cue and breaks. 

look : femme fatale [the hustler]

the hustler walks into the bar and scans the room. typical friday night. a banker, some regulars and a  couple that still thinks they're in love. the bartender gives her a knowing smile and starts on the usual drink: soda with two limes. the hustler tells men that it has two shots of vodka. it makes them think they've got a better chance of winning the game or getting her to go home with them. or both.

the hustler spots her mark. men who wear sunglasses at night are asking for it. he leans against the wall and lights up a cigarette. she points to the no smoking sign and he smiles while he takes a drag. she sits on the pool table, flips her hair and looks back at him. that's it. hooked.

he tells the bartender to get them another round. the hustler slides off the table and grabs her cue. she downs her drink and says, "so, you want to play a game?"

taste : cayenne [hot-pop]

february is party 'round the tv time : the superbowl, the olympics, the golden globes, the grammy's,  house of cards season two marathon...it doesn't matter if you're watching jennifer lawrence pole vaulting onto the stage or a russian figure skater death-glaring her way to a perfect triple salchow [we always thought it was spelled sow-cow...oops], you still need the perfect snack. this popcorn mix is perfect for the girl who is always on a diet, the neighbor who hates anything with the word "health" on the label and the college student who needs something to chew on at all times. spicy, sweet and crunchy, grab yourself a handful of hot-pop.

look : femme fatale [the bartender]

the bartender slips on the dress, that one that always gets tips. she picks up her gloves and slams the door. the lock's still broken. she presses the elevator button once, twice, three times. nervous. he knows that she works this shift. pulling on her gloves, she hits the button again.

the bartender walks into the bar and turns on the lights. last night's mess. she starts with the pool table. a regular told her once that a magic eight ball could grant wishes, but she doesn't believe in magic.

the usual suspects trickle in. pour, shake, mix, repeat. they ask her for more drinks as she watches the door.

the bartender tucks the tips in her thigh highs. all of them except the twenties. she folds those bills into tiny squares and slips them through the side of her dress. safekeeping. the clock strikes three and the room clears out. she doesn't say it, but they know it's last call. then the door swings open. she looks him square in the eye and says, "you want a drink?"

look : femme fatale [nyfw]

we've been hitting fashion week hard. savera crashed the azealia banks' party, perfected the art of persiflage with nimrod kamer [yes, that is his real name], twerked it out in her white faux fur and made it onto a buzzfeed list [looking super blasé at number 22]. i hung out with some rock star spawn at a sunglass hut event, hoarded crab cakes with garance doré, rocked out to cold war kids and sipped on some silver patron at the guess party. 
 

the runway at lincoln center got the memo about this month's femme fatale theme, so here's a compilation of the seductive, elusive and uber-femme moments from fall 2014 fashion week. 

fete : [lakshal perera]

when we think wedding photography, we picture puke-worthy pastels, stepford children throwing rose petals and lots of black-and-white hand holding with extra emphasis on the rings [not gollum’s magic ones or olympic-rainbow ones, just the engagement ones]. but when savera met lakshal perera at her cousin’s central park wedding, she fell in lust with his quirky eye and his photographic interpretation of “the greatest day of your life.” he turns cakes and table decorations into little moments of majesty. we just wish he could photograph us every day, and not just on the day of “dun-dun-dun-dun” [wedding march music or jaw’s theme. you decide]...

taste : cayenne [thai chili chocolate]

yes, we'll eat any chocolate: king-sized movie bags, the overpriced llama-imported bars at the whole foods checkout counter, m&ms that took a detour to the floor [5-second rule is real, yo]. but kee's thai chili chocolate actually made us salivate [like, saint bernard slobberfest]... 

spot : [paris]

because of mary-kate and ashley, i thought paris was a city where ten-year-olds legally rode vespas and everybody wore funky hats. in middle school, my french teacher wore a knee-length patchwork suede jacket and a white v-neck henley without a bra, but it was okay because she was french and subtle nipple was très chic... 

the list : [february]

1. look: femme fatale

   2. spot: paris

       3. taste: cayenne

           4. sip: tequila

               5. fete: lakshal perera

                   6. wild card: pda

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

[inspiration]

  lakshal perera's wedding photograph  .  cayenne pepper  .  eva green  .  moulin rouge  .  v-j day in times square statue and couple  .  patron lights

spot : home [tea trails]

this ancient tea-planters bungalow snuggled in the sprawling hills of ceylon tea is a true sanctuary. take your pick of one of the five rooms. we chose castlereagh because it sounded regal, but maybe alston and jamieson are more your style. the architecture is old colonial with a full beauty-and-the-beast library and a few roaring fireplaces [in case the seventy-five degree weather isn't warm enough for you]. put your feet up now because we're about to go exploring through the never-ending fields of tea.

taste : family recipes [epiphany]

epiphany is more than that einstein moment when you realize what peanut butter does to chocolate or that a zebra and donkey can be breeded together [zonky]. it is also the holiday on january sixth, the official end of the holiday season. the magi brought gold, frankincense and myrrh back in the day. we brought wine, sri lankan curry and fancy pasta to this year's party. with a spread like this, we want to make every day an epiphany [insert cartoon light bulb here].

spot : home [colombo]

it can be an apartment building. it can be an unfinished model home [looking at you ryan atwood]. it can be an area you grew up, a place you spent the most time, a park you climbed trees in, a hippie commune you ran away from. we have at least eight homes split between the two of us. the h-word may have a thousand definitions, but we know that home is where the dessert/laundry/heart is.

taste : family recipes [faux-ranchito soup]

sometimes your great, great grandmother passes down the ingredients of the family's secret sauce. other times, you eat something ridiculously delicious and all you want to do is rip it off and make that recipe yours. this was the case with el ranchito's chicken soup. we've all suffered through flu chicken soup, canned chicken soup and chicken soup for the blah blah soul. but this was different. it was a hot-lime-herb tongue explosion followed by the cold pico de gallo topping and a creamy avocado finish. we recreated this west-coast delicacy, replaced the rice with quinoa [for the extra protein] and tweaked the amount of citrus [the lime-ier the better]. thanks newport for the gastronomical inspo [as if the summer/seth spiderman kiss wasn't enough].

spot : home [bridgehampton]

it can be an apartment building. it can be an unfinished model home [looking at you ryan atwood]. it can be an area you grew up, a place you spent the most time, a park you climbed trees in, a hippie commune you ran away from. we have at least eight homes split between the two of us. the h-word may have a thousand definitions, but we know that home is where the dessert/laundry/heart is.

sip : juice [hundred acre]

the new year starts and juice cleanses are all the rage. don't worry, we've tried them all : the blueprint, the green day, the master cleanse, the servant spruce. day one you're a human, day two you're a zombie and day three you're beyonce. yes, juice cleanses work, but we always miss chewing. plus, peeing every half hour is only acceptable if you're a puppy, not if you're the girl forcing pit stops on the family road trip to yala [or during a snowed-in sherlock marathon]. so instead of a full on cleanse, we ripped off parts and added them to snack time. hundred acre has the potassium punch of banana, the popeye powers of spinach and unbearable cuteness of pooh [grizzly pun intended].

taste : family recipes [eggnog tiramisu]

eggnog is usually synonymous with santa and snowflakes, not sunday brunch with seventy five degree weather. but we took the seasonal drink and made a delicious [and enormous] tiramisu. substituting mascarpone for local curd and cream cheese, this is a sri lankan twist on an old italian favorite. everyone grab a spoon: there's enough here to feed the family, a whole pack of lion cubs and more.

fete : book art [jannah's picks]

sorry, after-school specials, kate hudson rom-coms and teachers of the world : we always judge a book by it's cover. the two of us have distinct taste when we walk into a barnes & noble [or flip through apple books]. jannah goes for the neon backgrounds, pop art photographs and playful fonts. savera's opinion carries a bit more clout [being a casual book model and all]. she sticks to the ones with a south asian vibe. throw a diety on the binding or an ancient chant on the dust jacket and she's in. let the paperback prizefight begin.

look : staycation [belle-bottoms]

our staycation is split between time zones. one of us is sunbathing with elephants and drinking lime juice on the beach. one of us is waging snowball war on the neighbors and sipping gourmet hot chocolate with extra marshmallows. this month it is savera's shorts v. jannah's parkas. may the odds be ever in your favor [spoiler: there will be no bloody battle...just some sartorial slaughtering]. 

taste: family recipes [acai bowl]

a couple years ago, acai was everywhere. acai will cleanse your liver! acai will protect you from alien invasion! acai is the second coming! the craze has since died down, but acai bowls are still as good as ever. we made them for brunch [extra thick and gluten free]. the greek yogurt base and peanut butter topper helped to up the protein. once we licked the bowl giant teacup clean, we ran three miles, won a twerk-off with a truck driver and pole-vaulted into a tree to save a kitten. acai superpowers.

sip : juice [market fresh]

the new year starts and juice cleanses are all the rage. don't worry, we've tried them all : the blueprint, the green day, the master cleanse, the servant spruce. day one you're a human, day two you're a zombie and day three you're beyonce. yes, juice cleanses work, but we always miss chewing. plus, peeing every half hour is only acceptable if you're a puppy, not if you're the girl forcing pit stops on the family road trip to yala [or during a snowed-in sherlock marathon]. so instead of a full on cleanse, we ripped off parts and added them to snack time. these market fresh juices from sri lanka have the vitamin punch of citrus and the digestion benefits of mint and papaya. queen bey approved.

taste : family recipes [pink peppercorn brownies]

savera's rich umber skin tone does not come from the sun. it comes from two decades of gorging on chocolate. as a bonifide addict, she has perfected hundreds of recipes all starring cacao. this spicy twist on brownies will leave your tongue humming for more. you can serve them three ways : on a porcelein platter as the centerpiece for high tea, on a doll plate as a birthday cake for a barbie or at the museum as a contemporary art piece glorifying nips.

look : staycation [fourteen carat]

our staycation is split between time zones. one of us is sunbathing with elephants and drinking lime juice on the beach. one of us is waging snowball war on the neighbors and sipping gourmet hot chocolate with extra marshmallows. this month it is savera's shorts v. jannah's parkas. may the odds be ever in your favor [spoiler: there will be no bloody battle...just some sartorial slaughtering]. 

fete : book art [savera's picks]

sorry, after-school specials, kate hudson rom-coms and teachers of the world : we always judge a book by it's cover. the two of us have distinct taste when we walk into a barnes & noble [or flip through apple books]. jannah goes for the neon backgrounds, pop art photographs and playful fonts. savera's opinion carries a bit more clout [being a casual book model and all]. she sticks to the ones with a south asian vibe. throw a deity on the binding or an ancient chant on the dust jacket and she's in. let the paperback prizefight begin.