Gimme some of that PonP action...w/ a "small" pitcher of sangria

Yes, I know what you're thinking. They thought a pitcher was "small"...a pitcher is never small. That's why you order it in the first place! To be fair, our waiter (was his name Wyla? I swear that's what he said) was so tall it made it really difficult to hear him and to say no because if we said no he would continue to talk and we would continue to fall further backwards and down into the booth as we tilted our heads up to see him. So a pitcher it was. The we I am referring to this time is A and, well, me. A = Amy and me = Kate, of course. Side bar legend of nicknames to come for reference. I also realize that you're still wondering what this "PonP action" I am referring to must be?! Well, first of all, get your heads out of the gutter! This is not a dirty reference but, again, a reference to a restaurant that has a somewhat long and difficult name to say when one's speech has been compromised by the presence of a pitcher of sangria. PonP refers to Picasso's on Paseo. Or more specifically Picasso Cafe, but PonP is more fun dontcha think?!

So A and I had just gotten off work after a measly 10 hour shift and decided it was high-time we have a GNO (Girls' Night Out)...pronounced "No," I guess?! Anyway, we trotted off to my neck of the woods in NW Okc for some good food, live music and a few drinks. The journey to the city was fairly uneventful except for what we believe to be the sighting of a possible highway "lady," if you know what I mean. She stood suggestively at the back of her sports car with thigh-high black boots and a tubey dress. Classy. Unfortunately, A and I were driving separate cars so we had to enjoy the moment on our own and wonder what the other was thinking about this random sighting.

Soooo off to PonP we go. I've been there several times but A had never been. I'm trying to bring her over to my side of the world...the one that loves Oklahoma OVER that state that sits below us and takes up space (Boomer Sooner btw). I think she's slowly being converted. On the way to PonP we had another random sighting. A girl in a lacy, flowy, mythical-like white dress was on a white horse being walked around by a guy with long, flowy hair in khakis and a white button-up shirt around the grounds at the Waterford. This was real. We did not imagine it. No comment.

Once at PonP we were welcomed into an eclectic atmosphere of paintings by local artists, hodge podgey furniture and warmly colored walls and accent lighting. Wow, I totally sounded legit right then, huh? We first sat down outside. The cool night breeze and smell of rain enticed us. Then it thundered and the sky suddenly filled with ominous black clouds (yes, black!) sooo we promptly moved inside. Once inside we sat down and ordered the now-infamous sangrias. Honestly, we ordered a glass each but Wyla soon convinced us that a pitcher was the way to go if there were two of us and we were both drinking the same drink. He's a conversational wizard for sure. This comment led us to believe that our glasses were individually large in size and a pitcher would comprise maybe two additional drinks at a lower price per drink than us each ordering two or three more individual drinks. A lie. Our glasses were small tumblers and easily gave us at least five more sangrias a piece. I'm pretty sure we forgave him after sangria three? Happy faces. This is also the point at which A asked me the following question, "Does that guy have spikes on his vest?!" Yes, yes he did. Not so happy faces. On to sangria #4.

(Now me = Amy...a new author. Yay!) After much deliberation between the prosciutto and fig pizza, airline chicken and tuna tacos I settled for the Ahi tuna "Indian taco" something-or-other dish with some type of delish mango salsa and creme fraiche. It was on homemade fry bread. Let me say that again. It was on homemade fry bread. The Ahi was medium rare and delectable. Kate thought it was a little strange that beans were part of the entree but they tasted good regardless. There was a tad too much very fresh cilantro on top. They could have curbed a little of that and it would have gotten another star.

(Me = Kate. Changing it up again!) I too deliberated but my list of potentials was much smaller. I was debating between the same pizza A mentioned above and the airline chicken. The airline chicken we're both referring to does not come on a plane, in a plane or shaped like a plane. It does come with a bacon-bleu cream cheese sauce, cheesy risotto and a side of the vegetable of the day. Holy moly it was phenom and just the right size. A's taco was quite large so she took home about half of it but my little chicken thigh, rice and veggies were just right.

And then there was the live music.

(me = A) Much to our surprise the live music choice for the evening started setting up. Small stage. At least 6 people. Lots of instruments requiring picking. Alas, the biggest ironic moment of the night - their name- The Dizzy Pickers. Kate remarked that she thought we might be in for some hoe-down music. Indeed we were. The lead singer, well, I think she was a yodeler in another life. We got a video but beware, it's a black picture with decent sound - don't expect to see them dizzily picking. What does this look like -- a front row seat?

(me = K) We left with our bellies full and ears ringing and headed home. Turns out I left the sunroof cracked (I actually meant to do this but that's when I thought the night sky was simply dark because it was night and not because of the aforementioned ominous black clouds). Needless to say, the inside of the car was wet and the sunroof was dripping water. On to our heads and necks and shoulders and ears. It was very disconcerting but also really funny. I think my face hurt from laughing by the time we got back to mi casa...we ended up taking a mini-tour of my middle and high school life on the way back. I wanted the sunroof to have time to dry! But A kept saying, "You gotta close the inside cover water is POURING into my left ear!" She exaggerates. It was not pouring; drizzling maybe. Or, at best, dripping consistently so as to form a small puddle in one place that just so happened to be her left ear. I closed it but I don't think it had sufficient time to dry. I blame you, A, if my sunroof cover grows a new sunroof cover on account of it not being dry! 

Anyway, we had fun, as always. PonP is fab. We recommend you order a pitcher of whatever drink you get and always always order a dessert.

First stop...The Greek House: Norman, OK

A couple of days ago M, C, B-Ri and I visited The Greek House in Norman, OK. I guess you should know that M = Meghan, C = Clare, B-Ri = Brian and I = Kate. I don't think we came up with these super-secret, creative nicknames to be more like Gossip Girl, but I do think they arose out of necessity. The necessity of needing something easy to say and remember if one's short-term memory were challenged by the presence of several delicious adult beverages. Namely boxed wine. At any rate, the four of us set off to dine at The Greek House and eat in the presence of Greek people...somehow I feel that this makes the experience more real and satisfying. It's sort of like, "Well, it must be good if actual Greek people own it and eat there, right?!" Yeah I'm pretty sure that's what that means. Anyway, you'd be surprised to know that there is a decent Greek scene in Okc. The Greek House is one of four (you heard right!) gyro-serving restaurants in the 405...at least that I know of but I guess there could be others, which is why we started this blog - to discover them! Each restaurant has their own unique menu with french fries as a side item. This reminds me of when I went to Paris in high school. Every meal we ate consisted of chicken and french fries. It's as if people outside the United States assume that all we eat is something served next to fries. I blame McDonalds. I certainly don't eat french fries with every meal...except I did order some at The Greek House because, for some reason, the Greeks seem to know how to make a damn good fry! Go figure. Annnyyyywaaaayyy, I kept it simple and ordered the gyro sandwich. I think the meat was of better quality than what I've found at a couple of the other restaurants but the yogurt sauce wasn't as good as I've had other places. It was much thicker and less cucumbery than I prefer. Sad face. The pita was totes delish, though, which made up for the lacking sauce and the prices were definitely reasonable. Happy face. All of this tasty food was intermingled with lively conversation that, from what I recall, mostly revolved around us wanting to be queens or princesses. Yes, B-Ri led this discussion. No just kidding. He was involved only in the sense that M was upset with him for not having been born into royalty. He apologized and we moved on. They're so perf for each other it's presh. In the end, I think we decided the only way M could be a duchess is to change her facebook name to include the word Duchess and decide on what she wanted to be the Duchess of. The moral of the story being that we all love Kate Middleton and want to be her, of course. She's gorgeous and just plain awesome. We're pretty convinced that if we were to meet her she would instantly welcome us into her inner-circle of close friends based solely on our classiness but would soon realize she also loved that we're fun. We came to this decision while M and C were telling me that the smells and flavors of The Greek House would be with me for the rest of the evening. I shall not elaborate on this lest my classy card be taken away. Just know that if The Greek House weren't so tasty we'd of had a picture of our food to show you and not just a picture of the sign. We scarfed it down so quickly that by the time I remembered to get my camera out, all that remained was four baskets of tinfoil, plastic cups and napkins. All that was missing was a Bota Box and some Arrested Development, which we promptly headed home to enjoy. Life. Is. Good.