themes:

Half Way
Perfect for curators and highly visual blogs, this flexible two-column grid theme puts the focus on your content.
Hi-res two column layout
Beautiful full screen profile
Powerful premium features
Customize everything
Awesome customer support
See Half Way and more at tumblr.com/themes.

themes:

Half Way

Perfect for curators and highly visual blogs, this flexible two-column grid theme puts the focus on your content.

  • Hi-res two column layout
  • Beautiful full screen profile
  • Powerful premium features
  • Customize everything
  • Awesome customer support

See Half Way and more at tumblr.com/themes.

beauty art

portersnotebook:

A Day of a Thousand and One Tastes
Above you see the roof of part of a festival of street food. A thousand tastes, and probably just one more in time with the search for it. American barbecue, Thai, Japan, India, Mexico, China, Sardinia…
Give it a name, to quote Jimmy the Saint, and he’s worth quoting.
We settled on meatballs from Sardinia and pulled pork sandwiches topped with slivered apples and slaw. Bottles of homemade smoothies, one kiwi pineapple, the other watermelon and something else. We also eat whiskey ribs and they melt down between teeth and bone.
The woman who sold us the meatballs comes over as we tuck in and demands our opinion, you see, she has made these things herself and wants to know how they taste.
They are divine. We tell her so.
The ceiling is a decaying eave, white timbers and paint peeling away from the concrete. Music pumps in from the speakers near a small stage outside.
All of this was once East Berlin, now in this warehouse district that used to be a series of squats, this blooms. A fleamarket too, and nearby a record festival with DJs spinning electronic confections.
Nothing goes for wanting of feast.
After we’ve sated ourselves we return to the bicycles.
I stop at a stand, and is my habit when traveling someplace knew, I shop for a knife. Instead of a folding knife or something similar, I buy two kitchen knives from Vietnam. The woman selling them is a stunning creature with a mane of dreadlocks and piercing blue eyes. Black tattoos crawl up her arms and I watch them play under her skin while she explains that I will only need ceramic to sharpen these beauties and that I should perhaps oil them but never with olive oil.
“I know,” I tell her, “Olive oil eats the steel.”
She smiles at me as if I’m a particularly bright pupil as she wraps the two knives up for me to take along.

portersnotebook:

A Day of a Thousand and One Tastes

Above you see the roof of part of a festival of street food. A thousand tastes, and probably just one more in time with the search for it. American barbecue, Thai, Japan, India, Mexico, China, Sardinia…

Give it a name, to quote Jimmy the Saint, and he’s worth quoting.

We settled on meatballs from Sardinia and pulled pork sandwiches topped with slivered apples and slaw. Bottles of homemade smoothies, one kiwi pineapple, the other watermelon and something else. We also eat whiskey ribs and they melt down between teeth and bone.

The woman who sold us the meatballs comes over as we tuck in and demands our opinion, you see, she has made these things herself and wants to know how they taste.

They are divine. We tell her so.

The ceiling is a decaying eave, white timbers and paint peeling away from the concrete. Music pumps in from the speakers near a small stage outside.

All of this was once East Berlin, now in this warehouse district that used to be a series of squats, this blooms. A fleamarket too, and nearby a record festival with DJs spinning electronic confections.

Nothing goes for wanting of feast.

After we’ve sated ourselves we return to the bicycles.

I stop at a stand, and is my habit when traveling someplace knew, I shop for a knife. Instead of a folding knife or something similar, I buy two kitchen knives from Vietnam. The woman selling them is a stunning creature with a mane of dreadlocks and piercing blue eyes. Black tattoos crawl up her arms and I watch them play under her skin while she explains that I will only need ceramic to sharpen these beauties and that I should perhaps oil them but never with olive oil.

“I know,” I tell her, “Olive oil eats the steel.”

She smiles at me as if I’m a particularly bright pupil as she wraps the two knives up for me to take along.

food stuff that other people see touring