A few Christmases ago, when we were living in Las Vegas, there was truly only one thing I wanted for Christmas. It is not unusual for me to have a list of books I want, but that year, for some reason, my list was extraordinarily long. Publishers were on my side that year (or working against me, depending on how you look at it) and there were so many interesting books for foodies that I had to have all of them.
The book that topped my list was "I Like You: Hospitality Under the Influence." I had seen Amy Sedaris on the David Letterman Show not long before the holidays and I realized after that, this was a book I had to have. I didn't understand the book when she talked about it- I thought, "Why is this woman writing a cookbook?!" I still wanted it. The hardcover, coffee-table book was under the tree from John and I couldn't have been happier.
I waited to crack the book open until the night of Christmas while I was in bed. I read every word and examined every picture, sidebar, and drawing. I remember John being next to me and getting super annoyed with me. I had the light on while he was trying to sleep, but even that wasn't the main distraction. I had laughed so hard at almost every sentence. I fell in love with her ideas for hosting parties. Amy's sense of humor is beyond sidesplitting. I can't remember a time where I have laughed for this long.
She would have a 25 cent sale on display with random household items she needed to get rid of- everything was 25 cents. She could take the profit to help pay for the dinner party. She would fill the medicine cabinet with marbles- this way, if there was a nosey guest, they wouldn't go unnoticed when the marbles hit the porcelain sink and made so much noise. She used Pez dispensers to hold senior citizen's pills when hosting a party for a retirement home.
I read every recipe amongst the technicolor pictures of peanuts with googly eyes, pictures of herself in various wigs and costumes, and my favorite picture- one of herself covered in whipped cream. I still have so many ideas from her craft projects and party games that I would like to see come to fruition. I think once I have a house of my own, I can have an Amy Sedaris housewarming party. I could serve Amy's Pork Medallions, Carrot Coins and Tiddlywinks Toadstool Pie with Silver Bullet Martinis and a Heavyset Cheese Ball for an appetizer.
We still talk about how hard I laughed that night, how it was my favorite Christmas gift ever. Recently I learned that our roommate, Pickle, had gotten me the book, but John was so mad that he insisted that he pay her for it so it could be from him. If you have not read this book, please pick up a copy- there is a paperback version now that you could find on the bargain shelves. It is a must-have.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Andes Candies and Grandma
Dropping by my Grandma's house was one of my favorite things as a child. Grandma always had something homemade hiding out in the fridge or wrapped up on the counter. If she didn't (and even sometimes if she did), she would run to the pantry for something sweet for us kids. Grandma always had something sweet around for those with a sweet tooth.
The one sweet treat I remember the most, other than Grandma's homemade goodies, is Andes Candies. I feel like the Andes Candies are a little old fashioned now and are not as prominent in the candy aisle. In their understated green package, perfectly lined up in rows, it seemed fancy to me as kid. Each rectangular chocolate is individually wrapped. The two flavors I think they produced when the product launched in the 1950's (then called Andy's Candies, for a fun fact) are Creme de Menthe and Mint Parfait. Both included the light, minty green color candy with the chocolate. The Creme de Menthe had the mint layer sandwiched between two chocolate layers and the Mint Parfait was the opposite. Both were equally enjoyable.
Of course the after-dinner mint was meant to last. You should be able to keep a package of these in your pantry for quite some time. Not after I showed up at Grandma's. I remember her opening the package, removing the cellophane and setting it on the table for me. She used to remove the first one, since they were packed so tightly into their cardboard tray. By the time she turned the corner, I could devour the first of the two rows of mints. The second could be reserved for later, but rest assured, I could eliminate that row too. Maybe after using the candies to substitute for the missing domino in Grandma's domino set.
Whenever I saw the commercial for Ande's Candies on TV, I thought of my grandmother instantly. Ande's touted itself as the number one after-dinner mint. Surely it is. You can't find another mint chocolate in the aisle. Especially something nice enough to put on the table with coffee after you have served your guests dinner. I think this is why it seems old fashioned to me. It is reminiscent of the 50's and this is why I like to have them around. I like the creamy texture, the refreshing minty taste and the way it reminds me of my Grandma every time.
The one sweet treat I remember the most, other than Grandma's homemade goodies, is Andes Candies. I feel like the Andes Candies are a little old fashioned now and are not as prominent in the candy aisle. In their understated green package, perfectly lined up in rows, it seemed fancy to me as kid. Each rectangular chocolate is individually wrapped. The two flavors I think they produced when the product launched in the 1950's (then called Andy's Candies, for a fun fact) are Creme de Menthe and Mint Parfait. Both included the light, minty green color candy with the chocolate. The Creme de Menthe had the mint layer sandwiched between two chocolate layers and the Mint Parfait was the opposite. Both were equally enjoyable.
Of course the after-dinner mint was meant to last. You should be able to keep a package of these in your pantry for quite some time. Not after I showed up at Grandma's. I remember her opening the package, removing the cellophane and setting it on the table for me. She used to remove the first one, since they were packed so tightly into their cardboard tray. By the time she turned the corner, I could devour the first of the two rows of mints. The second could be reserved for later, but rest assured, I could eliminate that row too. Maybe after using the candies to substitute for the missing domino in Grandma's domino set.
Whenever I saw the commercial for Ande's Candies on TV, I thought of my grandmother instantly. Ande's touted itself as the number one after-dinner mint. Surely it is. You can't find another mint chocolate in the aisle. Especially something nice enough to put on the table with coffee after you have served your guests dinner. I think this is why it seems old fashioned to me. It is reminiscent of the 50's and this is why I like to have them around. I like the creamy texture, the refreshing minty taste and the way it reminds me of my Grandma every time.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Chile Rellenos and Karen
Not long after I moved to Sacramento, my boss, Karen Hamilton told me about the most amazing chile rellenos that she makes. She told me that she used to go to the best Mexican restaurant and when they closed down, she was lucky enough to get the recipe. She kept telling me, "You HAVE to try them." She would make them on holidays and would invite me to drop by and have some, but she lived downtown and I lived in Folsom, and I never managed to get into the car and get the peppers.
Last year between Christmas and New Year's Eve, Karen let me know that she would be making the rellenos again, probably for New Year's Day. I pleaded with her to bring me one so I could try it. She really didn't want to bring me one because she said that leftover, it can be not as good- soggy, greasy, etc. I told her I would not hold it against her- I realized the implications of eating a leftover chile. The best thing about Karen is that she never forgets anything- and she brought a plate of chile rellenos for everyone in the office to share. After living in New Mexico, I have to say that I have heard so many people tell me they have the best recipe for something Mexican or New Mexican. Usually these people live in random places like Nebraska, Texas or Ohio. I am always disappointed because their recipe never ends up tasting that good and usually is not authentic. I knew Karen would not disappoint me, but there is always the thought in the back of my mind that someone may have a different view of what good food is or what good Mexican food is.
When I bit into Karen's chile relleno, I was in heaven. The flavor of the coating around the peppers was slightly sweetened, but not too much- and the texture was perfect- not too soggy and not too crispy- enough that you could hold the pepper on its own. The filling was perfectly smooth, melted and worked perfectly with the spice of the pepper. I was dumbfounded and thought the recipe must be so complicated, that I could never duplicate her work. Wrong! Karen gave me a recipe that I will never forget. She said, "I will tell you, but maybe you will change your mind about liking them. It's the easiest recipe in the world." I begged her to write down the recipe and she told me she thought that I could remember it because it is only two ingredients: Krusteaz pancake mix and Velveeta cheese. Are you kidding me?
It's true. And they are still the best chile rellenos I have ever had. I'm sure neither of those ingredients exists in a Mexican cookbook anywhere. But I am here to tell you they are delicious. I will never forget them. I will won't have Miss Karen bringing them into work on January 2nd again this year. I will have to settle for an Albuquerque substitute unless I can manage to reserve enough energy to make my own using Karen's recipe.
Last year between Christmas and New Year's Eve, Karen let me know that she would be making the rellenos again, probably for New Year's Day. I pleaded with her to bring me one so I could try it. She really didn't want to bring me one because she said that leftover, it can be not as good- soggy, greasy, etc. I told her I would not hold it against her- I realized the implications of eating a leftover chile. The best thing about Karen is that she never forgets anything- and she brought a plate of chile rellenos for everyone in the office to share. After living in New Mexico, I have to say that I have heard so many people tell me they have the best recipe for something Mexican or New Mexican. Usually these people live in random places like Nebraska, Texas or Ohio. I am always disappointed because their recipe never ends up tasting that good and usually is not authentic. I knew Karen would not disappoint me, but there is always the thought in the back of my mind that someone may have a different view of what good food is or what good Mexican food is.
When I bit into Karen's chile relleno, I was in heaven. The flavor of the coating around the peppers was slightly sweetened, but not too much- and the texture was perfect- not too soggy and not too crispy- enough that you could hold the pepper on its own. The filling was perfectly smooth, melted and worked perfectly with the spice of the pepper. I was dumbfounded and thought the recipe must be so complicated, that I could never duplicate her work. Wrong! Karen gave me a recipe that I will never forget. She said, "I will tell you, but maybe you will change your mind about liking them. It's the easiest recipe in the world." I begged her to write down the recipe and she told me she thought that I could remember it because it is only two ingredients: Krusteaz pancake mix and Velveeta cheese. Are you kidding me?
It's true. And they are still the best chile rellenos I have ever had. I'm sure neither of those ingredients exists in a Mexican cookbook anywhere. But I am here to tell you they are delicious. I will never forget them. I will won't have Miss Karen bringing them into work on January 2nd again this year. I will have to settle for an Albuquerque substitute unless I can manage to reserve enough energy to make my own using Karen's recipe.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Duck a l'Orange and Katy
There was a point in my life where I thought I should give New York a second chance. After I met Andy and we started traveling together, Andy got an apartment on the Lower East side of Manhattan. We lived at 1st and 1st which was always comical to us because there was a Seinfeld episode that was written around this block. 1st and 1st was known as the nexus of the universe on the episode, so we liked telling people that we lived there.
I picked up a part time job at the Barnes & Noble in Union Square, which I shamefully recall now, because I favor the independent bookseller opposed to the chains. In my own defense, I worked in the Music Department and not the Book Department. When I worked there, I was fortunate enough to meet a few celebrities- Tracee Ross (Diana Ross' daughter) when she was on Broadway in Ragtime, Sade (with child), and James Spader all come to mind. Other than that, it was a pretty regular job and I enjoyed alphabetizing the music and putting out the new releases.
Because I had the job, I couldn't always go with Andy when he was traveling and instead I would take mini-vacations to Brooklyn to visit my friend Katy. I had a section of her closet there where I kept a lot of my things and I could just pick up the phone, get on the subway and be at her Park Slope apartment in a jiffy. We would hang out together for a few days, reading stacks and stacks of magazines and watching random things on TV.
Park Slope was an up and coming neighborhood, so there were a few nice restaurants and bars around that we used to frequent. There was a deli across the street for incidentals and cigarettes, but to get to the actual grocery, it was a couple of blocks away, I remember. I never really bought that much at the grocery because you had to carry it home and then up the stairs to her apartment. Sometimes we would go together if we were cooking something, that way we could help each other carry all of the ingredients.
Sometimes I would be sitting with Katy in her living room and decide that I wanted something random. Usually it was chocolate and/or cheese. I would have to make the long trek to the grocery and back. I remember doing this in the winter too. I would ask Katy, "Doll, is there anything you need from the store?" She would answer, "Oh, please, Doll, everything. I have to make my own trip." I would offer to pick up whatever she needed and she would say, "No, really, it's not like I'm making Duck a l'Orange and forgot the oranges." It always made me laugh when she said this.
I will never forget that she said that and I say it all the time now, even if it's just to myself. It's such an easy way of saying- I don't even have salt and pepper in the pantry right now- I have a huge list and it would take you all day to shop for me. I always wanted to make Duck a l'Orange, though. I'm sure the Julia Child recipe is the way to go. Katy probably has made it before- and if she ever invited me for Duck a l'Orange, I would bring the oranges even if she didn't need them.
I picked up a part time job at the Barnes & Noble in Union Square, which I shamefully recall now, because I favor the independent bookseller opposed to the chains. In my own defense, I worked in the Music Department and not the Book Department. When I worked there, I was fortunate enough to meet a few celebrities- Tracee Ross (Diana Ross' daughter) when she was on Broadway in Ragtime, Sade (with child), and James Spader all come to mind. Other than that, it was a pretty regular job and I enjoyed alphabetizing the music and putting out the new releases.
Because I had the job, I couldn't always go with Andy when he was traveling and instead I would take mini-vacations to Brooklyn to visit my friend Katy. I had a section of her closet there where I kept a lot of my things and I could just pick up the phone, get on the subway and be at her Park Slope apartment in a jiffy. We would hang out together for a few days, reading stacks and stacks of magazines and watching random things on TV.
Park Slope was an up and coming neighborhood, so there were a few nice restaurants and bars around that we used to frequent. There was a deli across the street for incidentals and cigarettes, but to get to the actual grocery, it was a couple of blocks away, I remember. I never really bought that much at the grocery because you had to carry it home and then up the stairs to her apartment. Sometimes we would go together if we were cooking something, that way we could help each other carry all of the ingredients.
Sometimes I would be sitting with Katy in her living room and decide that I wanted something random. Usually it was chocolate and/or cheese. I would have to make the long trek to the grocery and back. I remember doing this in the winter too. I would ask Katy, "Doll, is there anything you need from the store?" She would answer, "Oh, please, Doll, everything. I have to make my own trip." I would offer to pick up whatever she needed and she would say, "No, really, it's not like I'm making Duck a l'Orange and forgot the oranges." It always made me laugh when she said this.
I will never forget that she said that and I say it all the time now, even if it's just to myself. It's such an easy way of saying- I don't even have salt and pepper in the pantry right now- I have a huge list and it would take you all day to shop for me. I always wanted to make Duck a l'Orange, though. I'm sure the Julia Child recipe is the way to go. Katy probably has made it before- and if she ever invited me for Duck a l'Orange, I would bring the oranges even if she didn't need them.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Cream Cheese & Jelly Sandwich and Casey
When I was in elementary school in Hurley, NY, I had a couple of friends who lived down the street. There were a few friends that lived a ways away and I would have to walk up and down steep hills to get there. It could be a long walk if you didn't know if they were home or not. This is back in the day where you couldn't instant message your friend when you're 8 years old. You have to go knock on the door and see if they are A. Home, B. Allowed to play, C. Want to play. My friend Wyatt lived a few houses down on the same side of the street and then Casey lived across from him.
We used to run around the neighborhood together until our parents yelled for us to come on in because it was dark. Casey was one of those kids that always seemed so well protected by his parents. He wasn't always allowed to come out to play and if he was, they used to yell for him and we would run all the way back to his house and it was just to make sure he was okay. Then we would go back again and do the whole thing all over. This was hard when we were far away, like down behind my house in the creek. We would sneak off that way to catch tadpoles. Usually nobody found out we were back there unless one of us fell in. If one of us fell in, we agreed to let the other one go home first so they wouldn't get in trouble when they saw your friend standing next to you sopping wet. Seems like it should be easy to stand up on the edge of a creek. It is. But it is not that easy to walk across the slippery rocks sticking up from the water. You had to do this to catch the tadpoles. We fell in more often than we caught a tadpole.
I remember his mother fixing him snacks. He used to eat what I thought were complicated, intricate snacks- like celery with peanut butter and raisins. Who has the time to put the peanut butter on celery, much less raisins? I just dipped my celery right into the peanut butter jar and ran off to play again. Not Casey. She would fix him snacks and offer to fix me one too. He would take a serious time out and sit down to eat. It was like a meal. She would serve him things like yogurt, granola, Chex mix (but some kind that is good for you) and fruit I think. This is all stuff that I did not eat for an after-school snack- I don't even really know if I ate after-school snacks like that. At least not on a regular basis.
Casey used to have to stop in the middle of the day for lunch in the summertime. I hated that because my Mom would just let me run in, grab what was for lunch and run back outside while eating. Casey's mother made him come inside and eat lunch with her and his sister. One time he told me that he had cream cheese and jelly sandwiches. I thought that was strange and had never heard of it. I told him it sounded really good. He said it was his favorite and next time his mom was making it, he would invite me for one. The next day, he begged his mom to make them again and she did. She invited me to eat with them that day and I got my own cream cheese and grape jelly sandwich with a side of potato chips. The combination of sweetness from the jelly, the richness of the cream cheese, and the texture of the bread was a perfect one. It is like eating lunch and dessert at the same time. Nothing compares to this sandwich. I still enjoy cream cheese and jelly sandwiches on occasion. Every time I do, I think of the days Casey and I fell into the creek trying to catch a tadpole.
We used to run around the neighborhood together until our parents yelled for us to come on in because it was dark. Casey was one of those kids that always seemed so well protected by his parents. He wasn't always allowed to come out to play and if he was, they used to yell for him and we would run all the way back to his house and it was just to make sure he was okay. Then we would go back again and do the whole thing all over. This was hard when we were far away, like down behind my house in the creek. We would sneak off that way to catch tadpoles. Usually nobody found out we were back there unless one of us fell in. If one of us fell in, we agreed to let the other one go home first so they wouldn't get in trouble when they saw your friend standing next to you sopping wet. Seems like it should be easy to stand up on the edge of a creek. It is. But it is not that easy to walk across the slippery rocks sticking up from the water. You had to do this to catch the tadpoles. We fell in more often than we caught a tadpole.
I remember his mother fixing him snacks. He used to eat what I thought were complicated, intricate snacks- like celery with peanut butter and raisins. Who has the time to put the peanut butter on celery, much less raisins? I just dipped my celery right into the peanut butter jar and ran off to play again. Not Casey. She would fix him snacks and offer to fix me one too. He would take a serious time out and sit down to eat. It was like a meal. She would serve him things like yogurt, granola, Chex mix (but some kind that is good for you) and fruit I think. This is all stuff that I did not eat for an after-school snack- I don't even really know if I ate after-school snacks like that. At least not on a regular basis.
Casey used to have to stop in the middle of the day for lunch in the summertime. I hated that because my Mom would just let me run in, grab what was for lunch and run back outside while eating. Casey's mother made him come inside and eat lunch with her and his sister. One time he told me that he had cream cheese and jelly sandwiches. I thought that was strange and had never heard of it. I told him it sounded really good. He said it was his favorite and next time his mom was making it, he would invite me for one. The next day, he begged his mom to make them again and she did. She invited me to eat with them that day and I got my own cream cheese and grape jelly sandwich with a side of potato chips. The combination of sweetness from the jelly, the richness of the cream cheese, and the texture of the bread was a perfect one. It is like eating lunch and dessert at the same time. Nothing compares to this sandwich. I still enjoy cream cheese and jelly sandwiches on occasion. Every time I do, I think of the days Casey and I fell into the creek trying to catch a tadpole.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Yoo-Hoo and P. Susan
On my first day at An Open Book, I was very nervous and quiet. My bosses, Michael and Doug were sitting in the office, only a few feet away while I manned the small selling floor. Michael would shout out requests for a CD change and Doug would just try to make me feel welcome. The phone would ring on occasion, mostly personal calls for Michael and Doug. After a couple of hours, I had gotten used to telling the caller that I wasn't sure if they were still in, but I would check and place them on hold. Michael would usually decide whether or not he wanted to take the call and then he would pick up. If not, I took very detailed messages, as I did not want my new boss thinking I couldn't even handle answering a phone.
A few hours into this first shift, the phone rang and I answered professionally. The caller asked for Michael. I told her that I would check to see if he was in and she interrupted, "I know he is there, I just talked to him, just patch me through please." I said, "Can I ask who's calling?" She said, "No." I asked her to hold and then turned to Michael and said, "There is someone on the phone that will not tell me who it is." He said, "I'm not taking the call unless I know who it is." I got back on the phone and said, "I'm sorry, he is not available right now, can I take a message?" She said, "Yes he is. Tell him it's the First Lady." I did. And he took the call, laughing.
P. Susan stopped into the store shortly after the call to meet me. She introduced herself as the First Lady and I didn't know her name was P. Susan until a few visits after that. Turns out, she had declared herself the First Lady of the bookstore and she was not backing down on that title. Her high school picture was framed and added to displays around the store haphazardly. She would move it around and put it next to her favorite books as if she was endorsing products with her picture. She quizzed me and ask me all sorts of questions- personal and professional and said that she thought I would fit in and saw why they had hired me.
I worked at An Open Book for quite some time, but it was a while before I developed a relationship with P. She was quite famous and seemed to know everyone in town and everyone seemed to know her. She would stop in and give me stacks of bookmarked magazines and newspaper clippings in a recycled bag- all things that reminded her of me. There would be an article about Stevie Nicks, picture of Martha Stewart on the red carpet, a story about a new CD she thought we should have in the store.
One time when she stopped by, I was drinking a Yoo-Hoo. She said, "Hmmm, nobody really appreciates the Yoo-Hoo anymore." I said, "Oh, I do- it's one of my favorite drinks. I love the Yoo-Hoo and I find it to be refreshing." I explained to her that I always buy one at UDF (United Dairy Farmers), because I am afraid they will stop carrying it if nobody buys it. I even told her the slogan for Yoo-Hoo which is "Yoo-Hoo or you don't." She laughed hysterically and couldn't believe I knew that. From that point forward, P. always stopped and got me a Yoo-Hoo to drop off with the media she collected for me. She never told me she was coming and it was always a surprise to see her. I miss P. bringing me my Yoo-Hoos and goodies to read over. She would swing by and hang out with me for a while since I usually worked the evenings on my own. I would do her the same favor- she worked part time at the Riffe Gallery downtown and I would make the trek on my nights off or weekends to see her. I would try to bring her things too- like a cookie or coffee. We used to say that there is nothing like free food. It's true- free food always tastes better.
P. still puts together the newspaper and magazine clippings for me on occasion. She still cuts them out and sets them aside for me. I get them in the mail at random times in a recycled envelope. When I get them in the mail, it reminds me of Yoo-Hoo and I will usually pick up a bottle shortly after reading the clippings.
A few hours into this first shift, the phone rang and I answered professionally. The caller asked for Michael. I told her that I would check to see if he was in and she interrupted, "I know he is there, I just talked to him, just patch me through please." I said, "Can I ask who's calling?" She said, "No." I asked her to hold and then turned to Michael and said, "There is someone on the phone that will not tell me who it is." He said, "I'm not taking the call unless I know who it is." I got back on the phone and said, "I'm sorry, he is not available right now, can I take a message?" She said, "Yes he is. Tell him it's the First Lady." I did. And he took the call, laughing.
P. Susan stopped into the store shortly after the call to meet me. She introduced herself as the First Lady and I didn't know her name was P. Susan until a few visits after that. Turns out, she had declared herself the First Lady of the bookstore and she was not backing down on that title. Her high school picture was framed and added to displays around the store haphazardly. She would move it around and put it next to her favorite books as if she was endorsing products with her picture. She quizzed me and ask me all sorts of questions- personal and professional and said that she thought I would fit in and saw why they had hired me.
I worked at An Open Book for quite some time, but it was a while before I developed a relationship with P. She was quite famous and seemed to know everyone in town and everyone seemed to know her. She would stop in and give me stacks of bookmarked magazines and newspaper clippings in a recycled bag- all things that reminded her of me. There would be an article about Stevie Nicks, picture of Martha Stewart on the red carpet, a story about a new CD she thought we should have in the store.
One time when she stopped by, I was drinking a Yoo-Hoo. She said, "Hmmm, nobody really appreciates the Yoo-Hoo anymore." I said, "Oh, I do- it's one of my favorite drinks. I love the Yoo-Hoo and I find it to be refreshing." I explained to her that I always buy one at UDF (United Dairy Farmers), because I am afraid they will stop carrying it if nobody buys it. I even told her the slogan for Yoo-Hoo which is "Yoo-Hoo or you don't." She laughed hysterically and couldn't believe I knew that. From that point forward, P. always stopped and got me a Yoo-Hoo to drop off with the media she collected for me. She never told me she was coming and it was always a surprise to see her. I miss P. bringing me my Yoo-Hoos and goodies to read over. She would swing by and hang out with me for a while since I usually worked the evenings on my own. I would do her the same favor- she worked part time at the Riffe Gallery downtown and I would make the trek on my nights off or weekends to see her. I would try to bring her things too- like a cookie or coffee. We used to say that there is nothing like free food. It's true- free food always tastes better.
P. still puts together the newspaper and magazine clippings for me on occasion. She still cuts them out and sets them aside for me. I get them in the mail at random times in a recycled envelope. When I get them in the mail, it reminds me of Yoo-Hoo and I will usually pick up a bottle shortly after reading the clippings.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Midnight Taco Doritos and Miss Mimi Monroe
When I convinced John to move with me to Las Vegas, he asked if we could have a dog. Okay. Never in my life had I considered having a dog. I never really had the desire to have something to take care of, other than a partner. I shun taking on new responsibilities as it probably can be attributed to my fear of failure. I wouldn't want to take on the responsibility of a dog and then let it down by not providing a good home. Retail can do that when you have a dog- sometimes it will be 12 hours by the time you are back home to let the dog out and when you do, you have to turn back around to pick up the dry cleaning, stop at the grocery and return the movie you rented last night. I also disliked when after work, I wanted a friend to stop and have a drink or dinner with me and they would say, "I can't. I have to go home to let out the dog first." I just thought having a dog seemed so not glamorous and really an overall, bad idea.
One should know that I am also allergic to dogs. I think this also wiped out the possibility of ever having a dog for a pet. One time I was at Johnny's and a dog hair flew into my eye and I ended up in the emergency room that night because my face had doubled in size from an allergic reaction. Any time I get a dog near me who likes to lick even my hand, my entire arm will break out in hives and won't go away easily. So I think it goes without saying that I was not fond of dogs and was never going to be a "dog person."
I promised John that we would get him a pug. He kept saying that he wanted a girl pug and that was all he wanted. Well, of course this was an expense that I could not see paying. I had a hard time keeping up with bills as it was and did not want to add another expense to our household, aside from the initial cost of buying a pure-bred pug. So in the meantime, John brought home pet after pet with minimal cost and upkeep. He brought home fish, cats, hamsters, guinea pigs, hermit crabs and played with ducks at the park down the street. He. Still. Wanted. A. Dog.
Shortly after moving to Vegas, John began working at an Animal Hospital as a receptionist and he became an amazingly dedicated employee. He became attached with animals that had to see the veterinarian regularly. He became friends with animals that were being boarded or held for several days after surgeries. When he came home from work, he would tell me stories about awful incidents that animals had been through that day and how he could help nurse them to become better. The doctors at the hospital started having John do more in the back of the hospital instead of at the front desk. He has a way with animals that is sometimes annoying to me. If there is an animal and John is in the room, the animal will be drawn to him like a magnet. That animal will completely ignore me and go to John. The doctors recognized his "Dog Whisperer" qualities and used it to their advantage. He could keep a dog calm, stop them from barking and crying and keep them in one place.
So when he called me at work, which he only did in the event of an emergency, my heartbeat was going a mile a minute. I thought something awful had happened. He told me that a woman who worked for the Pug Rescue had come in and was looking for someone to adopt a pug that had fallen under their wing. John explained that we did not have any money to get shots up to date and the doctors in the office agreed that they would give the dog all of the necessary care if he would just give the dog a home. The lady said she would stop by the house that evening with the dog and she would have to visit with me and see the house to be sure we could give the dog a good home. Okay. How could I let him turn that offer down? My excuse for not following through with my promise at that point was a valid one- I had no money to buy a dog. But now, with a completely free, pure-bred, girl pug I couldn't avoid the dog situation for even a few more hours.
When the dog arrived with the nice lady at our home, the dog seemed very sweet. She warned me that it was because of the medication she was under at the hospital, and she would be a little perkier in the morning. She said the dog had been living with bigger, more violent dogs and not getting along, so the family had agreed to put her up for adoption. We took her that night and she has been ours ever since. I was not thrilled. I was not embracing the adoption. I tried to, but only for a minute. The dog did come out of her medicated slumber and she had way more energy than I could have imagined.
Her previous owners named her Meatball. Strange. We couldn't figure out why they would name a little girl dog Meatball. We decided that there must have been a child involved in the naming process and they just happened to be eating meatballs for dinner that night and they named her this haphazardly. Well our dog could not be named Meatball- John would end up turning this dog into the World's Biggest Princess within minutes of the adoption and she would need a name that was suitable to live up to this title. He tossed it around for about 27 seconds and decided that she would be named after two of his favorite people: Mariah Carey and Marilyn Monroe. What a combination. Mimi Monroe became her name. She does not look like Marilyn and does not sound like Mariah.
Soon John had to make trips to the pet stores for dog treats, dog foods, dog bowls, dog bones, dog toys, dog beds, dog leashes, dog collars, and dog costumes. Every extra penny had to go to the dog and then even if we got her a collar or harness, he would see an even prettier one two days later that he had to have for her. I started getting annoyed at how much attention the dog gets and how little attention the depleted funds in our savings account got. I was not happy with the dog in bed- she snored and she wiggled around, keeping me awake all night. I didn't like her next to me and I didn't want to be her friend.
Well, now, a few years later, she has won me over. Believe it or not, even though John is her best buddy, she is also my friend. I cannot help but look at her and laugh sometimes, as she makes the funniest faces and has a personality that melts my heart. I am not the person that you could call "a dog person," but I do think of her in so many situations. Sometimes I think of her even before John does- and I will say something like, "We have to get home, I cannot let her sit there and wait to go outside anymore- we have to go now." And John will look at me in amazement, surprised that I thought of her before he did. She sleeps next to me now, usually under the covers. She sits in the kitchen with me while I cook dinner, anxiously awaiting a nibble, yes, but also very interested in being by my side. She does not like when John and I are in separate rooms, she will run back and forth until we finally end up in the same spot. She tries to give equal attention to both of us and being in separate rooms exhausts that attempt. We dress her up in pretty, little dresses, which she loves- she will often go into the closet to the drawers where her clothes are and choose an outfit to wear. Sometimes she won't fit into her clothes and this depresses her pretty, little face. She has yet to go on a diet though.
In fact, diet is far from her mind. She, like most dogs, is constantly scouting for more food and she just can't ever seem to get enough. This is probably one of the reasons she has become my friend. Whenever I take her outside in the evening, when we get back inside I have to give her a treat. She won't let me forget. She will jump around in circles, stand on her hind legs, do a back flip, pirouette and a curtsy. One day I didn't have anymore dog treats available and I panicked. I didn't know what to give her and thought, "well, she likes anything." I peered into the pantry and saw a new bag of Midnight Taco Doritos and tried giving her a couple of those crumbled up. She devoured them and now they are her favorite dog treat. Don't kid yourself. Like I said. She will eat anything- but now she knows the Doritos and for awhile it was our little secret. John has found us out and we can't always be giving her this junk food. But he is rarely here when it's time to take her out and she can have the ultimate dog treat- Midnight Taco Doritos. Her favorite food.
One should know that I am also allergic to dogs. I think this also wiped out the possibility of ever having a dog for a pet. One time I was at Johnny's and a dog hair flew into my eye and I ended up in the emergency room that night because my face had doubled in size from an allergic reaction. Any time I get a dog near me who likes to lick even my hand, my entire arm will break out in hives and won't go away easily. So I think it goes without saying that I was not fond of dogs and was never going to be a "dog person."
I promised John that we would get him a pug. He kept saying that he wanted a girl pug and that was all he wanted. Well, of course this was an expense that I could not see paying. I had a hard time keeping up with bills as it was and did not want to add another expense to our household, aside from the initial cost of buying a pure-bred pug. So in the meantime, John brought home pet after pet with minimal cost and upkeep. He brought home fish, cats, hamsters, guinea pigs, hermit crabs and played with ducks at the park down the street. He. Still. Wanted. A. Dog.
Shortly after moving to Vegas, John began working at an Animal Hospital as a receptionist and he became an amazingly dedicated employee. He became attached with animals that had to see the veterinarian regularly. He became friends with animals that were being boarded or held for several days after surgeries. When he came home from work, he would tell me stories about awful incidents that animals had been through that day and how he could help nurse them to become better. The doctors at the hospital started having John do more in the back of the hospital instead of at the front desk. He has a way with animals that is sometimes annoying to me. If there is an animal and John is in the room, the animal will be drawn to him like a magnet. That animal will completely ignore me and go to John. The doctors recognized his "Dog Whisperer" qualities and used it to their advantage. He could keep a dog calm, stop them from barking and crying and keep them in one place.
So when he called me at work, which he only did in the event of an emergency, my heartbeat was going a mile a minute. I thought something awful had happened. He told me that a woman who worked for the Pug Rescue had come in and was looking for someone to adopt a pug that had fallen under their wing. John explained that we did not have any money to get shots up to date and the doctors in the office agreed that they would give the dog all of the necessary care if he would just give the dog a home. The lady said she would stop by the house that evening with the dog and she would have to visit with me and see the house to be sure we could give the dog a good home. Okay. How could I let him turn that offer down? My excuse for not following through with my promise at that point was a valid one- I had no money to buy a dog. But now, with a completely free, pure-bred, girl pug I couldn't avoid the dog situation for even a few more hours.
When the dog arrived with the nice lady at our home, the dog seemed very sweet. She warned me that it was because of the medication she was under at the hospital, and she would be a little perkier in the morning. She said the dog had been living with bigger, more violent dogs and not getting along, so the family had agreed to put her up for adoption. We took her that night and she has been ours ever since. I was not thrilled. I was not embracing the adoption. I tried to, but only for a minute. The dog did come out of her medicated slumber and she had way more energy than I could have imagined.
Her previous owners named her Meatball. Strange. We couldn't figure out why they would name a little girl dog Meatball. We decided that there must have been a child involved in the naming process and they just happened to be eating meatballs for dinner that night and they named her this haphazardly. Well our dog could not be named Meatball- John would end up turning this dog into the World's Biggest Princess within minutes of the adoption and she would need a name that was suitable to live up to this title. He tossed it around for about 27 seconds and decided that she would be named after two of his favorite people: Mariah Carey and Marilyn Monroe. What a combination. Mimi Monroe became her name. She does not look like Marilyn and does not sound like Mariah.
Soon John had to make trips to the pet stores for dog treats, dog foods, dog bowls, dog bones, dog toys, dog beds, dog leashes, dog collars, and dog costumes. Every extra penny had to go to the dog and then even if we got her a collar or harness, he would see an even prettier one two days later that he had to have for her. I started getting annoyed at how much attention the dog gets and how little attention the depleted funds in our savings account got. I was not happy with the dog in bed- she snored and she wiggled around, keeping me awake all night. I didn't like her next to me and I didn't want to be her friend.
Well, now, a few years later, she has won me over. Believe it or not, even though John is her best buddy, she is also my friend. I cannot help but look at her and laugh sometimes, as she makes the funniest faces and has a personality that melts my heart. I am not the person that you could call "a dog person," but I do think of her in so many situations. Sometimes I think of her even before John does- and I will say something like, "We have to get home, I cannot let her sit there and wait to go outside anymore- we have to go now." And John will look at me in amazement, surprised that I thought of her before he did. She sleeps next to me now, usually under the covers. She sits in the kitchen with me while I cook dinner, anxiously awaiting a nibble, yes, but also very interested in being by my side. She does not like when John and I are in separate rooms, she will run back and forth until we finally end up in the same spot. She tries to give equal attention to both of us and being in separate rooms exhausts that attempt. We dress her up in pretty, little dresses, which she loves- she will often go into the closet to the drawers where her clothes are and choose an outfit to wear. Sometimes she won't fit into her clothes and this depresses her pretty, little face. She has yet to go on a diet though.
In fact, diet is far from her mind. She, like most dogs, is constantly scouting for more food and she just can't ever seem to get enough. This is probably one of the reasons she has become my friend. Whenever I take her outside in the evening, when we get back inside I have to give her a treat. She won't let me forget. She will jump around in circles, stand on her hind legs, do a back flip, pirouette and a curtsy. One day I didn't have anymore dog treats available and I panicked. I didn't know what to give her and thought, "well, she likes anything." I peered into the pantry and saw a new bag of Midnight Taco Doritos and tried giving her a couple of those crumbled up. She devoured them and now they are her favorite dog treat. Don't kid yourself. Like I said. She will eat anything- but now she knows the Doritos and for awhile it was our little secret. John has found us out and we can't always be giving her this junk food. But he is rarely here when it's time to take her out and she can have the ultimate dog treat- Midnight Taco Doritos. Her favorite food.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Strawberry Jam and Grandma Umbaugh
Each summer my Mom got the invite to my Great Grandma Umbaugh's house for the annual reunion. Mom's side of the family was very big and distant relatives would show up from all over the country. We would be in Pennsylvania, usually in July or August and there would be what seemed like a million people for a massive picnic.
Some years we didn't go. I remember my Mom always wanting to go and she would be very disappointed if the reunion fell on a weekend that she couldn't make it. Usually these reasons were a soccer tournament, a dance recital or something along those lines. If we were at home the weekend the reunion was happening, Mom always mentioned that she wished she could be there.
When we did go, Mom would say she hoped to see certain people this time and when she did, she would introduce me. I remember being introduced to kids that were my age and many families that were thrilled to see us there. Whenever we brought one of the baby siblings along, they were always the star of the show- everyone wanted to hold the baby. A few times, my Grandmother and a couple of my aunts and uncles would be there. We could follow their cars all the way there. At least there were a few familiar faces when we got there.
Seeing everyone there and realizing how many people we were related to was wonderful, but the best part was Grandma's strawberry jam. She used to make tons of it and can it so she could give us some to take with us. My Mom loved the jam even more than I did- I think it reminded her of when she was a kid at her Grandma's house. Sometimes we would barely have gotten to town from New York all the way to Pennsylvania and Mom would ask the question, "You do have strawberry jam, right?" and Grandma always replied, "Of course!" She would immediately open one of the mason jars and hand it over.
I had never had jam made with fresh fruit, I don't think, until Grandma let us try hers. I fell in love instantly- she used the perfect amount of fruit- and it was very, very sweet. Mom would take a few jars back home and it didn't last very long at all. Suddenly everyone in our house was eating toast and English muffins so we could have the strawberry jam.
I haven't had Grandma's strawberry jam for years now. I miss seeing her and I miss seeing how excited my Mom would be to taste her jam.
Some years we didn't go. I remember my Mom always wanting to go and she would be very disappointed if the reunion fell on a weekend that she couldn't make it. Usually these reasons were a soccer tournament, a dance recital or something along those lines. If we were at home the weekend the reunion was happening, Mom always mentioned that she wished she could be there.
When we did go, Mom would say she hoped to see certain people this time and when she did, she would introduce me. I remember being introduced to kids that were my age and many families that were thrilled to see us there. Whenever we brought one of the baby siblings along, they were always the star of the show- everyone wanted to hold the baby. A few times, my Grandmother and a couple of my aunts and uncles would be there. We could follow their cars all the way there. At least there were a few familiar faces when we got there.
Seeing everyone there and realizing how many people we were related to was wonderful, but the best part was Grandma's strawberry jam. She used to make tons of it and can it so she could give us some to take with us. My Mom loved the jam even more than I did- I think it reminded her of when she was a kid at her Grandma's house. Sometimes we would barely have gotten to town from New York all the way to Pennsylvania and Mom would ask the question, "You do have strawberry jam, right?" and Grandma always replied, "Of course!" She would immediately open one of the mason jars and hand it over.
I had never had jam made with fresh fruit, I don't think, until Grandma let us try hers. I fell in love instantly- she used the perfect amount of fruit- and it was very, very sweet. Mom would take a few jars back home and it didn't last very long at all. Suddenly everyone in our house was eating toast and English muffins so we could have the strawberry jam.
I haven't had Grandma's strawberry jam for years now. I miss seeing her and I miss seeing how excited my Mom would be to taste her jam.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
The Wishbone and Mom
When my Mom cooked Thanksgiving dinner, it was usually because we were not going back home to my Grandma's for dinner that year. The dinner table would be my parents, my three siblings and me. Even though we weren't hosting any guests, my Mom would pull out all of the stops anyway and it was a special day for my family.
Mom would wake up very early to get the turkey in the oven. We usually woke up to her drinking her coffee, already showered and ready for a fun day. My brother and sisters and I would plan which games we were going to play while watching Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Immediately following the parade, we would switch over to our Nintendo and inevitably Super Mario Bros. would become a marathon until Mom was ready to take a break from the kitchen.
Instead of lunch, Mom would serve a smorgasbord of appetizers like a vegetable tray, chips and dip, cheese and crackers, and she always had a bowl of nuts on hand to crack open. We would put all of the snacks on the table around a board game or cards. We played games like Uno and Phase Ten. She would occasionally get up to check on the bird, basting and removing the foil top.
After a beautiful dinner, it was time to clean up and I remember doing lots of the dishes. We would put the food away even though we knew that we would each take our turn pulling our favorites back out later in the evening to snack on. After dessert, of course. Mom would save packing up the turkey for last and she would be sure to save every last piece of turkey off of the bird. After Thanksgiving we would make delicious turkey sandwiches.
Once I began doing the dishes, suddenly my siblings would disappear and end up taking a nap on the sofa or in front of the TV in the living room. When we were done with all of the dishes, my Mom always surprised me. I would look up at the faucet and she had placed the wishbone there. She would tell me to let it dry out for a little bit and we would make a wish later. She always cleaned it perfectly and it would dry out over a couple of hours. Later that evening before heading to bed, Mom and I would go into the kitchen and make our wish as we broke the wishbone.
Recently, I was at John's mother's house and she had the wishbone sitting next to her faucet to dry out and I remembered how Mom used to do the same thing. I always thought that if I got the bigger end of the wishbone that my wish would come true. It's one of the little things my Mom did for me that made me feel special. Something I will always remember.
Mom would wake up very early to get the turkey in the oven. We usually woke up to her drinking her coffee, already showered and ready for a fun day. My brother and sisters and I would plan which games we were going to play while watching Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Immediately following the parade, we would switch over to our Nintendo and inevitably Super Mario Bros. would become a marathon until Mom was ready to take a break from the kitchen.
Instead of lunch, Mom would serve a smorgasbord of appetizers like a vegetable tray, chips and dip, cheese and crackers, and she always had a bowl of nuts on hand to crack open. We would put all of the snacks on the table around a board game or cards. We played games like Uno and Phase Ten. She would occasionally get up to check on the bird, basting and removing the foil top.
After a beautiful dinner, it was time to clean up and I remember doing lots of the dishes. We would put the food away even though we knew that we would each take our turn pulling our favorites back out later in the evening to snack on. After dessert, of course. Mom would save packing up the turkey for last and she would be sure to save every last piece of turkey off of the bird. After Thanksgiving we would make delicious turkey sandwiches.
Once I began doing the dishes, suddenly my siblings would disappear and end up taking a nap on the sofa or in front of the TV in the living room. When we were done with all of the dishes, my Mom always surprised me. I would look up at the faucet and she had placed the wishbone there. She would tell me to let it dry out for a little bit and we would make a wish later. She always cleaned it perfectly and it would dry out over a couple of hours. Later that evening before heading to bed, Mom and I would go into the kitchen and make our wish as we broke the wishbone.
Recently, I was at John's mother's house and she had the wishbone sitting next to her faucet to dry out and I remembered how Mom used to do the same thing. I always thought that if I got the bigger end of the wishbone that my wish would come true. It's one of the little things my Mom did for me that made me feel special. Something I will always remember.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Birthday Cake and John
A couple of years ago, Macy's announced that they would be producing and selling a huge, new line of housewares and domestic products by Martha Stewart. Prior to that announcement, I had avoided the Home Department as if it was the plague. As a sales manager, it always seemed to be a nightmare- countless customer service issues, the bridal department and an ordering system that seemed so archaic. I just couldn't take it for more than a quick recovery by folding the textiles and moving onto a department I was familiar with.
After the announcement, I begged to be a part of the department. Luckily, I got the opportunity in Las Vegas at the Fashion Show Mall. I went haywire and began saving all of the Martha propaganda as if I was the president of her fan club. We knew about Martha almost a year before it was introduced and we spent that time planning out how we could get all of her beautiful, giant fixturing into the existing shop. We took classes, trained associates and watched video broadcasts featuring Martha. It was a dream come true when they told me I had to attend a Martha Stewart seminar in California.
What may seem unfortunate to most was that the seminar fell on my birthday. To me, this was the greatest gift of all. I would have the opportunity to win free Martha merchandise before it even hit the shelves and see each and every one of her products. In the back of my mind, I thought perhaps she will show up to this Macy's celebration, but that never did happen. It still was a great birthday trip.
When I arrived home, exhausted from the long, all-day trip, John was not home. He had called me on my way to tell me to go directly to my friend Lisa's. Lisa had recently moved to Las Vegas from Albuquerque and was a longtime Macy's friend. She lived in the apartment building across from ours, in the same apartment complex.
I showed up to a beautiful chocolate cake and John, Lisa and her two boys sang "Happy Birthday" to me. After blowing out the candles, I enjoyed a delicious piece of cake and I think even two. I opened a few gifts- one of which was a gift certificate for a tattoo- which I still have not redeemed because of my indecisive nature. I read a few cards. And I thanked Lisa for the cake. Lisa told me that she did not bake the cake.
John had spent the day baking my cake and decorating it beautifully. It was a delicious and I will never forget- to know that he would take the time to do this for me- something he truly didn't really enjoy doing, meant the world to me.
After the announcement, I begged to be a part of the department. Luckily, I got the opportunity in Las Vegas at the Fashion Show Mall. I went haywire and began saving all of the Martha propaganda as if I was the president of her fan club. We knew about Martha almost a year before it was introduced and we spent that time planning out how we could get all of her beautiful, giant fixturing into the existing shop. We took classes, trained associates and watched video broadcasts featuring Martha. It was a dream come true when they told me I had to attend a Martha Stewart seminar in California.
What may seem unfortunate to most was that the seminar fell on my birthday. To me, this was the greatest gift of all. I would have the opportunity to win free Martha merchandise before it even hit the shelves and see each and every one of her products. In the back of my mind, I thought perhaps she will show up to this Macy's celebration, but that never did happen. It still was a great birthday trip.
When I arrived home, exhausted from the long, all-day trip, John was not home. He had called me on my way to tell me to go directly to my friend Lisa's. Lisa had recently moved to Las Vegas from Albuquerque and was a longtime Macy's friend. She lived in the apartment building across from ours, in the same apartment complex.
I showed up to a beautiful chocolate cake and John, Lisa and her two boys sang "Happy Birthday" to me. After blowing out the candles, I enjoyed a delicious piece of cake and I think even two. I opened a few gifts- one of which was a gift certificate for a tattoo- which I still have not redeemed because of my indecisive nature. I read a few cards. And I thanked Lisa for the cake. Lisa told me that she did not bake the cake.
John had spent the day baking my cake and decorating it beautifully. It was a delicious and I will never forget- to know that he would take the time to do this for me- something he truly didn't really enjoy doing, meant the world to me.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Connecticut Diners and Andy
When Andy and I lived in NYC, we would take many trips back to Connecticut. Andy had a mailbox there, by his parents house, and he would go to collect the mail and see his family.
The best trips were the ones where we went to see Andy's Grammy, who was always ready for adventure. She loved to go to fantastic restaurants nearby and wasn't at all put off by Andy's ability to eat dinner at 10:30pm. She would happily wait for us to arrive, always late and we would have a reservation somewhere 45 minutes away. She loved to try new things, as we had been accustomed to and she would always order an appetizer. When the appetizer arrived, it never failed, she would say, "I could eat this as my meal, there is enough here for dinner!" or something like that. But she would keep up and continue eating with us throughout the meal. We always had a doggie bag for Grammy to take home and that would be her lunch the next day.
Connecticut is a beautiful state and even though I lived there through high school, I did not get a chance to explore its character until this period in my life. I lived in the Northernmost part of the state and knew Massachusetts better than Connecticut. It wasn't until the mid-90's when I took a drive down the Merritt Parkway and appreciated its unique architecture, signing and history. It was the first time I had been to Westport and discovered what Martha Stewart had been talking about all of these years- its beautiful shops, farm stands and many buildings on the National Register of Historic Places.
I miss the Northeast sometimes, but I am still very grateful to be West of the Mississippi in the glorious Southwest. There are a few things I miss that we are unable to get here, though. One of those things is the old-fashioned diner. The diner that was open for 24 hours and has about 500 menu items, not including the dessert case you see when you walk into the lobby. The waitresses that have worked there since they were kids, but now they have great grandchildren. The place you could go (besides Denny's) at 7pm and if you wanted breakfast, they wouldn't say, "We stopped serving breakfast at 11am."
One of the many things I looked forward to on those trips aside from the dinners with Grammy, was our trips to the diners. We ate at lots of CT diners, mostly because by the time we made our way to CT, they were the only places still open. We ate at the Laurel Diner in Southbury, the Sherwood Diner in Westport and so many more. I was constantly fascinated that I could order a Greek Salad, Andy could place his order for an omelet and we could get a side of fries in approximately 10 minutes. Then we could get dessert- coconut cream pie, cheesecake or chocolate cake. Sometimes you had to skip dessert because there were too many choices and you couldn't decide. Reading the diner menu can take longer than reading the Sunday paper.
What we realized frequenting the diners is that many of the country's most talented cooks are hiding out in them. They can cook almost anything with the snap of a finger. Talent is having all of the fresh ingredients on hand, prepped and ready to go out to the table. We realized that the diner was something we took for granted when we were growing up and the diner is not something you can find anywhere in the country. A true, honest diner is hard to come by outside of the Northeast.
Although I have traveled quite a bit and have eaten some great meals at some top restaurants, the diners were among my favorites.
The best trips were the ones where we went to see Andy's Grammy, who was always ready for adventure. She loved to go to fantastic restaurants nearby and wasn't at all put off by Andy's ability to eat dinner at 10:30pm. She would happily wait for us to arrive, always late and we would have a reservation somewhere 45 minutes away. She loved to try new things, as we had been accustomed to and she would always order an appetizer. When the appetizer arrived, it never failed, she would say, "I could eat this as my meal, there is enough here for dinner!" or something like that. But she would keep up and continue eating with us throughout the meal. We always had a doggie bag for Grammy to take home and that would be her lunch the next day.
Connecticut is a beautiful state and even though I lived there through high school, I did not get a chance to explore its character until this period in my life. I lived in the Northernmost part of the state and knew Massachusetts better than Connecticut. It wasn't until the mid-90's when I took a drive down the Merritt Parkway and appreciated its unique architecture, signing and history. It was the first time I had been to Westport and discovered what Martha Stewart had been talking about all of these years- its beautiful shops, farm stands and many buildings on the National Register of Historic Places.
I miss the Northeast sometimes, but I am still very grateful to be West of the Mississippi in the glorious Southwest. There are a few things I miss that we are unable to get here, though. One of those things is the old-fashioned diner. The diner that was open for 24 hours and has about 500 menu items, not including the dessert case you see when you walk into the lobby. The waitresses that have worked there since they were kids, but now they have great grandchildren. The place you could go (besides Denny's) at 7pm and if you wanted breakfast, they wouldn't say, "We stopped serving breakfast at 11am."
One of the many things I looked forward to on those trips aside from the dinners with Grammy, was our trips to the diners. We ate at lots of CT diners, mostly because by the time we made our way to CT, they were the only places still open. We ate at the Laurel Diner in Southbury, the Sherwood Diner in Westport and so many more. I was constantly fascinated that I could order a Greek Salad, Andy could place his order for an omelet and we could get a side of fries in approximately 10 minutes. Then we could get dessert- coconut cream pie, cheesecake or chocolate cake. Sometimes you had to skip dessert because there were too many choices and you couldn't decide. Reading the diner menu can take longer than reading the Sunday paper.
What we realized frequenting the diners is that many of the country's most talented cooks are hiding out in them. They can cook almost anything with the snap of a finger. Talent is having all of the fresh ingredients on hand, prepped and ready to go out to the table. We realized that the diner was something we took for granted when we were growing up and the diner is not something you can find anywhere in the country. A true, honest diner is hard to come by outside of the Northeast.
Although I have traveled quite a bit and have eaten some great meals at some top restaurants, the diners were among my favorites.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Thanksgiving Pies and Grandpa
When my family was living in Hurley, NY up until I was in the sixth grade, we had Thanksgiving at my grandmother's in Kingston. She cooked a traditional Thanksgiving dinner and she always had a full house. She has a huge dining room table but not everyone could always fit at the table, so she would have a smaller table for the kids.
My Grandma amazed me because she could make large amounts of food and time them perfectly so that everything on the table was hot and ready to eat. She made her own gravy and I remember my Mom trying to watch how she did it so quickly because we always had trouble making our own gravy at home. Mom used to buy the jars of turkey gravy to have on hand for a backup emergency in case the gravy didn't pan out. I still do this too because I think it is a smart idea.
Grandma is pretty famous for her pies. She always made apple pie and pumpkin pie. Sometimes she would even make the pumpkin using fresh pumpkins from her garden. As I have mentioned before, I have tried this too and now it is something I will just leave to Grandma because fresh pumpkin and I just don't mesh well. The canned pumpkin is the only way to go in my kitchen. Grandma makes her own pie crust which is virtually unheard of these days and her crust has a touch of sweetness to it that makes it her own. Her apple pies are tart enough so the sugar doesn't take over and she always manages to bake them without timing the oven. She just knows when it is perfectly cooked and ready to start cooling.
Grandma always kept a can of whipped cream around for the pumpkin and then vanilla ice cream for the apple pie, which she served warm. Most of her guests would choose either pumpkin or apple and I would quietly make the request to have a slice of each. I would ask her when I arrived if that would be okay because I didn't want her to run out of pie, leaving someone else without dessert. I celebrated when anyone said they could not eat dessert because I knew that was a spare piece that I might be able to get my hands on.
I was raised with good manners, but sometimes the manners went out the window when it came to dessert. I think I first got the idea to have a slice of each pie when I saw my grandfather make that request. My grandmother happily obliged and she served him giant slices of each pie. She always served him first because I think she knew how long he had been anticipating dessert. Grandpa would have the biggest smile on his face when she set the dessert plates in front of him. Grandpa was a very talkative man, always had a funny joke to tell or a baseball game to discuss. When dessert was served, he was silent. I would watch him enjoy Grandma's baking and you could tell that it was his favorite. It was my favorite too.
One time my family was the first to arrive on Thanksgiving Day and we got to spend some time with Grandma in the kitchen before all of the other guests arrived. Grandpa would sit at the kitchen table and watch Grandma cook. She would be running back and forth to the refrigerator, down to the basement and into the dining room to set the table.
There was a point where Grandma needed to rest her pies on the kitchen table in front of me and my Grandpa. We stared at the pies and counted how many hours it was before we could even have a taste. He said, "Wouldn't you love to just dig into a piece of pie right now?" Of course I said, "Yes!" and he said that Grandma would never let him because it would spoil his dinner. I told him my Mom would tell me the same thing.
Grandma disappeared to the basement and my Grandpa told me to look in the fridge. I opened the fridge and behind so many other things, there was a pie tin with pumpkin pie. It was almost gone as Grandma must have baked this one at the beginning of the week for Grandpa. I quickly grabbed the tin and the can of whipped cream. I remember that when I put the whipped cream on the piece of pie, Grandpa coughed as if to cover up the sound the can makes so Grandma couldn't hear us. This made me laugh.
I grabbed two forks and we began eating the last slice right out of the tin. Then we heard Grandma's footsteps coming up the basement stairs. I took the tin and put it on the chair next to me. Whenever she stepped away to get the china out or set the silverware, we would dig back into the pie. We finished in record time and Grandma never knew that we had sneaked a piece of her pie. Having dessert before dinner was one of my favorite Thanksgiving memories and it is a secret that my grandfather and I had together. Until now, of course. I think of him every time I have dessert and I think how fun it would be to eat it before dinner again. If I ever have the chance to sneak dessert before Thanksgiving again, I will have to sneak two pieces- one for me and one for Grandpa.
My Grandma amazed me because she could make large amounts of food and time them perfectly so that everything on the table was hot and ready to eat. She made her own gravy and I remember my Mom trying to watch how she did it so quickly because we always had trouble making our own gravy at home. Mom used to buy the jars of turkey gravy to have on hand for a backup emergency in case the gravy didn't pan out. I still do this too because I think it is a smart idea.
Grandma is pretty famous for her pies. She always made apple pie and pumpkin pie. Sometimes she would even make the pumpkin using fresh pumpkins from her garden. As I have mentioned before, I have tried this too and now it is something I will just leave to Grandma because fresh pumpkin and I just don't mesh well. The canned pumpkin is the only way to go in my kitchen. Grandma makes her own pie crust which is virtually unheard of these days and her crust has a touch of sweetness to it that makes it her own. Her apple pies are tart enough so the sugar doesn't take over and she always manages to bake them without timing the oven. She just knows when it is perfectly cooked and ready to start cooling.
Grandma always kept a can of whipped cream around for the pumpkin and then vanilla ice cream for the apple pie, which she served warm. Most of her guests would choose either pumpkin or apple and I would quietly make the request to have a slice of each. I would ask her when I arrived if that would be okay because I didn't want her to run out of pie, leaving someone else without dessert. I celebrated when anyone said they could not eat dessert because I knew that was a spare piece that I might be able to get my hands on.
I was raised with good manners, but sometimes the manners went out the window when it came to dessert. I think I first got the idea to have a slice of each pie when I saw my grandfather make that request. My grandmother happily obliged and she served him giant slices of each pie. She always served him first because I think she knew how long he had been anticipating dessert. Grandpa would have the biggest smile on his face when she set the dessert plates in front of him. Grandpa was a very talkative man, always had a funny joke to tell or a baseball game to discuss. When dessert was served, he was silent. I would watch him enjoy Grandma's baking and you could tell that it was his favorite. It was my favorite too.
One time my family was the first to arrive on Thanksgiving Day and we got to spend some time with Grandma in the kitchen before all of the other guests arrived. Grandpa would sit at the kitchen table and watch Grandma cook. She would be running back and forth to the refrigerator, down to the basement and into the dining room to set the table.
There was a point where Grandma needed to rest her pies on the kitchen table in front of me and my Grandpa. We stared at the pies and counted how many hours it was before we could even have a taste. He said, "Wouldn't you love to just dig into a piece of pie right now?" Of course I said, "Yes!" and he said that Grandma would never let him because it would spoil his dinner. I told him my Mom would tell me the same thing.
Grandma disappeared to the basement and my Grandpa told me to look in the fridge. I opened the fridge and behind so many other things, there was a pie tin with pumpkin pie. It was almost gone as Grandma must have baked this one at the beginning of the week for Grandpa. I quickly grabbed the tin and the can of whipped cream. I remember that when I put the whipped cream on the piece of pie, Grandpa coughed as if to cover up the sound the can makes so Grandma couldn't hear us. This made me laugh.
I grabbed two forks and we began eating the last slice right out of the tin. Then we heard Grandma's footsteps coming up the basement stairs. I took the tin and put it on the chair next to me. Whenever she stepped away to get the china out or set the silverware, we would dig back into the pie. We finished in record time and Grandma never knew that we had sneaked a piece of her pie. Having dessert before dinner was one of my favorite Thanksgiving memories and it is a secret that my grandfather and I had together. Until now, of course. I think of him every time I have dessert and I think how fun it would be to eat it before dinner again. If I ever have the chance to sneak dessert before Thanksgiving again, I will have to sneak two pieces- one for me and one for Grandpa.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Breakfast and Aunt Terry
When I worked for Sam Goody I transferred to Pittsburgh for about a year and it was pretty decent for my retail career. By the time I left, I was Assistant Manager and became the Book Specialist at their concept store Media Play in Columbus, OH. It was a long road before I got there, though.
My first stint in Pittsburgh was a full time associate at their Forbes Avenue location, right on campus. It was the largest store in Pittsburgh and had two floors. I usually worked downstairs which housed things like singles, classical and show tunes. Shortly after, I was asked to interview for a Third Key position in the Greensburg store which was about an hour away. I jumped at the chance to move up in the company, but I didn't have a car. My roommate and friend, Simon was nice enough to let me borrow his brand new car and let me commute to Greensburg. I'm sure the raise I received was not enough to compensate me for the commute, but it was worth the shot to move up. I was also still working part time for JC Penney and this promotion allowed me to quit that job.
When I first went to the interview and met Store Manager, Kim, I knew that I had made the right choice. Kim and I quickly became fast friends. She knew that I moved there with only Simon as my friend and she took me into her life and her family. I met her cousin's family and her aunts. Kim was living with her Aunt Terry and I was invited to come over all of the time. I loved Aunt Terry. She was someone who said it like it was, called it what it was and never took a bullshit answer. She told great stories and made me laugh hysterically.
Kim would take me bowling with her cousin and their friends. Sometimes I would have a little too much to drink and she would let me stay with her at Aunt Terry's. Aunt Terry had only one condition when you stayed at her house- you could make yourself at home, but if you took a shower, do NOT use one of her shower scrunchies. That was the only condition. Totally something I could live with- I used a washcloth instead.
When Kim and I woke up in the morning, we would walk into the kitchen where Aunt Terry had coffee ready and would be smoking a cigarette at the kitchen table. I would be half asleep with my hair sticking up in random places and she would ask, "Hot or cold?" I would usually say cold and she would get out the Diet Coke for me. Kim would say hot and get a cup of coffee. We would sit there, sometimes switching off from hot and cold drinks and smoke a half pack of cigarettes. If we were hungry, Aunt Terry would fix us breakfast. She'd ask what we wanted and she would fix whatever we requested. She always had whatever we wanted on hand. Kim and I would gossip and reflect on Sam Goody turmoils and Aunt Terry knew all of the characters in each story as if she worked there herself. Sometimes Aunt Mare would come over to visit for a few minutes as she lived next door with Kim's Grandmother.
After fourth quarter at the Greensburg location, I was promoted to Assistant Store Manager at the Forbes Avenue location- the store that I began my Pittsburgh career in- and it was very close to home- I could even take the bus. I was very excited to move up and the District Manager, Teresa became a big fan of mine, promising to get me even higher, very quickly.
Once, I was trying to avoid everyone in my life and Aunt Terry totally understood. This was before I had a cell phone or computer and I didn't want anyone to be able to get a hold of me for a few days- I just needed to escape before I had a major anxiety attack and breakdown. Aunt Terry told me to stay with her. I did. She cooked for me- breakfast, lunch and dinner. Each morning, she asked me, "Hot or Cold?" and over a few cigarettes, she would debate with me whether I should stay another night or go home. It was a few days before I could face the world again and I could face it because of Aunt Terry. She was a great sounding board for me and always gave me great advice. I loved her as if she was my own Aunt.
I am so thankful that Kim was my friend and that she introduced me to Aunt Terry. Between the two of them and my roommate Simon, they kept me on track in Pittsburgh, a new city where I knew few people. Aunt Terry kept in touch with me for many, many years- she sent me a Christmas card every year until I moved so much, she probably couldn't keep up with my address. I miss her terribly and wish I could hear her ask me "Hot or Cold?" again. I am still in touch with Kim and am forever grateful for what she has taught me in the retail business. Ironically, one of my idols, one of the few Retail Goddesses I have worked with is no longer in retail and here I am, still going.
My first stint in Pittsburgh was a full time associate at their Forbes Avenue location, right on campus. It was the largest store in Pittsburgh and had two floors. I usually worked downstairs which housed things like singles, classical and show tunes. Shortly after, I was asked to interview for a Third Key position in the Greensburg store which was about an hour away. I jumped at the chance to move up in the company, but I didn't have a car. My roommate and friend, Simon was nice enough to let me borrow his brand new car and let me commute to Greensburg. I'm sure the raise I received was not enough to compensate me for the commute, but it was worth the shot to move up. I was also still working part time for JC Penney and this promotion allowed me to quit that job.
When I first went to the interview and met Store Manager, Kim, I knew that I had made the right choice. Kim and I quickly became fast friends. She knew that I moved there with only Simon as my friend and she took me into her life and her family. I met her cousin's family and her aunts. Kim was living with her Aunt Terry and I was invited to come over all of the time. I loved Aunt Terry. She was someone who said it like it was, called it what it was and never took a bullshit answer. She told great stories and made me laugh hysterically.
Kim would take me bowling with her cousin and their friends. Sometimes I would have a little too much to drink and she would let me stay with her at Aunt Terry's. Aunt Terry had only one condition when you stayed at her house- you could make yourself at home, but if you took a shower, do NOT use one of her shower scrunchies. That was the only condition. Totally something I could live with- I used a washcloth instead.
When Kim and I woke up in the morning, we would walk into the kitchen where Aunt Terry had coffee ready and would be smoking a cigarette at the kitchen table. I would be half asleep with my hair sticking up in random places and she would ask, "Hot or cold?" I would usually say cold and she would get out the Diet Coke for me. Kim would say hot and get a cup of coffee. We would sit there, sometimes switching off from hot and cold drinks and smoke a half pack of cigarettes. If we were hungry, Aunt Terry would fix us breakfast. She'd ask what we wanted and she would fix whatever we requested. She always had whatever we wanted on hand. Kim and I would gossip and reflect on Sam Goody turmoils and Aunt Terry knew all of the characters in each story as if she worked there herself. Sometimes Aunt Mare would come over to visit for a few minutes as she lived next door with Kim's Grandmother.
After fourth quarter at the Greensburg location, I was promoted to Assistant Store Manager at the Forbes Avenue location- the store that I began my Pittsburgh career in- and it was very close to home- I could even take the bus. I was very excited to move up and the District Manager, Teresa became a big fan of mine, promising to get me even higher, very quickly.
Once, I was trying to avoid everyone in my life and Aunt Terry totally understood. This was before I had a cell phone or computer and I didn't want anyone to be able to get a hold of me for a few days- I just needed to escape before I had a major anxiety attack and breakdown. Aunt Terry told me to stay with her. I did. She cooked for me- breakfast, lunch and dinner. Each morning, she asked me, "Hot or Cold?" and over a few cigarettes, she would debate with me whether I should stay another night or go home. It was a few days before I could face the world again and I could face it because of Aunt Terry. She was a great sounding board for me and always gave me great advice. I loved her as if she was my own Aunt.
I am so thankful that Kim was my friend and that she introduced me to Aunt Terry. Between the two of them and my roommate Simon, they kept me on track in Pittsburgh, a new city where I knew few people. Aunt Terry kept in touch with me for many, many years- she sent me a Christmas card every year until I moved so much, she probably couldn't keep up with my address. I miss her terribly and wish I could hear her ask me "Hot or Cold?" again. I am still in touch with Kim and am forever grateful for what she has taught me in the retail business. Ironically, one of my idols, one of the few Retail Goddesses I have worked with is no longer in retail and here I am, still going.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Chips & Salsa and David
When left to fend for myself in Connecticut, my senior year in high school, I became good friends with David, who worked at Caldor, but attended the other high school in town. We were fast friends and realized that we had a lot in common. We shared the same interests which consisted of Madonna, Belinda Carlisle and many one-hit wonders that we just had to have the entire CD of, even if it was the last of our money.
We spent many of our afternoons in my little studio apartment after school. I remember Saved By the Bell being on for a marathon almost everyday and we would watch with a family-size bag of tortilla chips and big jar of salsa. We drank Cherry Cokes and Pepsi out of the cans, which was usually the only thing in my refrigerator. It is amazing to me, now, how much time we would spend doing things like flipping through the book that comes in a new CD's jewel case. We would remember a lot of that information, too. For instance, we knew that Rick Nowels, listed inside the Belinda Carlisle "Runaway Horses" CD, also wrote songs for Stevie Nicks on her "Rock A Little" CD. One of the things I remember laughing hysterically about was how David loved songs that included parentheses in their titles. For instance Belinda Carlisle's (We Want) The Same Thing. There is something about the parentheses that is funny- the words are enough to sort of include, but not really good enough to be a part of the actual title.
David knew everything there was to know about Madonna. Keep in mind, this is before we had computers, Internet, Perez Hilton and blogs. We had to gather our information through magazines, newspapers, tabloids, Entertainment Tonight and fan clubs. I was a member of the Heaven On Earth fan club and got periodic newsletters about Belinda's upcoming tours, videos, and albums. I think it's incredibly cool that he is now good friends with Belinda Carlisle.
On the weekends, we took off to different malls in the area, some of them being an hour away because they had better music stores. We would pour through every CD in every store and never left empty-handed. If we had another dime in our pocket, we spent it at crazy stores like Chess King and Merry Go Round, two stores that no longer exist, most likely due to their fashion sense. I am not sure, but I think rayon was our fabric of choice. There was nothing like an entire outfit of rayon- black pants with a printed rayon shirt, in wild circus colors like purple, Kelly green and magenta. It was always a blast trying to iron rayon too and you did need to iron it perfectly without burning it. Too much heat in the dryer would ruin it- and I used to see those kids who did that but didn't care or notice that it was ruined. David and I were not one of those kids. We used to always point out that even though we worked at Caldor, we did not buy our clothes there. Thanks.
When Madonna's Like A Prayer was released, I remember leaving school at lunch and walking about ten miles to Strawberry Records to buy it. I remember that David and I collected all of the 12" dance mixes on vinyl after that. I also bought all of the Belinda Carlisle 12" mixes on vinyl. If they didn't have them in stock, I paid a special fee to special order them. David was the only friend I had that shared the same thrill of the hunt. Since we did not have Internet blogs or fan websites to tell us when new music was being released, we either watched MTV, listened to the radio or came across a new CD in the store. I remember being in a music store in the mall and discovering that Belinda Carlisle had a greatest hits CD that we had never seen. It had just been released and was called Her Greatest. I had 15 dollars left and it was enough to buy it and stop at Burger King on the way home.
We would sit and look through all of our purchases, try on each other's clothes and try to figure out how to get a box of chocolates to Belinda Carlisle for her birthday. We would plan imaginary trips to Japan to see Madonna's new tour. We would dream of the days that seemed so far away that I would be in NYC and David would come visit. Many of our dreams have come true and I am proud that we made them happen.
Don't kid yourself, I think I have great taste in music and prefer classic rock, but there are those moments that I can sink into the 80's and early 90's. There is something about music that means absolutely nothing, that is carefree and fun. I think everyone has a sweet tooth for these kinds of tunes.
I now blame David if anyone questions why I have music in my collection like Martika's Greatest Hits (including Martika's Kitchen, written by Prince) or God Bless the Go-Go's (and really, God bless them). Recently I saw that Expose was on tour and did not want to go unless Gioia was touring with them, one of the original members of Expose and not the phony, ballad-singing Expose everyone somehow remembers. Only David would know who Gioia is and the importance of her inclusion in the group.
David and I were the best of friends for quite awhile. We were great friends even after I moved away and then David moved away to school in Philadelphia. What I remember most is the cheap chips and salsa in the studio apartment in Enfield, with Screech on the TV screen. What a dumb show Saved By the Bell was, but it was a reason for us to get together and allowed for a long friendship.
I miss David very much and think of him every time I hear songs from that time in our lives.
We spent many of our afternoons in my little studio apartment after school. I remember Saved By the Bell being on for a marathon almost everyday and we would watch with a family-size bag of tortilla chips and big jar of salsa. We drank Cherry Cokes and Pepsi out of the cans, which was usually the only thing in my refrigerator. It is amazing to me, now, how much time we would spend doing things like flipping through the book that comes in a new CD's jewel case. We would remember a lot of that information, too. For instance, we knew that Rick Nowels, listed inside the Belinda Carlisle "Runaway Horses" CD, also wrote songs for Stevie Nicks on her "Rock A Little" CD. One of the things I remember laughing hysterically about was how David loved songs that included parentheses in their titles. For instance Belinda Carlisle's (We Want) The Same Thing. There is something about the parentheses that is funny- the words are enough to sort of include, but not really good enough to be a part of the actual title.
David knew everything there was to know about Madonna. Keep in mind, this is before we had computers, Internet, Perez Hilton and blogs. We had to gather our information through magazines, newspapers, tabloids, Entertainment Tonight and fan clubs. I was a member of the Heaven On Earth fan club and got periodic newsletters about Belinda's upcoming tours, videos, and albums. I think it's incredibly cool that he is now good friends with Belinda Carlisle.
On the weekends, we took off to different malls in the area, some of them being an hour away because they had better music stores. We would pour through every CD in every store and never left empty-handed. If we had another dime in our pocket, we spent it at crazy stores like Chess King and Merry Go Round, two stores that no longer exist, most likely due to their fashion sense. I am not sure, but I think rayon was our fabric of choice. There was nothing like an entire outfit of rayon- black pants with a printed rayon shirt, in wild circus colors like purple, Kelly green and magenta. It was always a blast trying to iron rayon too and you did need to iron it perfectly without burning it. Too much heat in the dryer would ruin it- and I used to see those kids who did that but didn't care or notice that it was ruined. David and I were not one of those kids. We used to always point out that even though we worked at Caldor, we did not buy our clothes there. Thanks.
When Madonna's Like A Prayer was released, I remember leaving school at lunch and walking about ten miles to Strawberry Records to buy it. I remember that David and I collected all of the 12" dance mixes on vinyl after that. I also bought all of the Belinda Carlisle 12" mixes on vinyl. If they didn't have them in stock, I paid a special fee to special order them. David was the only friend I had that shared the same thrill of the hunt. Since we did not have Internet blogs or fan websites to tell us when new music was being released, we either watched MTV, listened to the radio or came across a new CD in the store. I remember being in a music store in the mall and discovering that Belinda Carlisle had a greatest hits CD that we had never seen. It had just been released and was called Her Greatest. I had 15 dollars left and it was enough to buy it and stop at Burger King on the way home.
We would sit and look through all of our purchases, try on each other's clothes and try to figure out how to get a box of chocolates to Belinda Carlisle for her birthday. We would plan imaginary trips to Japan to see Madonna's new tour. We would dream of the days that seemed so far away that I would be in NYC and David would come visit. Many of our dreams have come true and I am proud that we made them happen.
Don't kid yourself, I think I have great taste in music and prefer classic rock, but there are those moments that I can sink into the 80's and early 90's. There is something about music that means absolutely nothing, that is carefree and fun. I think everyone has a sweet tooth for these kinds of tunes.
I now blame David if anyone questions why I have music in my collection like Martika's Greatest Hits (including Martika's Kitchen, written by Prince) or God Bless the Go-Go's (and really, God bless them). Recently I saw that Expose was on tour and did not want to go unless Gioia was touring with them, one of the original members of Expose and not the phony, ballad-singing Expose everyone somehow remembers. Only David would know who Gioia is and the importance of her inclusion in the group.
David and I were the best of friends for quite awhile. We were great friends even after I moved away and then David moved away to school in Philadelphia. What I remember most is the cheap chips and salsa in the studio apartment in Enfield, with Screech on the TV screen. What a dumb show Saved By the Bell was, but it was a reason for us to get together and allowed for a long friendship.
I miss David very much and think of him every time I hear songs from that time in our lives.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Macaroni & Cheese and Linda
When I was a very little kid, Mom and Dad would leave me at Jenny's house when they went to work. Jenny's mother, Linda would let us play together in the den while she got some housework done. We had a lot of things to play with- every game imaginable and tons of coloring books. We had things like the Spin Art machine and Spyrograph. Jenny and I were best friends and had the best time together. We shared a lot of the same interests and we were happy that we lived right next door to each other.
The best time at Linda's was lunchtime. I remember Linda sitting down to watch her favorite shows. Pretty sure they were soap operas and I never knew what was going on in them. There were some days when we had to be extra quiet because something important was going on with the soap. Usually she started lunch around noon. I remember her making us peanut butter & jelly and she used the new kind that had them both in one jar. My Mom used to laugh at Linda, because if there was a new food product out in the grocery, Linda couldn't help but try it- so if my Mom wanted to try it, she would ask Linda if she had used it already and get the low-down. Sure enough, Linda would have already purchased it, tried it and report to my Mom if it was worth buying. The peanut butter and jelly in the same jar was an innovative idea, but I don't know if they still make it. It used to mash up together and looked very unappetizing after a few uses. Plus, doesn't jelly have to be refrigerated and peanut butter stays at room temperature?
Linda also made really good grilled cheese sandwiches. She used lots of butter to get the bread golden brown. Extra cheese would pour out the sides of the crust. There were also ham and cheese sandwiches and I think she would use butter instead of mayonnaise. She would also make Spaghetti-o's to go with our sandwiches or Chef Boyardee Ravioli.
The meal I remember most was that Linda would make Kraft Macaroni & Cheese. Although this is a very basic meal from a box to prepare, Linda had a special touch with it- she always made the cheese sauce perfectly creamy- and not watery like other moms would make it. She would then add a touch of black pepper. Just enough to add a little kick to our lunch. I remember thinking how different this was for me and I enjoyed it.
I really liked the black pepper in my mac & cheese and I usually will add a touch now when I make my own at home. I miss my days at Linda's house and I miss all of the fun lunches she made for us.
The best time at Linda's was lunchtime. I remember Linda sitting down to watch her favorite shows. Pretty sure they were soap operas and I never knew what was going on in them. There were some days when we had to be extra quiet because something important was going on with the soap. Usually she started lunch around noon. I remember her making us peanut butter & jelly and she used the new kind that had them both in one jar. My Mom used to laugh at Linda, because if there was a new food product out in the grocery, Linda couldn't help but try it- so if my Mom wanted to try it, she would ask Linda if she had used it already and get the low-down. Sure enough, Linda would have already purchased it, tried it and report to my Mom if it was worth buying. The peanut butter and jelly in the same jar was an innovative idea, but I don't know if they still make it. It used to mash up together and looked very unappetizing after a few uses. Plus, doesn't jelly have to be refrigerated and peanut butter stays at room temperature?
Linda also made really good grilled cheese sandwiches. She used lots of butter to get the bread golden brown. Extra cheese would pour out the sides of the crust. There were also ham and cheese sandwiches and I think she would use butter instead of mayonnaise. She would also make Spaghetti-o's to go with our sandwiches or Chef Boyardee Ravioli.
The meal I remember most was that Linda would make Kraft Macaroni & Cheese. Although this is a very basic meal from a box to prepare, Linda had a special touch with it- she always made the cheese sauce perfectly creamy- and not watery like other moms would make it. She would then add a touch of black pepper. Just enough to add a little kick to our lunch. I remember thinking how different this was for me and I enjoyed it.
I really liked the black pepper in my mac & cheese and I usually will add a touch now when I make my own at home. I miss my days at Linda's house and I miss all of the fun lunches she made for us.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Broccoli Casserole and Mom
My Mom probably knows that she would be a fantastic cook if she was ever allowed to stray from her usual menu items. She has the creative panache and desire to cook things that are exotic, different and expensive. However, she was on a budget and we liked the budget foods. My family is not picky, we just like the things that we were brought up with and we don't like to stray from tradition. Mom would buy magazines and read about fabulous things to cook and bake. I would look at the pictures and ask if she could make them. Usually she turned me down because nobody else would have eaten those things and she didn't want to waste her weekly grocery budget on one entree that only the two of us would enjoy.
I remember when my Mom found the broccoli casserole recipe. I don't remember if it was in a magazine or on the back of a package. She wanted to try it for one of our many family outings where she needed to bring something for the pot luck. It could have been Thanksgiving at Grandma's or Easter at Aunt Ellen's. I don't know. What I know is that she should have made three broccoli casseroles because they all would have been eaten. Everyone immediately took to the casserole and began asking my Mom for the recipe. The broccoli casserole was the star of the dinner table. Quite a place for the usually undesirable vegetable.
Mom continued to make the broccoli casserole for the holidays every year. We would always inquire a week ahead of time to be sure the casserole was on the menu. Sure enough, she always made two batches- one to eat with our leftovers since the one on the table would go quickly. Over the years, she began to alter the recipe to make it her own. It is one of the many recipes my Mom stores in the back of her mind- no need to write it down on paper or a cute little recipe card. The ingredients are easy: broccoli, cream of mushroom soup, egg, cheese, crushed crackers and butter. However, as she began altering the recipe, she required a certain kind of cheese, a certain kind of cracker and then began adding secret little scoops of things here and there.
This recipe is difficult to duplicate. It will always taste okay, but it will never taste like Mom's. I, too, have begun making the casserole for holidays and it has become part of my repertoire. I don't have a recipe card either and I guess at the amounts of ingredients to add each time. It never comes out the same. What is difficult is getting the right consistency. Sometimes it will come out soupy, sometimes not creamy enough and sometimes the topping doesn't come out crunchy like Mom's.
It is also not an appetizing dish to see before it is baked. I remember one time in Santa Fe, my friend Jeff was visiting for Thanksgiving. He watched me dump the ingredients into a bowl and suddenly fell ill. He could not imagine eating something with all of those things mixed together. It turned out to be one of his favorite things, of course, as it always does to those who try it. I imagine it being a great way to get your kids to eat broccoli.
What would be nice is if I could make this recipe just like my Mom does and I am convinced that she is hiding a secret ingredient from me. She promises that she isn't. In the meantime, I will put the casserole together again this Thanksgiving and hope for the best. What will end up happening is that I will have a bite of broccoli and wish I was at my Mom's dinner table instead.
I remember when my Mom found the broccoli casserole recipe. I don't remember if it was in a magazine or on the back of a package. She wanted to try it for one of our many family outings where she needed to bring something for the pot luck. It could have been Thanksgiving at Grandma's or Easter at Aunt Ellen's. I don't know. What I know is that she should have made three broccoli casseroles because they all would have been eaten. Everyone immediately took to the casserole and began asking my Mom for the recipe. The broccoli casserole was the star of the dinner table. Quite a place for the usually undesirable vegetable.
Mom continued to make the broccoli casserole for the holidays every year. We would always inquire a week ahead of time to be sure the casserole was on the menu. Sure enough, she always made two batches- one to eat with our leftovers since the one on the table would go quickly. Over the years, she began to alter the recipe to make it her own. It is one of the many recipes my Mom stores in the back of her mind- no need to write it down on paper or a cute little recipe card. The ingredients are easy: broccoli, cream of mushroom soup, egg, cheese, crushed crackers and butter. However, as she began altering the recipe, she required a certain kind of cheese, a certain kind of cracker and then began adding secret little scoops of things here and there.
This recipe is difficult to duplicate. It will always taste okay, but it will never taste like Mom's. I, too, have begun making the casserole for holidays and it has become part of my repertoire. I don't have a recipe card either and I guess at the amounts of ingredients to add each time. It never comes out the same. What is difficult is getting the right consistency. Sometimes it will come out soupy, sometimes not creamy enough and sometimes the topping doesn't come out crunchy like Mom's.
It is also not an appetizing dish to see before it is baked. I remember one time in Santa Fe, my friend Jeff was visiting for Thanksgiving. He watched me dump the ingredients into a bowl and suddenly fell ill. He could not imagine eating something with all of those things mixed together. It turned out to be one of his favorite things, of course, as it always does to those who try it. I imagine it being a great way to get your kids to eat broccoli.
What would be nice is if I could make this recipe just like my Mom does and I am convinced that she is hiding a secret ingredient from me. She promises that she isn't. In the meantime, I will put the casserole together again this Thanksgiving and hope for the best. What will end up happening is that I will have a bite of broccoli and wish I was at my Mom's dinner table instead.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Banana Caramel Pie and Mama Bear
When I first began dating John, he lived at home with his parents in a big, beautiful house along the East Mountains in Albuquerque. I lived in Santa Fe, about an hour's drive from there, but was working at Macy's only a couple of miles from his house. After work, I would stop to pick him up and whisk him up to Santa Fe. Whenever I stopped, I pulled into the driveway, called him on his cell and he would emerge from the house, usually with someone peaking through the window to see who was picking him up. I hadn't met anyone else who resided in the house.
After dating John for about a year, I pulled up to the house, as usual and John came out and waved me to come inside. I walked into this giant house and his beautiful mother greeted me. We went out onto her deck and had a cigarette together. After talking with her for awhile, I knew that this woman was special and somehow, someday, we would become very close. But it wouldn't be anytime soon because shortly after that visit, I was transferred to Las Vegas and hopes of forming a relationship with John's Mom were a long shot.
Little did I know how often John's parents frequented Vegas. They poured into town a couple of times a year and stayed at New York, New York, my favorite casino. We would visit with them each night they were there as if we, too, were on vacation. There was a rock band there called Phoenix and the lead singer, Danielle was one of the best voices I have ever heard live. She sang Fleetwood Mac, Pat Benatar, Grace Slick, and Heart as if you were seeing all three, live, in-person. John's Mom and I would sip our drinks and smoke our cigarettes while listening. We bonded over the music, as each song Danielle sang had a special memory for both of us. We became fast friends.
Once we left Vegas onto Sacramento, I was disappointed that we would have little time with John's family, so we made arrangements to visit Albuquerque that summer. We stayed with his parents and spent little time with friends as we were so happy to see them. We cooked beautiful dinners, went to great restaurants and hung out by the pool at home. I began dreaming of returning to New Mexico someday, although I knew there was little hope for me to secure a promotion while simultaneously transferring to Albuquerque. The odds were probably astounding.
Well, my dream came true. When my boss contacted me and asked if I would be interested in returning to Albuquerque in a new position that I had been after for 5 years, I jumped at the chance and interviewed.
After a four year hiatus from New Mexico, John's parents offered us the opportunity of a lifetime: to stay with them while we looked for a new place, save some money and spend some time with them. When we arrived at their house after a long, dreadful trip from California, I felt as if I was home. Never in my life have I felt more comfortable. I felt as if they had made me a part of their family and that I had lived there forever. They made things so easy.
On our first night back, John's Mom had cooked an amazing meatloaf with mashed potatoes, which was at John's request. This was one of the many meals we would share together, as a family at the dining room table. One of many that John had remembered when he was growing up.
John's Mom and I had become even closer. In my new position, I was off of work by 3:30pm and she was off at 4pm. We would come home, mix a drink and smoke out on the deck while we planned what was for dinner. We did crosswords together on Sundays and then she would cook breakfast for everyone with her husband, Rick. We did word jumbles, we read our horoscopes, and we perused through Cooking Light magazine, which we both have subscriptions to.
When we were in Vegas and Sacramento, John would tell me about his Mom's Banana Caramel Pie. He could never really explain it in full detail, didn't know how to make it and just told me it's the best pie ever. Finally, I asked her to make the pie for me. She told me the story about how it was her aunt's recipe. Something that she always remembered her aunt making for her. It was a beautiful story. I couldn't wait to try the pie and even more so, couldn't wait to get the recipe so I could make it for John.
She told me that she needed to put pecans at the bottom of the pie shell, cover it with sliced bananas and then pour two cans of boiling condensed milk over the top and then chill. Serve with whipped cream. So imagine my face when I saw her boil a pot of water. I didn't understand. Nowhere in the recipe did it say you had to boil water.
What she did next made me laugh in disbelief and I thought she was crazy. She placed the two unopened cans of condensed milk directly into the boiling water. She let the cans boil for about an hour! When she opened the cans, it was a smooth, shiny, delicious caramel sauce that she poured into the pie shell. Sweet, but not too sugary. Who knew you could boil a can like that and get a pie filling?!
The pie was amazing and I have never tasted anything like it before. I haven't attempted to make it myself because I am lucky enough to live close by to John's Mom and she will make it whenever I ask.
As time went on, John's Mom nicknamed me "Kitty Bear." I don't know how or why she came up with the nickname, but she constantly refers to me as her little "Kitty Bear." She tells people "Kitty Bear cooked me dinner last night, so I have leftovers for lunch." Or "Kitty Bear took me to the Greek Festival on Saturday." She often asks John how her Kitty Bear is doing and in turn, I have asked how my Mama Bear is doing. So now, she is Mama Bear to me, as she always will be. I love my Mama Bear and her recipes. I look forward to eating her Banana Caramel Pie for years to come.
After dating John for about a year, I pulled up to the house, as usual and John came out and waved me to come inside. I walked into this giant house and his beautiful mother greeted me. We went out onto her deck and had a cigarette together. After talking with her for awhile, I knew that this woman was special and somehow, someday, we would become very close. But it wouldn't be anytime soon because shortly after that visit, I was transferred to Las Vegas and hopes of forming a relationship with John's Mom were a long shot.
Little did I know how often John's parents frequented Vegas. They poured into town a couple of times a year and stayed at New York, New York, my favorite casino. We would visit with them each night they were there as if we, too, were on vacation. There was a rock band there called Phoenix and the lead singer, Danielle was one of the best voices I have ever heard live. She sang Fleetwood Mac, Pat Benatar, Grace Slick, and Heart as if you were seeing all three, live, in-person. John's Mom and I would sip our drinks and smoke our cigarettes while listening. We bonded over the music, as each song Danielle sang had a special memory for both of us. We became fast friends.
Once we left Vegas onto Sacramento, I was disappointed that we would have little time with John's family, so we made arrangements to visit Albuquerque that summer. We stayed with his parents and spent little time with friends as we were so happy to see them. We cooked beautiful dinners, went to great restaurants and hung out by the pool at home. I began dreaming of returning to New Mexico someday, although I knew there was little hope for me to secure a promotion while simultaneously transferring to Albuquerque. The odds were probably astounding.
Well, my dream came true. When my boss contacted me and asked if I would be interested in returning to Albuquerque in a new position that I had been after for 5 years, I jumped at the chance and interviewed.
After a four year hiatus from New Mexico, John's parents offered us the opportunity of a lifetime: to stay with them while we looked for a new place, save some money and spend some time with them. When we arrived at their house after a long, dreadful trip from California, I felt as if I was home. Never in my life have I felt more comfortable. I felt as if they had made me a part of their family and that I had lived there forever. They made things so easy.
On our first night back, John's Mom had cooked an amazing meatloaf with mashed potatoes, which was at John's request. This was one of the many meals we would share together, as a family at the dining room table. One of many that John had remembered when he was growing up.
John's Mom and I had become even closer. In my new position, I was off of work by 3:30pm and she was off at 4pm. We would come home, mix a drink and smoke out on the deck while we planned what was for dinner. We did crosswords together on Sundays and then she would cook breakfast for everyone with her husband, Rick. We did word jumbles, we read our horoscopes, and we perused through Cooking Light magazine, which we both have subscriptions to.
When we were in Vegas and Sacramento, John would tell me about his Mom's Banana Caramel Pie. He could never really explain it in full detail, didn't know how to make it and just told me it's the best pie ever. Finally, I asked her to make the pie for me. She told me the story about how it was her aunt's recipe. Something that she always remembered her aunt making for her. It was a beautiful story. I couldn't wait to try the pie and even more so, couldn't wait to get the recipe so I could make it for John.
She told me that she needed to put pecans at the bottom of the pie shell, cover it with sliced bananas and then pour two cans of boiling condensed milk over the top and then chill. Serve with whipped cream. So imagine my face when I saw her boil a pot of water. I didn't understand. Nowhere in the recipe did it say you had to boil water.
What she did next made me laugh in disbelief and I thought she was crazy. She placed the two unopened cans of condensed milk directly into the boiling water. She let the cans boil for about an hour! When she opened the cans, it was a smooth, shiny, delicious caramel sauce that she poured into the pie shell. Sweet, but not too sugary. Who knew you could boil a can like that and get a pie filling?!
The pie was amazing and I have never tasted anything like it before. I haven't attempted to make it myself because I am lucky enough to live close by to John's Mom and she will make it whenever I ask.
As time went on, John's Mom nicknamed me "Kitty Bear." I don't know how or why she came up with the nickname, but she constantly refers to me as her little "Kitty Bear." She tells people "Kitty Bear cooked me dinner last night, so I have leftovers for lunch." Or "Kitty Bear took me to the Greek Festival on Saturday." She often asks John how her Kitty Bear is doing and in turn, I have asked how my Mama Bear is doing. So now, she is Mama Bear to me, as she always will be. I love my Mama Bear and her recipes. I look forward to eating her Banana Caramel Pie for years to come.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Chock Full O Nuts and Aunt Christine
When I was growing up, I used to have sleepovers with all of my cousins. When I stayed at TJ & Michele's, it was usually a Friday or Saturday night. If it was a Saturday night, my Aunt Christine would wake me up early and get me dressed up for church. Aunt Christine is also my Godmother, so it always seemed appropriate to attend church with her and my Godfather, Uncle Terry. I remember she used to ask how to comb my hair in the morning and I would ask her to comb it just like she did my older cousin, TJ's. And she did,so I always felt like I was just as cool as he was.
I didn't stay there too often when I was young, but not too long ago, my Aunt Christine heard I was planning to visit and she called me. She asked if I would stay with her and my Uncle Terry. They had redecorated a room of theirs, specifically for me. I was flattered and I agreed to stay. I was surprised and delighted to see the room and was happy that I could stay with them again.
Over the years, my Aunt and I have created a long list of things that we have in common. I used to keep the list on my computer, but after my computer died, we have resorted to just remembering all of the wonderful things we have in common. Some of them are silly and some of them are truly amazing. There are so many things on our list, I hope I never forget them.
One of the things we have in common is that we both smoke. I don't think either of us is particularly proud to be addicted to nicotine, but we find solace when we are together and we are the two smokers, and when my Uncle Terry is around, it is three. One time while on my Grandma's porch, we were smoking, and she pointed out the sombrero ashtray that my grandmother has had for years. She said that she always wanted that ashtray and I told her that I always thought that too! Later on, my Grandma decided to give the ashtray to Aunt Christine and then Aunt Christine gave it to me. I still have that ashtray and it has traveled all over the United States. In fact, I never pack the beautiful sombrero in my belongings when I move. I always wrap it carefully and take it with me in the car. It is the first thing I unpack whenever I move into a new apartment. It is a comfort for me and it reminds me of home.
When I stayed with Aunt Christine and Uncle Terry this last time, she took me to a wonderful Chinese take-out restaurant and we talked about morning coffee. On the way home, she asked me what kind of coffee I drink. I told her that I liked most coffee and usually just buy whatever is on sale. She told me she only drinks Chock Full O Nuts coffee. I remembered that from when I was a kid. She used to sing the song to me on Sunday mornings while combing my hair. And so we sang the song together on the way home that night.
The next morning, when I woke up, she had the coffee ready and she and my uncle were sipping their coffee at the kitchen table. They saved a seat for me, in between them and passed me the ashtray. Each morning I was there, we sang the Chock Full O Nuts song together as we drank our coffee, smoked our cigarettes, and read the morning paper. If you have not heard the song before, the lyrics sound like this:
Chock Full O Nuts is that heavenly coffee. Heavenly coffee... Heavenly coffee... Chock Full O Nuts is that heavenly coffee. Better coffee a millionaire's money can't buy!
I will always sing the song whenever I see the coffee in the grocery and I always hope it is on sale so I can buy some. Each time I have the coffee, I think to myself how heavenly it truly is... I think of my Aunt Christine almost every day. First thing, every morning, I bring my coffee to my patio and use our ashtray that we used to use together. I hope we get to use the ashtray together again, soon.
I didn't stay there too often when I was young, but not too long ago, my Aunt Christine heard I was planning to visit and she called me. She asked if I would stay with her and my Uncle Terry. They had redecorated a room of theirs, specifically for me. I was flattered and I agreed to stay. I was surprised and delighted to see the room and was happy that I could stay with them again.
Over the years, my Aunt and I have created a long list of things that we have in common. I used to keep the list on my computer, but after my computer died, we have resorted to just remembering all of the wonderful things we have in common. Some of them are silly and some of them are truly amazing. There are so many things on our list, I hope I never forget them.
One of the things we have in common is that we both smoke. I don't think either of us is particularly proud to be addicted to nicotine, but we find solace when we are together and we are the two smokers, and when my Uncle Terry is around, it is three. One time while on my Grandma's porch, we were smoking, and she pointed out the sombrero ashtray that my grandmother has had for years. She said that she always wanted that ashtray and I told her that I always thought that too! Later on, my Grandma decided to give the ashtray to Aunt Christine and then Aunt Christine gave it to me. I still have that ashtray and it has traveled all over the United States. In fact, I never pack the beautiful sombrero in my belongings when I move. I always wrap it carefully and take it with me in the car. It is the first thing I unpack whenever I move into a new apartment. It is a comfort for me and it reminds me of home.
When I stayed with Aunt Christine and Uncle Terry this last time, she took me to a wonderful Chinese take-out restaurant and we talked about morning coffee. On the way home, she asked me what kind of coffee I drink. I told her that I liked most coffee and usually just buy whatever is on sale. She told me she only drinks Chock Full O Nuts coffee. I remembered that from when I was a kid. She used to sing the song to me on Sunday mornings while combing my hair. And so we sang the song together on the way home that night.
The next morning, when I woke up, she had the coffee ready and she and my uncle were sipping their coffee at the kitchen table. They saved a seat for me, in between them and passed me the ashtray. Each morning I was there, we sang the Chock Full O Nuts song together as we drank our coffee, smoked our cigarettes, and read the morning paper. If you have not heard the song before, the lyrics sound like this:
Chock Full O Nuts is that heavenly coffee. Heavenly coffee... Heavenly coffee... Chock Full O Nuts is that heavenly coffee. Better coffee a millionaire's money can't buy!
I will always sing the song whenever I see the coffee in the grocery and I always hope it is on sale so I can buy some. Each time I have the coffee, I think to myself how heavenly it truly is... I think of my Aunt Christine almost every day. First thing, every morning, I bring my coffee to my patio and use our ashtray that we used to use together. I hope we get to use the ashtray together again, soon.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Sunday Breakfast and Dad
My Mom was the one that did the grocery shopping and cooking in our house. She planned her menus weekly and usually if you asked my Mom what was for dinner, she would know the menu a few days out, without blinking an eye. Mom rarely swayed from the normal, basic meals she was famous for in our family. Not because that is what my Mom wanted to cook, but mostly because that is what we wanted her to cook. We all had our favorite and that is what we wanted to eat. I remember my Mom reading magazines and watching TV shows about new things to cook and wanting to try different things. When she did try different things, they were always delicious, but inevitably, there were a couple of people who would not like it, and then my Mom was forced to whip up some mac and cheese or chicken noodle soup to accommodate them. It was always much easier for my Mom to just stick to the basic, square meals and without a doubt we would all finish what was on our plates.
The one meal my Mom never needed to worry about was Sunday Breakfast. This is the meal my father claimed responsibility for. We were not a church-going family, but Sundays remained very important in our household. It was the one day where we were all home together, at least in the morning. Mom and Dad got the morning paper after sleeping in a little bit. Mom would make the coffee and they would sit on the sofa and read the paper in their pajamas. We knew that this was their time alone and we usually offered them peace and quiet. Every now and then, Mom would yell something out to us in the other room. Something that she read in the paper. "Kaline, did you hear that the acceptance rate for colleges has gone down? It went from 88% to 86% in only one year! Better get those grades up!" or "Kenon, did you see that school your team played against last week has won the tournament?" Half the time, we couldn't hear her, but responded anyway. My Mom is famous for quoting things she read in the paper. One of her bumper stickers should read, "That's what they say." We never really know who "they" are and quite frankly, neither does my mother, but the information she provides is always accurate. Whenever she gave us a piece of random advice, we would question her and she would say, "That's what they say!"
Dad would let Mom finish reading the paper and he would relocate to the kitchen. He started by washing and slicing potatoes. His potatoes cannot be copied, he is the only one that can make them taste this way, with the perfect combo of spice, salt and pepper. They are never too greasy and never over-cooked, but always with enough brown edges. The potatoes were cut with a knife, but look as if they were done on a mandolin, they are so thin. I know he puts Tabasco in the potatoes, but there must be something more that he hasn't shared with us. He would then cook sausage or bacon, sometimes both. He cooks the meats in the same pan as the potatoes and then this flavor, too, would permeate the potatoes.
He always made fried eggs and toast. At the time in my life, I did not really mind eating a fried egg, but preferred scrambled. He knew this after awhile and he would always be sure that he scrambled a few eggs for me. Everyone had their little orders with their eggs- some wanted to dunk the yolk, some wanted the yolk broken and my father was completely in control of what was happening in the kitchen. He had each segment of the meal perfectly timed and everything arrived to the table hot.
There were rarely leftovers on Sundays, except for a few stray potatoes still sitting in the pan. They would sit there long after breakfast was over and everyone would be showering and getting ready for their day. I would sneak in and eat the remaining potatoes, cold. Then I would wash the pan out for him as if I was doing a favor. I knew that someone else was probably eyeing the potatoes and it was doing nobody a favor, but the guilt trip from eating the leftovers was somehow made up by washing the pan.
The great thing about Sundays, was not only that my Dad did the cooking for breakfast, but that we all ate together at the table. Sometimes my parents would eat together on the sofa and us kids would sit at the table to eat. We all ate at the same time, under one roof and it truly kept our family together. My parents always saw the importance of eating meals together and it is something I am very thankful for, something I will always cherish and carry on in my own life. My Dad still cooks breakfast on Sundays, I think, and even if we aren't all there, I can guarantee you, each of my siblings and their significant others can tell you that a Sunday breakfast doesn't go by without a thought of my Dad's perfect potatoes.
The one meal my Mom never needed to worry about was Sunday Breakfast. This is the meal my father claimed responsibility for. We were not a church-going family, but Sundays remained very important in our household. It was the one day where we were all home together, at least in the morning. Mom and Dad got the morning paper after sleeping in a little bit. Mom would make the coffee and they would sit on the sofa and read the paper in their pajamas. We knew that this was their time alone and we usually offered them peace and quiet. Every now and then, Mom would yell something out to us in the other room. Something that she read in the paper. "Kaline, did you hear that the acceptance rate for colleges has gone down? It went from 88% to 86% in only one year! Better get those grades up!" or "Kenon, did you see that school your team played against last week has won the tournament?" Half the time, we couldn't hear her, but responded anyway. My Mom is famous for quoting things she read in the paper. One of her bumper stickers should read, "That's what they say." We never really know who "they" are and quite frankly, neither does my mother, but the information she provides is always accurate. Whenever she gave us a piece of random advice, we would question her and she would say, "That's what they say!"
Dad would let Mom finish reading the paper and he would relocate to the kitchen. He started by washing and slicing potatoes. His potatoes cannot be copied, he is the only one that can make them taste this way, with the perfect combo of spice, salt and pepper. They are never too greasy and never over-cooked, but always with enough brown edges. The potatoes were cut with a knife, but look as if they were done on a mandolin, they are so thin. I know he puts Tabasco in the potatoes, but there must be something more that he hasn't shared with us. He would then cook sausage or bacon, sometimes both. He cooks the meats in the same pan as the potatoes and then this flavor, too, would permeate the potatoes.
He always made fried eggs and toast. At the time in my life, I did not really mind eating a fried egg, but preferred scrambled. He knew this after awhile and he would always be sure that he scrambled a few eggs for me. Everyone had their little orders with their eggs- some wanted to dunk the yolk, some wanted the yolk broken and my father was completely in control of what was happening in the kitchen. He had each segment of the meal perfectly timed and everything arrived to the table hot.
There were rarely leftovers on Sundays, except for a few stray potatoes still sitting in the pan. They would sit there long after breakfast was over and everyone would be showering and getting ready for their day. I would sneak in and eat the remaining potatoes, cold. Then I would wash the pan out for him as if I was doing a favor. I knew that someone else was probably eyeing the potatoes and it was doing nobody a favor, but the guilt trip from eating the leftovers was somehow made up by washing the pan.
The great thing about Sundays, was not only that my Dad did the cooking for breakfast, but that we all ate together at the table. Sometimes my parents would eat together on the sofa and us kids would sit at the table to eat. We all ate at the same time, under one roof and it truly kept our family together. My parents always saw the importance of eating meals together and it is something I am very thankful for, something I will always cherish and carry on in my own life. My Dad still cooks breakfast on Sundays, I think, and even if we aren't all there, I can guarantee you, each of my siblings and their significant others can tell you that a Sunday breakfast doesn't go by without a thought of my Dad's perfect potatoes.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Chocolate Cake and Katy
I was sitting on the wall in front of Loeb Hall, my dorm at Parsons. I always sat on the wall. I used to sit there alone. I like to think that I have changed a lot as far as how social I am, but when I see the patterns I create in life, I realize that I haven't changed much. I am not a very social person unless forced to be a part of the group. I often take my breaks at work alone and I took my breaks at school alone, too. The wall was a place of reflection and if you couldn't find me in my room with the door closed, you could find me there. After class, I would take my belongings up to the room and come back down to sit on the wall. It was nice in a way because you could see all of your friends on the way home, on the way out and they would recount all of the fabulous things happening to them.
In the first couple of days at Parsons, I had already developed the habit for sitting on the wall. Most art students are outgoing and I considered myself boring because I was the Marketing major and not someone who was majoring in Photography or Design. They would come up to me to introduce themselves and I made a lot of fast friends that way. There were also the groups that completely ignored me and I thought this was because of the way I was dressed. I wore Levi jeans everyday- usually faded black and a t-shirt that was so old and plain. It's not that I didn't have fashion sense, but I just didn't have any money. I wore the same few outfits everyday and figured this was plain and I could at least blend into the crowd. Probably not the best dress code at a school known for Fashion Design. There was the international group of students, mostly made up of beautiful Japanese girls that I called the "Moschino Girls," because they were dressed head to toe in Moschino. The belt they had on cost more than my entire wardrobe. They didn't speak to me and I knew why.
Day Three at Parsons was the day I would meet my best friend. There was a crowd of students that had already been living at the dorm that summer. They had started their Foundation work which was the work you had to complete before entering a degree program. They created their portfolios, lived in New York and went to Parsons a few months already, had completely acclimated themselves and were true city people by the time I met them. I met Brian a few days earlier because he was my roommate. He was one of these people, taking the subway and hitting up the street food as if he had lived in New York his entire life. This crowd was hanging out by the wall and I felt comfortable enough to hang off to the side of them because my very friendly roommate was part of the group- this gave me social permission. Soon they began introducing themselves and there were a few fun people and I thought, "This is my group, I'm going to make them my group."
After about a half hour of hanging out and talking, a girl with bright red hair and incredible shoes walked up to the crowd and everyone stopped and talked with her. A beautiful complexion and bright, twinkling brown eyes, Katy had the face that could light up any room. There was a glow from her face, from her smile and she had the sweetest Southern accent. The part of the story that is probably not true, is that I picture her with a big hat. Not a bonnet. Not an ugly hat, but a pretty, big, sun hat that only she could pull off. Julia Roberts in Steel Magnolias. Katy is a little girl, but her personality so big, I didn't remember her being so tiny. Katy is the type that can see something in a fashion magazine, make it her own with a few vintage pieces and pull it off walking down a city street. She is brave and courageous with her choices and she always, always makes them work. She is classy and she appreciates color. Something from the past, something new and a splash of color can work with the right shoes. We were instant friends. I was drawn to her even though she had an established group of friends. There was something that I could always count on Katy for: chocolate cake.
On St. Mark's Place in the East Village, there was a great cafe that Katy introduced me to called Yaffa Cafe. Yaffa probably wouldn't show up in any restaurant columns or get five stars in the Michelin guide, if it was ever even listed. They don't care if they are listed and it is not why they are in business. The cafe has a rare find in the East Village and that is an outdoor patio filled with greenery. The inside and outside is filled with a kitschy vintage that only I could appreciate. You could find plastic fruit covered in dust, Elvis wallpaper, plastic flowers and white Christmas lights. It seemed like every table and every wall was completely different. I could sit and stare for hours, wondering who put this together and how I could have them decorate my house. They would play a random mix of music like Bob Dylan, Heart and then Madonna.
The first time I went there was with Katy and my roommate Brian, along with their friends. I didn't have much money and while they all ordered some food, I ordered the Chocolate Cake and iced tea. The food at Yaffa is nothing to write home about, but it sure hit the spot and was easy on the wallet. It is some of the best cake I have ever had. I don't know if it is because I am such a chocoholic and hadn't had anything like this in days or if it truly was that delicious. I remember it being incredibly dense, richly filled with bittersweet chocolate and topped with enough ganache and chocolate shavings. Chocolate overload. I also remember it being very cold from the fridge. I wondered if they even made the cake or ordered it from a frozen food company.
After I ate this cake, I was hooked. I wanted to go to Yaffa almost everyday. All of the fantastic restaurants and foods in Manhattan, and I wanted the cake from Yaffa. I used to go around the room begging people to come with me and everyone got so sick of me asking. Sometimes, they would say they didn't want to go with me before I would even ask. Katy would always agree. I could just wait for Katy to come home and she would go with me. She never turned me down. And funny thing is, she really doesn't care much for sweets and will often order an appetizer instead of dessert. But she saw the urgency to get chocolate into me and would make the trek to St. Mark's. She would usually order just the side salad, which had a carrot-ginger dressing on top of a green mesclun mix. Nothing fancy, but the dressing would hit the spot. They also had an inexpensive hummus which came with plenty of pita pieces and a little side cup of Kalamata olives. Random menu, but definitely appealing to anyone after hitting the bars. Yaffa was open 24 hours which was another reason to keep it on the list. There were many times when I had a fight with my boyfriend or stayed up until 5am working on a painting, drawing or color/design project. Katy would stay up working on similar projects, usually bigger and more difficult than mine and she would know when it was time to hit Yaffa. It was also the right place to stop after a night at Danceteria, Club USA, or Webster Hall. If we could handle another block or two, we would walk after dancing the night away and Katy would get her salad and I would get the chocolate cake.
It has been a long time now that we have been friends: 18 years and counting. We have been through so much together- through so many happy meals and sad meals. We are beyond the friendship stage to the point where we might as well be brother and sister. We call each other "Doll" and I don't know when that started, but many years ago. She is a doll and I love her for taking me to Yaffa countless times in times of need. We always say we are the same person. I know this is true when I have a day where I must go after some chocolate cake to make things better. Sure enough I can call Katy and she will be having the exact same day. I am Gemini and I need a twin. Katy is my twin.
In the first couple of days at Parsons, I had already developed the habit for sitting on the wall. Most art students are outgoing and I considered myself boring because I was the Marketing major and not someone who was majoring in Photography or Design. They would come up to me to introduce themselves and I made a lot of fast friends that way. There were also the groups that completely ignored me and I thought this was because of the way I was dressed. I wore Levi jeans everyday- usually faded black and a t-shirt that was so old and plain. It's not that I didn't have fashion sense, but I just didn't have any money. I wore the same few outfits everyday and figured this was plain and I could at least blend into the crowd. Probably not the best dress code at a school known for Fashion Design. There was the international group of students, mostly made up of beautiful Japanese girls that I called the "Moschino Girls," because they were dressed head to toe in Moschino. The belt they had on cost more than my entire wardrobe. They didn't speak to me and I knew why.
Day Three at Parsons was the day I would meet my best friend. There was a crowd of students that had already been living at the dorm that summer. They had started their Foundation work which was the work you had to complete before entering a degree program. They created their portfolios, lived in New York and went to Parsons a few months already, had completely acclimated themselves and were true city people by the time I met them. I met Brian a few days earlier because he was my roommate. He was one of these people, taking the subway and hitting up the street food as if he had lived in New York his entire life. This crowd was hanging out by the wall and I felt comfortable enough to hang off to the side of them because my very friendly roommate was part of the group- this gave me social permission. Soon they began introducing themselves and there were a few fun people and I thought, "This is my group, I'm going to make them my group."
After about a half hour of hanging out and talking, a girl with bright red hair and incredible shoes walked up to the crowd and everyone stopped and talked with her. A beautiful complexion and bright, twinkling brown eyes, Katy had the face that could light up any room. There was a glow from her face, from her smile and she had the sweetest Southern accent. The part of the story that is probably not true, is that I picture her with a big hat. Not a bonnet. Not an ugly hat, but a pretty, big, sun hat that only she could pull off. Julia Roberts in Steel Magnolias. Katy is a little girl, but her personality so big, I didn't remember her being so tiny. Katy is the type that can see something in a fashion magazine, make it her own with a few vintage pieces and pull it off walking down a city street. She is brave and courageous with her choices and she always, always makes them work. She is classy and she appreciates color. Something from the past, something new and a splash of color can work with the right shoes. We were instant friends. I was drawn to her even though she had an established group of friends. There was something that I could always count on Katy for: chocolate cake.
On St. Mark's Place in the East Village, there was a great cafe that Katy introduced me to called Yaffa Cafe. Yaffa probably wouldn't show up in any restaurant columns or get five stars in the Michelin guide, if it was ever even listed. They don't care if they are listed and it is not why they are in business. The cafe has a rare find in the East Village and that is an outdoor patio filled with greenery. The inside and outside is filled with a kitschy vintage that only I could appreciate. You could find plastic fruit covered in dust, Elvis wallpaper, plastic flowers and white Christmas lights. It seemed like every table and every wall was completely different. I could sit and stare for hours, wondering who put this together and how I could have them decorate my house. They would play a random mix of music like Bob Dylan, Heart and then Madonna.
The first time I went there was with Katy and my roommate Brian, along with their friends. I didn't have much money and while they all ordered some food, I ordered the Chocolate Cake and iced tea. The food at Yaffa is nothing to write home about, but it sure hit the spot and was easy on the wallet. It is some of the best cake I have ever had. I don't know if it is because I am such a chocoholic and hadn't had anything like this in days or if it truly was that delicious. I remember it being incredibly dense, richly filled with bittersweet chocolate and topped with enough ganache and chocolate shavings. Chocolate overload. I also remember it being very cold from the fridge. I wondered if they even made the cake or ordered it from a frozen food company.
After I ate this cake, I was hooked. I wanted to go to Yaffa almost everyday. All of the fantastic restaurants and foods in Manhattan, and I wanted the cake from Yaffa. I used to go around the room begging people to come with me and everyone got so sick of me asking. Sometimes, they would say they didn't want to go with me before I would even ask. Katy would always agree. I could just wait for Katy to come home and she would go with me. She never turned me down. And funny thing is, she really doesn't care much for sweets and will often order an appetizer instead of dessert. But she saw the urgency to get chocolate into me and would make the trek to St. Mark's. She would usually order just the side salad, which had a carrot-ginger dressing on top of a green mesclun mix. Nothing fancy, but the dressing would hit the spot. They also had an inexpensive hummus which came with plenty of pita pieces and a little side cup of Kalamata olives. Random menu, but definitely appealing to anyone after hitting the bars. Yaffa was open 24 hours which was another reason to keep it on the list. There were many times when I had a fight with my boyfriend or stayed up until 5am working on a painting, drawing or color/design project. Katy would stay up working on similar projects, usually bigger and more difficult than mine and she would know when it was time to hit Yaffa. It was also the right place to stop after a night at Danceteria, Club USA, or Webster Hall. If we could handle another block or two, we would walk after dancing the night away and Katy would get her salad and I would get the chocolate cake.
It has been a long time now that we have been friends: 18 years and counting. We have been through so much together- through so many happy meals and sad meals. We are beyond the friendship stage to the point where we might as well be brother and sister. We call each other "Doll" and I don't know when that started, but many years ago. She is a doll and I love her for taking me to Yaffa countless times in times of need. We always say we are the same person. I know this is true when I have a day where I must go after some chocolate cake to make things better. Sure enough I can call Katy and she will be having the exact same day. I am Gemini and I need a twin. Katy is my twin.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Deviled Eggs and #1 Aunt
Before I was in sixth grade and moved to Connecticut, my family had a very active social life. With a rather large extended family, it was always someone's birthday, anniversary or graduation. It seemed like every weekend there was a party of some kind. Add on the holidays like Mother's Day, Father's Day, Memorial Day, Fourth of July and even St. Patrick's Day and our calendar was completely booked. My family would create a holiday if it meant there wasn't a party that weekend. We never went too many days without seeing everyone and this usually meant food was involved.
The pot luck was usually the way we operated. If the party was in Grandma's backyard, everyone would show up with a side dish and Grandma would cook the entree. Sometimes she would make her famous lemon chicken or put together baked ziti with meatballs and sometimes, she would make both. Either way, there was plenty to eat. My Mom always seemed to provide the macaroni or potato salad which is a good thing because I didn't really ever like those salads unless my Mom made them. I don't know what she does, but it doesn't taste the same if someone else makes them.
There always were fun and games to be had with many of my cousins and often times their friends. My aunts would constantly put together little games to keep us occupied and would sometimes offer prizes. There would be a hula hoop contest, an egg toss, or hide n seek depending whose house we were visiting. The women would sit and chat, the men on the grill or by the beer cooler. My Dad's sisters would eventually break into song with some oldies for everyone. It never ceased to amaze me at how their voices blend together so well. I am always impressed by their harmony. Also, they never forget the words to songs and can just start singing a random song and remember every word. This usually led to a talent show of all kinds where my cousins would perform. One of the most famous performances came from my brother, who with glasses and an eye patch would perform Zip A Dee Do Dah. This is still talked about today and we still make my brother sing the song at parties.
My favorite food at the pot lucks was my Dad's sister Ellen's deviled eggs. Aunt Ellen has since been named #1 Aunt as she is my Dad's oldest sister and falls first in line. I have called her #1 Aunt for a long time now. She always made plenty of deviled eggs and I would sit right next to them. Beautifully constructed, and unlike other deviled eggs I've had. I don't know what she put in them, but they did not have the too-much-vinegar taste that many deviled eggs seem to have everywhere else. Deviled eggs may seem like a simple appetizer to put together, but it is amazing how many people can get them wrong.
My Mom would tell me I could just have one or two deviled eggs and that I should not be selfish and let others have some as well. I actually remember her physically removing me away from the tray of eggs to be sure that I had listened. She used to say cliche things like, "You will spoil your dinner." I never knew what that meant, because I have never turned down food in any capacity. Little did she know, I used to stuff the eggs in my pocket and eat them behind my Grandma's garage when nobody was looking. Stuffing a deviled egg into your pocket is no easy feat. Stuffing two deviled eggs in your pocket is virtually impossible without creating a mess.
When we moved from Connecticut, we would sometimes load up our cranberry Chevrolet Caprice Classic station wagon and head off to visit our family in upstate NY for the weekend. We couldn't all fit in the car comfortably. Even though I had to sit in the very backseat that faced the rear windshield, making me nauseous for a few hours, we still had to put all of our belongings on top of the car. So here we looked like the Brady Bunch going on a cross-country trip. The drive was about two and a half hours not including the stops we'd make for snacks, restroom, and gas. With a family of six, nobody ever had the same clock on their bladder and would plead that they couldn't make it to Grandma's without peeing their pants.
One time on a Sunday party at my Grandma's, Aunt Ellen brought her deviled eggs. It was our last day in Kingston and we would be leaving after the party. I immediately ate a few eggs after she dropped them at the Dancin' Tables picnic table. When it was about time to leave, I noticed that there were still a few on the tray. I ran across the backyard, quickly before saying goodbye and wrapped two eggs individually in napkins and stuffed one in each pocket. After giving everyone a hug goodbye, I was unsure if they were still safely stored. I got in the car with my family and it wasn't long before everyone asked what the smell was. I knew that if I shared that I had two eggs in my pocket, a couple of things would happen. First, they would want one of the eggs and I wasn't willing to share. Second, I would be in trouble for getting egg yolk and mayonnaise all over my pants. Three, I would just be in trouble for making the car smell like eggs.
So... I was left with only one way out. I told everyone in the car that I had several deviled eggs, which was true, and just couldn't hold in the flatulence. This way, they couldn't yell at me because it was something out of my control. They did make fun of me, but when I got home, I had two very smashed deviled eggs from my #1 Aunt without anyone knowing. I recently asked her for her recipe for deviled eggs, but I'd much rather her make them for me. I have such a hard time with hard boiled eggs even though I always follow the Martha Stewart techniques. I have even pulled out the Joy of Cooking to try that way, as well.
I seem to have a history of hiding food and I think this comes from being the oldest of four children. They always got to everything before I did and this was my way of not letting that happen. The only things I could never control were the items in the freezer- Popsicles, ice cream, and Klondike bars. This doesn't mean that I didn't try. The best way to conceal frozen items is to mask the item behind a less-desired, frozen food like a bag of frozen lima beans.
Thanks to #1 Aunt, her deviled eggs are never frozen. Therefore I could always hide them and I would always enjoy them.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Guacamole and Brian C.
While in the dormitory at Parsons, I remember a particular afternoon where one of my roommates was craving guacamole. Someone offered to scout out the nearby neighborhood to find a Mexican restaurant and order some to-go. The crowd decided to make the guacamole instead and somehow Brian C. ended up being the one in charge. I think everyone wanted to be in charge and Brian was always good about handling this kind of situation by being the first one out of his seat. Everyone else just said they would do it, but just sat there.
Keep in mind, that in the early 90's in Manhattan, guacamole was not yet part of my repertoire and I certainly did not know how to go about making the dip. I did know how to eat it and I was certainly all for going out and buying some. I thought of this as exotic and new, which meant it was welcomed into my life with open arms. I loved the color of avocado and wanted to be someone who knew about different kinds of foods, but I was afraid to ask. I was embarrassed that I didn't know much about food that seemed so common to others. Brian C. seemed to notice this and was excited by the fact that someone else in the room wanted him to make the guacamole. And I was- I was excited that someone knew how and that I could watch it happen.
Brian somehow secured the avocados, I don't really know where he got them, but you can find almost anything in NYC. Looking back, I realize that you can get an avocado at almost any grocery store, but I didn't know that- the most I ever acquired in the produce section of a grocery store was lettuce, tomatoes, onions and maybe a few potatoes here and there. I didn't cook much and when I did, it was usually a "just add water" recipe.
When he returned to our room with the avocados, students from different floors and rooms joined in on the fun. Basically, they sat around our room waiting for the food that was free and delicious. Someone asked Brian what he was putting into the guacamole, and I don't remember specifically what his response was, but it was fairly basic: avocado, garlic, lime juice and salt. Brian was confident and knew exactly what he was doing. I trusted his recipe, mostly because I had no choice and I had never attempted to make anything as complex as four ingredients. One of the other students said, "Aren't you going to put mayonnaise or sour cream in that?"
Brian was appalled and ran on giving a lecture about how someone who doesn't know what they are talking about should just shut up. I remember the student challenging him that they always had guacamole in their family and they were certain that there was some kind of creamy, dairy product in the dip with the avocado. No such luck. Brian made a comment about how would someone from the Northernmost tip of the country know anything about making guacamole and dismissed them from the room. He said that if they didn't want to eat it, they didn't have to and so they left, very rudely. I don't remember who that person was.
I do remember, however eating the guacamole and it was delicious. I will never forget the perfect texture and the simplicity of the flavor. I remember asking him not long after that to make more, and he did. Guacamole is now one of my favorite flavors and I am glad that I have had the opportunity to try a million different versions in the Southwest- none of which include mayonnaise or sour cream.
Keep in mind, that in the early 90's in Manhattan, guacamole was not yet part of my repertoire and I certainly did not know how to go about making the dip. I did know how to eat it and I was certainly all for going out and buying some. I thought of this as exotic and new, which meant it was welcomed into my life with open arms. I loved the color of avocado and wanted to be someone who knew about different kinds of foods, but I was afraid to ask. I was embarrassed that I didn't know much about food that seemed so common to others. Brian C. seemed to notice this and was excited by the fact that someone else in the room wanted him to make the guacamole. And I was- I was excited that someone knew how and that I could watch it happen.
Brian somehow secured the avocados, I don't really know where he got them, but you can find almost anything in NYC. Looking back, I realize that you can get an avocado at almost any grocery store, but I didn't know that- the most I ever acquired in the produce section of a grocery store was lettuce, tomatoes, onions and maybe a few potatoes here and there. I didn't cook much and when I did, it was usually a "just add water" recipe.
When he returned to our room with the avocados, students from different floors and rooms joined in on the fun. Basically, they sat around our room waiting for the food that was free and delicious. Someone asked Brian what he was putting into the guacamole, and I don't remember specifically what his response was, but it was fairly basic: avocado, garlic, lime juice and salt. Brian was confident and knew exactly what he was doing. I trusted his recipe, mostly because I had no choice and I had never attempted to make anything as complex as four ingredients. One of the other students said, "Aren't you going to put mayonnaise or sour cream in that?"
Brian was appalled and ran on giving a lecture about how someone who doesn't know what they are talking about should just shut up. I remember the student challenging him that they always had guacamole in their family and they were certain that there was some kind of creamy, dairy product in the dip with the avocado. No such luck. Brian made a comment about how would someone from the Northernmost tip of the country know anything about making guacamole and dismissed them from the room. He said that if they didn't want to eat it, they didn't have to and so they left, very rudely. I don't remember who that person was.
I do remember, however eating the guacamole and it was delicious. I will never forget the perfect texture and the simplicity of the flavor. I remember asking him not long after that to make more, and he did. Guacamole is now one of my favorite flavors and I am glad that I have had the opportunity to try a million different versions in the Southwest- none of which include mayonnaise or sour cream.
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