Tuscany

For the past several evenings I’ve snuggled myself beneath the covers in bed to read Under The Tuscan Sun, a wonderful and vibrant tale of a woman who buys a crumbling house in Italy and the daily life that develops in the midst of the dwelling’s rehab. I heard there was a movie of the same name starring Diane Lane but it doesn't seem to follow the book very well (no thank you, Hollywood). This is one of those well written tales that actually transports you to the countryside’s locale with its abundant fragrances, rivers of vino and mountains of local foods. These are my favorite sorts of books, ones where I can almost inhale the essences, hear the locals talking at a sidewalk café and the descriptive mention of edibles actually makes my stomach growl in response. I have a tendency to carry with me the feeling of the story throughout the day and yearn for long, lazy lunches of seasonal dishes followed by a cozy siesta in a hammock, a bit of gardening and then dinner party preparations in anticipation a hungry crowd of friends. The Hubs and I had lunch at Enoteca today which was just about as close as I can get to Italy right now…and it was lovely. Some of my other foodie-oriented author favs include Peter Mayle, Julia Childs, Michael Ruhlman, Patricia Volk, Anthony Bourdain (of course), Amanda Hesser and Amy Sedaris (foodie?…not sure), to name a few. If you have recommendations of food memoirs, food travel and the like please let me know.

Hello.

Working like a beaver here (Speaking of beaver, I remember when I was about 12 and living in far east Texas, my best friend’s dad has a CB radio in his RV. We would hang out there, drink pink champale we swiped from her mom's secret booze hiding place and eat our way to the bottom of a hot sauce jar and bag of tortilla chips. That was pretty cool but the best part was talking on the CB to truckers. We never said dirty or bad things to them mainly because we didn’t know how to talk that way yet but we did say these two things often, “Breaker one nine for a west bound, you got an east bound a-lookin.” and “Hey, any you truckers want a commercial beaver…come back.” We had NO idea what a commercial beaver was.) Seems some event planning business has come my way along with a lovely little sponsorship sales position for this sweet film fest . We are currently looking for all sorts of sponsors for the 5 day hoo-ha so if anyone is interested, drop me a line and I’ll send you one of the most impressive decks I’ve ever seen. Will make you want to jump right in pronto. The work has encouraged me to start my own business so I’m going thru the motions of getting it all set up. VERY exciting and momma totally needs some scratch y’all. Plus I LOVE planning and participating in events, parties, shindigs, whatever you got. It’s in my blood and I feel blessed to be here. The timing is perfect as well.

W is going through some super-duper hardheaded phase that makes me want to send him to boarding school. Is there such a thing as a boarding school for belligerent tots? How about baby boot camp? Seriously, his scowls, pursed lips, folded arms and defiant attitude is making momma nutters. I thought backtalk happened at 16 not 3? Much too early for this nonsense. He does have his unbearably sweet moments where he “wubs” me and says, “I want to give you a big hug” and goodies like that but, man, he’s been a little challenging lately. Please tell me it’s temporary.

Oh, the other day the Hubs and I made la bomba shrimp and corn salad. This is serious goodness with the right collaboration of flavors, textures and color. I like to add chopped tomato, too. This is not a meal we would eat with friends because we literally stuff it in our faces like participants at a pie eating contest. There's just something about it. Give it a try for sure.

Good Things

W, after being run over by his Bigfoot monster truck, still tends to the needs of his tiny purple ponies and Jelly Cat. Awwwww...

Last night’s dinner and the night before: Wednesday we slurped wintry vegetable soup that the Hubs liked about at much as wearing underwear. I thought it was good but without the toasted crostini topped with goat cheese and chives afloat in the bowl it would’ve been a little too boring. Last night the Hubs pan seared some Hawaiian Orange Nairagi fillets, nuked a couple sweet yellow potatoes and we finished the meal with a beet, goat cheese and spinach salad. Very simple, very good. Tonight we’re warming our innards on rigatoni swimming in hot sausage and fennel. Add to that some crusty bread, a juicy red wine and we’ll be ready for a long winter’s nap.

Today’s money saving tip: Actually I have two…one is to unplug all appliances, etc. that you aren’t actively using to reduce your electric bill. Of course the Hubs forgets about this one and is often waiting for lengthy spells for the water to boil in the electric kettle.












The other tip is to give homemade holiday gifts this year. Yesterday my aunt who lives in nearby Oatmeal demystified the art of canning for me. We made a myriad of jams and a jelly which will be part of my gift giving collection. I am finding an irresistible urge to make goodies from the home and heart this year. Probably the only good thing coming out of this recession for me.

Random thoughts: I wondered the other night while putting a Spongebob Squarepants band-aid on my thumb after slicing it open with a serrated bread knife why, before I had my son, didn’t I ever stock my bathroom shelves with whimsical band-aids? They actually make me feel a little bit better than putting on one of the nondescript flesh toned stickies.

I’ve always wanted the smell of my laundry to be the envy of friends and family but thus far to no avail. Downey without a doubt reminds me of my Granny so I can’t use that one. I like being periodically reminded of her when I stand downwind of someone’s softened threads. I remember hearing on NPR about a recently completed documentary on wives of deceased soldiers who anxiously awaited their husband’s garments from the front lines so they could bury their noses in the essence of their flesh only to find everything had been previously washed and smelled like Tide. How heartbreaking.

W just peed on my jeans because I forgot to place his front-end business in the proper place while he pooped. Nice.

Happy Friday everyone!

Foodie

I just devoured the book "My Life In France" by Julia Childs and Alex Prud’homme. Such a lovely read. Her point of view of everything French is very frank yet affectionate. The depths at which she dedicated herself to French cuisine are inspiring especially considering the interesting obstacles she faced. Read for yourself. You won’t regret it.

I was fortunate enough to be exposed to the French world of food at an early age. During my elementary school years my mom was the assistant to our neighbor who hosted French cooking classes for many years. I remember fondly her open-air kitchen filled with shiny copper mixing bowls and loads of pots and pans. The essence of brioche, boeuf bourguignon and omelettes shrouded the room always. Her handmade recipe booklets created for each class littered the countertops. I remember hearing the hearty and grateful laughter of the women as they said their goodbyes after class and climb into their cars on the circular drive. This also signaled that mom would be home soon with treats for us to try.

At home, there were afternoons spent perched on stools next to the stove as mom and I made many crêpes for sweet and savory dishes. Side by side, like little robots, we'd dip the bottom side of the hot crêpe pan in batter and then rest it on the metal ring that outlined the flame of the burner. When the edges of the flat pancake started to brown and lift, it was time to gently coaxed it off the pan and onto the heap of crêpes kept warm under a moist towel. I also learned how to whisk eggs, kneed bread, pipe pâte à choux onto a baking sheet and then fill it with a homemade sweet custard topped with a melted dark chocolate after baking. Heavenly.

We also had a gourmet kitchen supply shop and deli called The Mouse Trap. There I savored exotic cheeses, olives, pates, mustards and chocolates from around the world. This was 1981 in a very small town. When I get a whiff of a certain perfume (name unknown) these days, I am immediately back in the little shop making sandwiches and running the register for the moneyed folks and food adventurous in my hometown.

In my preteen years, mom transitioned to a funny little place in Longview, Texas called The Stock Pot. It was owned by a gaggle of aristocratic, super wealthy ladies who loved chef superstars and having them teach classes. What a coup it was for mom. There she helped stuff an enormous baked Alaska in a small oven with the 6-foot 2-inch Julia Childs, cranked out homemade pasta with Giuliano Bugialli while beating off the affectionate advances of his personal assistant and towered over the smallish Wolfgang Puck. When I go home for the upcoming holidays, I will be getting all of her cookbooks, some of them signed and most of them with the stains of meals prepared long ago. I look forward to ending the year pouring over their pages and beginning 2008 with a laundry list of new dishes to try.

Bon appétit!

Arugula

Lordy. Where do I start? Let’s see…Britney Spears ran over another photographer’s foot? Amy Winehouse gets booed off stage? W kicks his paci addiction? Umm, yeah, let’s start with W. Way more compelling than Winehouse and Spears.

So W and I talked about a paci intervention for several days. I told him that intervention meant that the pacis go in the trash and he gets a big surprise in return and on a designated evening I presented him a toddler racetrack with all sorts of bells and whistles. His paci fell to the floor as his jaw dropped open. He gathered up the pacis I had collected and stuffed them in a paper bag. We both walked over to his trashcan and tossed them in. Simple. As. That. Sure, he mentions his long lost pacis on occasion and has been staying up in bed with me 'til about 10:30 p.m. but he also says, “Pacis in trash, pacis bye-bye.” I think the fact that we talked about paci rehab prior to paci disposal helped so it wasn’t a surprise to him that it was going to happen. Now it’s just a boy and his blankie and I couldn’t be happier.

Last weekend, our neighbors got their door kicked in and much stuff stolen. Curiously enough, we had just had a conversation with some other neighbors (they live next door to the ones that got robbed) about the abundance of break-ins in our cozy little ‘hood just the day before. After some research on our end, we found that our general area has been hit 80 times in the last month by thieves. Yeah, for real. They kick in your door, take your stuff and haul ass out. 80 times this has happened. Are we paranoid? You bet. We have since put in another deadbolt on our each of our exterior doors and installed a security system just this morning. Next up, a dog. One thing about situations like this is you really get to know who your neighbors are. We’re forming a small army. I would hate to mess with us now.

Y’all, next week is Thanksgiving. Now how did that happen?

And you know what’s better than chocolate? Boggy Creek arugula. I’m not kidding. Either on Saturday morning or Wednesday morning, get your buns in your car (or on your bike) and head over to the east side to get you some. If you haven’t been to this small farm, you have to indulge yourself. Take the kiddies, too, if you got’em. The produce is still warm from the sun and there are some free samples of different stuff to nibble. Lovely chicken coop and a tempting sand pile, too. It’s all I can do to keep from eating a whole pile of the veggies before I can get them in the fridge. Please go. It’s local. It’s fresh. It’s supportive.

How’s work, you ask? Crazy, nutso, insane. Remember that conference that we work on once a year while doing other events throughout the year? Well, last year we knocked out 80+ parties in 9 days and we’re already working on double the number of parties we were working on this time last year (cue Psycho shower scene music here). My Christmas list includes much wine and Valium.

Grilling For Dummies

We finally got to use the grill last night. Thank goodness because W was just about convinced that it was his Beyond The Thunderdome playhouse. We fired it up in the twilight of the evening and gawked at its awesomeness. We grilled ears of corn and shrimp for this recipe we love mucho. We felt victorious and sated at the end of the night. Unfortunately we ended up using an entire tank of fuel on a pound of shrimp and 4 ears of corn. How can this be, you ask? It can be because no one remembered to turn off the damn gas and it leeched out into the world all night long. How many carbon credits are we going to have to buy to correct this little oversight? Not only that but it was a powder keg waiting to happen as the fumes congregated underneath the grill cover. Don’t you wish you were our neighbors? AND our yard guy came today which means there was the possibility he could’ve ignited the entire ‘hood with his mower. We are so grounded from the grill. The Hubs has a label maker and will be making all sorts of directional messages to adhere to the shiny sides of the beast so we don’t make any other stupid mistakes. We remind me of Homer and Marge Simpson.

Oh Lookie! Two Entries In One Day!

Since the weather has been so much nicer lately and the days longer, we’ve been taking advantage of the new yard (with 6-foot fence to keep the rugrat safely inside) and extended patio area. Last night we grilled out the same meal we cooked about this time last week but instead of vino, we drank cava and some frozen rum/banana/pineapple spooky frappe thing that the Hubs whipped up (needed more rum). I pulled weeds like a normal obsessive-compulsive “I can’t sit still ever” person while W watered the grass, his jeans and his shirt. He figured out that if he touched the end of the hose to his eye he could get water directly in it and this is good for I don’t know what but it amused him and that’s what counts. Since I got pregnant, the Hubs has been the sole meal maker when time allows and this is nearly always. I used to get off on cooking elaborate meals from scratch, spending time mincing, roasting, peeling, shredding but now I’d rather change several dirty diapers in a row. The upshot of the Hubs playing Julia Childs is that his culinary talent has really improved. He dices well, measures precisely and is patient to make sure everything reaches the proper temp but oh, the mess! The mess that looks like W and his entire classroom has been cooking us dinner and not an able-bodied adult! Shiny, sticky spots glisten on the floor, bits and pieces of squashed food frame the cabinets. The countertops become a gourmet landfill. Each evening I have to wonder if he’ll always be more Edward Scissorhands than the Naked Chef. That’s okay though. The clean up goes fast and the labor is worth it because the food is damn good.

While on the subject of food, I am actively making efforts to eat better. I figured since I never had time to eat during the conference and ate vegetarian-only in Marfa that the granola groundwork had been laid. Of course most of my meals are paired with some vintage of wine or other al-kee-holic beverage but I’m not willing to be completely healthy. Besides hooch makes bad food taste better. Earlier today, I forced myself to eat a salad full of weeds. It’s one of those bulk organic arrangements that was put together by the feet of a squirrel. There were giant random leaves and long grasses in there. There were green stems of what used to house cilantro but only suggestions of the leaves remained. Certain bites were pungent and some made me feel like a horse put out to pasture. I started to think that this was a joke package of greens that some funny little field picker had compiled. I do realize that the American edible mindset is a very limited one but I’m trying to branch out. I just don’t want to actually eat branches.

Yabba Dabba Do

No one is in the office right now. I’m here an hour earlier that I’d normally be. I look at my iChat list and it flatlines. Not a soul to bug. Everyone is dragging ass on the day before our time off begins. My breakfast is a dark chocolate pecan chunk cookie because I didn’t plan the morning so well and I’m tired of my routine. Couldn’t bear to go to the coffee shop again and have the barista looking at me expectantly like I’m going to order something different than I normally do. “Large latte, bottle of water, and a breakfast taco with sausage, potato, egg and avocado. Pico and salsa, too. Thanks.” I needed to get in the orifice early anyway. I don’t want to be checking email over the holidays and finding work to do. I want it all done today. Happy Holidays and good riddance until next year, ‘yo.