Page One Hundred Seventy-Four.
I try to do one good deed per year, even if it kills me. I don't ever try for two. That's just waaaaay too many for one person. No... one good deed per year is just the right amount. Yessiree Bob... one nice thing for somebody else each year. It's a philosophy which has takes it's toll in the form of many headaches over the years, all these good deeds. But somebody's gotta do 'em.
I have a former boss-lady, Carol. Carol hired me into the activities department at Fancy-Shmancy Nursing Home and she was then my supervisor until she retired. I started there in the spring of 2003 and she retired in '04. We've stayed in touch ever since.
Carol and her husband, Bob, bought a second home in Vermont in 2005. I've been up there twice to visit and I love Vermont. It's beautiful country. I'll tell the entire story of this home another time. But for now, just know that during the last 11 years I've bonded with Carol and Bob. Also, their daughter Alice lives in Vermont so we've spent time together and I've met Carol's son, Ted, on a couple occasions.
Bob and Carol (a former nun.) are incredibly active in their large, left-leaning Methodist church. (This, as opposed to the very large, right-leaning Methodist church where, last spring, I threw my Passover Seder for 275.) Frequently over the years, whenever I've needed a "Carol fix" I would simply show-up at their church, say hi! for a couple hours and then be on my way. Subsequently, her church family and I have gradually gotten to know each other, too. Her church family is always full of warm embraces whenever little, 'ole, Jewish me darkens their doors. (This really confused Alice when we first met. She was under the impression that I was one of her mom's church friends. But then she and I spoke at length one evening in Vermont. The next day she said to her mom, "wait a minute, who is this person? Jeremy sure doesn't act like your other church friends." Carol just laughed and explained that I'm one of those people who's equally comfortable attending church or synagogue, enjoying sordid strip clubs, feeding and caring for heroin addicts, watching the Brady Bunch with 10 year-olds, dancing 'till 4AM at seedy night clubs, studying exhibits at the art museum or lounging at an auto garage with a bunch of brutish mechanics on a lazy afternoon. Ever since the explanation, Alice and I have gotten a great kick out of each other.)
Last May, Bob was given 8-12 weeks to live. They went up to Vermont because that's where he wanted to die. But his body refused to succumb. So they came back down to Cleveland in September. Ever since then, it's been a slow decline. In October he told me that he was ready and tired but his body refused to quit. Well, it finally did quit last Monday, December 23rd, 2 days after his and Carol's 40th anniversary.
In reality, there's nothing anybody can do for a grieving family except provide some type of comfort in whatever form can be found. Which is, of course, the hard part... figuring out the form. On Thursday I phoned Carol and offered up some food, if it was needed. I always hesitate to take food to a grieving family because I assume that's what all the other friends take. Then the family is stuck with tons of eats and not enough people to consume them. However, Carol took me up on my offer. She said that Alice would be arriving on Saturday and how about if I brought food for everybody on Sunday, yesterday, then we'd all eat dinner together. She said that Ted and his girlfriend would stop by and maybe a couple of other friends would be there. This is just the sort of project which keeps me going.
I decided to cook enough for 8 and hope for the best. I made an old-fashioned Jewish Mother dinner. That really is what I excel at anyhow. Matzo ball soup, salad, brisket, Brussels sprouts, glazed carrots, wild rice, gravy and dinner rolls with butter. Plus, 3 desserts from Gallucci's Italian grocer 'cause I couldn't decide - cherry strudel; poppy seed roll and chocolate decadent cake. The only things I didn't bring were salad dressing and beverages. Upon my arrival, Carol announced that Ted's and Alice's best childhood friends would be joining us so it would be 8 total. It was meant to be. We all had a wonderful time laughing and talking. The kids were surrounded by their closest friends in the world to support them and we all ate comfort food together. It was my good deed for the year. Without a moment to spare, too! December 29th, for heaven's sake...
Bob's memorial will be next Sunday at 2PM. It'll be enormous. There'll be hundreds attending, I promise. He lived his dash well. (Bob loved the euphemism of a life as a dash. If you don't know that euphemism, I'll write about it in some future blog.)
Monday, December 30, 2013
Friday, December 27, 2013
Christmas, 2013
Page One Hundred Seventy-Three.
A couple of days ago was Christmas. I hope it was pleasant for you. It was nice for me but a little too busy. Being Jewish, I do nothing with family. Instead, I do whatever happens to pop up with friends. This year, a lot popped up.
Christmas Eve afternoon I made 100 choco-chip cookies from scratch to take to a friend's gathering at 8.30. Then another set of friends had a late-night party that I went to at 10 and stayed a couple of hours.
Christmas morning I was up at 7 and out at 8. I went and delivered food to the needy and shut-ins. I deliver food every Christmas and Easter as I've been doing for almost fifteen years now. I was finished about 11 or so.
Then I decided to stop at a local church that was hosting a community Christmas meal and get myself a little something to nosh. I knew almost everybody in the kitchen and figured that I'd just hang out until feeding time. They had other ideas though and put me to work as a server. I left there at 12.30.
After lunch I went and visited and older Jewish couple whom I used to provide elder-care to. Next month she'll be 94 and in May he'll be 97. I haven't seen them for a while and thought that Christmas day might be a nice day to stop in. I was there at 12.45.
While visiting the elderly couple, a friend phoned me. Her husband received an unusual gift in the form of a fancy Reuben Sandwich kit which arrived that morning packed on dry ice. Did I want to come and join them for dinner that evening and have a homemade Reuben? Who says no to that?
So, I left the elderly couple's home at 2, went home, took a nap, took a shower, watched a documentary on Gary Cooper and left my place at 5.45.
From 6 'till 8 I was eating and thoroughly enjoying Reubens with these friends.
By 8.15 I was home and in my pajamas. And I was exhausted. But it was a very wonderful Christmas for me.
Actually, it wore me out a little. But I prefer this over not having anything at all to do. This Christmas was a true illustration to me of my blessings.
A couple of days ago was Christmas. I hope it was pleasant for you. It was nice for me but a little too busy. Being Jewish, I do nothing with family. Instead, I do whatever happens to pop up with friends. This year, a lot popped up.
Christmas Eve afternoon I made 100 choco-chip cookies from scratch to take to a friend's gathering at 8.30. Then another set of friends had a late-night party that I went to at 10 and stayed a couple of hours.
Christmas morning I was up at 7 and out at 8. I went and delivered food to the needy and shut-ins. I deliver food every Christmas and Easter as I've been doing for almost fifteen years now. I was finished about 11 or so.
Then I decided to stop at a local church that was hosting a community Christmas meal and get myself a little something to nosh. I knew almost everybody in the kitchen and figured that I'd just hang out until feeding time. They had other ideas though and put me to work as a server. I left there at 12.30.
After lunch I went and visited and older Jewish couple whom I used to provide elder-care to. Next month she'll be 94 and in May he'll be 97. I haven't seen them for a while and thought that Christmas day might be a nice day to stop in. I was there at 12.45.
While visiting the elderly couple, a friend phoned me. Her husband received an unusual gift in the form of a fancy Reuben Sandwich kit which arrived that morning packed on dry ice. Did I want to come and join them for dinner that evening and have a homemade Reuben? Who says no to that?
So, I left the elderly couple's home at 2, went home, took a nap, took a shower, watched a documentary on Gary Cooper and left my place at 5.45.
From 6 'till 8 I was eating and thoroughly enjoying Reubens with these friends.
By 8.15 I was home and in my pajamas. And I was exhausted. But it was a very wonderful Christmas for me.
Actually, it wore me out a little. But I prefer this over not having anything at all to do. This Christmas was a true illustration to me of my blessings.
Thursday, December 26, 2013
On Decorating An Auto Repair Place For Christmas
Page One Hundred Seventy-Two.
So... about ten or twelve years ago, my mechanic began decorating his garage for Christmas. This garage is on busy Mayfield Road here in Cleveland Heights and possibly thousands of cars drive by every day. A & A Auto is located in an old (1920's) three bay garage somewhat close to the street. The interior is very drabby and oily. The personality of this garage is old-school dirt but the craftmanship level is high quality. It's the type of place where Fonzie would have worked. There's only room in the parking lot for less than a dozen parked cars. It's a small, reputable operation and it's visibility is tremendous.
So when Tom began decorating his place for the holidays, I was charmed. But the decorating stunk. It was just awful. There are three very large picture windows in front and two on the side. I think he put one measly string of lights around one window and that was it. The following year, he did something similar but it was even worse 'cause he only went up 1/2 way around the window. It was terrible. Year three he put one string of lights across the tops of all three front windows and then let the ends hang. At that point I was finished. I won't take up space in today's blog to talk about the fact that I was a professional Christmas decorator for nearly twenty years. But, I was. I'll tell that story another time when I have nothing else to write about. All you need to know for the sake of today's blog though, is that I'm good at Christmas decorating.
So, the following year, about six, seven or eight years ago, I marched into Tom's place long about early November and announced that I was taking over the Christmas decorating of his shop. For free. Just as a favor to the citizens of Cleveland Heights. He was happy as a bug in a rug.
It's not really a big project. Just takes me a couple of hours to hang multiple strings of lights around each of the five windows. Every year I decide what color to go with. The lights are typically dead by the time I take them down 'cause they're plugged in 24/7 once I install them. So I'm not usually able to re-use them too much during the ensuing years. But lights aren't really expensive any more anyhow.The last couple of years I've really been into the old-fashioned multi-colored look. So that's what Mayfield Road drivers see when they're stuck at the light in front of Tom's place. It seriously isn't a big or complicated project for me. But it makes Tom happy and it really does improve the streetscape a little.
When I was finished the first year, Tom exclaimed, "Jeremy, this looks F%#@ing awesome!" Then, as I was leaving, he told me that my next oil change was on the house. I didn't say no to that. Nowadays, it's rare that he ever charges me for an oil change. He's just so thrilled to have me do the lights each year. I'm also quite friendly with all his mechanics and they like the way I dress the place up for Christmas too.
I've mentioned before that I've filmed a number of cooking videos for YouTube. I have about 15 completed but haven't yet posted any. Three very short ones were filmed in A & A last spring just for the fun of it. One of these days I really need to start posting those things.
So... about ten or twelve years ago, my mechanic began decorating his garage for Christmas. This garage is on busy Mayfield Road here in Cleveland Heights and possibly thousands of cars drive by every day. A & A Auto is located in an old (1920's) three bay garage somewhat close to the street. The interior is very drabby and oily. The personality of this garage is old-school dirt but the craftmanship level is high quality. It's the type of place where Fonzie would have worked. There's only room in the parking lot for less than a dozen parked cars. It's a small, reputable operation and it's visibility is tremendous.
So when Tom began decorating his place for the holidays, I was charmed. But the decorating stunk. It was just awful. There are three very large picture windows in front and two on the side. I think he put one measly string of lights around one window and that was it. The following year, he did something similar but it was even worse 'cause he only went up 1/2 way around the window. It was terrible. Year three he put one string of lights across the tops of all three front windows and then let the ends hang. At that point I was finished. I won't take up space in today's blog to talk about the fact that I was a professional Christmas decorator for nearly twenty years. But, I was. I'll tell that story another time when I have nothing else to write about. All you need to know for the sake of today's blog though, is that I'm good at Christmas decorating.
So, the following year, about six, seven or eight years ago, I marched into Tom's place long about early November and announced that I was taking over the Christmas decorating of his shop. For free. Just as a favor to the citizens of Cleveland Heights. He was happy as a bug in a rug.
It's not really a big project. Just takes me a couple of hours to hang multiple strings of lights around each of the five windows. Every year I decide what color to go with. The lights are typically dead by the time I take them down 'cause they're plugged in 24/7 once I install them. So I'm not usually able to re-use them too much during the ensuing years. But lights aren't really expensive any more anyhow.The last couple of years I've really been into the old-fashioned multi-colored look. So that's what Mayfield Road drivers see when they're stuck at the light in front of Tom's place. It seriously isn't a big or complicated project for me. But it makes Tom happy and it really does improve the streetscape a little.
When I was finished the first year, Tom exclaimed, "Jeremy, this looks F%#@ing awesome!" Then, as I was leaving, he told me that my next oil change was on the house. I didn't say no to that. Nowadays, it's rare that he ever charges me for an oil change. He's just so thrilled to have me do the lights each year. I'm also quite friendly with all his mechanics and they like the way I dress the place up for Christmas too.
I've mentioned before that I've filmed a number of cooking videos for YouTube. I have about 15 completed but haven't yet posted any. Three very short ones were filmed in A & A last spring just for the fun of it. One of these days I really need to start posting those things.
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| Still Life. Entitled: "Auto Repair Garage With Purple '73 Dodge Charger" |
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| It's not much... but it's home |
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
A Cooking Demo At Williams-Sonoma
Page One Hundred Seventy-One.
So, long about mid-November, I got a phone call from a buddy who's a well-known and quite reputable amateur chef in town. He'd been recently contacted by the new event planner at our local Williams-Sonoma as being someone who might be able to do a cooking demo for Thanksgiving. W-S wanted to do a turkey roasting class for new brides who'd be making their first holiday turkey. It would be held on Tuesday evening of the week prior to the holiday. Or, more to the point, five days after he and I received our respective phone calls. He was unable to participate but thought that I could. Was I interested?
I wasn't sure what to say. This presentation would be four days prior to a class on healthy eating habits that I'd be teaching to a large group of art therapists and social workers. I'd been preparing for that class almost two months and to suddenly have an additional stress the same week seemed unwise. However, I knew the exposure and experience at W-S would be great for me. Also, I love a good adventure. This seemed like an adventure second only to the expedition where they found King Kong on the remote South-Pacific island, brought him back to America where he went on a rampage and killed everybody in New York. I said yes. (Truly... I love a great adventure.)
The next day I was on the phone with this event planner, Anni-Frid, and we're talking away like old friends. Then, the day after that I was at the butcher's ordering two turkeys: one to prepare in advance and the other to demonstrate the preparation on (a sort of before and after thing). The butcher was a little nonplussed with me for needing the birds a few days too early for Thanksgiving, but he understood why. Also, I'm quite friendly with him and have given him a certain amount of business over the years. So he tried to be accommodating. I then proceeded to write out this new turkey roasting presentation while finishing up the healthy eating demo. All in all it was a very dysfunctional week.
On the day of, I got the first turkey in the oven no problemo. All the preparation went really well and I was quite optimistic. When suddenly, (did you anticipate the "when suddenly" phrase?) Williams-Sonoma began smelling an awful lot like burnt tires. I MEAN A REEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAL LOT. I promise I did everything I was supposed to. I'd used all my experience and read all directions very carefully. But no matter if I did everything perfectly, sometimes certain things just happen. It was my first time cooking with their stove, with their supplies, in their environment. That turkey was black. I mean black-black. Not pleasantly dark brown like expensive German chocolate sent by a European former roommate as a Christmas gift. Not dark-dusk, like the star-lit sky five minutes before the fireworks begin on Independence Day. Not even light black like that beautiful Ralph Lauren sweater you bought in 1985 and has faded and worn desperately but you just can't get rid of because it still drapes beautifully and also it reminds you of the long-ago moved-away friend who accompanied you when you purchased it. No. This turkey was darkest, dark black like death black. I was horrified. As were Anni-Frid and the store manager.
Now this all happened prior to any brides showing up. So we thought for a moment. Then I removed the turkey skin before the brides' arrival. (The meat underneath was juicy, succulent and flavorful. It just wasn't photogenic.) And during the class I told the students what happened and used it as a teaching experience. In reality, these things do happen, especially in new environments. This is why you ALWAYS rehearse a new food prior to serving it to company and why you ALWAYS try out new cooking supplies and so forth in advance. I wasn't familiar with the supplies or oven and ovens do cook differently. They really do. And this is what happens.
After the class was over Anni-Frid hugged me and told me what a great job I did. Everybody was happy and I took some turkey home in a doggy bag and ate it over the next few days. They've already booked me for my next demo, in January.
So, long about mid-November, I got a phone call from a buddy who's a well-known and quite reputable amateur chef in town. He'd been recently contacted by the new event planner at our local Williams-Sonoma as being someone who might be able to do a cooking demo for Thanksgiving. W-S wanted to do a turkey roasting class for new brides who'd be making their first holiday turkey. It would be held on Tuesday evening of the week prior to the holiday. Or, more to the point, five days after he and I received our respective phone calls. He was unable to participate but thought that I could. Was I interested?
I wasn't sure what to say. This presentation would be four days prior to a class on healthy eating habits that I'd be teaching to a large group of art therapists and social workers. I'd been preparing for that class almost two months and to suddenly have an additional stress the same week seemed unwise. However, I knew the exposure and experience at W-S would be great for me. Also, I love a good adventure. This seemed like an adventure second only to the expedition where they found King Kong on the remote South-Pacific island, brought him back to America where he went on a rampage and killed everybody in New York. I said yes. (Truly... I love a great adventure.)
 |
| King Kong & Fay Wray Atop The Empire State Building, 1933. |
On the day of, I got the first turkey in the oven no problemo. All the preparation went really well and I was quite optimistic. When suddenly, (did you anticipate the "when suddenly" phrase?) Williams-Sonoma began smelling an awful lot like burnt tires. I MEAN A REEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAL LOT. I promise I did everything I was supposed to. I'd used all my experience and read all directions very carefully. But no matter if I did everything perfectly, sometimes certain things just happen. It was my first time cooking with their stove, with their supplies, in their environment. That turkey was black. I mean black-black. Not pleasantly dark brown like expensive German chocolate sent by a European former roommate as a Christmas gift. Not dark-dusk, like the star-lit sky five minutes before the fireworks begin on Independence Day. Not even light black like that beautiful Ralph Lauren sweater you bought in 1985 and has faded and worn desperately but you just can't get rid of because it still drapes beautifully and also it reminds you of the long-ago moved-away friend who accompanied you when you purchased it. No. This turkey was darkest, dark black like death black. I was horrified. As were Anni-Frid and the store manager.
 |
| Happy Thanksgiving!!! |
Now this all happened prior to any brides showing up. So we thought for a moment. Then I removed the turkey skin before the brides' arrival. (The meat underneath was juicy, succulent and flavorful. It just wasn't photogenic.) And during the class I told the students what happened and used it as a teaching experience. In reality, these things do happen, especially in new environments. This is why you ALWAYS rehearse a new food prior to serving it to company and why you ALWAYS try out new cooking supplies and so forth in advance. I wasn't familiar with the supplies or oven and ovens do cook differently. They really do. And this is what happens.
After the class was over Anni-Frid hugged me and told me what a great job I did. Everybody was happy and I took some turkey home in a doggy bag and ate it over the next few days. They've already booked me for my next demo, in January.
Sunday, December 15, 2013
Another Blog About The Cleveland Museum Of Art
Page One Hundred Seventy.
I went to a volunteer luncheon at The Cleveland Museum of Art yesterday. It was quite small, only
for people in the department where I volunteer (marketing & research). but it was very interesting.
This museum is the first one in America to have a gallery which is 100% interactive. Meaning: they've taken some of the most popular works from elsewhere in the museum and moved them into one gallery, then created computer interaction around each item. For example: you can walk up to the computer below a Picasso and click on any section of the painting and find that exact same
color or shape elsewhere in the
museum. There are tons of things like that in this one very large gallery. It's proving to be extremely successful. Emissaries from museums in New York, Los Angeles, Washington D.C. and others are coming here to study what we're doing with this cutting edge art interaction technology.
Also, I knew the museum was wealthy but I didn't know it was quite as wealthy as it is. Though I don't know exact numbers, our museum has the third largest endowment of any art museum in America. I really think that they could give me a million dollars just to be nice and they'd still never miss it.
Next spring will be a good time to visit if you like Van Gogh. There's going to be a special exhibition showcasing 30 of his paintings. (They couldn't get 40? How cheap!) That's one of the most extensive collections of his work ever. The angle of the exhibition is that it's going to compare and contrast how he painted the same thing at different times. So there may be two different versions of the same tree right next to each other. And we'll be able to see how his mood changed thereby changing the colors in the tree, for example.
Next year is also a good time to visit if you like Japanese art. Japan is lending us some of their primary national art treasures. Apparently, it will be the equivalent of the Louvre lending out the Mona Lisa.
Also, the search for a new executive director continues. Last summer our executive director resigned after it came out that he was having an affair with another museum employee. She commit suicide and the whole thing was one big soap opera. Can you believe that things like this actually happen in real life, not just Wagnerian operas? Oh, for heaven's sake's!
But at least whomever is our next executive director won't have to deal with any construction. After 10 looooooonnnnnnng years, the construction will officially end in one week when the final galleries open. Those galleries: Chinese art; Japanese art and Southeastern Asian art are among the museum's most famous. Then the museum can get back to the business at hand: renting out the atrium for weddings ($20,000). After all, admission to the museum is always free. So somebody's got to pay for that new atrium.
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| The Cleveland Museum of Art with all the new additions. It's massive. |
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| The main entrance since 1970, though actually the back of the building. |
This museum is the first one in America to have a gallery which is 100% interactive. Meaning: they've taken some of the most popular works from elsewhere in the museum and moved them into one gallery, then created computer interaction around each item. For example: you can walk up to the computer below a Picasso and click on any section of the painting and find that exact same
color or shape elsewhere in the
museum. There are tons of things like that in this one very large gallery. It's proving to be extremely successful. Emissaries from museums in New York, Los Angeles, Washington D.C. and others are coming here to study what we're doing with this cutting edge art interaction technology.
 | ||||
| The original 1916 building. |
Also, I knew the museum was wealthy but I didn't know it was quite as wealthy as it is. Though I don't know exact numbers, our museum has the third largest endowment of any art museum in America. I really think that they could give me a million dollars just to be nice and they'd still never miss it.
 |
| The new atrium; the size of a football field. The middle of the museum. |
Next year is also a good time to visit if you like Japanese art. Japan is lending us some of their primary national art treasures. Apparently, it will be the equivalent of the Louvre lending out the Mona Lisa.
Also, the search for a new executive director continues. Last summer our executive director resigned after it came out that he was having an affair with another museum employee. She commit suicide and the whole thing was one big soap opera. Can you believe that things like this actually happen in real life, not just Wagnerian operas? Oh, for heaven's sake's!
But at least whomever is our next executive director won't have to deal with any construction. After 10 looooooonnnnnnng years, the construction will officially end in one week when the final galleries open. Those galleries: Chinese art; Japanese art and Southeastern Asian art are among the museum's most famous. Then the museum can get back to the business at hand: renting out the atrium for weddings ($20,000). After all, admission to the museum is always free. So somebody's got to pay for that new atrium.
Saturday, December 14, 2013
A Holiday Sweet Treats Party - Epilogue
Page One Hundred Sixty-Nine.
I have few parties or get-togethers. My apartment really is too small for any number of people above four and parties require three cleanings. Also the cost is dysfunctional. Subsequently, in the nine years that I've been in my current flat, I've only had six or seven soires. Here's how I deal with it:
Apartment Size
Last weekend there were twenty-six guests (plus me) in my place. That's twenty-three more people than it can comfortably hold. But I didn't care. It was an afternoon affair with people coming in and out with never more than about fifteen at a time. Between my living room and dining room there's seating for thirteen, though it is tight. And I do mean tight. But, oh, well. I figure, if I make the food and environment good enough then people won't care if they end up sitting on each other's laps (which some people don't mind either).
Cleaning
Here's the real problem. I'm not at all messy, but I usually have roommates who are pigs. And I'll admit that I'm really bad at dusting and polishing regularly. So every time I have a party, there are three cleanings involved. First, there's the pre-clean clean. That occurs a few weeks in advance and it's when I go on an archaeological dig in my own apartment. I look for dinosaur or pterodactyl skeletons, remnants of the Titanic (and any other shipwrecks) and previously unknown aboriginal tribes. Then I clean whatever I find so heavily that it's shinier and more sparkly than the British crown jewels. And I subsequently organize and arrange items in a manner reminiscent of the Smithsonian Institute. (People have occasionally seen my apartment clean and they have literally commented that it reminds them of a museum.)
Then the second clean is a couple of days prior to the party. That occurs because I get spots on the bathroom mirror, new crumbs appear on the kitchen floor or the throw pillows in the living room get misshapen. In short, I really allow my OCD to rare it's ugly head while getting the apartment looking nice. I refer to these two cleanings as "autoclaving" my apartment. And I'll tell you, after clean #2 you really can eat off any surface in my place.
Clean #3 is after the party is over and all the barbarians and heathens have left. Don't even get me started...
Cost
I'm usually able to rationalize the cost. I'm lucky that way. Also, because I make all the food myself from scratch, my bills are substantially lower than the equivalent at somebody else's place anyhow. The food at last weekend's party was hundreds less than it would've been at a neighbor's merely because I do it all with my little ole' fingers. But the fact is lots of dollars are involved, no matter what. And sometimes my bank account gets cross with me for treating it with such disregard. I hate making my bank account unhappy with me.
So I really don't entertain often. But last week's party was fun. The theme was "bring your own dessert". I provided all the real food and requested the guests to bring sweets to share.
Here's what I ended up making: beef tenderloin sliced thin with accompanying French bread for sandwiches; pork ribs; chicken pot pie; mac 'n cheese; wild rice medley and Mexican baked beans (vegan); quinoa with mushrooms, onions and red pepper (vegan); a cold vegetable tray with blue cheese dipping sauce; hot mulled apple cider and pop. Then, there were bowls of your requisite tree nuts; seeds; chocolate coated things, mandarin oranges and pralines strewn about. It was all very good.
But what guests brought was unreal. Cupcakes galore; chocolate cake; strawberry cheesecake; molasses cookies; angel food cake; key lime pie; mini key lime cheesecakes; chocolate covered who knows what; pumpkin pie; more cookies and other stuff. Plus I contributed two things to the dessert table: a box each of ho-hos and twinkies. Everything was was heavenly.
So perhaps I'll have another sweet treats party next year. I think I can handle one per year. I think.
I have few parties or get-togethers. My apartment really is too small for any number of people above four and parties require three cleanings. Also the cost is dysfunctional. Subsequently, in the nine years that I've been in my current flat, I've only had six or seven soires. Here's how I deal with it:
Apartment Size
Last weekend there were twenty-six guests (plus me) in my place. That's twenty-three more people than it can comfortably hold. But I didn't care. It was an afternoon affair with people coming in and out with never more than about fifteen at a time. Between my living room and dining room there's seating for thirteen, though it is tight. And I do mean tight. But, oh, well. I figure, if I make the food and environment good enough then people won't care if they end up sitting on each other's laps (which some people don't mind either).
Cleaning
Here's the real problem. I'm not at all messy, but I usually have roommates who are pigs. And I'll admit that I'm really bad at dusting and polishing regularly. So every time I have a party, there are three cleanings involved. First, there's the pre-clean clean. That occurs a few weeks in advance and it's when I go on an archaeological dig in my own apartment. I look for dinosaur or pterodactyl skeletons, remnants of the Titanic (and any other shipwrecks) and previously unknown aboriginal tribes. Then I clean whatever I find so heavily that it's shinier and more sparkly than the British crown jewels. And I subsequently organize and arrange items in a manner reminiscent of the Smithsonian Institute. (People have occasionally seen my apartment clean and they have literally commented that it reminds them of a museum.)
Then the second clean is a couple of days prior to the party. That occurs because I get spots on the bathroom mirror, new crumbs appear on the kitchen floor or the throw pillows in the living room get misshapen. In short, I really allow my OCD to rare it's ugly head while getting the apartment looking nice. I refer to these two cleanings as "autoclaving" my apartment. And I'll tell you, after clean #2 you really can eat off any surface in my place.
Clean #3 is after the party is over and all the barbarians and heathens have left. Don't even get me started...
Cost
I'm usually able to rationalize the cost. I'm lucky that way. Also, because I make all the food myself from scratch, my bills are substantially lower than the equivalent at somebody else's place anyhow. The food at last weekend's party was hundreds less than it would've been at a neighbor's merely because I do it all with my little ole' fingers. But the fact is lots of dollars are involved, no matter what. And sometimes my bank account gets cross with me for treating it with such disregard. I hate making my bank account unhappy with me.
So I really don't entertain often. But last week's party was fun. The theme was "bring your own dessert". I provided all the real food and requested the guests to bring sweets to share.
Here's what I ended up making: beef tenderloin sliced thin with accompanying French bread for sandwiches; pork ribs; chicken pot pie; mac 'n cheese; wild rice medley and Mexican baked beans (vegan); quinoa with mushrooms, onions and red pepper (vegan); a cold vegetable tray with blue cheese dipping sauce; hot mulled apple cider and pop. Then, there were bowls of your requisite tree nuts; seeds; chocolate coated things, mandarin oranges and pralines strewn about. It was all very good.
But what guests brought was unreal. Cupcakes galore; chocolate cake; strawberry cheesecake; molasses cookies; angel food cake; key lime pie; mini key lime cheesecakes; chocolate covered who knows what; pumpkin pie; more cookies and other stuff. Plus I contributed two things to the dessert table: a box each of ho-hos and twinkies. Everything was was heavenly.
So perhaps I'll have another sweet treats party next year. I think I can handle one per year. I think.
Friday, December 13, 2013
Feeding A Fifteen Year Old Update #4
Page One Hundred Sixty-Eight.
Well, the kid is back in my life.
Just to get you all up to speed, last summer, June of 2013, I was hired for a short-term gig cooking for a 15 year old boy a couple of times per week. Shem lost both of his parents a couple years ago to drugs and alcohol. He was taken in by his mother's best friend and promptly began acting up. He's a particularly charming and kind-hearted kid but, predictably, very angry. The area where he consistently acted out the most was food. The Foster mom, Deb, is an older women and former hippie who's single, vegetarian and admittedly no kind of cook. All the kid's food would become take-out or frozen. To be sure, it was good quality, but no kind of home-cooking. And home cooking is what he really craved. When the parents were sober they were apparently good cooks, especially the dad. The kid has euphoric memories of that food and romanticizes it. So, of all the things for him to raise hell about with Deb, it's food. (For the complete back story on this situation, you can read my blog: pages 97; 98; 99; 106 and 125 if desired.)
So last June, Deb called me. We're long-time acquaintances but she didn't realize until talking with some mutual friends that this type of job is right up my alley. I proceeded to cook for him a few times per week until he left for summer camp a month later. We had a shaky start but but then became good pals. After returning from camp, he moved in with one of his two older brothers. The oldest is in and out of jail; he's very much duplicating the pattern of their parents. Middle brother lives with his girlfriend one building away from Deb. He's in mostly good shape. He's in school studying pre-law and is reasonably stable. So the kid moved in with him long-term. Yeah, right.
Older brother didn't put up with the kid's crap. Also, girlfriend's younger brother lived with them as well. (I don't know that story. Some things are just none of my business. But I'll probably eventually hear it anyhow.) So it was one crowded apartment, and filled with two teenage boys and two very young twenty-somethings to boot. Golly gosh gee, how homey and cozy! So the kid wanted to move back in with Deb which he did last month. But she put her foot down and changed some of the rules. He's mostly been abiding by the new constitution but still raises hell about the food. Deb never phoned me because she thought that I was busy with other gigs, particularly the family for whom I cooked and nannied during the last few years. She didn't realize that they didn't resume me after their boys got back from summer camp this last autumn.
So I had a holiday gathering last weekend and invited Deb. We got to talking and so forth. Long story short, she phoned me this morning after speaking with the kid and wants to rehire me long-term, four days per week.
This 15 year old kid is going to have his own personal chef making his dinners and school lunches. Must be nice.
The fact is, It'll be good for him and me. I have EXTENSIVE experience working with troubled and at-risk youth and he did come to trust me and told me so. He consistently refuses counseling which the school and Deb are not happy about at all. Yet, he did tell me a certain amount of his business. The fact is, there are certain things I'm good at and kids are one of them. I have a former brother-in-law you used to refer to me as a child psychologist. Though I don't have the sheepskin to prove it, I am really good at dealing with those little monsters know as children. This blog isn't named How To Cook Children* for nothing.
And it'll be good for me 'cause I need the cash. I'm busy looking for one full-time job right now as I'm getting sort of sick of the multiple part-time gigs. I've done that for a while and it's wearing thin. But a little extra money in the meantime is a happy thing. And who knows how long before I find a job anyhow. I'm trying to get into corporate event planning here in Cleveland. The jobs definitely exist but getting them is hard. So, anything to pay the rent in the meantime... (If you know anybody in corporate event planning here in Cleveland or anybody in a related field, please feel free to pass along my name. I'll be in your eternal debt. I'll mail you some homemade Chicken Paprikash.)
*Nutritious Food They'll Eat
Well, the kid is back in my life.
Just to get you all up to speed, last summer, June of 2013, I was hired for a short-term gig cooking for a 15 year old boy a couple of times per week. Shem lost both of his parents a couple years ago to drugs and alcohol. He was taken in by his mother's best friend and promptly began acting up. He's a particularly charming and kind-hearted kid but, predictably, very angry. The area where he consistently acted out the most was food. The Foster mom, Deb, is an older women and former hippie who's single, vegetarian and admittedly no kind of cook. All the kid's food would become take-out or frozen. To be sure, it was good quality, but no kind of home-cooking. And home cooking is what he really craved. When the parents were sober they were apparently good cooks, especially the dad. The kid has euphoric memories of that food and romanticizes it. So, of all the things for him to raise hell about with Deb, it's food. (For the complete back story on this situation, you can read my blog: pages 97; 98; 99; 106 and 125 if desired.)
So last June, Deb called me. We're long-time acquaintances but she didn't realize until talking with some mutual friends that this type of job is right up my alley. I proceeded to cook for him a few times per week until he left for summer camp a month later. We had a shaky start but but then became good pals. After returning from camp, he moved in with one of his two older brothers. The oldest is in and out of jail; he's very much duplicating the pattern of their parents. Middle brother lives with his girlfriend one building away from Deb. He's in mostly good shape. He's in school studying pre-law and is reasonably stable. So the kid moved in with him long-term. Yeah, right.
Older brother didn't put up with the kid's crap. Also, girlfriend's younger brother lived with them as well. (I don't know that story. Some things are just none of my business. But I'll probably eventually hear it anyhow.) So it was one crowded apartment, and filled with two teenage boys and two very young twenty-somethings to boot. Golly gosh gee, how homey and cozy! So the kid wanted to move back in with Deb which he did last month. But she put her foot down and changed some of the rules. He's mostly been abiding by the new constitution but still raises hell about the food. Deb never phoned me because she thought that I was busy with other gigs, particularly the family for whom I cooked and nannied during the last few years. She didn't realize that they didn't resume me after their boys got back from summer camp this last autumn.
So I had a holiday gathering last weekend and invited Deb. We got to talking and so forth. Long story short, she phoned me this morning after speaking with the kid and wants to rehire me long-term, four days per week.
This 15 year old kid is going to have his own personal chef making his dinners and school lunches. Must be nice.
The fact is, It'll be good for him and me. I have EXTENSIVE experience working with troubled and at-risk youth and he did come to trust me and told me so. He consistently refuses counseling which the school and Deb are not happy about at all. Yet, he did tell me a certain amount of his business. The fact is, there are certain things I'm good at and kids are one of them. I have a former brother-in-law you used to refer to me as a child psychologist. Though I don't have the sheepskin to prove it, I am really good at dealing with those little monsters know as children. This blog isn't named How To Cook Children* for nothing.
And it'll be good for me 'cause I need the cash. I'm busy looking for one full-time job right now as I'm getting sort of sick of the multiple part-time gigs. I've done that for a while and it's wearing thin. But a little extra money in the meantime is a happy thing. And who knows how long before I find a job anyhow. I'm trying to get into corporate event planning here in Cleveland. The jobs definitely exist but getting them is hard. So, anything to pay the rent in the meantime... (If you know anybody in corporate event planning here in Cleveland or anybody in a related field, please feel free to pass along my name. I'll be in your eternal debt. I'll mail you some homemade Chicken Paprikash.)
*Nutritious Food They'll Eat
Thursday, December 12, 2013
One Busy Month
Page One Hundred Sixty-Seven.
Well, I guess that every few months I take a couple of weeks off from this whole blog thing. That seems to be the pattern I've established anyhow. Whether illness or business, sometimes I just can't access that part of my brain which says, "must write blog now".
The last couple of weeks have been busy, busy, busy. My birthday, Thanksgiving, much family descending, and a holiday get-together hosted by me. Oh... also, in the middle of all that I taught two classes. First class was at our local Williams-Sonoma where I taught new brides proper turkey roasting techniques. And the second class was in conjunction with the BATA (Buckeye Art Therapy Association) where I taught a sort of scrumptious-nutrition 101: making healthy food taste really yummy. That second class provided continuing education units for healing professionals such as social workers, art therapists, music therapists, etc. Additionally, this last month included decorating my beauty salon for Christmas and also Christmas decorating the auto repair shop where I take my car. Basically, it's been a really crazybusynutty month. But brother, I got blog material galore. You'll gradually hear all about it.
(So many long stories it's just crazy. I mean come on. Who Christmas decorates their car repair place, just for the fun of it? I do. They give me free oil changes year 'round in exchange. Martha Stewert herself couldn't beat that.)
Well, I guess that every few months I take a couple of weeks off from this whole blog thing. That seems to be the pattern I've established anyhow. Whether illness or business, sometimes I just can't access that part of my brain which says, "must write blog now".
The last couple of weeks have been busy, busy, busy. My birthday, Thanksgiving, much family descending, and a holiday get-together hosted by me. Oh... also, in the middle of all that I taught two classes. First class was at our local Williams-Sonoma where I taught new brides proper turkey roasting techniques. And the second class was in conjunction with the BATA (Buckeye Art Therapy Association) where I taught a sort of scrumptious-nutrition 101: making healthy food taste really yummy. That second class provided continuing education units for healing professionals such as social workers, art therapists, music therapists, etc. Additionally, this last month included decorating my beauty salon for Christmas and also Christmas decorating the auto repair shop where I take my car. Basically, it's been a really crazybusynutty month. But brother, I got blog material galore. You'll gradually hear all about it.
(So many long stories it's just crazy. I mean come on. Who Christmas decorates their car repair place, just for the fun of it? I do. They give me free oil changes year 'round in exchange. Martha Stewert herself couldn't beat that.)
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Soul Food
Page One Hundred Sixty-Six.
I had an interesting conversation with my co-workers recently. It was my birthday so they treated me to lunch from a nearby soul food spot which allegedly serves the best in town. They got me a Polish Boy Special. That's a Polish Boy sandwich with cole slaw, fries and honey mustard right on the sandwich plus more fries on the side. It was tres tasty but hardly African-American in nature. And I said so. Most everybody agreed with me except for one co-worker who said, "but it is soul food. It came from Lulu's Soul Fixin's". I said, "that doesn't means a thing".
I proceeded to give this co-worker a brief history of soul food. The level of irony here is beyond the outer edges of the universe. But no matter. (For you newer readers: I'm the lily white, Jewish, part-time manager of a busy, somewhat high-end, African-American beauty salon.)
Soul food has it's origins in a couple of distinctly separate roots.
1) Much of it started out as food which the slaves ate. The slaves, of course, ate what the masters gave them; primarily, the throwaway bits and pieces of meat which were considered unsavory for the white plantation owners. Jowls, feet, intestines and so forth. Also, weeds like dandelions would've been considered "good enough" and, substantially cheaper than, say, asparagus or broccoli; food, again, grown for the white family. So, over time, the slaves figured out how to make their allotted food taste really good. As decades turned into centuries, black cooks learned more and more by experimentation and trial and error how to deal with what they had and how to make it not only palatable but in fact really delicious. (Eastern European Jews did the exact same thing during the middle ages as a result of their own persecution. Kishka and chitterlings are very similar concepts. Kishka is stuffing-filled cow intestines and chitterlings are pig intestines with spices added. Different animal - same food.)
2) The trans-Atlantic cargo ships brought not only Africans but also African food to the states. Sweet potatoes, watermelon, peanuts and certain beans are not indigenous to the Americas. They were introduced simultaneous to the slave trade. Those were some of the foods that the Africans were used to eating back home while living free and they continued that tradition after arriving here. That tradition still continues today.
So, I'm giving this soul food history lesson in the middle of a busy black beauty salon with all the old ladies and younger highly educated professionals agreeing with what I'm saying. "Amen Brother!" And this young thing is just looking at me like I have potatoes growing out of my nose because I'm saying that a polish boy and fries doesn't count in spite of the fact that it was purchased at Lulu's. It was very yum-yum, don't get me wrong, but I was expecting my birthday meal to be a bit more authentic. Oh well. Maybe next year.
I had an interesting conversation with my co-workers recently. It was my birthday so they treated me to lunch from a nearby soul food spot which allegedly serves the best in town. They got me a Polish Boy Special. That's a Polish Boy sandwich with cole slaw, fries and honey mustard right on the sandwich plus more fries on the side. It was tres tasty but hardly African-American in nature. And I said so. Most everybody agreed with me except for one co-worker who said, "but it is soul food. It came from Lulu's Soul Fixin's". I said, "that doesn't means a thing".
I proceeded to give this co-worker a brief history of soul food. The level of irony here is beyond the outer edges of the universe. But no matter. (For you newer readers: I'm the lily white, Jewish, part-time manager of a busy, somewhat high-end, African-American beauty salon.) Soul food has it's origins in a couple of distinctly separate roots.
1) Much of it started out as food which the slaves ate. The slaves, of course, ate what the masters gave them; primarily, the throwaway bits and pieces of meat which were considered unsavory for the white plantation owners. Jowls, feet, intestines and so forth. Also, weeds like dandelions would've been considered "good enough" and, substantially cheaper than, say, asparagus or broccoli; food, again, grown for the white family. So, over time, the slaves figured out how to make their allotted food taste really good. As decades turned into centuries, black cooks learned more and more by experimentation and trial and error how to deal with what they had and how to make it not only palatable but in fact really delicious. (Eastern European Jews did the exact same thing during the middle ages as a result of their own persecution. Kishka and chitterlings are very similar concepts. Kishka is stuffing-filled cow intestines and chitterlings are pig intestines with spices added. Different animal - same food.)
2) The trans-Atlantic cargo ships brought not only Africans but also African food to the states. Sweet potatoes, watermelon, peanuts and certain beans are not indigenous to the Americas. They were introduced simultaneous to the slave trade. Those were some of the foods that the Africans were used to eating back home while living free and they continued that tradition after arriving here. That tradition still continues today.
So, I'm giving this soul food history lesson in the middle of a busy black beauty salon with all the old ladies and younger highly educated professionals agreeing with what I'm saying. "Amen Brother!" And this young thing is just looking at me like I have potatoes growing out of my nose because I'm saying that a polish boy and fries doesn't count in spite of the fact that it was purchased at Lulu's. It was very yum-yum, don't get me wrong, but I was expecting my birthday meal to be a bit more authentic. Oh well. Maybe next year.
Friday, November 22, 2013
A Holiday Sweet Treats Party
Page One Hundred Sixty-Five.
And so it begins. The holiday season is here and with it parties, presents, rushing, decorations, frustration and tons of ridiculous food, little of which is healthy.
In a couple of weeks, I'll be having a holiday gathering which will hopefully be pleasant and not too big. Here's my theme. I'm going to make all the real food and I've asked my guests to bring the crap. I figure most people have one holiday sweet specialty they make every year. Why shouldn't there be a party devoted to those home-made goodies? I'm sure others have done this type of thing before. With luck it'll work.
I'll make beef tenderloin with French bread for sandwiches, chicken pot pie, ribs, mac 'n cheese, vegan rice & beans, cole slaw and a tray of fresh, raw veggies. Then, there will also be dishes of dried fruit strewn about. Plus, of course, bowls of nuts. This menu is very eclectic and might adjust, but you see the direction I'm heading. (Understand, my friends are of the "wide range" variety.) I'm also thinking of buying a couple boxes of Ho-Hos and Twinkies just for the fun of it.
I know that home-made Russian tea biscuits will probably show up. There will also be the typical variety of home-grown cookies, date-nut bars, lemon bars, berry and pumpkin pies, chocolate cake and Lord only knows what else. Somebody may bring fresh pralines. Wouldn't that be great?
This party will be in two weeks. If I start cooking tonight, it should all be ready by then.
And so it begins. The holiday season is here and with it parties, presents, rushing, decorations, frustration and tons of ridiculous food, little of which is healthy.
In a couple of weeks, I'll be having a holiday gathering which will hopefully be pleasant and not too big. Here's my theme. I'm going to make all the real food and I've asked my guests to bring the crap. I figure most people have one holiday sweet specialty they make every year. Why shouldn't there be a party devoted to those home-made goodies? I'm sure others have done this type of thing before. With luck it'll work.
I'll make beef tenderloin with French bread for sandwiches, chicken pot pie, ribs, mac 'n cheese, vegan rice & beans, cole slaw and a tray of fresh, raw veggies. Then, there will also be dishes of dried fruit strewn about. Plus, of course, bowls of nuts. This menu is very eclectic and might adjust, but you see the direction I'm heading. (Understand, my friends are of the "wide range" variety.) I'm also thinking of buying a couple boxes of Ho-Hos and Twinkies just for the fun of it.
I know that home-made Russian tea biscuits will probably show up. There will also be the typical variety of home-grown cookies, date-nut bars, lemon bars, berry and pumpkin pies, chocolate cake and Lord only knows what else. Somebody may bring fresh pralines. Wouldn't that be great?
This party will be in two weeks. If I start cooking tonight, it should all be ready by then.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Simon & Garfunkel Inspired Roasted Root Vegetables
Page One Hundred Sixty-Four.
I'm sure you've heard how Henry VIII can be. Well, lemme tell ya, when he's dieting he's worse. I was attending his marriage to Ann Bolyn and I could've predicted just exactly how it would end by his behavior at his bachelor party.
His doctors had recently put him on a low-cholesterol/reduced sodium diet because his blood pressure really was sky high and this man was subsequently having real psychological issues. We were all hanging out at one of the local strip joints and, I thought, having a good time. Suddenly, after a while, for just no discernible reason he yells, "off with her head" in reference to the poor dancer! We all asked him what the problem was and he said that her dance moves were old. True, she was doing the Charleston. But that's no reason to behead someone. We managed to talk him out of his decree and she was saved. But she was crying so badly that she had to take the rest of the evening off from dancing.Instead, she was the hat check girl for the rest of the night.
I'm only bringing this story up because it was the same evening that Simon & Garfunkel wrote Scarborough Fair and subsequently inspired my roasted root recipe. You see Paul and Art were friends with Hank also. In fact, they were the ones to talk him out of the beheading. They could see how shaken the stripper was. And even after her life was officially spared she was still so traumatized that they went over and spoke with her for a while just to soothe her nerves.
Seems she was from Scarborough and her favorite spice combination was parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. How they got all that in one 15 minute conversation is beyond me, but no matter. So they ended up writing one of their most famous songs about a stripper! Obviously, you can tell by listening to it that it was written during the late Renaissance, in England, but I'm sure you didn't know the rest.
Here's how I adopted her favorite spice combo into a scrumptious dish.
Get yourself a few large potatoes, white or sweet, and peel 'em.
Then, get yourself a few beets and a bunch of carrots and peel 'em.
Then, cut everything into bite-sized pieces and dump 'em all into a large bowl.
Then, drizzle just enough olive oil over everything to moisten and stir thoroughly.
Then, sprinkle on some salt, pepper and a few teaspoons of white sugar.
Then, sprinkle on some parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. Just a little of everything, you know.
Then, pour it all onto a foil-lined cooking sheet and spread around so all the pieces are flat.
Then, place in a 425 degree, preheated, oven for a while. 20 minutes? "Till fork tender.
Feeds 8-10 as a side dish if served with many other items. Or, 6-8 if a heartier sized portion is desired.
So, that's the story of my Simon& Garfunkel Roasted Root Vegetables. I'm sure it was more information that you needed or wanted but you got it anyhow. Enjoy!
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| King Henry VIII of England |
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| Why Would He Want To Behead Her? |
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| The Famous Duo Of Simon & Garfunkel |
Seems she was from Scarborough and her favorite spice combination was parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. How they got all that in one 15 minute conversation is beyond me, but no matter. So they ended up writing one of their most famous songs about a stripper! Obviously, you can tell by listening to it that it was written during the late Renaissance, in England, but I'm sure you didn't know the rest.
Here's how I adopted her favorite spice combo into a scrumptious dish.
Get yourself a few large potatoes, white or sweet, and peel 'em.
Then, get yourself a few beets and a bunch of carrots and peel 'em.
Then, cut everything into bite-sized pieces and dump 'em all into a large bowl.
Then, drizzle just enough olive oil over everything to moisten and stir thoroughly.
Then, sprinkle on some salt, pepper and a few teaspoons of white sugar.
Then, sprinkle on some parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. Just a little of everything, you know.
Then, pour it all onto a foil-lined cooking sheet and spread around so all the pieces are flat.
Then, place in a 425 degree, preheated, oven for a while. 20 minutes? "Till fork tender.
Feeds 8-10 as a side dish if served with many other items. Or, 6-8 if a heartier sized portion is desired.
So, that's the story of my Simon& Garfunkel Roasted Root Vegetables. I'm sure it was more information that you needed or wanted but you got it anyhow. Enjoy!
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Mrs. Buckley's Stuffing
Page One Hundred Sixty-Three.
About 18,500 or 18,501 years ago, I lived across the street from the Buckleys. This was in Ireland. It wasn't called Ireland at the time, of course. It was called "Honolulu" by its contemporary inhabitants in the native language. But it was what we call Ireland today, none-the-less. It was an idyllic neighborhood. Almost everybody was charming and redheaded, the hills were a vibrant green and everybody wore beautiful sweaters.
The only "less than fuzzy" element on the entire street were a family of druids who lived down the way. They drank excessively and rented out their upstairs apartment to a bunch of frat boys who were always having wild parties. But, except for that one house, it really was just a lovely area.
So one evening I was out raking leaves and Mrs. Buckley walked over and invited me to join her family for dinner. Never one to turn down free food, I accepted. She'd made a very good meal that I can still taste today. It was spiral sliced emu; stuffing; quinoa with morel mushrooms; falafel; creamed jicama; fried plantains; pad thai and rolls with butter. Then, for dessert she made a Chocolate Decadent Cake. The entire meal really was great.
What made the greatest impression on me at the time was the stuffing. My family was Orthodox Jewish. So, if my mother was required to have a stuffing-type item on the table for a given holiday, it was matzo farfel. I'll talk about my mother's matzo farfel more in another blog, but what you need to know for the sake of this blog was that it was awful. Basically, it was dead, dry, flavorless chunks of Soylent Green. So when Mrs. Buckley explained that this stuffing was gentile-style food, I just quivered with glee. It was great!
I innocently asked her how to make it. She graciously responded and I've been making a similar version ever since. Here 'tis. Fry up an entire log of Italian seasoned sausage in a very large pot or stock pot 'till brown. (I think the log will be a pound. But you'll see it in the store.) Remove sausage to a bowl. To the sausage drippings, add 1 large finely chopped onion, 2 finely diced celery ribs and 1 finely chopped red pepper. Saute 'till soft. Add a stick of butter and let melt slowly. Replace cooked sausage and stir. Pour in 2 cups of chicken broth and heat 'till warm. Dump in a large bag (12-16 oz.) of seasoned bread croutons or stuffing mix. Stir thoroughly. Dump into a couple of casseroles and bake, 325 for 20-25 minutes or so. Eat and enjoy. Serves a small army- maybe 10 or 12.
About 18,500 or 18,501 years ago, I lived across the street from the Buckleys. This was in Ireland. It wasn't called Ireland at the time, of course. It was called "Honolulu" by its contemporary inhabitants in the native language. But it was what we call Ireland today, none-the-less. It was an idyllic neighborhood. Almost everybody was charming and redheaded, the hills were a vibrant green and everybody wore beautiful sweaters.
The only "less than fuzzy" element on the entire street were a family of druids who lived down the way. They drank excessively and rented out their upstairs apartment to a bunch of frat boys who were always having wild parties. But, except for that one house, it really was just a lovely area.
What made the greatest impression on me at the time was the stuffing. My family was Orthodox Jewish. So, if my mother was required to have a stuffing-type item on the table for a given holiday, it was matzo farfel. I'll talk about my mother's matzo farfel more in another blog, but what you need to know for the sake of this blog was that it was awful. Basically, it was dead, dry, flavorless chunks of Soylent Green. So when Mrs. Buckley explained that this stuffing was gentile-style food, I just quivered with glee. It was great!
I innocently asked her how to make it. She graciously responded and I've been making a similar version ever since. Here 'tis. Fry up an entire log of Italian seasoned sausage in a very large pot or stock pot 'till brown. (I think the log will be a pound. But you'll see it in the store.) Remove sausage to a bowl. To the sausage drippings, add 1 large finely chopped onion, 2 finely diced celery ribs and 1 finely chopped red pepper. Saute 'till soft. Add a stick of butter and let melt slowly. Replace cooked sausage and stir. Pour in 2 cups of chicken broth and heat 'till warm. Dump in a large bag (12-16 oz.) of seasoned bread croutons or stuffing mix. Stir thoroughly. Dump into a couple of casseroles and bake, 325 for 20-25 minutes or so. Eat and enjoy. Serves a small army- maybe 10 or 12.
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Thanksgiving Chocolate Decadent Birthday Cake
Page One Hundred Sixty-Two.
In my extended family, there are three birthdays in late October and November. So beginning a few years back, our Thanksgiving dessert table has three birthday cakes on it in addition to the usual assortment of pies and cookies. My sister, the Official Thanksgiving Hostess, began this tradition to honor two of her children and myself. She wanted to remember our birthdays while wayward family members were in town.
Due to the volume of desserts, we each got a very small, eight inch, single layer cake of our choice. That way, the already crowded dessert table wasn't as overwhelming. Everybody was happy with this for a few years except me. I wanted enough cake so I could bring some home afterwards and munch for a couple of days. Plus, I wanted the best in Cleveland, which everybody knows is Corbo's Bakery in Little Italy. So starting a few years ago, I began bringing my own Corbo's cake: a 1/4 sheet, 1/2 white & 1/2 chocolate with white frosting. And it always said,
"Happy Birthday Uncle Jeremy"
Everybody acclimated well to this until last year when I bought a 1/2 sheet. I don't know why I brought something so big. It wasn't a major birthday or anything like that. I just wanted the attention I guess. And even after I cut myself a massive slice to take home, there were tons left over, some of which ended getting tossed.
Mere days prior to starting my weight-reduction diet last July, I discovered the best cake south of Heaven. It's Chocolate Decadent Cake from Gust Galluci's Italian Grocery Store on Euclid Avenue. I purchased a couple of slices of this stuff and then promptly went on a diet. Poor timing on my part, right? I guess I figured that after eating this cake, there's no reason to eat anything else ever again. This cake is so good it really is the last thing you might want to eat before dying. By September, I'd decided that it would be this year's birthday cake.. And a whole cake is round, four layer and 12 inches so visually it shouldn't be as overwhelming as what I typically bring.
I told my sister my new plan and she wasn't sure how it would go over. Once I described the cake in detail to her though, she was all for it. I knew that she'd feel about this baked delight the same way I do. So, I ordered it three weeks in advance with a day prior to Thanksgiving pick-up.
If you're going to blow your diet, make it worth it. And this crud is.
 |
| Yum! |
Due to the volume of desserts, we each got a very small, eight inch, single layer cake of our choice. That way, the already crowded dessert table wasn't as overwhelming. Everybody was happy with this for a few years except me. I wanted enough cake so I could bring some home afterwards and munch for a couple of days. Plus, I wanted the best in Cleveland, which everybody knows is Corbo's Bakery in Little Italy. So starting a few years ago, I began bringing my own Corbo's cake: a 1/4 sheet, 1/2 white & 1/2 chocolate with white frosting. And it always said,
"Happy Birthday Uncle Jeremy"
 |
| Mmmm. Tasty! |
This year, my niece's birthday actually falls on Thanksgiving day which is very nice. So she's requested that I don't bring another 1/2 sheet and also that we don't make a fuss over her brother's birthday which is in October anyhow. My Nephew, Lee, and I are perfectly okay with those requests. Lee simply doesn't care about things like that in the first place. And, I have ulterior motives.
 |
| With fruit it's tasty and healthy! |
I told my sister my new plan and she wasn't sure how it would go over. Once I described the cake in detail to her though, she was all for it. I knew that she'd feel about this baked delight the same way I do. So, I ordered it three weeks in advance with a day prior to Thanksgiving pick-up.
If you're going to blow your diet, make it worth it. And this crud is.
Thursday, November 14, 2013
I'll Have The Babyback Ribs Please. With Extra Sauce On The Side. Thank You.
Page One Hundred Sixty-One.
You know what I have a taste for? BBQ ribs. I want some nice "fall off the bone", smoky, sweet ribs. Maybe I'll make some today. I'm positive that if I rationalize properly, then I can somehow figure out how to get them onto the list of foods which are allowed on my weight-reduction diet.
You may not know anybody who's quite as good at rationalizing and inventing diet foods as me. I know in my heart that if I were desperate enough, I could get sour cream coffee cake onto my diet. But I'm not currently that desperate, thank heavens. I just want some ribs. And I have broken through my weight-loss plateau; I'm down more poundage in the last week. (As of this week, I'm at my 2001 weight according to my records at the gym.)
So, yes indeedy, I think I'll make some ribs...
Yessiree Bob... It's ribs tonight...
Yup... BBQ ribs...
Yum, yum, yum.
You know what I have a taste for? BBQ ribs. I want some nice "fall off the bone", smoky, sweet ribs. Maybe I'll make some today. I'm positive that if I rationalize properly, then I can somehow figure out how to get them onto the list of foods which are allowed on my weight-reduction diet.
So, yes indeedy, I think I'll make some ribs...
Yessiree Bob... It's ribs tonight...
Yup... BBQ ribs...
Yum, yum, yum.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
On Preparing for Thanksgiving Drama
Page One Hundred Sixty.
Thanksgiving is in a couple of weeks and here's what I'm required to bring: two sweet potato casseroles (one with reduced marshmallow topping); green beans with almonds; two vegetarian pot pies; my birthday cake (not home-made, separate story); a large mac 'n cheese to feed the masses on Friday afternoon and no drama. We're looking at about two dozen attendees this year - that's down a little because the decision was made not to allow an ex-spouse and some accompanying entourage.
Don't worry too much about the ex-spouse though. they are invited, with the new significant other, to join us for a formal meal on Friday night. You see, my sister and brother-in-law host a family gathering at their country club every year on the Friday evening of Thanksgiving weekend. And the compromise was made to allow ex-spouse to join us Friday but not Thursday.
Thanksgiving is in a couple of weeks and here's what I'm required to bring: two sweet potato casseroles (one with reduced marshmallow topping); green beans with almonds; two vegetarian pot pies; my birthday cake (not home-made, separate story); a large mac 'n cheese to feed the masses on Friday afternoon and no drama. We're looking at about two dozen attendees this year - that's down a little because the decision was made not to allow an ex-spouse and some accompanying entourage.Don't worry too much about the ex-spouse though. they are invited, with the new significant other, to join us for a formal meal on Friday night. You see, my sister and brother-in-law host a family gathering at their country club every year on the Friday evening of Thanksgiving weekend. And the compromise was made to allow ex-spouse to join us Friday but not Thursday.
Oh, the drama. I just can't believe that some of this stuff goes on in other families. In other families, the big dramas are things like: excessive alcohol/drug consumption; screaming and yelling; the bad food; delayed eating; etc. I know those stories, believe me. In my family it's: if she's coming then I'm not; and vice versa. And that includes ex's. Families are just insane. But, we're stuck with them.
White America & Black America: The Difference? Mac 'N Cheese
Page One Hundred Fifty-Nine.
Yesterday, I got into a discussion with my co-workers about the different eating habits of black people and white people at large family gatherings or parties. It really is amazing how different some traditions are.
I'm the manager of an African-American beauty salon even though I'm white. I've also spent a certain amount of time in other predominately black environments over the years, for a variety of reasons. The food differences still fascinate me.
In about 2000, after working at the hospital for a little while, I got into a conversation with a black co-worker about her recent family Thanksgiving feast. She mentioned in passing how good the mac 'n cheese was. I was visibly surprised that she'd had that dish at Thanksgiving. She was, in turn, surprised that I was surprised. I'd never heard of mac 'n cheese at Thanksgiving and she was shocked at my ignorance. Another black co-worker who was standing nearby interceded. "Jeremy, black people always have mac 'n cheese at their family and holiday gatherings. And white people don't know that. And black people don't know that white people don't have it."
She was right. I've had this conversation countless times over the years with other white and black people and they're equally surprised.
Yesterday at the salon, they asked me what will be on the average white family's Thanksgiving table in a couple of weeks. "Turkey, stuffing, gravy, mashed white potatoes, cranberry relish, green beans, rolls and butter. Then some families will personalize it by perhaps adding sweet potatoes, peas, salad, and/or glazed carrots. But then they may eliminate the white potatoes and green beans and lots of people don't really like cranberry relish. But generally, the stereotypical caucasian family will have something closely related to that."
"That's it?"
"Yeah."
"That's boring. What's your second meat?"
"What's a second meat?"
At that point the room erupted in laughter. They proceeded to list all the things that might be served at a black Thanksgiving, none of which surprised me because I'm somewhat well versed in stereotypical African-American eating habits at this point in my life. For those of you who aren't, take the aforementioned "White People List" and add spiral sliced ham, greens (collared or turnip), sometimes roast beef, black eyed peas, spaghetti with tomato sauce (occasionally), chicken wings, corn bread and, of course, mac 'n cheese. It tends to be more food and a greater variety than what I'm used to.
Now, here's one question: is it a Southern thing? I've never thought to ask a Southern caucasian what their stereotypical eating habits are come Thanksgiving. But I wonder if it's more of a varied spread than what I'm used to as a Northerner? My next question is: if it's not a Southern thing but an exclusively black thing, why? What's the origin of the subtle changes
But getting back to that mac 'n cheese... that stuff really represents the great divide between white and black America. And I'll tell you something else. MANY people have told me that I make the best mac 'n cheese with lobster that they've ever tasted. But I'd never take it to a black gathering. Never. They'd consider me an amateur. Why set myself up to receive those patronizing comments?
Yesterday, I got into a discussion with my co-workers about the different eating habits of black people and white people at large family gatherings or parties. It really is amazing how different some traditions are.
I'm the manager of an African-American beauty salon even though I'm white. I've also spent a certain amount of time in other predominately black environments over the years, for a variety of reasons. The food differences still fascinate me.
In about 2000, after working at the hospital for a little while, I got into a conversation with a black co-worker about her recent family Thanksgiving feast. She mentioned in passing how good the mac 'n cheese was. I was visibly surprised that she'd had that dish at Thanksgiving. She was, in turn, surprised that I was surprised. I'd never heard of mac 'n cheese at Thanksgiving and she was shocked at my ignorance. Another black co-worker who was standing nearby interceded. "Jeremy, black people always have mac 'n cheese at their family and holiday gatherings. And white people don't know that. And black people don't know that white people don't have it."
She was right. I've had this conversation countless times over the years with other white and black people and they're equally surprised.
Yesterday at the salon, they asked me what will be on the average white family's Thanksgiving table in a couple of weeks. "Turkey, stuffing, gravy, mashed white potatoes, cranberry relish, green beans, rolls and butter. Then some families will personalize it by perhaps adding sweet potatoes, peas, salad, and/or glazed carrots. But then they may eliminate the white potatoes and green beans and lots of people don't really like cranberry relish. But generally, the stereotypical caucasian family will have something closely related to that."
"That's it?"
"Yeah."
"That's boring. What's your second meat?"
"What's a second meat?"
At that point the room erupted in laughter. They proceeded to list all the things that might be served at a black Thanksgiving, none of which surprised me because I'm somewhat well versed in stereotypical African-American eating habits at this point in my life. For those of you who aren't, take the aforementioned "White People List" and add spiral sliced ham, greens (collared or turnip), sometimes roast beef, black eyed peas, spaghetti with tomato sauce (occasionally), chicken wings, corn bread and, of course, mac 'n cheese. It tends to be more food and a greater variety than what I'm used to.
Now, here's one question: is it a Southern thing? I've never thought to ask a Southern caucasian what their stereotypical eating habits are come Thanksgiving. But I wonder if it's more of a varied spread than what I'm used to as a Northerner? My next question is: if it's not a Southern thing but an exclusively black thing, why? What's the origin of the subtle changes
Saturday, November 9, 2013
A Winter's Feast
Page One Hundred Fifty-Eight.
January of 1985 saw a cold snap in Cleveland, the likes of which you only hear about. It was more notorious Cleveland winter weather. For a couple of days it didn't get above 5 or 10 degrees. About six weeks earlier I'd moved in with a young newlywed couple, Mike and Kathy. (I was taking a few years off from being a live-in nanny to work full-time as a hairdresser. I rented a bedroom in their home having found them listed on the housing boards of one of the local colleges.) So we were just getting used to each other when the entire city was shut down from the cold. All our respective jobs were canceled, so there we were with nothing to do.
Mid-afternoon, I got a taste for spaghetti with home-made meat sauce. I had some of the ingredients but not all. They had everything else. So I offered to make us all a nice spaghetti dinner, combining our communaly supplies. They were all for it and even pulled a salad together. That type of weather just screams for a hearty pasta dish.
So, a few hours later, there we were, finishing up a nice, old-fashioned, Italian dinner, feeling glorious, but still strangely ready for more. Somebody said, "I could go for some ice cream". I honestly don't remember who's idea it was, but we all confirmed that, "yes indeedy. Some ice cream would be perfect just about now". Problem was, there was no ice cream in the house. Somebody, who knows who, said, "let's head up to Hoffman's Ice Cream Parlor". It was 6.30 or 7.
Hoffman's was a local joint just few miles up Mayfield Road. Under normal circumstances, it was perhaps 10 minutes away; just a hop, skip and jump. But these weren't normal circumstances. It was colder than... it was colder than... it was colder than... It was cold!!! But golly gosh gee. We wanted some ice cream, so off we went. We somehow got out of the driveway. That was no small feat right there considering the amount of snow coming down.
Did I mention the snow? I can't remember. Regardless, it was snowing harder than it ever has at the top of Mt. Everest.
So we got out of the driveway - small miracle. Then we headed up Mayfield.There were no cars. I mean zero. Notta. Zilch. Nothing. It was like a post-apocolyptic Earth were there's no more oil so nobody can drive and the kings control what little gasoline does exist and all the humans are wild. So we didn't have to deal with traffic, just snow. But we did make it and... who knew? The lights were actually ON!
We went in and believe it or not, there were other customers in the place. Only one table's full, but in fact, we weren't the only psychotic people in Cleveland that day. The staff told us that they'd been open all day but the other table and our party were the first customers. Then while we were there, many more people showed up. It was as if everybody got cabin fever at the exact same moment. That ice cream was glorious.
I'd live with Mike and Kathy for another year and a half before deciding to give up full-time hair, go back to college and move back in with the three boys who I lived with and nannied a couple of years earlier. To this day though, almost always, invariably in the dead of winter, on the worst days, I crave ice cream. Don't know why... just do. Chocolate chip, pralines & cream, chocolate fudge, cherry vanilla, butter pecan... just don't care. I want it.
January of 1985 saw a cold snap in Cleveland, the likes of which you only hear about. It was more notorious Cleveland winter weather. For a couple of days it didn't get above 5 or 10 degrees. About six weeks earlier I'd moved in with a young newlywed couple, Mike and Kathy. (I was taking a few years off from being a live-in nanny to work full-time as a hairdresser. I rented a bedroom in their home having found them listed on the housing boards of one of the local colleges.) So we were just getting used to each other when the entire city was shut down from the cold. All our respective jobs were canceled, so there we were with nothing to do.
So, a few hours later, there we were, finishing up a nice, old-fashioned, Italian dinner, feeling glorious, but still strangely ready for more. Somebody said, "I could go for some ice cream". I honestly don't remember who's idea it was, but we all confirmed that, "yes indeedy. Some ice cream would be perfect just about now". Problem was, there was no ice cream in the house. Somebody, who knows who, said, "let's head up to Hoffman's Ice Cream Parlor". It was 6.30 or 7.
Did I mention the snow? I can't remember. Regardless, it was snowing harder than it ever has at the top of Mt. Everest.
So we got out of the driveway - small miracle. Then we headed up Mayfield.There were no cars. I mean zero. Notta. Zilch. Nothing. It was like a post-apocolyptic Earth were there's no more oil so nobody can drive and the kings control what little gasoline does exist and all the humans are wild. So we didn't have to deal with traffic, just snow. But we did make it and... who knew? The lights were actually ON!
We went in and believe it or not, there were other customers in the place. Only one table's full, but in fact, we weren't the only psychotic people in Cleveland that day. The staff told us that they'd been open all day but the other table and our party were the first customers. Then while we were there, many more people showed up. It was as if everybody got cabin fever at the exact same moment. That ice cream was glorious.
Friday, November 8, 2013
On Doing The Hair Of A Corpse
Page One Hundred Fifty-Seven.
Have I yet told the story of doing the dead woman's hair in her casket? I don't think so. For lack of a better topic today, here we go. Be prepared. It's a sad story. Really. If you're not up for a tragic story, then don't read this right now.
I'd been doing the hair of Sue for a few years. She was some twenty years older than me and met me through her daughter Kalen. One of my best friends, Biff, had been dating Kalen for a few years and they both agreed that Sue and I would get along beautifully. I was a freelance hairdresser at this time; going to my clients' homes and servicing them in their kitchens. So Biff and Kalen fixed us up. (What a way to phrase hairdresser/client relationship. But we really did become that close.)
I gradually became friends to the whole family. Sue had another daughter, Meghan, whom I didn't know quite as well, 'cause she was away at college. But whenever Meghan came home and there was a family get together of any type, I was invited. Also, I eventually did the hair of Sue's sister, brother-in-law and their infant children as well. I really was in pretty tight with that family for a long time. In this context, I got to know everybody, even Sue's elderly parents who came to Cleveland occasionally on visits.
I went to summer school in Israel in 1989. Prior to leaving, I made arrangements for my hairclients' survival in my absence. I farmed out most of my clients to various hairdresser friends. In Sue's case, she'd only need a color touch-up on her roots. So I purchased the color in advance, gave it to Sue and taught Meghan how to apply it. (Meghan was back home having graduated that spring.)
In late August, after my return, I hosted a couple of small dinners to show off my photographs. Sue, Meghan, Kalen and Biff came to one of them and we all had a great time.
Labor Day weekend, 1989, I received a phone call Saturday night, 2AM, from Biff. He was hysterically crying. Meghan had been driving to Cincinatti to attend her boyfriend's church picnic and was killed in a car accident which was her fault. She was 22 and was in her first month of her first job as an accountant. Sue called me too, at 8AM the next morning, not knowing that I already knew the tragedy. We all know that there's nothing you can say in those situations except the standard, "if there's anything I can do to help, please let me know".
Sue's extremely large family began arriving early Sunday afternoon. I went over and was as gracious as possible. I'd heard what party animals they were and they'd heard how wildly eccentric I was. But nobody could really be themselves due to the circumstances. Everybody simply wanted to re-write Sue's world.
The body viewing would be the next day, Labor Day, 2-4 and 6-8. I asked who'd be doing Meghan's hair. They explained that the funeral home has a staff hairdresser. Knowing how gravity-defying her hair was (this was the '80's after all), I volunteered to bring my comb anyhow. "Sure. If you want. We appreciate the thought" was their response. I arrived Monday, 1.30 and they came rushing out to the parking lot to meet me.
"Jeremy, thank God you're here. It's all wrong. Meghan cannot go through eternity looking like that. Please fix it." So I did. It was a little weird. Not a lot, but a little. I was okay with doing her hair because I had to be for the sake of the family. But then, many people commented on her freckles. That was something the family hadn't though about. Apparently she was so self-conscious about them that she covered them first thing in the morning. The funeral home couldn't possibly know about that. So Sue asked me to touch up her make-up prior to the 6-8 showing. That was a little weirder. But would you say no? Of course not. I helped out in what way I could. That was the only important thing to me.
About 17 or 18 years later Sue would die of cirrhosis. No parent ever really gets over the loss of a child, but Sue became a tragedy herself. We did have fun at her funeral though. We were all much more "ourselves". As it should be. I miss Sue. She was quite entertaining. But then, she'd probably say the same thing about me.
Have I yet told the story of doing the dead woman's hair in her casket? I don't think so. For lack of a better topic today, here we go. Be prepared. It's a sad story. Really. If you're not up for a tragic story, then don't read this right now.
I'd been doing the hair of Sue for a few years. She was some twenty years older than me and met me through her daughter Kalen. One of my best friends, Biff, had been dating Kalen for a few years and they both agreed that Sue and I would get along beautifully. I was a freelance hairdresser at this time; going to my clients' homes and servicing them in their kitchens. So Biff and Kalen fixed us up. (What a way to phrase hairdresser/client relationship. But we really did become that close.)
I gradually became friends to the whole family. Sue had another daughter, Meghan, whom I didn't know quite as well, 'cause she was away at college. But whenever Meghan came home and there was a family get together of any type, I was invited. Also, I eventually did the hair of Sue's sister, brother-in-law and their infant children as well. I really was in pretty tight with that family for a long time. In this context, I got to know everybody, even Sue's elderly parents who came to Cleveland occasionally on visits.
I went to summer school in Israel in 1989. Prior to leaving, I made arrangements for my hairclients' survival in my absence. I farmed out most of my clients to various hairdresser friends. In Sue's case, she'd only need a color touch-up on her roots. So I purchased the color in advance, gave it to Sue and taught Meghan how to apply it. (Meghan was back home having graduated that spring.)
In late August, after my return, I hosted a couple of small dinners to show off my photographs. Sue, Meghan, Kalen and Biff came to one of them and we all had a great time.
Labor Day weekend, 1989, I received a phone call Saturday night, 2AM, from Biff. He was hysterically crying. Meghan had been driving to Cincinatti to attend her boyfriend's church picnic and was killed in a car accident which was her fault. She was 22 and was in her first month of her first job as an accountant. Sue called me too, at 8AM the next morning, not knowing that I already knew the tragedy. We all know that there's nothing you can say in those situations except the standard, "if there's anything I can do to help, please let me know".
Sue's extremely large family began arriving early Sunday afternoon. I went over and was as gracious as possible. I'd heard what party animals they were and they'd heard how wildly eccentric I was. But nobody could really be themselves due to the circumstances. Everybody simply wanted to re-write Sue's world.
The body viewing would be the next day, Labor Day, 2-4 and 6-8. I asked who'd be doing Meghan's hair. They explained that the funeral home has a staff hairdresser. Knowing how gravity-defying her hair was (this was the '80's after all), I volunteered to bring my comb anyhow. "Sure. If you want. We appreciate the thought" was their response. I arrived Monday, 1.30 and they came rushing out to the parking lot to meet me.
"Jeremy, thank God you're here. It's all wrong. Meghan cannot go through eternity looking like that. Please fix it." So I did. It was a little weird. Not a lot, but a little. I was okay with doing her hair because I had to be for the sake of the family. But then, many people commented on her freckles. That was something the family hadn't though about. Apparently she was so self-conscious about them that she covered them first thing in the morning. The funeral home couldn't possibly know about that. So Sue asked me to touch up her make-up prior to the 6-8 showing. That was a little weirder. But would you say no? Of course not. I helped out in what way I could. That was the only important thing to me.
About 17 or 18 years later Sue would die of cirrhosis. No parent ever really gets over the loss of a child, but Sue became a tragedy herself. We did have fun at her funeral though. We were all much more "ourselves". As it should be. I miss Sue. She was quite entertaining. But then, she'd probably say the same thing about me.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
My Weight Reduction Diet. Update #3
Page One Hundred Fifty-Six.
I think that I've plateaued where my weight-loss is concerned. I'm down a solid 17 pounds or so. That's only eight away from what I wanted to loose. This is since mid-July and the problem is that my weight has diminished by ounces, not pounds, in about the last five or six weeks. So, I lost pretty consistently and seriously for about eight or ten weeks. Then slowed tremendously.
In that time, I've gone from a 33-34 waist to a 31-32 waist. I am happy with that. Don't get me wrong. All the trousers I've purchased in the last ten years are now either way too big, loose or fit beautifully. And as of last week, my favorite pants from the 1990's, purchased in 1997, do fit. (Deep gray; silk-wool-mohair mix; sharkskin.) I can get them up, tuck in a white undershirt and clasp them closed. But they're still too snug to also tuck in a dress shirt. I didn't even try. Additionally last week, I tried on my favorite pants from the 1980's, purchased in 1983. (White; cotton; awesome 80's styling.) I got them all the way up for the first time in a while. But, there's no way I can currently zip, then button, them. Just ain't gonna happen.
If I loose another 3/4" around my waist I'll enjoy the 1997 pants again, no problemo. Then another 3/4" after that will get those gosh darn 1983 trousers back into daily, summer rotation.
So, can a 52 year old male somehow get from a 31-32" waist to a 30" waist? Who knows? I'm not giving up. That's all I'll say.
Maybe more sit-ups?
Maybe more jogging?
Maybe more protein supplements?
Maybe more prunes?
Maybe fewer hot pretzels?
I think that I've plateaued where my weight-loss is concerned. I'm down a solid 17 pounds or so. That's only eight away from what I wanted to loose. This is since mid-July and the problem is that my weight has diminished by ounces, not pounds, in about the last five or six weeks. So, I lost pretty consistently and seriously for about eight or ten weeks. Then slowed tremendously.
In that time, I've gone from a 33-34 waist to a 31-32 waist. I am happy with that. Don't get me wrong. All the trousers I've purchased in the last ten years are now either way too big, loose or fit beautifully. And as of last week, my favorite pants from the 1990's, purchased in 1997, do fit. (Deep gray; silk-wool-mohair mix; sharkskin.) I can get them up, tuck in a white undershirt and clasp them closed. But they're still too snug to also tuck in a dress shirt. I didn't even try. Additionally last week, I tried on my favorite pants from the 1980's, purchased in 1983. (White; cotton; awesome 80's styling.) I got them all the way up for the first time in a while. But, there's no way I can currently zip, then button, them. Just ain't gonna happen.
If I loose another 3/4" around my waist I'll enjoy the 1997 pants again, no problemo. Then another 3/4" after that will get those gosh darn 1983 trousers back into daily, summer rotation.
So, can a 52 year old male somehow get from a 31-32" waist to a 30" waist? Who knows? I'm not giving up. That's all I'll say.
Maybe more sit-ups?
Maybe more jogging?
Maybe more protein supplements?
Maybe more prunes?
Maybe fewer hot pretzels?
 |
| I'm Not Quite There Yet... |
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
One Way To get More Hot Preztels
Page One Hundred Fifty-Five.
Here's my biggest problem in life right now. How do I get more hot pretzels from Playhouse Square without actually attending a show in one of the theaters?
Last Friday evening I attended a glorious show at the Palace Theater and prior to the curtain rising, I naturally treated myself to a hot pretzel. Now, I've written in this blog before, numerous times, about Playhouse Square's hot pretzels, but last Friday's was particularly God-like. I was about to cry for the LSD-like euphoria, gratitude, emotion and profound thankfulness I was experiencing. While eating, I truly felt what it was like to win a new car on The Price Is Right. And, I began thinking right then and there that I really deserve hot pretzels more often than just when I attend a show. Granted, I've been attending shows regularly for the last few months, but I don't have anything planned now for the foreseeable future. How will I get through?
Here's my devious plan. There are something like nine (?) stages/theaters at Playhouse Square. All these stages are within about four hundred feet of each other. (You'd have to see it to believe it. The combined seating is about 10,000.) Most of the theaters are on one side of Euclid Avenue but not all. Now here's the scoop... I think that the Ohio and State Theaters have their concessions outside the ticket-takers. All the other theaters have their food inside the ticket-takers realm, I'm pretty sure. So, in theory, when I get a serious craving, I can simply hop on down there (a 15 minute drive) and sneak into the lobbies of said Ohio or State and chow down. The only conflict might arise if there's no live performance of one type or another in those theaters when I'm dying for some doughy goodness. I envision that to be a rare occurrence though.
I'm telling you, they're that good. At least to me. I recognize that everybody has their own taste, but I think these things are heavenly.
By the way, The show I went to last Friday was a retrospective of Big Band dance music of the World War Two era. I was surrounded by people who were really ancient. I'm sure they were wondering why some guy was moaning and groaning while sitting and eating his stinkin' hot pretzel. (I admit that I really was doing my best imitation of Sally from the movie "When Harry Met Sally". I'm sure you know the scene I'm referring to...)
Here's my biggest problem in life right now. How do I get more hot pretzels from Playhouse Square without actually attending a show in one of the theaters?
Last Friday evening I attended a glorious show at the Palace Theater and prior to the curtain rising, I naturally treated myself to a hot pretzel. Now, I've written in this blog before, numerous times, about Playhouse Square's hot pretzels, but last Friday's was particularly God-like. I was about to cry for the LSD-like euphoria, gratitude, emotion and profound thankfulness I was experiencing. While eating, I truly felt what it was like to win a new car on The Price Is Right. And, I began thinking right then and there that I really deserve hot pretzels more often than just when I attend a show. Granted, I've been attending shows regularly for the last few months, but I don't have anything planned now for the foreseeable future. How will I get through?
Here's my devious plan. There are something like nine (?) stages/theaters at Playhouse Square. All these stages are within about four hundred feet of each other. (You'd have to see it to believe it. The combined seating is about 10,000.) Most of the theaters are on one side of Euclid Avenue but not all. Now here's the scoop... I think that the Ohio and State Theaters have their concessions outside the ticket-takers. All the other theaters have their food inside the ticket-takers realm, I'm pretty sure. So, in theory, when I get a serious craving, I can simply hop on down there (a 15 minute drive) and sneak into the lobbies of said Ohio or State and chow down. The only conflict might arise if there's no live performance of one type or another in those theaters when I'm dying for some doughy goodness. I envision that to be a rare occurrence though.
I'm telling you, they're that good. At least to me. I recognize that everybody has their own taste, but I think these things are heavenly.
By the way, The show I went to last Friday was a retrospective of Big Band dance music of the World War Two era. I was surrounded by people who were really ancient. I'm sure they were wondering why some guy was moaning and groaning while sitting and eating his stinkin' hot pretzel. (I admit that I really was doing my best imitation of Sally from the movie "When Harry Met Sally". I'm sure you know the scene I'm referring to...)
 |
| Mmmmmm... Yummy... |
Monday, November 4, 2013
Mary Todd Lincoln's Vegetarian Pot Pie
Page One Hundred Fifty-Four.
Mary Todd Lincoln was preparing Thanksgiving Dinner for the Union Army during the war. It was Pennsylvania, 1863, and life was hard for everybody, but more so for the the vegetarians than anybody else. Their life-style was a challenge to all the army cooks. But that year Mary Todd tried to accommodate them by preparing a Pot-Pie without turkey. I acquired this recipe because I befriended her ghost some years ago at a seminar for American Civil War enthusiasts. I told her ghost of my penchant for cooking and she graciously gave it to me. Unlike the stories floating around, she really was very pleasant. The ghost I mean, not Mary Todd. The pot pie is pretty good too. Here:
1 stick butter (1/2 cup)
1/2 cup flour
1 quart full-fat milk
2-4 vegetable bullion cubes
****************
a little bit of olive oil
1 pint mushrooms, sliced
1 large onion, coarsely chopped
1 red pepper, coarsely chopped
freshly ground black pepper
couple of teaspoons of brown sugar
few splashes of white wine, sherry or brandy
****************
1 16 ounce bag of frozen mixed vegetables, placed in colander and run under hot water 'till just warm
1 box of extra-firm tofu, cut into 1/2 inch cubes - if desired (but it really is tasty)
****************
2 cups Bisquik
1 cup heavy cream
1/4 cup melted butter
****************
Pour a little bit of olive oil into skillet and dump in 'shrooms, onions and red pepper. Saute for a while until they begin to soften up. Add black pepper, brown sugar and wine to taste. Saute for a few moments to de-glaze and 'till alcohol burns off. Mixture should be wet but not watery at all. Set aside.
Heat stick of butter in large pot over medium-low heat 'till melted. Add flour. Heat and stir for a few minutes over medium-low heat. Meanwhile, heat milk in micro for a couple of minutes till hot. Pour hot milk into butter/flour mixture and stir 'till mixture thickens up. Add vegetable bullion to taste. Be careful with those darn bullion cubes. They're salty as all get out!
Dump 'shroom mixture into gravy mix and then add warmed frozen veggies and tofu (if desired) . Stir well but with a gentle hand as we don't want the tofu to break-up, now do we? Pour the entire Kitten Kaboodle into a very large baking dish, either glass, metal or ceramic. Set aside.
Mix Bisquik with cream lightly but thoroughly in a mixing bowl. After mixed, place on wooden board and knead just a couple of times. Roll with pin to fit over the casserole. Gently transfer from board to casserole and with pastry brush, brush melted butter over top of crust.
Bake at 450 for a while, 15(?) minutes, until crust is browned, and filling is bubbly. Feeds a nice Thanksgiving crowd - 10 or so... maybe... perhaps more or less? Who knows? Who cares?
Nobody will miss the turkey. If you don't tell them it's poultry-less, they may not even notice, in fact.
This recipe is clearly not low-fat. But, it's Thanksgiving for crying out loud!
Mary Todd Lincoln was preparing Thanksgiving Dinner for the Union Army during the war. It was Pennsylvania, 1863, and life was hard for everybody, but more so for the the vegetarians than anybody else. Their life-style was a challenge to all the army cooks. But that year Mary Todd tried to accommodate them by preparing a Pot-Pie without turkey. I acquired this recipe because I befriended her ghost some years ago at a seminar for American Civil War enthusiasts. I told her ghost of my penchant for cooking and she graciously gave it to me. Unlike the stories floating around, she really was very pleasant. The ghost I mean, not Mary Todd. The pot pie is pretty good too. Here:
1 stick butter (1/2 cup)
1/2 cup flour
1 quart full-fat milk
2-4 vegetable bullion cubes
****************
a little bit of olive oil
1 pint mushrooms, sliced
1 large onion, coarsely chopped
1 red pepper, coarsely chopped
freshly ground black pepper
couple of teaspoons of brown sugar
few splashes of white wine, sherry or brandy
****************
1 16 ounce bag of frozen mixed vegetables, placed in colander and run under hot water 'till just warm
1 box of extra-firm tofu, cut into 1/2 inch cubes - if desired (but it really is tasty)
****************
2 cups Bisquik
1 cup heavy cream
1/4 cup melted butter
****************
Pour a little bit of olive oil into skillet and dump in 'shrooms, onions and red pepper. Saute for a while until they begin to soften up. Add black pepper, brown sugar and wine to taste. Saute for a few moments to de-glaze and 'till alcohol burns off. Mixture should be wet but not watery at all. Set aside.
Heat stick of butter in large pot over medium-low heat 'till melted. Add flour. Heat and stir for a few minutes over medium-low heat. Meanwhile, heat milk in micro for a couple of minutes till hot. Pour hot milk into butter/flour mixture and stir 'till mixture thickens up. Add vegetable bullion to taste. Be careful with those darn bullion cubes. They're salty as all get out!
Dump 'shroom mixture into gravy mix and then add warmed frozen veggies and tofu (if desired) . Stir well but with a gentle hand as we don't want the tofu to break-up, now do we? Pour the entire Kitten Kaboodle into a very large baking dish, either glass, metal or ceramic. Set aside.
Mix Bisquik with cream lightly but thoroughly in a mixing bowl. After mixed, place on wooden board and knead just a couple of times. Roll with pin to fit over the casserole. Gently transfer from board to casserole and with pastry brush, brush melted butter over top of crust.
Bake at 450 for a while, 15(?) minutes, until crust is browned, and filling is bubbly. Feeds a nice Thanksgiving crowd - 10 or so... maybe... perhaps more or less? Who knows? Who cares?
Nobody will miss the turkey. If you don't tell them it's poultry-less, they may not even notice, in fact.
This recipe is clearly not low-fat. But, it's Thanksgiving for crying out loud!
 |
| This... |
 |
| Or This? |
Sunday, November 3, 2013
They Want Who To Teach The CEU's?
Page One Hundred Fifty-Three.
Well I'm five blogs behind. I've been very busy lately working on a project and it's really taking up a lot of my time.
I'll be a primary presenter in a few weeks at a health and healing seminar. This seminar will be providing four CEU's (Continuing Education Credits) to Social Workers, Art Therapists, Music Therapists and Activities Professionals. I'll be gabbing on and on for 75-90 minutes about nutrition and how it can be incorporated into really good tasting and really satisfying food. (In theory, if you provide great-tasting food to people who are physically incapacitated, then they won't mind if its nutritious. What a concept!) And, I'll actually be getting paid a tidy little sum of $ for doing this little chat.
The reason I've been hired for this project is that a lot of people know me. And they know me through a variety of contexts. Some people know that I'm private/personal chef who's also really preoccupied with good nutrition. That's an unusual combination. Typically, when you think about a professional chef, you don't picture someone who's utterly obsessed with a healthy lifestyle. Likewise, when most adult Americans think "nutritionist" in their mind's eye, they see an old, dried up, gray haired, squinty-eyed, overly skinny lady who looks like she'll hurt you if you eat one M&M. Well, the fact is, I don't have any official nutrition or dietary training - it's true. But I do have an intense and life-long interest in this subject and some unusual life experience in this arena.
I worked in the nursing home industry for seven years as an activities professional and had to learn loads about geriatric nutrition there. I've had a large number of physically ill clients as a private chef. And, really, good nutrition has been an interest of mine during my entire adult life. It's run concurrent with my interest in food prep. So, there you go.
Also, in 1988, I learned a valuable life lesson that I've carried with me every day. It's called "nutrition in context".
I've mentioned before in this blog that I was, simultaneously, the staff hairdresser to three treatment centers for adolescents detoxing from drugs and alcohol. I had those jobs for a decade or longer. On my first day at unit #2, I got off the elevator and smelled the most glorious odor in the world. I followed it (as is my style) right to the kitchen and met the unit cook. (To back up, this ACDU (Adolescent Chemical Dependency Unit) was on the large floor of an old hospital. Administration re-constructed this floor with it's own classrooms, play areas and industrial kitchen.) The cook explained to me that "hospital food" would NEVER do in this context. When you're dealing with teenagers who haven't eaten properly for a few years, you MUST get food into them. Therefore, administration, who realized this in the first place, hired her to cook exclusively for the unit and "fatten these kids up". And she did. She was a fabulous cook.
That first day was Beef Stroganoff and it just continued from there. I loved my days at that unit because I knew I'd eat well. Those meals were hearty,well-balanced and old-fashioned. They personified the way families might have eaten in the 1950's. That hospital took context into account. "Whom are we feeding and why?"(Those kids LOVED the food, by the way.)
Conversely, at ACDU #3 the dietician was a vegetarian and prepared lots of sandwiches and simple dishes. She believed that a plant-based diet was the healthy way for all people. When I talked with the kids about their feelings and experience with treatment, the "lousy food" often came up. For the record, I believe in a plant-based diet also. Though, I'm not a vegetarian. (I'm fine with animal flesh a few times a week.) My point being, ACDU #3 didn't take context into account. Different populations have different dietary needs for a variety of reasons. I'll never forget the concept of "nutrition in context".
I've written before in this blog about how I ONCE blew up at the dietician at Fancy-Schmancy Nursing Home, where I used to work, for trying to impose a "no-cake" for the diabetics rule. She apologized and we eventually came up with a compromise. Why somebody would try to restrict the food intake of a 95 year old under ANY circumstances is beyond me. It's nothing but sadism.
See? This is why they asked me to chat on and on. I have some unusual life-experience concerning food, nutrition and context, not just food prep.
So, wish me luck. The seminar is the Saturday prior to Thanksgiving. I hope I'll be ready.
Well I'm five blogs behind. I've been very busy lately working on a project and it's really taking up a lot of my time.
I'll be a primary presenter in a few weeks at a health and healing seminar. This seminar will be providing four CEU's (Continuing Education Credits) to Social Workers, Art Therapists, Music Therapists and Activities Professionals. I'll be gabbing on and on for 75-90 minutes about nutrition and how it can be incorporated into really good tasting and really satisfying food. (In theory, if you provide great-tasting food to people who are physically incapacitated, then they won't mind if its nutritious. What a concept!) And, I'll actually be getting paid a tidy little sum of $ for doing this little chat.
The reason I've been hired for this project is that a lot of people know me. And they know me through a variety of contexts. Some people know that I'm private/personal chef who's also really preoccupied with good nutrition. That's an unusual combination. Typically, when you think about a professional chef, you don't picture someone who's utterly obsessed with a healthy lifestyle. Likewise, when most adult Americans think "nutritionist" in their mind's eye, they see an old, dried up, gray haired, squinty-eyed, overly skinny lady who looks like she'll hurt you if you eat one M&M. Well, the fact is, I don't have any official nutrition or dietary training - it's true. But I do have an intense and life-long interest in this subject and some unusual life experience in this arena.
I worked in the nursing home industry for seven years as an activities professional and had to learn loads about geriatric nutrition there. I've had a large number of physically ill clients as a private chef. And, really, good nutrition has been an interest of mine during my entire adult life. It's run concurrent with my interest in food prep. So, there you go.
Also, in 1988, I learned a valuable life lesson that I've carried with me every day. It's called "nutrition in context".
I've mentioned before in this blog that I was, simultaneously, the staff hairdresser to three treatment centers for adolescents detoxing from drugs and alcohol. I had those jobs for a decade or longer. On my first day at unit #2, I got off the elevator and smelled the most glorious odor in the world. I followed it (as is my style) right to the kitchen and met the unit cook. (To back up, this ACDU (Adolescent Chemical Dependency Unit) was on the large floor of an old hospital. Administration re-constructed this floor with it's own classrooms, play areas and industrial kitchen.) The cook explained to me that "hospital food" would NEVER do in this context. When you're dealing with teenagers who haven't eaten properly for a few years, you MUST get food into them. Therefore, administration, who realized this in the first place, hired her to cook exclusively for the unit and "fatten these kids up". And she did. She was a fabulous cook.
That first day was Beef Stroganoff and it just continued from there. I loved my days at that unit because I knew I'd eat well. Those meals were hearty,well-balanced and old-fashioned. They personified the way families might have eaten in the 1950's. That hospital took context into account. "Whom are we feeding and why?"(Those kids LOVED the food, by the way.)
Conversely, at ACDU #3 the dietician was a vegetarian and prepared lots of sandwiches and simple dishes. She believed that a plant-based diet was the healthy way for all people. When I talked with the kids about their feelings and experience with treatment, the "lousy food" often came up. For the record, I believe in a plant-based diet also. Though, I'm not a vegetarian. (I'm fine with animal flesh a few times a week.) My point being, ACDU #3 didn't take context into account. Different populations have different dietary needs for a variety of reasons. I'll never forget the concept of "nutrition in context".
I've written before in this blog about how I ONCE blew up at the dietician at Fancy-Schmancy Nursing Home, where I used to work, for trying to impose a "no-cake" for the diabetics rule. She apologized and we eventually came up with a compromise. Why somebody would try to restrict the food intake of a 95 year old under ANY circumstances is beyond me. It's nothing but sadism.
See? This is why they asked me to chat on and on. I have some unusual life-experience concerning food, nutrition and context, not just food prep.
So, wish me luck. The seminar is the Saturday prior to Thanksgiving. I hope I'll be ready.
 | |
| NO...I DON'T THINK SO... |
 |
| STILL NOT THERE!!! |
 |
| THAT'S BETTER!!! |
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
First Annual Lee Road Music Hop
Page One Hundred Fifty-Two.
A couple of night ago, I had way too much fun. That much fun should be absolutely illegal.
My day job is managing a beauty salon on Lee Road - a vibrant street with many small restaurants and pubs. Last Friday evening, a Cleveland Heights non-profit civic organization planned a street festival on Lee Road and arranged 29 live musical acts to perform in various venues: those same pubs, restaurants and the large library at the end of the commercial district. All the retail businesses and services were asked to stay open late and do anything they could to add to the effervescent atmosphere. The party began at 6PM and ended at 10PM with the after party starting at 10 at the largest bar on the strip and going until all hours.
Alma's Healthy Hair Clinic stayed open very late -10.30PM. We handed out 20 pounds of free chocolate, sold Boy Scout popcorn and I gave haircuts in the window. I was amazed as people strolled by. They stopped, stared, pointed, smiled and often waved. It was as if they'd never seen anybody give or receive a haircut before. I understood some of this behavior, especially as the evening wore on and people clearly had more alcohol in their systems. But early on, when the families with small children waved, I was really surprised. Granted, our windows are elevated by a couple of feet, so it really was like being on a stage, but still.
My models, two men and two women were quite attractive, and I looked sort of rock 'n rolly. So maybe it was just the zeitgeist of the evening. Whatever. This morning as I was browsing in the library, a perfectly pleasant college-aged gentleman walked past me, stared, smiled and said, "weren't you the guy giving haircuts in the window last Friday night?"
"Yeah."
"That was cool."
It's so easy to make people happy sometimes.
A couple of night ago, I had way too much fun. That much fun should be absolutely illegal.
My day job is managing a beauty salon on Lee Road - a vibrant street with many small restaurants and pubs. Last Friday evening, a Cleveland Heights non-profit civic organization planned a street festival on Lee Road and arranged 29 live musical acts to perform in various venues: those same pubs, restaurants and the large library at the end of the commercial district. All the retail businesses and services were asked to stay open late and do anything they could to add to the effervescent atmosphere. The party began at 6PM and ended at 10PM with the after party starting at 10 at the largest bar on the strip and going until all hours.
Alma's Healthy Hair Clinic stayed open very late -10.30PM. We handed out 20 pounds of free chocolate, sold Boy Scout popcorn and I gave haircuts in the window. I was amazed as people strolled by. They stopped, stared, pointed, smiled and often waved. It was as if they'd never seen anybody give or receive a haircut before. I understood some of this behavior, especially as the evening wore on and people clearly had more alcohol in their systems. But early on, when the families with small children waved, I was really surprised. Granted, our windows are elevated by a couple of feet, so it really was like being on a stage, but still.
My models, two men and two women were quite attractive, and I looked sort of rock 'n rolly. So maybe it was just the zeitgeist of the evening. Whatever. This morning as I was browsing in the library, a perfectly pleasant college-aged gentleman walked past me, stared, smiled and said, "weren't you the guy giving haircuts in the window last Friday night?"
"Yeah."
"That was cool."
It's so easy to make people happy sometimes.
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