Page Fifty-Five.
I'm getting this blog up late. Please forgive me, I've been tired lately. A couple of nights ago I had 260 people for dinner and it wore me out, but I'm feeling better now, so here we go. I'm sure that whenever you have 260 people for dinner it tires you a touch. How do you handle it? I'll take suggestions. The fact is, I got in over my head a bit.
I'm very friendly with the senior minister of one of our very large churches here in Cleveland Heights, Church of the Saviour. This church is United Methodist and it's a very grand, beautiful, 1920's, French Gothic cathedral. They added an addition in 2007, so it really is massive now. It's a large, thriving congregation with five different services every Sunday. Probably a couple thousand people are members as 500-600 show up regularly each Sunday.
About ten years ago I began conducting "community Passover Seders" at a church on Cleveland's West Side and I did that for three years in a row. My Seders were instructional and with all the food. (The "Seder" is the ceremonial dinner and formal retelling of the Exodus of the Hebrews from Egypt. The Seder takes place on the first two nights of Passover.) So in essence, my community Seders were a complete meal with a "Passover 101" lecture before, during and after eating. They were well received but not large. The first one was maybe 70 people with each of the following two under 50. I've been in the mood to do a Seder again during the last couple of years and the timing must've been right 'cause I approached my friend, Church of the Saviour's senior minister, a few months ago about doing one at his place and he was all for it.
I just wasn't expecting 260 people to show up. Thankfully, the church has many wonderful volunteers and they even got a volunteer coordinator to oversee everything. There are also two fantastic kitchens, each one worthy of being in a white tablecloth restaurant. But everyday the office manager told me that the RSVP list had grown exponentially overnight. It was crazy. So there I am, trying to write a Haggadah (the booklet with the story of Passover) so that it's accessible to Christians, while planning an elaborate meal, while planning my oral presentation.
It goes without saying that the reason Christians want to attend a Seder is that it was Jesus' last meal, but there, I said it anyhow. That link is a very valuable and vital association between the two religions; it's a relationship which cannot be overstated. Also, everybody has seen Charlton Heston and The Ten Commandments so everybody is sort of familiar with the story. Subsequently, many Christians want to experience a Passover Seder in real life. I'm glad to do it. The more people know about different religions, cultures and races, the more people are exposed to others who think or act differently, then the less people will exhibit bigotry, fear and hatred. This isn't rocket science.
So... anyhow, I've been tired the last few days. But I am slowly feeling stronger. But, I think that the next time I have 260 people for dinner I'm going to get McDonald's.
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Vegetable Filling for Casseroles
Page Fifty-Four.
It was the year 1066 and I was in England attending cooking school. The Normans were busy invading and boy were they were getting hungry. William II wanted some vegetable casserole and he was really picky about how he wanted those vegetables prepared. He went to every restaurant and nothing pleased him. Then he started in on the cooking schools. I was attending Saints Sonny & Cher Cooking School and we were the seventh one he walked into. My cooking school administrators elected me to be the one to make the vegetable casserole because I was a trouble maker and they wanted to get rid of me. I tried every method I knew to cook the veggies, but he didn't like anything. Finally, and this really surprised me, William came into the kitchen and rather graciously instructed me on the method which he preferred. This is it:
Dice up 1/2 of a large sweet onion and dice up 1/2 of a red pepper. Saute them together in a fry pan, over medium heat to which you've added 1& 1/2 tablespoons of oil or butter. If you like mushrooms, you can slice up a handful of those, too, and add it to the onion/pepper mixture. Saute 'till the onions turn glossy adding just a bit of salt and pepper. 4-5 minutes will probably be long enough, but, you'll see. Once cooked, remove from heat and set aside. While veggies are cooking, take about 2 cups of frozen peas and 2 cups of frozen corn and place in a colander and run under very hot water for a few minutes until they're completely thawed. Now, all you do is mix both sets of veggies together and Viola, you have veggies for a veggie casserole. Oh, how easy was that?
It was the year 1066 and I was in England attending cooking school. The Normans were busy invading and boy were they were getting hungry. William II wanted some vegetable casserole and he was really picky about how he wanted those vegetables prepared. He went to every restaurant and nothing pleased him. Then he started in on the cooking schools. I was attending Saints Sonny & Cher Cooking School and we were the seventh one he walked into. My cooking school administrators elected me to be the one to make the vegetable casserole because I was a trouble maker and they wanted to get rid of me. I tried every method I knew to cook the veggies, but he didn't like anything. Finally, and this really surprised me, William came into the kitchen and rather graciously instructed me on the method which he preferred. This is it:
Dice up 1/2 of a large sweet onion and dice up 1/2 of a red pepper. Saute them together in a fry pan, over medium heat to which you've added 1& 1/2 tablespoons of oil or butter. If you like mushrooms, you can slice up a handful of those, too, and add it to the onion/pepper mixture. Saute 'till the onions turn glossy adding just a bit of salt and pepper. 4-5 minutes will probably be long enough, but, you'll see. Once cooked, remove from heat and set aside. While veggies are cooking, take about 2 cups of frozen peas and 2 cups of frozen corn and place in a colander and run under very hot water for a few minutes until they're completely thawed. Now, all you do is mix both sets of veggies together and Viola, you have veggies for a veggie casserole. Oh, how easy was that?
Monday, March 25, 2013
How To Easily Make "Cooked Chicken"
Page Fifty-Three.
This has nothing to do with anything, but have you ever read a recipe and it calls for "cooked chicken" and you're, like, "where do I get some cooked chicken"? I think a lot of those recipes assume that you recently made some chicken and now you're trying to figure out how to use it up. But let me tell you the easiest way to make some "cooked chicken".
Go to the grocery store and purchase some boneless chicken breasts or thighs, let's say four pounds. Breasts will yield light meat, thighs will yield dark meat. Take the raw chicken home and put into a baking dish and pour in one cup of white wine. Then lightly sprinkle over the chicken some rosemary and some thyme, perhaps you've used between 1/4-1/2 teaspoon total of each. Then, and this is my trick, add four or five small chicken bullion cubes to the wine in the pan. Tightly cover the pan with aluminum foil and put into an oven at 425 f. Bake for about twenty-five minutes. When cooked thoroughly, take chicken out of pan and move to cutting board, let cool about ten minutes. Reserve all cooking liquid and use for another recipe. When the chicken is cooled, cut up with sharp knife into bite-sized chunks. Viola! three or four cups of cooked chicken. That was too easy for words. (Technically, you've just made poached chicken.)
This has nothing to do with anything, but have you ever read a recipe and it calls for "cooked chicken" and you're, like, "where do I get some cooked chicken"? I think a lot of those recipes assume that you recently made some chicken and now you're trying to figure out how to use it up. But let me tell you the easiest way to make some "cooked chicken".
Go to the grocery store and purchase some boneless chicken breasts or thighs, let's say four pounds. Breasts will yield light meat, thighs will yield dark meat. Take the raw chicken home and put into a baking dish and pour in one cup of white wine. Then lightly sprinkle over the chicken some rosemary and some thyme, perhaps you've used between 1/4-1/2 teaspoon total of each. Then, and this is my trick, add four or five small chicken bullion cubes to the wine in the pan. Tightly cover the pan with aluminum foil and put into an oven at 425 f. Bake for about twenty-five minutes. When cooked thoroughly, take chicken out of pan and move to cutting board, let cool about ten minutes. Reserve all cooking liquid and use for another recipe. When the chicken is cooled, cut up with sharp knife into bite-sized chunks. Viola! three or four cups of cooked chicken. That was too easy for words. (Technically, you've just made poached chicken.)
Friday, March 22, 2013
The Perfect Crust For Your Chicken Pot Pie
Page Fifty-Two.
People who make chicken pot pie from scratch are separate from most earthlings. Maybe we love more deeply. Maybe we're more sensitive and caring. Perhaps we feel all emotion more deeply. We definitely handle criticism more poorly than most. Who knows really what it is that sets us apart? But, usually, most of our sins are forgiven, when we serve up fresh, home made chicken pot pie.
You probably have your own recipe for chicken pot pie filling. If not, I'll eventually write mine down in this blog. But for today, I'll just tell you how to make the best topping ever. It's really easy too and good for a variety of purposes.
Mix two cups Bisquick or any all purpose baking mix with one cup of heavy whipping cream in a bowl with a fork. Just mix 'till moistened, 20-40 seconds. Roll out onto floured board or counter top. Knead three, four or five times. UNDER WORK THE DOUGH!!! Then, roll out into the shape of the pan that the chicken filling is in, rolling to between 1/3 - 1/2" thick. Carefully transfer onto chicken mixture. (This dough makes enough to cover a 9" X 13" pan, about eight servings of Pot Pie.) Then melt four tablespoons of butter and carefully brush over the top of the dough. Place the casserole into the oven at 425-450 f. and cook 'till filling is bubbly and topping is lightly, golden-brown, about 15-20 minutes. Then, enjoy its tender, flaky goodness.
This dough is also excellent as a biscuit. After rolling out to 1/3 - 1/2" thick, take a biscuit cutter or upside down drinking glass and cut out rounds from dough. Gently place the rounds on a pan. Delicately brush with melted butter and bake, 425 - 450 f. until light golden-brown, about 15 minutes or so. Just delicious!
This dough is not low fat, clearly. But for a special occasion, a birthday perhaps, it's okay.
People who make chicken pot pie from scratch are separate from most earthlings. Maybe we love more deeply. Maybe we're more sensitive and caring. Perhaps we feel all emotion more deeply. We definitely handle criticism more poorly than most. Who knows really what it is that sets us apart? But, usually, most of our sins are forgiven, when we serve up fresh, home made chicken pot pie.
You probably have your own recipe for chicken pot pie filling. If not, I'll eventually write mine down in this blog. But for today, I'll just tell you how to make the best topping ever. It's really easy too and good for a variety of purposes.
Mix two cups Bisquick or any all purpose baking mix with one cup of heavy whipping cream in a bowl with a fork. Just mix 'till moistened, 20-40 seconds. Roll out onto floured board or counter top. Knead three, four or five times. UNDER WORK THE DOUGH!!! Then, roll out into the shape of the pan that the chicken filling is in, rolling to between 1/3 - 1/2" thick. Carefully transfer onto chicken mixture. (This dough makes enough to cover a 9" X 13" pan, about eight servings of Pot Pie.) Then melt four tablespoons of butter and carefully brush over the top of the dough. Place the casserole into the oven at 425-450 f. and cook 'till filling is bubbly and topping is lightly, golden-brown, about 15-20 minutes. Then, enjoy its tender, flaky goodness.
This dough is also excellent as a biscuit. After rolling out to 1/3 - 1/2" thick, take a biscuit cutter or upside down drinking glass and cut out rounds from dough. Gently place the rounds on a pan. Delicately brush with melted butter and bake, 425 - 450 f. until light golden-brown, about 15 minutes or so. Just delicious!
This dough is not low fat, clearly. But for a special occasion, a birthday perhaps, it's okay.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
On Learning to Make Chicken Paprikash
Page Fifty-One.
I was living with the Van Myms, 1982. I made dinner for the family every Wednesday and often asked for suggestions. One day, Amanda suggested Chicken Paprikash. I liked it very much but had never made it and wasn't sure where to start. She told me to look it up in "Joy". What a concept. A cookbook? Follow a recipe? You want to cook something so you look it up, figure it out and cook it? I couldn't believe such a thing, but I did it. Today, so many years later, I believe Chicken Paprikash is the first thing that I ever learned to make from a cook book. I was age twenty.
That vignette is valuable enough. But I'll tell you another interesting detail of that evening. The house was being painted that day. The odor of the cooking chicken was so wonderful that one of the house painters complimented me after exiting the bathroom. I, of course, offered him some which he, in turn, wolfed down. Seems the recipe wasn't quite enough for two children, two parents, one live-in nanny and one house painter. So by the time we sat down, it was definitely down to the last drop for that chicken. Amanda wasn't mad at all though. She'd already learned that eccentric graciousness is one of my characteristics. "Why even bother to try to stop Jeremy if he's offering our dinner to one of the painters?
Over the years, I've adjusted the recipe somewhat. For me, the tricks to good Paprikash are 1) don't overcook the chicken, overcooked chicken is dry chicken and 2) add way, way, way too much paprika. Trust me on this.
I was living with the Van Myms, 1982. I made dinner for the family every Wednesday and often asked for suggestions. One day, Amanda suggested Chicken Paprikash. I liked it very much but had never made it and wasn't sure where to start. She told me to look it up in "Joy". What a concept. A cookbook? Follow a recipe? You want to cook something so you look it up, figure it out and cook it? I couldn't believe such a thing, but I did it. Today, so many years later, I believe Chicken Paprikash is the first thing that I ever learned to make from a cook book. I was age twenty.
That vignette is valuable enough. But I'll tell you another interesting detail of that evening. The house was being painted that day. The odor of the cooking chicken was so wonderful that one of the house painters complimented me after exiting the bathroom. I, of course, offered him some which he, in turn, wolfed down. Seems the recipe wasn't quite enough for two children, two parents, one live-in nanny and one house painter. So by the time we sat down, it was definitely down to the last drop for that chicken. Amanda wasn't mad at all though. She'd already learned that eccentric graciousness is one of my characteristics. "Why even bother to try to stop Jeremy if he's offering our dinner to one of the painters?
Over the years, I've adjusted the recipe somewhat. For me, the tricks to good Paprikash are 1) don't overcook the chicken, overcooked chicken is dry chicken and 2) add way, way, way too much paprika. Trust me on this.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Proof That I'm Getting Older
Page Fifty.
A couple of days ago, I was in the Cleveland Museum of Art, drinking some coffee and enjoying the new additions. Our museum is almost finished with their $350,000,000 addition, after ten long years, and it's beautiful. (That's right... $350,000,000, literally, just for an addition. Kind of amazing, huh?) The Cleveland art museum has had a great reputation for decades. Well now it's even better. The new inner courtyard is one of the largest public spaces in the state of Ohio. And now there's room in the galleries for all the Van Goghs.
(Can you imagine not having enough wall space for all your Van Gogh paintings? While I was working toward my degree in Art History, fifteen years ago, I ended up in the basement of the museum because I was studying some items not out on display. I noticed two Van Goghs hanging on pegboards in a dimly lit room. My jaw dropped when they explained, "we don't have wall space for everything".)
So anyhow, I'm sitting there and who walks over but my former next door neighbor when I lived with the Van Myms. I lived with them from spring '82, until summer '83 and nannied their two little girls. She informed me that the older one, who was six when I moved in, is now married and living on the East coast. The younger girl, who was three upon my entrance, is living with her boyfriend in Chicago. How old do I now feel?
It just isn't fair! Though I would never want to be twenty again, it seems unethical of God that I would ever have nannied someone who'd now be married. Of course, this feeling is nothing new. Of the three Shapiro boys, two are married. I lived with them from summer '83 'till summer '84, and then, again, from summer '86 'till summer '93. When I moved in with them in '83 the older one was eleven and the twins were eight. Both twins are now married with children of their own. The births of their kids over the last four years have REALLY done a job on my self-esteem. I simply can't be that old. Can I? Thankfully, those boys all turned out well and both Shapiro parents have pulled me aside at different times and given me much credit for how their kids developed. That helps ease the aging process.
But, back to the museum... The covered inner courtyard is one acre in size. It's essentially the size of a football field. Then, there are two floors of galleries that surround the courtyard on all four sides. So basically, it's a museum the size of a sports stadium with art where the seats should be. It's that big, but with architecture more beautiful than any stadium. And most stadiums aren't filled with art by: Turner, Caravaggio, Warhol, Monet, Picasso, Rodin, O'Keefe, Faberge, Renoir, Durer, Rembrandt and yes, Van Gogh. If you ever find yourself in Cleveland, Ohio stop by the art museum. Closed on Mondays, always free entrance.
A couple of days ago, I was in the Cleveland Museum of Art, drinking some coffee and enjoying the new additions. Our museum is almost finished with their $350,000,000 addition, after ten long years, and it's beautiful. (That's right... $350,000,000, literally, just for an addition. Kind of amazing, huh?) The Cleveland art museum has had a great reputation for decades. Well now it's even better. The new inner courtyard is one of the largest public spaces in the state of Ohio. And now there's room in the galleries for all the Van Goghs.
(Can you imagine not having enough wall space for all your Van Gogh paintings? While I was working toward my degree in Art History, fifteen years ago, I ended up in the basement of the museum because I was studying some items not out on display. I noticed two Van Goghs hanging on pegboards in a dimly lit room. My jaw dropped when they explained, "we don't have wall space for everything".)
So anyhow, I'm sitting there and who walks over but my former next door neighbor when I lived with the Van Myms. I lived with them from spring '82, until summer '83 and nannied their two little girls. She informed me that the older one, who was six when I moved in, is now married and living on the East coast. The younger girl, who was three upon my entrance, is living with her boyfriend in Chicago. How old do I now feel?
It just isn't fair! Though I would never want to be twenty again, it seems unethical of God that I would ever have nannied someone who'd now be married. Of course, this feeling is nothing new. Of the three Shapiro boys, two are married. I lived with them from summer '83 'till summer '84, and then, again, from summer '86 'till summer '93. When I moved in with them in '83 the older one was eleven and the twins were eight. Both twins are now married with children of their own. The births of their kids over the last four years have REALLY done a job on my self-esteem. I simply can't be that old. Can I? Thankfully, those boys all turned out well and both Shapiro parents have pulled me aside at different times and given me much credit for how their kids developed. That helps ease the aging process.
But, back to the museum... The covered inner courtyard is one acre in size. It's essentially the size of a football field. Then, there are two floors of galleries that surround the courtyard on all four sides. So basically, it's a museum the size of a sports stadium with art where the seats should be. It's that big, but with architecture more beautiful than any stadium. And most stadiums aren't filled with art by: Turner, Caravaggio, Warhol, Monet, Picasso, Rodin, O'Keefe, Faberge, Renoir, Durer, Rembrandt and yes, Van Gogh. If you ever find yourself in Cleveland, Ohio stop by the art museum. Closed on Mondays, always free entrance.
Friday, March 15, 2013
House-Sitter Problems
Page Forty-Nine.
The most taxing experience I ever had house-sitting was in the late-90's. It was summertime and I was staying in a large, Tudor, 1920's, regal Shaker Heights mansion. I'd been the house-sitter/dog-sitter for a few years. They had one dog, a Portuguese Water Dog named Captain and a little, grey, fur-ball kitty named Smokey. They were very pleasant animals and I enjoyed them very much.
I was there for two weeks and during the course of those fourteen days, the dryer broke, the alarm system broke and the brand new high-end CD changer broke. I just couldn't believe it. I called the dryer repair guy and he came out and explained, "these things happen". It was a belt or something along those lines. The alarm system broke in the off position, thank heaven's for little things. The homeowners took care of that when they got home. The entire system needed to be replaced as it broke down simply because it got old. Who knew that those things deteriorate and need replacement just like anything else? And, as it turned out, the homeowners insisted that the CD changer was fine, they thought that I simply pressed a wrong button. It worked great for them when they got home.
I still watch that home. I think it's been nineteen years, I should ask them. Neither Captain nor Smokey are still with us. Now, it's two different Portuguese Water Dogs: Xerxes and Valentine and no kitty. Recently, they purchased a winter home down south. So, for the last couple of years, I've also been the winter care-taker, visiting the home regularly and making sure it's still standing. (I sometimes fantasize that I'm Jack Nicholson in The Shining when I'm there.) But, whenever family vacation time comes around, I move in and hope to God that nothing major (or minor) breaks down. They already have me booked for spring 2014.
The most taxing experience I ever had house-sitting was in the late-90's. It was summertime and I was staying in a large, Tudor, 1920's, regal Shaker Heights mansion. I'd been the house-sitter/dog-sitter for a few years. They had one dog, a Portuguese Water Dog named Captain and a little, grey, fur-ball kitty named Smokey. They were very pleasant animals and I enjoyed them very much.
I was there for two weeks and during the course of those fourteen days, the dryer broke, the alarm system broke and the brand new high-end CD changer broke. I just couldn't believe it. I called the dryer repair guy and he came out and explained, "these things happen". It was a belt or something along those lines. The alarm system broke in the off position, thank heaven's for little things. The homeowners took care of that when they got home. The entire system needed to be replaced as it broke down simply because it got old. Who knew that those things deteriorate and need replacement just like anything else? And, as it turned out, the homeowners insisted that the CD changer was fine, they thought that I simply pressed a wrong button. It worked great for them when they got home.
I still watch that home. I think it's been nineteen years, I should ask them. Neither Captain nor Smokey are still with us. Now, it's two different Portuguese Water Dogs: Xerxes and Valentine and no kitty. Recently, they purchased a winter home down south. So, for the last couple of years, I've also been the winter care-taker, visiting the home regularly and making sure it's still standing. (I sometimes fantasize that I'm Jack Nicholson in The Shining when I'm there.) But, whenever family vacation time comes around, I move in and hope to God that nothing major (or minor) breaks down. They already have me booked for spring 2014.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
On Learning to Make Cinnamon Bread
Page Forty-Eight.
One day in about '91, I was sitting in the Shapiro's kitchen trying to figure out what to eat. I wasn't having much luck. Have you ever been there? You know you're hungry, but with the Lord as your witness you just don't know what you're hungry for. So you just sit and hope that some form of food items screams out your name. Well it wasn't happening.
In walks Skedaddle. He must've been fifteen or so. He looked at me and noticed my disability. "What's wrong with you?"
"I'm hungry, but I don't know what to eat."
"Hmm. That is a problem." He proceeded to do whatever it was he'd come into the kitchen for. After a moment or two he said, "I know. How about having some Cinnamon Bread."
I contemplated that for a long moment. "That's a good idea. I haven't had that in a long time."
"Good."
So, innocently enough, I started making my cinnamon bread. I toasted the white bread, spread it with butter and lightly sprinkled on some sugar and then some cinnamon.
"What are you doing?"
"What'do'yo mean. I'm making cinnamon toast like you suggested."
"You're not making it right.Here lemme show you." With that, he grabbed the sugar and just poured it on. Then, he grabbed the cinnamon and poured it on. "Now, this is how to make Cinnamon Bread."
"Thish ish good. " I said in between mouth fulls.
"I told you."
The next time you make Cinnamon Bread, add WAY too much sugar and cinnamon. It'll be just right.
One day in about '91, I was sitting in the Shapiro's kitchen trying to figure out what to eat. I wasn't having much luck. Have you ever been there? You know you're hungry, but with the Lord as your witness you just don't know what you're hungry for. So you just sit and hope that some form of food items screams out your name. Well it wasn't happening.
In walks Skedaddle. He must've been fifteen or so. He looked at me and noticed my disability. "What's wrong with you?"
"I'm hungry, but I don't know what to eat."
"Hmm. That is a problem." He proceeded to do whatever it was he'd come into the kitchen for. After a moment or two he said, "I know. How about having some Cinnamon Bread."
I contemplated that for a long moment. "That's a good idea. I haven't had that in a long time."
"Good."
So, innocently enough, I started making my cinnamon bread. I toasted the white bread, spread it with butter and lightly sprinkled on some sugar and then some cinnamon.
"What are you doing?"
"What'do'yo mean. I'm making cinnamon toast like you suggested."
"You're not making it right.Here lemme show you." With that, he grabbed the sugar and just poured it on. Then, he grabbed the cinnamon and poured it on. "Now, this is how to make Cinnamon Bread."
"Thish ish good. " I said in between mouth fulls.
"I told you."
The next time you make Cinnamon Bread, add WAY too much sugar and cinnamon. It'll be just right.
Monday, March 11, 2013
Good Luck Charm? Who Knew?
Page Forty-Seven.
On pages 37-39, I talked about my history with learning disabilities. I shared that situation in hopes that it would inspire parents of children who may be experiencing something similar and cause it's an interesting story. Here's an addendum.
It was '88. I was taking one of my first Communication classes, Introduction to Mass Communications. This is the study of radio, television, movies and magazines. Mass. Comm. bored me to tears. I was much more into Interpersonal Comm. which is, essentially, the study of conversation. Interpersonal would go on to be my major but I was required to take the class in question. It was like Chinese water torture.
It was finals week and I realized that the night before my Mas Comm final I had tickets to go to a concert. I won't get into this subject deeply now, but I went to a LOT of concerts during the '80's. Most of the big names, I saw. Go ahead... name a major, pop act of the '80's, I probably saw them. The only glaring exceptions would be the Hair Metal Bands. (I wasn't into hair metal at all.) Otherwise, I probably went to fifty or more concerts of top acts. So the night before my final I was supposed to see Michael Jackson, for the second time.
This would've been his Bad Tour. Previously, I attended the Victory Tour in '84. I know all of you are great students out there. I'm sure that any responsible student would say, "Oh well. Michael will just have to wait. After all, a final is a big important thing. We can't take chances with that, now can we? We need to stay home and study so as to get a really good grade and therefore get a nice respectable job. Michael Jackson? Hogwash! A good grade in Introduction to Mass Communications is more important than seeing him perform live." I know that all of you would've said just exactly that. I didn't. I took my books and my notes with me to the concert and began my studying there.
If memory serves correctly, his opening act was a magician. So, during that portion of the evening I organized my notes. Then during the break before MJ came on I actually did study: the notes and the book. People around me found this amusing for some reason. They asked me about it. I explained the situation. Isn't this how EVERYBODY crams for a final??? Then MJ came on and I took a much needed break. (Thirty minutes of heavily interrupted, low quality studying was far more than enough anyhow.) He sang and danced. He wore a jacket with electric lights built into it while singing Beat It. All in all, he was up to my standards.
The next morning, I studied a few more minutes, ten? fifteen? I got my very first "A" on any final I would take in college. From this situation I learned that Michael Jackson was my good luck charm. He got me started on a string of "A's" on Communications finals. Thanks, Michael.
On pages 37-39, I talked about my history with learning disabilities. I shared that situation in hopes that it would inspire parents of children who may be experiencing something similar and cause it's an interesting story. Here's an addendum.
It was '88. I was taking one of my first Communication classes, Introduction to Mass Communications. This is the study of radio, television, movies and magazines. Mass. Comm. bored me to tears. I was much more into Interpersonal Comm. which is, essentially, the study of conversation. Interpersonal would go on to be my major but I was required to take the class in question. It was like Chinese water torture.
It was finals week and I realized that the night before my Mas Comm final I had tickets to go to a concert. I won't get into this subject deeply now, but I went to a LOT of concerts during the '80's. Most of the big names, I saw. Go ahead... name a major, pop act of the '80's, I probably saw them. The only glaring exceptions would be the Hair Metal Bands. (I wasn't into hair metal at all.) Otherwise, I probably went to fifty or more concerts of top acts. So the night before my final I was supposed to see Michael Jackson, for the second time.
This would've been his Bad Tour. Previously, I attended the Victory Tour in '84. I know all of you are great students out there. I'm sure that any responsible student would say, "Oh well. Michael will just have to wait. After all, a final is a big important thing. We can't take chances with that, now can we? We need to stay home and study so as to get a really good grade and therefore get a nice respectable job. Michael Jackson? Hogwash! A good grade in Introduction to Mass Communications is more important than seeing him perform live." I know that all of you would've said just exactly that. I didn't. I took my books and my notes with me to the concert and began my studying there.
If memory serves correctly, his opening act was a magician. So, during that portion of the evening I organized my notes. Then during the break before MJ came on I actually did study: the notes and the book. People around me found this amusing for some reason. They asked me about it. I explained the situation. Isn't this how EVERYBODY crams for a final??? Then MJ came on and I took a much needed break. (Thirty minutes of heavily interrupted, low quality studying was far more than enough anyhow.) He sang and danced. He wore a jacket with electric lights built into it while singing Beat It. All in all, he was up to my standards.
The next morning, I studied a few more minutes, ten? fifteen? I got my very first "A" on any final I would take in college. From this situation I learned that Michael Jackson was my good luck charm. He got me started on a string of "A's" on Communications finals. Thanks, Michael.
Friday, March 8, 2013
On Learning to Make Beef Stroganoff
Page Forty-Six.
My very first restaurant job was in 1978. It was at Subconscious.The Subconscious Sandwich Shop was on Taylor Road, here in Cleveland Heights. It was a few years old when I entered the scene and was already on its second owners. I was sixteen and in the eleventh grade at Cleveland Heights High School. It's just as well that I missed out on the fun of the first owner.
If I remember the gossip correctly, under the first owner you could buy many things besides submarines. Pot, Quaaludes, acid, coke... all for sale, depending upon who was working that day. When I was hired though, it was owned by two middle-aged French ladies. Mrs C. and Mrs Y (that's really what we called them) were Cleveland Heights matrons who needed something to do during the day so they bought the place (and ran it into the ground, but that's another blog). It was a great job for a high school kid: lots of food, lots of other high school kids (as co-workers and patrons) and not stressful. It was also six blocks from my house so I always walked. I did quit the job once, but they took me back. I consider it my primary high school job,
In the twelfth grade, I really got into Stouffer's frozen foods. My favorites were: Chicken Paprikash with Noodles, Spaghetti and Meatballs, Swedish Meatballs with Noodles and Beef Stroganoff with Noodles. One day I was talking to Mrs C. and mentioned, just in passing, my fondness for Stouffer's. She was aghast that I would pay good money for things which I could make at home, which would taste better, be healthier, and ultimately be less expensive. She set out to teach me to make Stroganoff. In retrospect I realize that I had a great teacher in her as she was probably an average-talent French cook. That means by American standards she was a GREAT cook.(One of the secrets to our sub sandwiches was that we sprinkled oregano over the entire thing. This was standard.)
So a real live French cook taught me how to make Beef Stroganoff when I was seventeen years old. What are the keys to a good product? Always cut against the grain whenever cutting beef chunks for any stew and add the sour cream at the very end. Don't let the sour cream cook, unless of course, you're reheating it the next day. Then it's okay, in fact Stroganoff is better the next day..
My very first restaurant job was in 1978. It was at Subconscious.The Subconscious Sandwich Shop was on Taylor Road, here in Cleveland Heights. It was a few years old when I entered the scene and was already on its second owners. I was sixteen and in the eleventh grade at Cleveland Heights High School. It's just as well that I missed out on the fun of the first owner.
If I remember the gossip correctly, under the first owner you could buy many things besides submarines. Pot, Quaaludes, acid, coke... all for sale, depending upon who was working that day. When I was hired though, it was owned by two middle-aged French ladies. Mrs C. and Mrs Y (that's really what we called them) were Cleveland Heights matrons who needed something to do during the day so they bought the place (and ran it into the ground, but that's another blog). It was a great job for a high school kid: lots of food, lots of other high school kids (as co-workers and patrons) and not stressful. It was also six blocks from my house so I always walked. I did quit the job once, but they took me back. I consider it my primary high school job,
In the twelfth grade, I really got into Stouffer's frozen foods. My favorites were: Chicken Paprikash with Noodles, Spaghetti and Meatballs, Swedish Meatballs with Noodles and Beef Stroganoff with Noodles. One day I was talking to Mrs C. and mentioned, just in passing, my fondness for Stouffer's. She was aghast that I would pay good money for things which I could make at home, which would taste better, be healthier, and ultimately be less expensive. She set out to teach me to make Stroganoff. In retrospect I realize that I had a great teacher in her as she was probably an average-talent French cook. That means by American standards she was a GREAT cook.(One of the secrets to our sub sandwiches was that we sprinkled oregano over the entire thing. This was standard.)
So a real live French cook taught me how to make Beef Stroganoff when I was seventeen years old. What are the keys to a good product? Always cut against the grain whenever cutting beef chunks for any stew and add the sour cream at the very end. Don't let the sour cream cook, unless of course, you're reheating it the next day. Then it's okay, in fact Stroganoff is better the next day..
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
A 'Round The Clock Hairdresser
Page Forty-Five.
When you're self-employed you hesitate to say no to any work. As a hairdresser, I've done hair as early as 7AM and as late as 2.30AM just because that's when my clients needed me.
The 7AM client called me, sort of last minute, and explained that he had an early meeting the next day. (This must've been about 1993.) Literally, the only time we both had was 7AM, just prior to his meeting. So, I did it. I wasn't happy about waking up at that hour and doing hair, but when that's the only time that works, you do it.
The 2.30AM haircut was a little bit more entertaining. Let's say this was in oh, say, 1990. I was out late-night on a Saturday evening, when I happened to run into my closest buddy, Blackie, his girlfriend, Madge, and another very good friend of ours, Drew. The four of us hung out for a while and then Blackie announces that he needs me to cut his hair, "NOW!" I really argued with him. "It's 1.30 in the morning. By the time we get back to my place it'll be way after 2. Do you really want me doing your haircut at 2.30AM after I've been up all day?
"I don't care. I trust you."
"Jerk!"
"Thanks, Jeremy."
So we all went back to my place, the third floor of the nice, quiet, sound asleep Shapiro home. We all tried to be as quiet as mice while stomping up many flights of wooden steps. When we got to my bedroom, which was directly over the Shapiro's master suite, I did instruct everyone to be quiet and they mostly were. Madge, the poor thing, promptly went to sleep on my bed. However, Drew got a bit obnoxious and began making crude jokes, which, of course, got Blackie riled up. But I finished and everybody left without too much incident. The next day Lena told me that we did wake her up, but only for a moment.
When you're self-employed, you never have enough work. I'm convinced of that. I'm pretty lucky in that I've always been busy enough, regardless of the decade, that somehow the bills do gets paid though. Occasionally, over the years I've pulled the rent check out of a hat, for sure. But the fact that the hat appears at all is the miracle. Between hair, food prep, child-care, elder-care and house-sitting/dog-sitting/cat-sitting I'm diverse enough that self-employment is always a viable option for me. I'm very grateful for that.
One of these days I'll write about the time that I informed Blackie that he got Madge pregnant.
When you're self-employed you hesitate to say no to any work. As a hairdresser, I've done hair as early as 7AM and as late as 2.30AM just because that's when my clients needed me.
The 7AM client called me, sort of last minute, and explained that he had an early meeting the next day. (This must've been about 1993.) Literally, the only time we both had was 7AM, just prior to his meeting. So, I did it. I wasn't happy about waking up at that hour and doing hair, but when that's the only time that works, you do it.
The 2.30AM haircut was a little bit more entertaining. Let's say this was in oh, say, 1990. I was out late-night on a Saturday evening, when I happened to run into my closest buddy, Blackie, his girlfriend, Madge, and another very good friend of ours, Drew. The four of us hung out for a while and then Blackie announces that he needs me to cut his hair, "NOW!" I really argued with him. "It's 1.30 in the morning. By the time we get back to my place it'll be way after 2. Do you really want me doing your haircut at 2.30AM after I've been up all day?
"I don't care. I trust you."
"Jerk!"
"Thanks, Jeremy."
So we all went back to my place, the third floor of the nice, quiet, sound asleep Shapiro home. We all tried to be as quiet as mice while stomping up many flights of wooden steps. When we got to my bedroom, which was directly over the Shapiro's master suite, I did instruct everyone to be quiet and they mostly were. Madge, the poor thing, promptly went to sleep on my bed. However, Drew got a bit obnoxious and began making crude jokes, which, of course, got Blackie riled up. But I finished and everybody left without too much incident. The next day Lena told me that we did wake her up, but only for a moment.
When you're self-employed, you never have enough work. I'm convinced of that. I'm pretty lucky in that I've always been busy enough, regardless of the decade, that somehow the bills do gets paid though. Occasionally, over the years I've pulled the rent check out of a hat, for sure. But the fact that the hat appears at all is the miracle. Between hair, food prep, child-care, elder-care and house-sitting/dog-sitting/cat-sitting I'm diverse enough that self-employment is always a viable option for me. I'm very grateful for that.
One of these days I'll write about the time that I informed Blackie that he got Madge pregnant.
Monday, March 4, 2013
On Learning to Make Lasagne
Page Forty-Four.
I made a large tray of lasagne a couple of days ago for the princes, their parents and grandmother. They liked it very much as they always do, (except for the middle prince who consistently frowns down upon red sauces, but I don't care). Grandma asked me where I learned to make such good lasagne...
One of my sisters was married for about fifteen minutes at a very young age to a fellow named Ralph. One day when I was in about the eighth grade I went with her to Ralph's house just to hang out. We were there for a while when my sister said that Ralph's mom had made some Lasagne for dinner and did I want some? I'd literally never heard of lasagne. Seriously. I was very suspect of this weird word, "lasagne", and had a long and illustrious history as being the pickiest eater in the history of human childhood. But, I was a big fan of spaghetti and it was explained that if I liked spaghetti, I'd enjoy Lasagne. So I had some and I loved it, just loved it.
Perhaps twelve or twenty months later, I called Ralph's mom, Henrietta, and asked her how to make it. She taught me and I began making it for my family right then and there. Over the years, I've changed the recipe little and it continues to be a crowd favorite.
About five years ago, I made some for myself and gave some of the left-overs to my sister. (One of the few problems with Lasagne is that it's virtually impossible to make one portion, or even two.) While eating it, she was very complimentary, as she typically is while eating my food, and asked how I ever learned to make it in the first place. I reminded her of the story of Henrietta. She declared "well she was good for something, anyhow". And, Henrietta was good for something. She taught me how to make one of my signature dishes.(The trick is to use two different sauces which are not mixed; use one jarred sauce on top and one homemade sauce in the middle. That way you get a different flavor depending upon which section of the entree your fork happens to cut into.)
I made a large tray of lasagne a couple of days ago for the princes, their parents and grandmother. They liked it very much as they always do, (except for the middle prince who consistently frowns down upon red sauces, but I don't care). Grandma asked me where I learned to make such good lasagne...
One of my sisters was married for about fifteen minutes at a very young age to a fellow named Ralph. One day when I was in about the eighth grade I went with her to Ralph's house just to hang out. We were there for a while when my sister said that Ralph's mom had made some Lasagne for dinner and did I want some? I'd literally never heard of lasagne. Seriously. I was very suspect of this weird word, "lasagne", and had a long and illustrious history as being the pickiest eater in the history of human childhood. But, I was a big fan of spaghetti and it was explained that if I liked spaghetti, I'd enjoy Lasagne. So I had some and I loved it, just loved it.
Perhaps twelve or twenty months later, I called Ralph's mom, Henrietta, and asked her how to make it. She taught me and I began making it for my family right then and there. Over the years, I've changed the recipe little and it continues to be a crowd favorite.
About five years ago, I made some for myself and gave some of the left-overs to my sister. (One of the few problems with Lasagne is that it's virtually impossible to make one portion, or even two.) While eating it, she was very complimentary, as she typically is while eating my food, and asked how I ever learned to make it in the first place. I reminded her of the story of Henrietta. She declared "well she was good for something, anyhow". And, Henrietta was good for something. She taught me how to make one of my signature dishes.(The trick is to use two different sauces which are not mixed; use one jarred sauce on top and one homemade sauce in the middle. That way you get a different flavor depending upon which section of the entree your fork happens to cut into.)
Friday, March 1, 2013
China Gate - Epilogue
Page Forty-Three.
I've now eaten at China Gate twice. The first time was later in the week after my initial try that Sunday evening (see page thirty-six). I got the Sweet 'n Sour Chicken, Beef Teriyaki and an Egg Roll. All wonderful. The Sweet 'n Sour Chicken was a taste of the 1950's - very sweet, marachino red and high proportion of chicken to batter, though could have had more pinapple chunks and various vegetables for my taste. Beef Teriyaki was tender and flavorful, nearly flawless in fact. And the egg roll was large and filled with all sorts of Chinese restaurant crud that you don't want to know what it is (rats and cats and so forth). It was a great eating experience over-all.
So last Friday, I went back with my friend Mathilda. We have dinner together every six-eight weeks and we've both been waiting, not patiently, for China Gate to re-open. Mathilda's older than me so she has even more memories of the place than I do. She was also on a first name basis with everyone who worked there. She was really a regular. So she got the Ribs, Egg Roll and Fried Rice and I got the Beef with Broccoli, Crab Rangun, Egg Roll and Fried Rice. She gave me one of her ribs and it was outstanding. It was also a good value as she essentially got a half slab, plus her other items, all for ten bucks. I think mine came in at fifteen 'cause of the Crab. My beef was good, not great. It was heavy on the vegetables which I like, but not enough beef or broccoli for my preference. But still good. The crab was GREAT. The wrap was crispy and tender and the crab was silky smooth, salty and fresh. The fried rice didn't have quite enough "other stuff" in it for my taste, but I've had far worse. I think I just want more vegetables than most people. All in all, if you like post WWII era Chinese food, you're not going to get much better.
What made the evening though, was the environment. The place really is primarily take-out, with seating for only ten people. But we sat there anyhow. The whole place is the size of a closet and as it was a busy Friday night, the door was opening constantly, with the line almost reaching outside a few times. Of course, this is February in Cleveland, so we were both so cold that we kept our winter coats on while eating. We also couldn't get water 'cause they don't serve that. They did have an electric carafe of hot tea which was nice. Also, thankfully, there was a wastebasket for us to dump our trash into. Everybody in line was watching us eat. That made Tillie feel self-conscious. That, on top of her frostbitten hands was really getting on her nerves heavily. I just didn't care. My tolerance for discomfort is very high.
We had a wonderful conversation about her ex- husband and the "skank" whom he's currently dating. When we were finished eating I broke out a bag of Mitchell's chocolate that I sneaked in. (I'll address Mitchell's chocolate in a later blog. It's another Cleveland tradition. Godiva has NOTHING on this place. I'm sure they sell via internet. Look 'em up: Mitchell's Chocolates on Lee Road in Cleveland Heights. You won't be sorry!) So we had chocolate for dessert, but Mathilda was still complaining about the bitter cold and inconvenience of the whole situation. I just didn't care.
So the next day she calls and tells me how much fun she had. She ended up going home, took a long hot bath then got underneath her electric blanket. She eventually warmed up and was able to appreciate the novelty of the evening. I had a great time. Can't wait to go back.
I've now eaten at China Gate twice. The first time was later in the week after my initial try that Sunday evening (see page thirty-six). I got the Sweet 'n Sour Chicken, Beef Teriyaki and an Egg Roll. All wonderful. The Sweet 'n Sour Chicken was a taste of the 1950's - very sweet, marachino red and high proportion of chicken to batter, though could have had more pinapple chunks and various vegetables for my taste. Beef Teriyaki was tender and flavorful, nearly flawless in fact. And the egg roll was large and filled with all sorts of Chinese restaurant crud that you don't want to know what it is (rats and cats and so forth). It was a great eating experience over-all.
So last Friday, I went back with my friend Mathilda. We have dinner together every six-eight weeks and we've both been waiting, not patiently, for China Gate to re-open. Mathilda's older than me so she has even more memories of the place than I do. She was also on a first name basis with everyone who worked there. She was really a regular. So she got the Ribs, Egg Roll and Fried Rice and I got the Beef with Broccoli, Crab Rangun, Egg Roll and Fried Rice. She gave me one of her ribs and it was outstanding. It was also a good value as she essentially got a half slab, plus her other items, all for ten bucks. I think mine came in at fifteen 'cause of the Crab. My beef was good, not great. It was heavy on the vegetables which I like, but not enough beef or broccoli for my preference. But still good. The crab was GREAT. The wrap was crispy and tender and the crab was silky smooth, salty and fresh. The fried rice didn't have quite enough "other stuff" in it for my taste, but I've had far worse. I think I just want more vegetables than most people. All in all, if you like post WWII era Chinese food, you're not going to get much better.
What made the evening though, was the environment. The place really is primarily take-out, with seating for only ten people. But we sat there anyhow. The whole place is the size of a closet and as it was a busy Friday night, the door was opening constantly, with the line almost reaching outside a few times. Of course, this is February in Cleveland, so we were both so cold that we kept our winter coats on while eating. We also couldn't get water 'cause they don't serve that. They did have an electric carafe of hot tea which was nice. Also, thankfully, there was a wastebasket for us to dump our trash into. Everybody in line was watching us eat. That made Tillie feel self-conscious. That, on top of her frostbitten hands was really getting on her nerves heavily. I just didn't care. My tolerance for discomfort is very high.
We had a wonderful conversation about her ex- husband and the "skank" whom he's currently dating. When we were finished eating I broke out a bag of Mitchell's chocolate that I sneaked in. (I'll address Mitchell's chocolate in a later blog. It's another Cleveland tradition. Godiva has NOTHING on this place. I'm sure they sell via internet. Look 'em up: Mitchell's Chocolates on Lee Road in Cleveland Heights. You won't be sorry!) So we had chocolate for dessert, but Mathilda was still complaining about the bitter cold and inconvenience of the whole situation. I just didn't care.
So the next day she calls and tells me how much fun she had. She ended up going home, took a long hot bath then got underneath her electric blanket. She eventually warmed up and was able to appreciate the novelty of the evening. I had a great time. Can't wait to go back.
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