Fun with Siri

We just got iPhone 5s.

Siri is quite the jokester/minx, isn't she?

The Chef: I love you Siri.
Siri: You are the wind beneath my wings.

The Chef: curse word, curse word, non-curse word, curse word?
Siri: Ask nice, Chef. [She said his name.]
Then! She stopped talking to him!
The Chef: I'm sorry.
Siri: No need to apologize.

The Chef: Happy Kwanzaa.
Siri: I could be wrong, but I believe Kwanzaa was on the 26th.

Because what else is there to do on a Monday night?

That's not aspic, by the way. It's vanilla vodka and Diet Coke. Yum.

I've been a bad blogger.

This, I know. And it makes me have the sad. But I have been thinking about you all, so that's something, right?

Here's the thing: I've been SO BUSY having fun doing fun things and also having fun writing more fun books for you that I left you high-and-dry.Some fun things I did:

• Not make any resolutions (except to be a better blogger, which I am doing right now!!).
• Hung out with my son who visited from a far-away land (Missouri).
• Crocheted a massive blanket that was almost too heavy to lift and a bunch of scarves. (If you didn't get one yet, that doesn't mean you're not going to, although it may be too warm for scarves at that point. Hmmm.)
• Aaaand...The Chef and I had super fun when we saw these guys on New Year's Eve at a fancy-pants (not really) event. I may have danced a little bit, but not on the dance floor because that would be NUTS!!

This is Brass Attack. I knew all the songs!!! Shocking! Loved them!!

Happy New Year!

I am thankful because of reasons.

November is the time of the year when Facebookers crank their status updates to full-throttle positivity and thankfulness because Santa is in the house.  Or at least in the mall, and that's close enough to the house.

I always forget to hop on the bandwagon, because I'm not really all that coordinated and even if I did hop up that high, I don't think I'd be able to hoist myself up and into the music-filled vehicle. So it's best I stay with my feet planted on the ground rather than take a tumble and get run over by the danged thing. (Just another reason to stay away from musical stuff.)



Yes, a bandwagon is an actual thing.

But I digress, because that's how I roll.

I started out planning to make a list of all the things I am thankful for because during a final-ish pass of a millionth revision, I just rewrote the ending to my novel Fare Well (out soon!) and the main character, Madeleine, is very thankful for all the wonderfulness in her life. (I know that sounds sappy and very unlike me, but I promise it is NOT sappy and is VERY MUCH like me.)

 But I digress. Again.

So in my head, I started to make a list of things that make me happy, like my family and friends and amazing guy who fits into both categories. And my health, which is at times wonky thanks to this, but I am still good to go every single day.* And my books, which you should check out.** And and and...

So rather than narrowing my thankfulness down to a single day or even a single month, I give you my thought on the subject:

So if you are thankful for someone, tell them. Or if there's something you're thankful for, tell everyone.  I'll start.

*Even incredibly lazy days when I can't get out of my own way because there is much TV that needs to be watched. I love you, HGTV.

**Or I will fight you.

Best Meal I Ever Had. In My Whole Life. Ever.*

So for The Chef's birthday a little bit of time ago, we spent a few days in New York City, which is one of my most favorite places, which surprises me more than it does you.**

But I fall in love with it a little more each time.

For the Great Birthday Weekend, we saw Book of Mormon (front row!) and Jersey Boys (third row!).

And we ate at Babbo, which I enjoyed much more this time than the first time we went.*** And if you go, which you totally should, you'd darned well better get the Tasting Menu, otherwise, you're not getting the most for your time and money. You should trust me. I know lots about food.  But I'll tell you about Babbo another time.

And I'll tell you about Eataly another time too--which is one of our favorite places in the whole wide world.

But the biggest and bestest birthday dinner (which was, in fact, lunch) of all time was at Del Posto, the only 4-star Italian restaurant in NYC and one of only 7 four-stars in the city.

We got the tasting menu, which if you don't know, is when you get forty thousand small courses brought to you over a couple of hours. It included the best salad ever made: Bitter HERBS & LETTUCES with Truffle Dressing. Salad isn't a thing that I love, but I could eat this every single solitary day. For the rest of my life. But I digress, because that's how I roll.

Anyway, the reason why you should always get the Tasting Menu is because you'll receive a variety of dishes you probably never would have chosen for yourself, which expands your experience and makes it unique. Plus it's at the whim of the chef so each visit is a surprise. And it means you don't have to choose one thing and regret your choice. <--I hate when that happens.

And speaking of surprise, when we got there and were chatting with the maitre d', one of the owners popped in and we chatted with him for a bit.  You may know of him--Joe Bastianich from MasterChef fame. We asked him to have lunch with us, but he was running in and out. And you'd think, well, that's the end of the story.

Except that would be 1. boring and 2. not the way our lives work.

So in our chat with Joe, The Chef may have mentioned we were there for his birthday. A throw-away comment in a longer discussion.  And yet not, because at the end of our meal, when they were bringing us FOUR dessert courses, one of them happened to be a super-rich chocolate birthday cake, complete with candle and well wishes written on the plate in chocolate, all accompanied with an olive oil gelato that made us weep with delight.****

I could go on for a thousand years, but I will spare you, and instead will go write, in order to make more money, because The Chef has another birthday coming up in nine months and I suspect I know where we're going for dinner.*****



* For some reason, Blogger is being an asshat and won't let me add pictures. Sorry! Check out the links!!

** You know--on account of I don't like noise or crowds or weirdness.

***I was DYING on that trip two years ago--I felt kind of lousy the whole time and then on our way home, I asked if we could, you know, stop at the hospital cause I felt that crappy. So, 8 days later, when I finally left the hospital...  Yeah, I didn't really enjoy Babbo's $300 dinner price tag as I probably should have. (By the way, I still can't eat prosciutto, which was one of the last things I had on that trip. ::shudders just thinking about it::)

****The Chef says I have to tell you about my most favorite parts, which includes a member of our team of servers and buspeople bringing an embroidered (by Italian vestal virgins) footstool upon which to lay my purse, lest it rest on the immaculate carpet. And we shan't forget the table covered with linens woven that morning by saints, which rested upon a plethora of batting, made of angel wings and unicorn manes, much softer and more plush than any bed on which I shall ever lay my head.

*****And this lunch was $350.00, so I can only imagine the cost of dinner. Gotta go!

In which I break the "What happens in Vegas" rule

Also while I was away from you, we went to Las Vegas. For WORK. The Chef's work, not mine--although prepare yourself to be featured in a book sometime soon, Las Vegas. You've been warned!


We stayed here:

The Venetian. You have to sleep here. You may also want to dance in the lobby next to Thomas Keller's bakery with an Australian guy who hasn't slept in 48 hours because he just came from Kuwait.

You HAVE to eat here. "The menu, created by James Beard Award-winning Executive Chef Luciano Pellegrini, features an array of traditional and contemporary Italian cuisine that includes a variety of homemade pasta dishes, enticing entrees and decadent desserts." That's a fancy way of saying you want to put every morsel of food they make right in your face.

We also ate at the Mexican restaurant, right there on the right, which was weird as the gondoliers sang "O Solo Mio."

But the best part? Besides being there with The Chef?  This:

Obviously I didn't shoot that video, but we saw this one in real life, and can you say SUPER COOL? (I thought you could.) The best of the zillion fountain shows we saw. "Just one more!" I kept saying. The Chef is so kind to put up with my shenanigans.







We're so AWESOME!!! And we're definitely staying here next time!

I did realize during the trip that I may not be cool enough for Las Vegas. I was shocked--SHOCKED!--that in all the amazing shops in all the amazing hotels, I did not see one bookstore. NOT ONE! What the...?  Las Vegas, you've got some 'splainin to do.



The Secret

I was debating whether or not to tell you this, but since we're such good friends, I figure I probably should.  You may have noticed the difference and I don't want you to think I've been captured by mild-mannered aliens or anything. Ready? Here goes.  ::deep breath::

I am uncaffeinated.

No, not in the "Holy crap, I forgot to go to the store and I may die" way.

The "I'm going to cut down on DC/soda/caffeine/Nutrasweet" way.

See? It still loves me, no matter what.

One Thursday a couple of months ago, I called The Chef and said, "I'm not going to have Diet Coke any more." Kind of like when a toddler spits out the binky and never wants it again.

Except not like that at all, because I still want it.  And I want it bad, man, real bad.  I still have half a can in the morning with breakfast, but I have gone days without that too.

I think in the beginning, The Chef was very very afraid for his life. He's okay now, though. I think.

I miss the taste and the bubbles and the awesome feeling of actually being alive and alert.  I don't miss the needing a fix and doing whatever needs to be done in order to get it.  I don't walk around whining "I miss soda" anymore. Aloud.  Much. I did have some with dinner last night and was awake until 2 a.m., but that may have been because The Chef was away and no one told me to go to bed. (Oh, look, and it's 12:21 am already! Whoops!)

And for you holier-than-thou-ers out there, I didn't do it because you obsessively sent me stupid undocumented "sciency" research about the dangers of soda/artificial sweeteners/things in cans/anything that tastes good/caffeine/anything that makes you happy/all words with the letter C. I made the decision because I was tired of the constant chase for more. Not only did I want the DC all the time, I wanted it exactly the way I wanted it. And it was starting to cost a fortune. A Large Diet Coke with extra ice (LDCEI) doesn't come cheap.* And it made me hungry all the time, which meant more eating and more soda and more eating and more...you get the picture.

Do I still have it when we go out? Yes, sometimes. Sometimes not. And not usually 47 refills in one meal. And not close to a two-liter bottle (in varying forms) throughout the day. Every day.

My only worry? Not getting a birthday card from The Coca-Cola Company, like I usually do. By the way, six months and ten days until my birthday.  Shop early; shop often!

I would do this. In a heartbeat. No joke.

Sad that the Diet Coke post is over? Go read about A Social History of Diet Coke!!



*Except now it does, because McDonald's is running their any soda/any size $1 special again this summer.  ::shakes fist at the golden arches::

The Arch. She sways.

 The Gateway Arch is known as the "Gateway to the West". It was designed by Finnish-American architect Eero Saarinen and structural engineer Hannskarl Bandel in 1947 and built between 1963 and October 1965.

During my time away from you, I visited St. Louis and while there, The Chef and I went up in the Arch--and by the way, that's just a nickname for the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial--because we thought we should. It's actually quite lovely, but before I go any further, I have to tell you a few things:

• I don't like to be closed in.
• I am not one of those people who sees a little kid and gets all mushy; in fact, I'm the opposite. I run away from them.*
• I don't love heights.
• I have wicked vertigo.
• Not a fan of crowds.

 It stands 630 feet (192 m) tall and 630 feet (192 m) wide at its base. The legs are 54 feet (16.5 m) wide at the base, narrowing to 17 feet (5.2 m) at the arch.

Knowing we had to return the car by whatever o'clock or we owned it (or some other penalty), we sprinted from the parking lot to the Arch.**

 There is a unique tram system to carry passengers to the observation room at the top of the arch.

We beat the line by offering to go up in separate pods--like the single rider feature at any amusement park. A good idea, right? No, because:

1. You do not want to ever get into anything called a "pod," especially with strangers.
2. Children may be some of the strangers in your pod.

Lets take a tiny little look into some pod facts:

• Eight small capsules, used in each of the two Arch trains.
• Each train capsule has a 5-foot diameter barrel that is open on the front and closed on the back.
• There are five seats in each barrel, so the weight of the passengers helps keep the capsule in an upright position.
• Each capsule rotates approximately 155 degrees during the trip to the top of the Arch.
• Each of the Arch trains carries 40 passengers and is capable of making a round trip with passengers in 9 minutes including loading and unloading passengers in both directions.

There is nothing in that list that gives the impression of, "Hmmm, that sure sounds like fun!" Nothing.

So we got to the top and as I rolled out of the capsule, I expected to see something glorious inside the Arch. I don't KNOW what, specifically, I expected to find. Maybe something in the tone of Disney. Instead, we got something in the key of crowded old doctor's office. And more kids. Gah!

Look beyond the handsome and blurry Chef for a minute.
See those tiny little windows?
Yeah, that's what you get on both sides.
And you have to lean over an angled, carpeted area to see out them.
Okay, now you can look at the handsome Chef
and please note that he's not that blurry in real life.

But, of course, I guess you could say that the glory of it all is the view.

Hello, vertigo, my old friend

Nothing personal, St. Louis, but your buildings aren't very big, especially for the largest metropolitan area in Missouri..

And then the Arch moved. Or swayed.  "Can you feel the movement?" The Chef asked his delicate flower of a girlfriend, who felt more woozy than after three-quarters of a margarita.

We took a few more pictures and vamoosed because we had to hurry to get to the airport to...do nothing because our flight had been cancelled. Apparently someone coughed in Georgia or something and we were trapped until the next day. Trapped and tired and uncaffeinated and cranky. And that was just me! Poor Chef. He puts up with so much crazy.

I get just as dizzy looking at these pictures as I did when I took them.

But you've got to give me an A for effort, right?
Unless these are the ones The Chef took,
which would explain why they're clear and well-composed.

Apparently, there is more to St. Louis than the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial, I wouldn't mind checking it out, which will probably happen in the near future because if you want to get to Columbia, MO, where my son lives, and not pay one gajillion dollars for a plane ticket, you visit "Rome of the West" / "Gateway to the West" / "Mound City." Heh heh. I said "mound."

*Except little kids who have proven themselves to be cool and worthy of being in the vicinity of my awesomeness. You parents who have children who have passed the test know who you are.

**Yes, by sprint I mean The Chef walked quickly and I went slower and slower as I looked around and then came to a full stop. The Arch is a VERY big, VERY shiny thing. Shiny sense overload.

PSSST! Unless otherwise noted, I swiped the info from Wikipedia, because I'm cool like that. Yay me!

Delish Dish (pan actually but no alliteration there!)

Barbecue pizza with chicken and red onions and cilantro! (It was supposed to have flat leaf parsley on it, but The Chef made a mid-cooking replacement.) That's it, below.

Hello, I am it.

We're at Uno Dué Go in the heart of Boston* and this place is fantabulous! It's like Panera only waaaay better (and not just because there's pizza here).

I swear if there were one of these anywhere near Casa Chef and Me, I would write here; I would run my Mary Kay business from here; I would even eat here. Of course all that would be contingent on them losing the Pepsi products and hauling in a fountain dispenser of the good stuff. (You know what I'm talking about!)

We also had the grilled cheese panini with tomatoey goodness (we should have gotten the tomato soup to dip it in; make sure you do this if you go there) and a prosciutto, fig, and cheddar panini, which would have been superawesomegreat if I didn't have this thing about prosciutto... it was one of the last things I had before I got really sick last October and spent a good long time in the hospital, so not so fond of that anymore... But the rest fell out of the tasty tree and hit every branch!

Of the three things, the pizza won my heart, though. Just in time for Valentine's Day!

And keeping with the Uno's theme, we went to an actual Uno's restaurant a couple of nights ago, but you'll have to wait on that. Time to go!  The Chef is done chatting with the workers and I'm going to see if I can score myself a whoopie pie (chocolate with chocolate filling)!!

XOXO

* Yeah baby. Blogging from my phone in a restaurant. Am I cool or WHAT?

Oh curly noodles.*

Stop being so awesome. I want to eat you all.**


Hello. I am Fusilli Bucati Corti. How are you?



*I would tell you their Official Pasta Name but I am too lazy to look it up.

**Especially when you are covered in The Chef's amazing chili.***

***Maybe if you're especially nice, I will tell you how to make it someday. I promise to tell you all the recipe parts--not just the ones that interest me.****

****This has nothing to do with curly noodles***** or chili but SUPER BIG GIGANTIC news about Hazel and her pals is coming very soon.

*****Actually, there IS a connection because Hazel's story takes place in Italy! And you know how those Italians love the noodles (not to mention the Parmesan cheese and the eggs on everything).

Sign you know your partner is in the right profession

During an intimate* time...

STOP READING THIS IF YOU ARE ONE OF MY PARENTS!!!

and the TV is on the Science Channel in the background showing "How It's Made" and apparently out of the corner of his eye, he sees what's on the screen and this partner of yours, this partner who loves you very much and you love him very much, stops what he is doing and says, "Hey! All-Clad!"**


*I am clarifying "intimate time," per The Chef's request. Naughty bits were involved. Shut. Up.

**The creation of All-Clad pans is actually a pretty interesting process.

When worlds collide, part 2

When I "throw something together" for dinner, peanut butter is involved, as is its BFF jelly.

When The Chef "throws something together" for dinner, we have tandoori chicken, baba ganoush*, and raita.

You can be jealous now.

Maybe later I'll tell you how to make some of these things. Right now, I have to go lie down because I'm so full.


*This makes me sing "baba ganoush...baba ganoush" in an annoying melody of my own making. Even I know it's annoying and yet I can't stop.

FINALLY! Chicken soup in every pot (and freezable container)

We all know that when household collide, so do methods of food preparation. To wit: Chicken Soup.

My (Penny's) way of making chicken soup:

1. Open can.
2. Dump contents in microwavable bowl.
3. Add 1/2 can of water.
4. Microwave until you're tired of waiting to eat.
5. Remove from microwave, taste, burn tongue.
6. Shake fist at microwave.

Optional: Add a boatload of crackers because the soup may not taste exactly like a salt lick quite yet.

The Chef's way of making soup:

• 3-5 pound chicken
• 4-5 carrots cut in 3-4" pieces
• 1/2 stalk celery with leaves cut in 3-4" pieces
• 1 large onion cut in 3-4" pieces
• sachet bag*, made up of 1/2 bunch Italian parsley with stems, 20 whole black peppercorns crushed, 2 T thyme, 3 whole cloves, 2-3 bay leaves
• cold water (keep reading for how much!)


 To make stock:

1. Using a cleaver, cut chicken into small pieces (each part of the chicken--leg, breast, etc-- should be cut at least in half to expose the marrow, about 3-4" pieces)
2. Add enough cold water to cover approximately 6-8" above the chicken.
3. Bring to a boil.
4. Skim the scum. (Say that three times fast--fun!)
5. Add carrots, celery, onion, and sachet bag.  Stir.
6. Simmer for 5-6 HOURS** skimming off scum occasionally.
7. Remove chicken and place on sheetpan to let cool.
8. Strain stock through fine strainer. (Use fine chinois or cheesecloth if possible.) Let cool.
9. While stock is cooling, pull chicken from bones. (Best to do this while watching the movie Until the Devil Knows You're Dead.)
10. Evenly separate chicken stock into freezable containers. (Your choice but 1/2 gallon size works best.)
11. Add equal amounts of pulled chicken to the containers.
12. Freeze--EXCEPT ONE! We're going to keep going with that one container.

Ready?

• one 10-oz block frozen, chopped spinach
• 1/3-1/2 bunch fresh chopped Italian parsley
• About 1/2 pound of your choice of pasta (we like egg fettuccine, broken up into 1" pieces, which hurts your hands. ouch.)
• Salt and pepper to taste
• Parmesan cheese (for garnish)

1. Remember that container from above? Pour the contents into a large sauce pan.
2. Add one block of frozen spinach. (Do not thaw.) Cook until hot.***
3. Add chopped parsley.
4. In a separate pan, cook pasta. Go PAST the al dente stage.****
5. Strain pasta and rinse with cold water.
6. Add desired amount of pasta to spinach/chicken soup and bring to simmer. Keep in mind that if you add too much pasta, it will suck up all the juices and you'll have one giant spinach noodle. Yuck.
7. Season with salt and pepper to taste. This is the first time you're adding salt, so you may find it takes a lot.*****
8. Serve with grated Parmesan cheese. I'm not kidding. These Italians put cheese in everything. I stopped my open mocking for a moment and tried it and WOW!

*sachet bag=herbs wrapped in a cheesecloth, tied with a string. This keeps all the little bits from floating all over the place. Little bits are like that.

**HOURS!!!! Hahahahaha!

***If you're using one of the frozen containers of the stock, pop out of container into saucepan along with frozen spinich. Cover and heat slowly (or quickly if you're wicked hungry).

****Be sure to wave to the al dente as it passes by.

*****The Chef says, "You can even add an egg to that." I say, "Why do you Italians have to put an egg on or in everything???" He defends this wacky practice by saying it would be like an egg-drop soup.  I say, "Whatever, dude."******

******And then he kills me for calling him "Dude."

I am delicious soup and you want to eat me.

You will use a spoon because if you try to slurp directly from the bowl, you'll spill it down the front of yourself. Trust me on this.

No chicken soup for your soul. Or bowl.

Apparently when you're writing a recipe, you are not supposed to only include the steps that interest you.  For that reason, you are not getting the chicken soup recipe I have been promising you in my head.

Oh, you'll get it eventually. Or I guess I could give it to you now, but it wouldn't work.

I wrote it, thinking I was Miss Sassy-Smartypants and I sent it to The Chef, asking him to check it out and he laughed and laughed and told me it was perfect except for all the wrong things and all the missing things. (I added the "perfect" part.) (He said all this very nicely because he is very kind and sweet, but we all know that's what he meant. There may have been some head-shaking on his part.)

So...if you're sick and you need chicken soup, just hold on! It's coming!



Someday I will tell you how to make this.



Pork loin is not photogenic

It kinda looks like a dead, boneless animal, doesn't it?  Oh, wait. It is. But a very delicious one.

There really are no words, but I sure do like to write captions!

Here's the recipe, for those of you brave enough to slow-cook. I've slow-cookered thrice, so I'm a pro now. (And by "pro," I mean The Chef helped/supervised every step of the way. We should all thank him. If you think I'm kidding, see Step 2, which I did on my own.)

Non-Photogenic but Most Delicious Slow-cooker Pork Loin

• 1 boneless pork loin, 2-3 pounds
• salt and pepper
• 1 cup light brown sugar
• 1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
• 1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
• 3/4 cup water

Glazey McGlazerson:

• 1/2 cup brown sugar
• 1 tablespoon cornstarch
• 1/4 cup balsamic vinegar
• 1/2 cup water
• 2 tablespoons soy sauce

1. Get your in-home chef to wash pork, trim excess fat, pat dry.
2. Sprinkle with salt and pepper, then prick the meat all over with a fork or skewer. (NOTE: I forgot to poke and no one would have been the wiser if I hadn't just narced on myself.) (ANOTHER NOTE: I said "prick.")
3. In a cup or bowl, combine the brown sugar, mustard, and vinegar. Rub all over the hunk of meat. (Best to put the gloves back on before you do that--no messy cleanup!)
4. Cover and cook on LOW for 7 to 8 hours.
5. After an hour of cooking, add water around the side of the meat--not right on it!
6. About 1/2 hour before the pork is done, combine ingredients for glaze in a small sauce pan.
7. Heat and stir until mixture thickens.Pour off the excess juices and reserve.
8. Brush pork with glaze.
9. Add reserved juices to glaze and reduce on stove to nappe* stage. (The mixture coats the back of the spoon.) This is your gravy. You will drink whatever's left. I guarantee it.

*Does using this term make me sound like I know what I'm doing?

I am making food.

In the crockpot. Set on low. I have to STOP checking its progress. (Is it cooking yet? How about now? Now?)*

Here's a quiz (with imaginary prizes):

If left to my own eating devices, I would

a) Have a frozen dinner for just about every meal except the ones where someone else cooks
b) Die of malnutrition
c) Live on a giant batch of shepherd's pie.
d) Eat cake for almost every breakfast
e) Any and all of the above.

The answer is E, of course.

But you know what's funny, in a not funny-haha way? Every single solitary thing (book/story/whatever) I write has super descriptions of tasty treats (not just cake) and delicious recipes in them.  If pressed, could I actually make these recipes/foodstuffs?

Other people could. Me? Well...I have this whole following-directions problem, which kind of goes along with the shiny button syndrome.**

As I was falling asleep last night, I was thinking, "Hmmm...I could actually SHARE these things, these recipes with you all. And The Chef could help me make sure I'm not effing up big-time mid-creation."

What's that? You want to know what I'm making now? What would you say to Slow Cooker Brown Sugar Pork Loin? 



Get in mah belly. (Lousy pic, I know. I'll get you a mouth-watering one later!)



When The Chef emailed me the recipe yesterday, what I said was "This looks so good I want to have sex with it on the first date."  I know what you're thinking: Um, Penny, that (the food, not the sex) sounds fancy and direction-y. I KNOW! But two things:

1. The Chef prepped the meat last night
2. I only had to mix brown sugar with a few other things. When sugar's involved, I'm an idiot savant. (I love you, sugar.)

Plus another thing, which makes three things: slooooow cooker, whose motto should be I'll do all the work. You go relax--or perhaps GET BACK TO WORK! That book ain't going to write itself!

Is it done now? No.

More on this potentially-delish dish of deliciousness later, once full contact has been made with my mouth. Nom nom nom.

*Now?

**Latest episode? Yesterday I was taking clothes from the dryer and something--the phone ringing? a bunny hopping across the yard? an alien invasion?--something happened and I walked away from the task; aforementioned incomplete task was discovered by The Chef. Open bifold laundry doors. Open dryer. Clothes spilling onto the dryer door like they were trying to make an escape.

"What the...?" he started.

"It's best you don't ask," I told him. That's best for everyone.

So I went to Pittsburgh...

And I ate this whole sandwich all by myself. We were at Primanti's, which you may have seen on various Food Network shows throughout the years.

I know what you're thinking: Holy moly. Are those french fries in that delicious looking sandwich? As I recall that ginormous meal also had pastrami, lettuce, tomato and an egg. Don't ask--the Pittsburgh people seem to like eggs on lots of things that normal people don't usually put eggs on. I've learned it's best just to accept that.

But I CAN explain the fries thing. Stolen directly from the Primanti's website

Back in the 1930's, Joe Primanti opened a cart in the Strip District selling sandwiches to truckers on the go. It was decided that he should expand to a small restaurant on 18th Street. The hours were 3am to 3pm to accommodate truckers and the like. His brothers, Dick and Stanley, joined him along with nephew John DePriter who was the cook.

According to John, "One winter, a fella drove in with a load of potatoes. He brought a few of 'em over to the restaurant to see if they were frozen. I fried the potatoes on our grill and they looked pretty good. A few of our customers asked for them, so I put the potatoes on their sandwiches." And the rest is history. The Primanti Sandwich: a true taste of Pittsburgh.

That's not all the deliciousness, though.

As you may know, or may not know because you live on the moon, my birthday is on Christmas. I spent the holiday and Christmas (heh heh. See what I did there?) with my family, in the traditional holiday/Christmas celebration: Helping my son pack a UHaul trailer so he could move to Missouri the next day.  Then there was food and presents with the whole clan. Delicious and fun.

The next morning I went to Logan Airport and got on a plane ALL BY MYSELF* with NO LUGGAGE** and a ONE-WAY*** ticket, which meant a first-class pass to a full body scan. Good times, people. Yeah, like I would risk blowing up my new Vera Wang purse or missing out on that sandwich above.

Anyway, back to food.

After apparently some serious shenanigans including The Great Search for a Round Pan and Is Your Lemon Curd Lemony Enough? on Christmas night, in anticipation of my arrival the next day, The Chef and his family stayed up all night while he created the best birthday cake ever, complete with homemade aforementioned lemon curd and delicious coconut, my all-time favorite cake flavors.

I will end this post by allowing you to bask in the glow of the lemon curd...and no, I will not stop saying lemon curd.****


I am a delicious cake and you should be jealous because you cannot eat me!



"Nom nom nom," said the little butterfly...

* I was only a little bit afraid.

** Because I had sent it along with The Chef when he drove out to see his family.

*** Because I would be driving back with The Chef and my luggage.

****Lemon curd, lemon curd, lemon curd...

Happy New Year!

Our traditional/annual Grainy New Year's Eve picture!



(Why the pink hue? Who knows???)



XOXO

764 words (for now)

I came; I wrote; I showered, got ready to go out, and then went out and partied like the rock star that I am.

Stop laughing.

We are going out later. Probably partying more like a chamber music choir member than a rock star, 'cause that's how I roll!*

It's research for my next book! I pinky swear!

XOXO

*Actually, in the movie Rock Star, wasn't Mark Wahlberg's Chris "Izzy" Cole a member of the church choir?

"When is choir practice?"

The Chef is home from hunting and Man Camp!!!

So no words today. Tomorrow for sure! I'm so close to the ending I can taste it. Yum! Almost as good as the pumpkin pie, which I still regret throwing away.

Catch you on the flip-flop!

XOXO