This year for Thanksgiving, Dad, Jean, Granny, and I all went to the Gerbers' house. Tracey cooked the turkey and, with some help/hindrance :-) from the rest of us, made most of the side dishes.
Jean brought chocolate cream and pumpkin pies. Yum.
I made Bill's Browned Brussels Sprouts and an orangy cranberry sauce, the recipe for which I got from Martha. It's basically sugar, water, cranberries, orange zest, and orange juice. The boys helped/hindered me with it, but they wouldn't eat it and said the corn syrup–loaded kind from the can is much better. Dad said he liked "the taste," which meant he wouldn't eat it because it wasn't smooth. *sigh* And this time, Mike wouldn't eat the Brussels sprouts even though he said he liked them OK when I made them the last time I visited the Gerbers. And Matt "tried" one by holding it up to his mouth and putting his tongue on it for a nanosecond. I need a foodie family of dog lovers with a handsome gay best friend to adopt me. Please!
Everything was delicious, and the leftovers were even better. Tracey made oven-baked mashed-potato cakes crusted with panko bread crumbs and heated up individual portions of her stuffing in a muffin pan. Mmmm.
On Thanksgiving afternoon, we started putting up the Gerbers' Christmas tree. They put the ornaments on that evening as the rest of us watched. It was fun seeing the same battle being played out between Tracey and the boys that she and I used to have as kids. Like me, Matt and Mike wanted to put the homemade ornaments in the front, but my unsentimental sister insisted they go in the back.
On Black Friday, we went to a mall, not because we're insane but so I could try the food at Bobby's Burger Palace, which M&M said has the best burgers of all time and puts 5 Guys Burgers and Fries to shame. My verdict? I did like both my hamburger and the fries a little better than 5 Guys'. Because the boys had said you could get all kinds of weird stuff on your burger, I had assumed BBP had a board with a list of toppings, like 5 Guys. But it's got a selection of burgers that you can make additions to or deletions from. I got a boring Palace Classic, hold the cheese. Pictured at left is Tracey's L.A. Burger, with avocado and watercress. Two more things that put BBP over the top: You can get your burger cooked to order, and it's served on a real plate. Woot!
After we ate, we walked around the Bergen Town Center mall a little, including the Target. And then, at my suggestion, we walked around Ridgewood, which has a wonderful, actual town center. I got a pair of jeans and a cool shirt at Lucky. On the way back to the car, I snapped a picture of a chipmunk that I saw emerge from a little pipe in a wall. Can you spot it? If not, click on the photo to make it larger.
Ooh, I almost forgot, I brought the wine, aka The Precious Liquid That, Goddess Willing, Will Prevent Another Stabbing Incident Like the One Back in 2000 for Which Jean Is Still on Parole. Hah! I kid. It's really Granny who's on parole. :-)
Everyone says to drink pinot with turkey, so to quaff with the bird at T-day dinner, I took the 2007 Patricia Green Cellars Pinot Noir Reserve. One of the staff writers on My favorite writer for the magazine, who works in the Portland, Oregon, bureau, sent four bottles of this wine to the New York office to thank us copy editors for all of the times we've saved his bacon over the years. Thanks, Anthony! Dad, Jean, Tracey, and I all enjoyed this tantalizing red-fruity wine.
I took a magnum-sized bottle of, gasp, Beringer White Zinfandel to keep Dad and Jean happy. And a quite nice new-to-me malbec from Legado and another pinot, from one of my favorite producers, MacMurray Ranch, to keep everyone happy. Except for the boys. Who like to get hammered on Painkillers. Hah!
Tracey has been on a kick for Pineau des Charantes. She bought one at Red, White & Bubbly the last time she visited that she really enjoyed, but when I popped in the Sunday before Thanksgiving, RW&B was sold out and wouldn't have more until after the holiday. And none of the other liquor/wine stores in my hood had any PDC at all. So I got one from Maison Brillet at Sherry-Lehmann Wine & Spirits, which is very close to work. Bug* liked it.
M&M and I played lots of video games, especially some new ones I'd bought for my iPhone: Skee-Ball, Rolando, and Pinball: Rollercoaster. Skee-Ball is good fun, and I'm sure I'll enjoy Rolando more and more as I continue to mess around with it. Rolando has gotten excellent reviews, and I've always loved rolling-type games ever since Marble Madness and, especially, Run Yourself Ragged, aka Screwball Scramble and Snafu. I'm enjoying the pinball game, but $5 seems too high for it considering there's only one table and given the price of other games in the app store.
I even got some sewing done while I was at the Gerbers'. I sewed up holes in my coat pocket and a reusable bag and reinforced the bottom of another bag. I took my sewing because I figured if there was anything my family would enjoy more than discussing or interrupting my every bowel or bladder movement, it'd be the sight of me with a needle and thread in my hands.
And of course, I played with the woofers a lot. I rented a car so I could take the dogs with me. Emme was on her best behavior except for one minor incident when Molly, unbeknownst to me, had a piece of bread in her mouth and Emme wanted to follow her into her crate to grab it from her.
I guess there's not much left to do besides post a string of photos.
A photo of a snoozing Rudy with a turkey chew toy near his head ...
... is paired with this shot of Emme's behind sidled up next to a sheep chew toy that Tracey said I should bring home with me because Molly never paid it any attention and Rudy enjoyed playing with it.
Mike, Bug, and my dinner plate
Dad reading The Marshmallow Incident to M&M
Trace got the boys personalized violin-player ornaments to put on the tree. This one is Mike's.
When I left on Saturday morning, the boys said I should move in. I would live in the downstairs guest bedroom and I could bring Emme and Rudy too. :-) I'd love to have lots more time to hang out with my wonderful 'phews, but I think the commute into the city would kill me. Or David would. ;-)
*A family nickname for my sister that dates back to when she was 5 or 6 and had a dress with a cute bug on it. Dad called her his little Tracey Bug.
A little while back, I said I'd write up Lou's stories about the basset hound named Reggie he had many years ago. Well, here I go:
Reggie spent a lot of time tethered out on the front porch. He knew the mailman and all of the other regular delivery people, and he wouldn't make any noise when they appeared. But when he saw a stranger walking around, he'd howl. And the neighbors knew that Reggie wouldn't carry on unless there was something unusual going on, so when they heard him, they'd look outside.
One day, Reggie made a terrible racket, a sound he'd never made before. The woman across the street had three daughters—something like 8, 5, and 2—and she'd asked the oldest to look after the others. When she heard Reggie, she looked outside and saw the baby sitting in the street. She ran outside and grabbed her up. Reggie had saved the day. (And then he probably took a nap.)
---
Lou's grandmother would take Reggie for a walk down the street to greet the neighborhood kids when they got out of school. He'd let her walk at her own pace, and he got lots of attention from the children outside the school. When Lou would walk Reggie around town, people he didn't know were always greeting the dog by name because of those walks with Lou's grandma.
***
Dad told Tracey recently that he wouldn't mind getting a dog if he could have one like Molly. During dinner after the Thanksgiving in the Country tour, Dad said that his doctor had recommended he get a dog because it would encourage him to do more walking. "Did he write you out a scrip for one?" I asked.
The next evening, I texted my nephews to see whether they'd heard about Dad's doctor's advice. "Hey, buds. Did you know that Pop Pop's doctor told him he ..."
Poor Rudy gets no respect. He's too much dog for most people. But he's just right for me. Aren't you, boy? *Rudy continues to saw wood next to me on the love seat*
Tracey sprang into action and found a 4-year-old basset named Fiona at a shelter not far from her in northern New Jersey. Dad said he'd drive up to meet the woofer that Wednesday. Then he realized he'd be driving up the following week for Thanksgiving, and since he didn't want to make the trip two times in as many weeks, Tracey called to see whether she could postpone the appointment to the following Wednesday. The woman at the shelter said no one had yet expressed interest in Fiona and she'd let Tracey know if anyone did.
I wanted to look at Fiona's picture on Petfinder again today, and I was shocked to see that she was listed as adopted. Tracey called the shelter and found that Fiona had indeed been adopted. Tracey said the woman didn't give an explanation for why she hadn't called when someone else inquired about the girl.
When I'd talked to Dad on Saturday, he sounded like he was starting to get cold feet. He was concerned that Fiona would be too big and he seemed unsure that he really wanted a dog. And he also said he didn't want to feel pressured into getting her. To which I immediately had to say, "Come on, get the dog already!" :-)
I haven't talked to Dad since Tracey confirmed that Fiona is no longer available. I looked on Petfinder and saw that there were many female bassets still out there waiting to be adopted. Or maybe Dad will find the right dog of a different variety closer to his home. On Saturday, he'd said Jean would rather have a small dog. I can't picture Dad walking a Yorkie around the neighborhood but definitely a larger terrier or terrier mix or some other scruffy mutt who'll walk off with his heart when he meets her.
In the meantime, best of luck to you in your new home, Fiona.*
***
The New York Times had a cute article earlier this month about how one of my favorite breeds, the French bulldog, has become quite popular in Astoria, Queens.
***
There's been so much cuteness on The Daily Puppy recently. Here are some links:
Corgis named Cricket, Whiskey, and (Whiskey's brother) Buster
A Frenchie named Vera
A wheaten terrier/basset mix named Henson, who was adopted after this post went upDiesel the Great Dane
And a miniature schnauzer named Emmy
And here's still more cuteness from shots of The Daily Puppy app on my iPhone:
Here's one of my new favorite photos of Emme. By luck, I captured her with one ear up and one ear down as she was shaking her head.
And here's Rudy all tucked in on the love seat. Joyce said I should teach him to pull the covers over himself. That would be awesome.
*That link may not last all that much longer, of course. If it no longer works, you'll have to settle for my description: mostly dark brown on her head with some white at the end of her nose, a very broad collar of white and a white belly, with a black saddle and some more brown on her rear and above her front legs. She has a little bit of a belly, which Dad said he couldn't really hold against her. :-)
We took Pat's oldish, sweet-looking iMac G4—the iMac that had the half-sphere base—to an Apple specialty store outside Doylestown late that Saturday afternoon. The fellow who helped Pat ran a diagnostic on the computer and told her there didn't seem to be anything wrong with the hardware, so she should try reinstalling the software. Pat was so pleased with the news—and the fact that the guy didn't charge her for his time—that she wanted to give him something. She asked him what kind of cupcake he liked. He said he was actually on a diet. On the way to the car, Pat reiterated her desire to give the guy something. I suggested she find him a date. Hah! I make fun of you because I'm one of you, Apple nerd.*
On the way back to Pat's pad, we stopped at the Village
Flower Shoppe in Peddler's Village. The VFS always has wonderful Christmas tree displays, and I was hoping to find some ornaments to give as gifts and/or to keep for myself. There weren't as many trees this year, maybe because of lowered expectations for sales, and I didn't see any decorations that bowled me over. I liked the exotic foliage begonias in the big greenhouse area at the back of the store, but I didn't buy one because I didn't want to have to schlepp it back to the city on the bus.
Back in New Hope, I dropped some coin at Strawberry Jam and Farley's Bookshop. ARROHK, I always find cards I like at SJ. These cards from Healey Grisham's Underdog line feature rescued dogs, and part of the purchase price goes toward grassroots animal welfare efforts.
On the back of each card is the name of the underdog or underdogs pictured, a short profile, and a "special power." Dolly Lama, the little dog standing on what looks to be an ottoman, was "discarded ... twice. And yet you'll never find a happier little spirit." Her special power is "forgiveness. She always gives second chances." And the next dog to the right is Jillian, who was "rescued from a city shelter only hours before her scheduled demise." Her special power is "making her humans feel like they're the ones who were saved." OMG. So sweet. *gets all verklempt*
We met Dan and Paul for dinner that night at Tastebuds, and this meal was one of those rare instances when most everything on the menu sounds wonderful. We all got different appetizers and entrees so we could try a bunch of things. I got a Boston lettuce salad and beef tenderloin. Pat got a beet salad and black bass. Paul got cauliflower bisque and wild mushroom ravioli. And Dan got butternut squash dumplings and champagne snapper. I loved my two dishes and everything I tried, which I think was all of the above except for the ravioli.
We polished off three bottles of wine, including the delightful 2008 Atteca Old Vines Garnacha, which I'd picked up at Phillips' Fine Wines in Stockton after our breakfast the day before. Phillips' is a fantastic store that really opened my eyes to the wonderful world of wine while I lived in town. And there's now a new room set aside for microbrewer beers.
Dan and Paul brought a great Francis Coppola cabernet and told a story about a really high-end Coppola cab they'd served once at a gathering at their home. Pete and his now-ex Jim had brought the wine to D&P on some other occasion, and D&P broke it out when their friend Ann was over with some other people. Ann recognized it as an exceptional wine and mentioned it to her daughter the next day. Her daughter said that particular FC cab was a really expensive bottle, and Ann told the guys they shouldn't have opened such a pricey wine for her. Dan said they had no idea how much it had cost since it was a gift and he was just relieved they hadn't used it for cooking. It turns out that a relative of Jim worked for FC and had gotten the wine as, I think, a year-end gift. It got regifted twice, and that's the circuitous route by which Ann was able to try it.
I think the third bottle we drank was a malbec that I also picked up at Phillips'. I can't find my receipt, which probably has the name of the wine on it. And I apparently didn't take a picture of the bottle or make a note of the name on my iPhone. Probably because we were on our third bottle of wine.
I didn't make a note of our desserts either. Nor did I take a picture. I got some cute pictures of my friends, though, which is more important to me. If I were more sophisticated with my photo-placement techniques, I'd put them in a triptych so it'd look like they were all sitting around the table across the page.
After dinner, Dan, Paul, and I went to the fairly recently reopened Raven. I really should have gotten just a ginger ale, but I had a gin and tonic. I had fun talking with Dr. Rey Velasco, one of the borough's council members, and hanging out with the fellows. The alcohol didn't hit me until after we left the bar, when I was trying to fall asleep on Pat's guest bed. Oy.
The next morning, Dad and Jean and Pat's sister Maureen joined Pat and me for the house tour. We enjoyed all four of the houses this year, and Pat made the keen observation that none of them seemed overly ostentatious. Sure, you had to be making a good living to be living in any of them, but none was so over-the-top you could practically see the money oozing out of the walls. They seemed like homes, not displays of wealth.
Our third stop, "The Barn House," was indeed converted from a barn on a dairy farm. It had five different levels, with the master bedroom on the top floor, and short staircases connecting them. This house was the one—there's always one every year—that's up for sale.
My favorite, and the favorite of most of the five of us, was "Fubine Farm." The owner used to be a chef and is now a tile maker. The kitchen was gorgeous and homey, and the view from his bedroom upstairs was magnificent. The homeowner's adorable adult daughter was the tour guide in that room. I always look for signs—and feel for vibes—of gayness in the homes if it's not clear that the owners are a straight couple with kids. I saw nothing definitive, but in my fantasy opinion, this guy's probably a gay man on his second life after an amicable divorce from his wife, and he's learning the ropes of being out while simultaneously running a new business. If that's the case, e-mail me, tile guy! I know a thing or two about being an out businessman in rural New Jersey. I'm pretty capable in the kitchen myself. And I could show you a sight you wouldn't soon forget in the bed in that master suite. Ha cha!
We weren't allowed to take photos inside the houses, but I snapped this shot of part of FF's yard, with chickens off to the right. I did that to capture the large building under construction in the distance. We were told that's a stable. For horses. *sigh* There's no telling what the house that goes with the stables will look like once it's built.
We'd had lunch at Maria Rosa, a pizza and pasta place a few doors away from the farm/B&B on Route 523. Steve and I would eat there for lunch on almost every weekend day and on many a weekday evening for dinner.
The deli in Sergeantsville where Dad had gotten a great turkey wrap, with stuffing and cranberry sauce, two years ago was closed again, as it had been last year. Dad had already announced that he wouldn't be eating Chinese food again at the general store in S'ville. And I knew he and Jean didn't really want to get the lunch at the Methodist church in town, even though the proceeds, like those from the house tour, go toward the Facial Reconstruction Center at Children's Hospital in Philadelphia. We'd eaten there one year, and Dad and Jean remember that the chicken soup was pretty thin. Or as Dad likes to say, "Like the chicken ran through it." I was a little quieter than usual for most of the day, thanks to my overindulging the night before, but I still managed to get off some "like the ____ ran through it" jokes throughout the day.
Anyhow, Dad and Jean were enthusiastic about my suggestion to eat up the road at MR, and Pat and Maureen signed on to it too. Dad and I split a personal-size plain pizza, and the gals split a pie with pepperoni. I was flattered that one of the guys who worked there, whose name I still can't manage to come up with, remembered my name after all of these years. And so did John, the father in the family who runs MR, and his son Ralph, who lives in Stockton and who came into the restaurant toward the end of our meal. Ralph said he and his wife have their house on the market because they're planning to have a second child and need more bedrooms. Ralph's brother Mike, who also works at the restaurant, wasn't there that day.
Maureen had some prior commitments that evening, so we had a foursome for dinner at Lilly's on the Canal, another restaurant in Lilly Salvatore's empire. I enjoyed my pan-seared chicken in a pesto cream sauce, which came with mashed potatoes, fresh mozzarella, and roasted yellow pepper.
All of us found our waitress to be the human equivalent of fingernails on a chalkboard. Her voice was grating, and she was lackadaisical and clueless. As the meal was coming to a close, Dad told her we were on a deadline because I had a bus to catch and he asked her for the bill. When she brought it over, he asked her to wait so he could give his credit card to her right away. He put the card inside the leather booklet holding the bill, and she asked whether he needed a minute before she took it away. For what? I wanted to say, "Take the card and the bill and be gone, Mindy!" That was the name I'd started calling her in my mind.
After we beat feet from the restaurant, Dad dropped me off at the bus stop in Lambertville, took Pat back to New Hope, and then came back to L'ville to make sure the bus came as scheduled, which it did.
And now, I'll wrap up this second TITC 2009 post with a few more photos:
Meil's always has cleverly designed covers for its menus.
Pat took this photo of me with a banner for the Henson exhibit. The section of the Michener Museum complex behind me shows its prison roots.
The charming interior of Lilly's Gourmet. And the guy with the beard is a cutie.
Dan's champagne snapper dish. Its full name, with all sides, on the menu was Baked Champagne Snapper, Macadamia Nut Crust, Lemongrass Jasmine Rice, Chili Broth.
Paul holding my dish so I could photograph it. Filet of Beef Tenderloin, Roasted Brussel** Sprouts, Whipped Potatoes, Red Wine Onion Butter.
The interior of Lilly's on the Canal. The waitress in the background isn't "Mindy." The floral paintings visible in this photo and in the one above of Lilly's Gourmet are by Tony LaSalle, who has a gallery in Lambertville.
Jean and Dad at Lilly's on the Canal. I moved the candles closer to them for better lighting.
And Pat lent a hand with the lighting when I took a snap of her with my iPhone.
*I'm not really anywhere near as Apple nerdy at that guy was. When he asked Pat when she'd bought the iMac, she first said 2005. He said that wasn't possible. Then she said, Maybe 2004. He allowed that. :-) He also told us a story about a high school friend who'd built his own small car. The engine liquefied on the highway when the friend accidentally shifted from a high gear into reverse. His friend was fine aside from the loss of his drivable creation.
**The menu left off the final s in Brussels.
Last weekend, I visited my old neck of the woods once again for Thanksgiving in the Country weekend. Visiting Hunterdon and Bucks counties is always somewhat bittersweet. It reminds me how much I love that area and still miss my little house in Stockton and the farm outside Sergeantsville—and the B&B and dairy goats—that I had with my ex Steve. And how much I miss seeing my friends who live down that way as often as I used to. But I've got no regrets about moving to New York for my job. I love the countryside, but the city is where I'm supposed to be right now.
I kenneled the dogs on Friday and took the bus to Lambertville. When I reached the Port Authority Bus Terminal, I was a little anxious about getting a spot on the bus I'd planned to take, which was going to get into L'ville about 5:30. The terminal was crowded with Yankees fans who'd gone to the parade that day celebrating their "heroes" who'd won ... freedom for all of the oppressed peoples of the world? No. Universal health care for all Americans? No. Four baseball games? Yes! I know, I'm a killjoy cynic. But I just can't understand getting excited about a bunch of millionaires playing a sport in a billion-dollar stadium that's mostly financed by taxpayers, most of whom can't afford to take their family there to see a game.
Anyhow, I needn't have worried. There were plenty of seats on the bus, though the ticket line was a nightmare because a woman in front of me pissed off two different ticket sellers so much that one stormed off (after she called him an "asshole" and a "bastard") and the other looked like she wanted to break through the window and strangle her. This woman insisted that she was always sold a ticket for a particular route that ended up in a place where the ticket sellers said no buses ever went. Or at least no buses went to that place on the route whose number she gave them. After some people in my line and I started insisting that she should either buy a ticket for a real route or get the hell out of the way, she finally completed some type of transaction with the second ticket seller. She was not wearing any Yankees paraphernalia, btw.*
Friday evening, after we'd caught up, Pat and I went to dinner at Giuseppe's on Route 202 outside New Hope because I wanted to have some pizza, even though I knew it wouldn't be as good as my precious La Villa Siciliana. I enjoyed my personal-size white pizza with broccoli raab and sausage.
After dinner, we skimmed through A Muppet Family Christmas at Pat's apartment. Pat had gotten a stack of Muppet movies on VHS for cheap after a local video store had closed. She'd wanted to ask me if I was familiar with a certain Christmas song the Muppets sang toward the end of the show (I wasn't), but we ended up watching most of it anyhow because there were many scenes Pat said I just had to see. :-) One highlight was at the very end, when Jim Henson made a cameo appearance in the kitchen of Fozzie's mother's house to wash the dishes that were dirtied for Christmas dinner.
The movie was especially pertinent because I was all excited about seeing the Jim Henson exhibit, Jim Henson's Fantastic World, at the Michener Museum in Doylestown the next day. Pat had already seen it with a friend from the library—and loved it—so she was going to drop me off at the museum while she went to a previously scheduled reiki appointment.
First thing that morning, Pat and I met Carl and Russ, my buddies whom I used to eat breakfast with almost every weekend, for breakfast at Meil's in Stockton. Rafael, who was also a regular breakfaster back then, and their friends Rhoda and Al joined us. It was lots of fun catching up with my crotchety old pals. Carl has had several big shows since I last saw him, and an art gallery at Kean University, where he used to teach, was renamed after his parents, Karl and Helen. He's still as funny as ever. He loves to razz Margaret, a longtime waitress at Meil's, telling her she's "beautiful but surly."
And Russ, who's a retired teacher, is still raising his beloved German shepherds. And he said he's got 50 barn cats now, all of them spayed or neutered.
And now here's a cavalcade of photos from the breakfast:
A candid shot of Pat. Margaret is the woman over Pat's left shoulder.
My delicious breakfast: two eggs scrambled, sweet potato muffins, and fried potatoes
Meil's display case of goodies. Best almond croissants ever, among other delicious treats
A group shot taken by a friendly biker. Left to right: Pat, Al, Rhoda, Rafael, Russ, Carl, and me
There were three dogs outside Meil's waiting for their masters. In these photos, they seem very concerned with what's going on inside the restaurant but they were actually quite friendly and welcomed the attention we gave them.
Pat drove me past my old house so I could take a quick peek at it, and then we were off to Doylestown.
The Michener Art Museum really is a Bucks County treasure. The Transition sculpture in front of the museum ...
... used to be in Manhattan outside the J.C. Penney Building. The artist, Raymond Granville Barger, was also a poet, and he wrote a poem, also named Transition, for the sculpture's dedication ceremony at the museum.
The Henson exhibit was wonderful. Jim Henson was a creative genius and a humanitarian. And, I learned, he also had the gift of being able to lead other extremely talented people toward the fulfillment of his vision.
The exhibit spanned his career, from his early days making commercials, appearing with his Muppets on various local and national TV shows, and producing and starring in an Academy Award–nominated short film called Time Piece, to his later TV shows and movies that we all know and love. I remember enjoying The Dark Crystal but I never saw Labyrinth. The Muppet Show was always the fastest half hour on television for me growing up. It's such a shame he lived to only 53. Who knows how many more amazing stories he could have brought to life during these almost two decades he's been gone?
Because of legal issues involving Disney, Miss Piggy and some of the other Muppet characters weren't allowed to appear in the exhibit. *sigh* Pat has gotten very enamored of Miss Piggy's take-no-shit character while watching her Muppet tapes. I said our new mantra should be WWMPD: What would Miss Piggy do?
I also was captivated by the museum's Charles Ward exhibit. Ward, a native of Trenton, was a student of famed Bucks County impressionist Daniel Garber. His work was inspired by time spent in BC—specifically, Carversville—and Mexico. He created some wonderful murals for the Trenton Post Office and the PO in Roanoke Rapids, North Carolina, in the 1930s. The murals were commissioned under a New Deal arts program called the Public Works of Art Project.
Pat and I got lunch at Lilly's Gourmet in town. I had a very
satisfying shepherd's pie with a side salad. And after hitting a few stores, we stopped in at Let Them Eat Cupcakes. I went for the delicious Red Velvet. Next time I'm in D-town, I have to try the Banana Butterscotch, which Pat highly recommended.
*I'm not totally anti-Yankee. The Gerbers, George, and some other friends of mine are Yankee fans. I'm just annoyed that so much attention is paid to these guys who play a freakin' game for a living and so little is paid to, you know, stuff that really matters.
Last Sunday, the Gerbers treated me to a Halloween brunch at Preakness. Mike and Matt wore the coolest costumes. They were both sumo wrestlers.
The food was terrific, as always. And tucked in among the buffet items was an awesome disembodied head inside a crystal ball that lit up and made noises. Here it is with my camera's flash on:
And here it is with the flash off:
Spooky!
And speaking of scary heads, I got in on the pretending-to-be-a-sumo act:
At Chez Gerber, we did the usual things:
Give lots of love to Molly:
Check.
Play video games on M&M's Wii and my PSP until our eyeballs want to fall out:
Cook and eat Brussels sprouts. Ch– Whaaa!?
I took some Brussels sprouts I'd gotten at the Greenmarket the day before because I wanted the Gerbers—who Tracey claimed don't like BSes—to try them the way I make them: Bill's Browned Brussels Sprouts. They're little slices of cruciferous-vegetable heaven, served piping hot from my skillet to your belly. Unless you won't try 'em. Like Matt. I guess we now know which twin is my favorite and who'll be getting the opulentest presents this coming holiday season. Mike, would you like the Porsche or the Maserati? And Matt, will it be anthracite or bituminous? Hah!
Tracey and David both genuinely enjoyed my little cabbages, and Mike said they were OK. Winnah!
And speaking of food-related winning, when I'd spoken to Mom that morning on the walk to the subway, she'd mentioned that she'd been able to find canned apricots at the grocery store for the first time in a long time. Hmm, should I give that a bang to make it seem more exciting? Sure. She'd been able to find canned apricots at the grocery store for the first time in a long time! Then she said—and she acknowledged it was a little strange—that she liked all of the fruits in canned fruit cocktail but she's not terribly fond of fruit cocktail.
I had to share that story with the Gerbers, which led us to create all kinds of nutty expressions along the lines of "I like fruit and I like cocktails but I don't like fruit cocktail," which I know isn't quite what Mom said but it works better for comedic purposes. For example, "I like milk and I like shakes but I don't like milkshakes." and "I like monkeys and I like britches but I don't like Monkey Britches." Yesterday, I came up with one I thought was clever and wrote it on David's Facebook wall while wishing him good luck in today's New York City Marathon: "I like Marys and I like thongs but I don't like marathons." He wrote back that it was a stretch but thanks. So then I wrote, "I like running long distances and I like races but I don't like marathons." And then, "I like cheese and I like taking a whiz but I don't like Cheez Whiz." Eh? Oh come on. That's all comedy gold.
After a pizza dinner, one of the best moments of the day came when the Gerbers dropped me off at the train station in Ridgewood. Matt told me, "I like uncles and I like Bills but I love Uncle Bill."
Just like the headline says, I've been enjoying lots of meals out lately, mostly with Joe and my new buddy Lou, who contacted me thanks to a Web site gay men use to find friends, friends with benefits, and boyfriends. And, uh, one-night "friends." On that site, I've posted pictures of me with each of the woofers and one of me on the beach in Cape May. Lou sent me an e-mail in which he told me that he once had a basset hound named Reggie (which is an excellent name for a basset) and that one summer he worked at what was then the Admiral Hotel in Cape May. Lou has some really cute stories about Reggie, which I'll share in my next all-dogs post. But for now, on to the food!
At Chez Jacqueline last month, at our first dinner together,
Lou got the asparagus soup as his appetizer. It had the purtiest flower on top, made of a sweet-red-pepper purée or something similar. I got Salade Jacqueline, which consisted of endive, radicchio, apples, and walnuts. It was huge—and delicious. For our entrées, Lou got striped bass and I got a beef stew that had cute little raviolis in it. I enjoyed the meal quite a bit.
Earlier this month, we ate at Home, one of several restaurants the farm I apprenticed on during the summer of 1996 sold produce to. I was a little disappointed in my opener, Hudson Valley Duck Confit Salad, with watercress, candied cashews, grilled apples, and an orange vinaigrette. It wasn't balanced enough for me and had what seemed like an abundance of duck and cashews and not enough of the other elements. Part of the issue, no doubt, was that I'm not a huge fan of duck; the other ingredients sounded so tempting that I decided to give it a whirl, especially since I planned to go with an everyday main course: macaroni and cheese. That's not to say the M&C was pedestrian; it was really good. It's just that it wasn't a particularly adventurous selection.
Lou got the M&C too. He got a soup for his first course. I believe it was butternut. Or maybe carrot. It was definitely orange colored and one that I usually jump on when it's offered.
For dessert, I know for a fact we shared two of Home's highly praised puddings: chocolate and butterscotch. They were absolutely delicious, like I knew they would be. I've made the chocolate pudding a few times before, though only once since I moved to New York. I'm pretty sure I've made the butterscotch at least once before, when I was on the farm. I should make it for Bob since he's so fond of the brown sugar–and-butter flavors in chocolate chip cookie dough.
I took pictures of my salad and the puddings, but the lighting really sucked, so I'm not going to bother to post them.
And speaking of not-great lighting, here's a photo of Lou outside Chez Jacqueline:
And still speaking of not-great lighting, here's a photo of Joe at our table outside Philip Marie on our second dinner date:
I really enjoyed my meal at PM. I got a chicken pot pie (the kind with the crust), and we shared a nice bottle of rosé because there was still a little summer left and it would split the difference between his red-meat entrée and my white-meat one.
Earlier this month, we had a fine dinner at Good. I started with a quesadilla filled with kabocha squash, mushrooms, and cheese. It was tasty but too light on the squash for me. For my entrée, I had the Ricotta Meatballs, which Joe recommended. They came with mashed potatoes and tomato sauce. For dessert, we had the German Chocolate Cupcakes I made for Joe's birthday that I mentioned in part 1. We were both so full that even after letting our supper digest for a while, we could only manage a half cupcake apiece.
***
On the last Tuesday in September, Desirée and I met for lunch at Shake Shack so we could indulge in the Red Velvet Frozen Custard. It was the last day for that featured flavor in that month. My cone was even better than the one I got when Joyce and I ate at SS in May, the last time the RV custard was available. This time, I got some huge chunks of cake that were probably visible from space. Oh so good.
***
Oh so sad. The last issue of Gourmet arrived in the mail yesterday. Maybe I'll keep it in its poly bag in the hopes of selling it for big bucks someday. Though I found other food magazines more useful as far as recipes are concerned, the superbly written and edited features in Gourmet couldn't be beat. I'll miss it.
***
I made Guinness Gingerbread last weekend and, oh man, was it good. I got the recipe from The Sweet Melissa Baking Book.
All day last Friday, I was hoping I'd have a chance to hit the Union Square Greenmarket and get a half Ginger Cake from Our Daily Bread. But we were still too busy getting the magazine finished for me to leave early enough to hit Union Square and get back in time to meet Paula and Mark for a 5 o'clock dinner at Fresh Basil's. P&M were in the city at their timeshare hotel, and they'd gone to the Statue of Liberty that day with other members of the SOL group they belong to. Since she knew they'd be getting up really early that morning, Paula hadn't wanted to commit to trekking out to Brooklyn for a late pizza dinner with Bob and Jen and me, which was my first suggestion.
Becco was booked, so that killed my second suggestion. Paula didn't want to venture even as far downtown as the Village that evening after such a long day, so we couldn't do my third suggestion, Mario Batali and Joe Bastianich's Otto Enoteca Pizzeria, which I thought would be a good alternative to Lidia and Joe Bastianich's joint in the theater district.
I asked Paula to pick a place, and I selected FB from her two suggestions. It's a couple blocks down Lexington from my office, and I pass by it all the time. The food was OK—I got the Tricolore Salad and penne with meat sauce—but the service was don't-need-to-go-back-there bad.
On my way home, I stopped at Sweet Melissa to see whether there was any gingerbread to be had. There wasn't, so I figured I'd just have to make it myself if I was going to get my fix for something sweet and gingery.
SM's recipe called for white pepper, which I didn't have. I decided to spring for some to make it the way Melissa intended. And I knew I could always use it in place of black pepper in my day-to-day cooking, so it wouldn't go to waste.
I actually used St. Peter's Cream Stout instead of Guinness because I found it unrefrigerated and in a single small bottle in the store where I went looking for the Guinness. And because, I guess, I liked the idea of a cream stout, aka milk stout, even though I didn't know at the time what it was.
I doubled the recipe, which also called for a good amount of cocoa and, of course, ground ginger. I took a pan with me when I hung out with the Gerbers on Sunday (I'll probably write about that visit in my next post) and I gave half a pan to the Schultieses. I took the other half pan with me to work. I had a couple of pieces for after-lunch desserts before splitting the last three on Wednesday with Joyce and Missy, who both really enjoyed it. And so did Nate; Missy took hers home. Joyce described it as "very moist! Delightful. ... Dark and earthy. ... Pfeffernussy.* Almost. But no anise. ... Run, don't walk, to eat this cake!**"
***
And speaking of sweet and spicy and, earlier, butterscotch, I wish I'd gone to the Gamesters gathering two Sundays ago so I could have tried Barry's Butterscotch Spice Cookies.
***
A couple weeks ago, I saw a guy standing near the high school on the southwesteastish corner of 7th Avenue and 4th Street painting a picture of Dad's favorite Park Slope restaurant, Sotto Voce. I guess if I were really the best son ever, I would have asked the guy whether he planned to sell his work. But does my Dad really need an oil painting of SV when he can eat there anytime he likes just by making the trek to my hood? I snapped a photo of the painter in action and sent Dad a copy.
***
Finally, to wrap things up, here are photos of some more purty produce:
This variety of heirloom tomato often has the word garden in front of it. It's got a very interesting texture, more delicate than most tomatoes. And it tastes fruitier too.
Romanesco cauliflower, which I should try if I see it at the farmers market again tomorrow
And habenero peppers. I took this photo only last Saturday, and they still looked summertime beautiful.
*The Barefoot Kitchen Witch's recipe doesn't actually call for anise, but the page was so gorgeous I had to link to it. This recipe contains anise extract, and this one, crushed anise seed.
**Obviously, I added this last part myself. Because my ellipses made Joyce's e-mails sound like movie review quotes.
Late last Sunday afternoon, I was walking down Prospect Park West, carrying German Chocolate Cupcakes on my way to the Gamesters gathering, when I heard someone call my name. Desirée and Bob were driving down PPW on their way back to Jersey from the Brooklyn Museum. D had wanted to see the Art Smith jewelry exhibit there. Bob spotted me while he was on the lookout for a sign for the BQE. D said he's really good that way: He'll spot the brother of one of Desirée's co-workers whom he met only once before who's picking out a bouquet of flowers outside a grocery store on some random street in the city and say to D, "Isn't that Carla's brother?" And sure enough, it is. Because he's got the eagle eye. If you need help finding Waldo, he's your man.
I had to offer D&B a cupcake, but I asked if they wouldn't mind splitting one because I only had nine in the cupcake carrier. I'd made two dozen, mostly for Joe for his birthday, and had also given some to the Schultieses.
I started out cutting the cupcakes in half and putting Coconut-Pecan Frosting in the middle and on top, as the Martha Stewart's Cupcakes book directed, but after the first dozen, I realized I was piling on too much and was quickly running out of icing. So I started frosting only the top and even so ended up with a few cupcakes that I left plain, which I didn't want to take to the Gamesters.
Desirée's Bob is allergic to nuts, so D got the cupcake all to herself. She dug it, and Joe, Jen, and the Gamesters enjoyed theirs. Jen's Bob told me he doesn't like coconut. *sigh* I'd given the Schultieses some of the plain ones because I figured the kids might not like nuts and/or coconut, and I ended up giving them a couple more.
I thought the cupcakes were a success too. The only glitch I had, and it was a result of my own laziness, was that not all of the semisweet chocolate got worked into the batter, so some of the cakes had little chunks of chocolate in them. The recipe said to let the chocolate cool for a half hour after you melt it, so I made myself some lunch in the meantime. By the time I got back to my baking project, the chocolate had cooled too much and was somewhat solidified in parts. I didn't feel like heating it up again, and I thought the action of the mixer might break up any globs and smoosh them into the batter. It didn't.
Gamesters host Mark-tin Scor-sexy always makes everyone pose for photos with whatever homemade stuff a guest brings, even though there are usually some groans about doing the same kind of picture AGAIN. This time, he went with a sepia-toned look.
***
The previous Sunday, I figured out a way to enable the Gamesters to try my ice cream. It didn't look like I was going to have the time or the energy to bake something that weekend, and because I'd been in such an ice cream–making frenzy, I had plenty of my best flavors (and the pluot :-)*) left. I have three plastic ice cube trays that have a cover you can slide open to reveal, say, only four cubes. You can crack those out and leave the rest of the cubes in place. I figured I could use them to hold good-bite-size blobs of ice cream instead. I emptied out the cubes and stowed them in the freezer. I filled one tray each with spoonfuls of the three flavors of ice cream—chocolate chip mint, lemon verbena, and pluot—that I'd let soften a bit. I refroze them and took them to the Gamesters in my little Igloo cooler with a lot of ice on the bottom. I also took a bunch of metal spoons so minimalist-kitchened host Mark wouldn't have to dirty a bunch of his silverware.
Mark said he was "so impressed by the ice cream," and it was a big hit with the guys, particularly the lemon verbena. I tell you, there's magic in that herb!
Regular Gamester Barry brought delicious peanuty brownies with chocolate ganache.
I opened up the tray with the pink pluot ice cream for the inevitable photo.
***
I imagine the fresh, local lemon verbena is all done until next year. When I see it back at the farmers market, I'm going to make Lemon Verbena Custards using the recipe from Claudia Fleming's The Last Course: The Desserts of Gramercy Tavern. Fleming and her co-writer, Melissa Clark, describe LV as "the pastry chef's perfect herb. It has both the fresh liveliness of lemon combined with the fragrant delicacy of a flower. Here, it lends its distinctive perfume to lush baked custards, adding a light, bright taste that keeps them from feeling too rich and heavy on the tongue."
***
Purple Viking potatoes
from
are so purty. They're white inside, not purple and pink.
*Actually, the pluot ice cream has grown on me a little more since I first made it. I still wish it tasted more like fruit punch, as the fruit itself does, but it really is good. And fun for its novelty.
Bob turned 40 on Thursday. So he can now stop zinging me for being (numerically) older. Last Saturday, Jen threw a surprise birthday party for him at Rodeo Bar, and Thursday night, we had a late dinner of delivery Indian food and I gave him my present, which was really cool, if I do say so myself. :-)
Rodeo Bar was one of the stops during the multi-venue bachelor party I organized for Bob back in the summer of 1996. I was hoping one of his favorite bands at the time, 5 Chinese Brothers, would be playing at RB, where they appeared frequently, on some weekend leading up to his and Jen's wedding, but they weren't. So the party sucked a little. Hah! No, we still had a lot of fun.
First, we had dinner at an Italian restaurant whose name I will never recall. I assume I must have asked for a restaurant suggestion from Jen because I was neither a city boy nor particularly Internet savvy at the time. I do remember everyone, including myself, being pleased with the food.
And at one point we went to a strip club, which I recall being a totally unsexy place. Not necessarily because it was chickies doing the stripping, though that was kind of an issue for me, but because the rules against contact with strippers in the city were so stringent that it seemed like an exercise in standing around and looking at boobs from a short distance. And us guys would walk up to one of the gals every so often and hand her a dollar like she was a cashier at Gristedes.
And Rodeo Bar was a lot of fun, though my memories are a little hazy. I remember (college buddy) Dan and I calling Hal on a pay phone because he couldn't come to the party, because he was doing his annual training with the Army Reserves. I remember hanging out with Bob's favorite cousin, Tom. And I'm sure there must have been a band there, but I've got no idea who it was.
Bob said he was surprised last week. Jen had said she was going to take him to dinner somewhere nearby and she "spontaneously" suggested they stop in RB for a drink.
I had fun catching up with some friends from college I hadn't seen in a while: John and Tracy Patterson and Phil and Bill Mindler. (From left to right, that's John, Bill, Tracy, and Phil, which is short for Philinda.)
After we ordered our appetizers, I texted Hal to see whether he was on his way. He'd told Jen that he'd try to make it after he did the City to Shore bike ride for the Greater Delaware Valley Chapter of the National Multiple Sclerosis Society. I was puzzled by his response but didn't even consider that he'd changed his number when he got his iPhone this summer and so I was actually texting someone else. So I defaulted to WTF mode while bringing up Hal's penchant for women with fit backs (though he likes the usual lady parts, too).
I then got a call from the woman who now has Hal's old number. Her name is Patty, and she said I'm very funny. I thanked her and told her to have a good night. I didn't ask her why she typed 44.
Hal eventually showed up. He got the Chicken Chimichanga, as had I. The appetizer had consisted of platters of fried pickles, onion rings, mozzarella sticks, empanaditas, chicken fingers, and chicken wings. For dessert, I ordered the Key Lime Pie but stole a bite of Bill B.'s Mississippi Mud Pie.
John had suggested I ride back to Brooklyn with him and Tracy so that they could get their present for Bob—40 bottles of beer in a large, straw-lined basket—back to the apartment building. Jen's parents, who were driving B&J home, were able to fit it in the back of their car, so I instead went to a diner with Hal so I could meet his new girlfriend, Stacy. She'd been hanging out with a friend of hers from college after having driven Hal up from his bike ride. Stacy seems like a good gal. Hal said he's glad she's an 8th grade teacher because it helps her to deal with him. Hah! And so true too, I'm sure.
On Thursday, we had a bottle of Domaine de Vaufuget Vouvray—which my Dad has been buying for me every so often ever since I told him I really liked it the first time he bought it for me—with our Indian food. And I gave Bob his gift: a bottle of California cabernet sauvignon that, like Bob, is of the 1969 vintage.
I first thought I'd give Bob a bottle of Bordeaux from our birth year, but after doing a little research online, I discovered 1969 was a terrible vintage for Bordeaux. I didn't find a whole lot of 1969 wines available online from hard-to-find-wine shops, which was probably a good thing so that I didn't feel totally overwhelmed by choices. I found some good reviews of this Beaulieu Vineyard bottling, and it's fun to see that BV is still making quality cabernets in the Napa Valley. (Although I see that it's corporate owned—by Diageo Plc—which lessens the fun a little; it would be cooler if it were still all in the de Latour family.)
Bob said the three of us have to go out to eat soon and drink the BV as our second bottle. The BV can be opening up in a decanter while we first drink a wine from the restaurant's list. Here's hoping this particular bottle has held up well. *fingers crossed*
And now some more pictures:
A group shot of the party crowd
Bob holding a photo of him next to his pickup truck in Trenton that Bill B. took several years ago
And Bob opening my present
I took over some grapes from the farmers market for dessert—though we didn't get around to eating them because the kids needed to get to bed—and a rosé, which we did get around to drinking, because I figured it would go well with meat in a slightly spicy and creamy sauce. It was the 2008 Vega Sindoa Rosé, made from the Garnacha, aka Grenache, grape. We enjoyed it. Lots of cherriness.
Abbe made the Lego flower decorations for the table.
***
I've been up to some serious ice cream making these past few weeks. I made more mint chocolate chip last weekend because I didn't know how many more weeks I'd be able to get fresh peppermint at the farmers market. And the weekend before that, I made my second batch of lemon verbena ice cream for the same reason. And because it had become my ice cream obsession.
I made the first batch after seeing a sign for lemon verbena at Berried Treasures' farmstand at the Union Square Greenmarket that noted it was great for ice cream. I'd heard of pastry chefs making ice cream with LV and took the sign as an indication I should try it myself, especially after giving the herb a good sniff. It truly has an amazing scent that, like the writer in the above-linked blog post says, is lemon plus something else that's hard to describe but is definitely "captivating."
I assumed the LV ice cream would turn out to be a novelty that I wouldn't eat up too quickly, but I couldn't get enough of it. I gave some to Bob and Jen to try (they weren't that fond of it), and as I wrote in one part of my birthday-post opus, I took the last of it to South Jersey so my family could try it. Nobody raved there but nobody complained. Why am I surrounded by people who don't appreciate the depth and breadth of my culinary genius? :-)
When Tracey tried it on the day she and David came to pick up Matt and Mike, she said she it felt odd to be eating something that tastes like lemon verbena because she wears a perfume that smells like it. I told Bob and Jen what Tracey had said on the pizza night I gave them the ice cream, and Jen said that the only time she'd heard of LV was in one of the Little House books she read to Abbe. Pa Ingalls splurged on a bottle of lemon verbena perfume for Ma one Christmas. Bob said he bet Pa got some action that night.
The LV ice cream was particularly good with some fresh
fruit on top, such as blackberries or the wild blueberries I later bought from the same farmstand.
And speaking of fruit, my other big ice cream experiment this summer was pluot. It was a good solid effort, but considering how much I love pluots, the end result was a little bit disappointing. It hinted at pluot awesomeness but didn't totally deliver.
And ARROHK,* I made coffee ice cream for Dad's birthday, and it was a big hit as always. It occurs to me that I should try making mocha sometime. Not necessarily for Dad—unless I've got some coffee as a backup. :-)
***
For Jeff's birthday, I took Upside-down Chocolate-Spice Cupcakes With Chocolate Ganache Glaze and Candied Ginger Pieces in to work. Quite a name, and quite a cupcake.
It was all Martha's idea, from the Cupcakes book. Or more likely, of course, the idea of one of her minions. The cupcake itself is reminiscent of Martha's Chocolate-Gingerbread Cookies, the best damn cookies ever. The cake was tasty but was naturally more subtly flavored than the dense, buttery cookies.
You fill the cupcake tins only halfway, so the tops end up pretty flat after baking. Once the cupcakes have cooled, you flip them over and spoon chocolate ganache on them. Once that's set, you press bits of candied ginger onto the surface, and, man, do they look purty. I had fun making different shapes out of the gummy ginger and creating different patterns out of them. And I left some ginger-free for those who wanted a less-spicy experience.
I got a few rave reviews from my co-workers; the words "you've outdone yourself" were used. ;-) Only 10 were eaten, which seems to be the norm. Next time I take cupcakes in, I'm seriously going to bring only 10 and see what happens. Maybe that time, they'll eat only eight. *sigh*
I kept a couple for myself and gave a bunch to the Schultieses, who enjoyed them. It's definitely a sweet treat to make when you're looking to impress with something sexy-looking and delicious.
***
The other day, Joyce sent me a link to the This Peanut Looks Like a Duck blog, and we both agreed that this tomato was the most-impressive duck-looking thing. And then later that day, I came across this tomato that looked like a rabbit. Yeah, it was a slow work day. But a superawesome day for finding tomatoes that looked like animals.
***
STUPID RAISINS GET OUT OF MY COOKIE: I saw that phrase on the T-shirt of a teenage boy in my neighborhood. Fun.
***
Back in July, I questioned whether a farmstand at the Grand Army Plaza Greenmarket was selling Tribute everbearing strawberries. The following week, that stand was strawberryless, so I didn't bother to ask any of the people working there about what they'd been selling. A few weeks later, in the 20s of August, I came across this sign at the Berried Treasures stand at the Union Square Greenmarket:
Both Tristar and Tribute strawberries are actually day-neutral, not everbearing, varieties. I got some, and they tasted almost identical to regular, June-bearing strawberries.
*As regular readers of Hawleyblog know.
