Long time no see...

A month, eh? Holy crap, it has been a while. I actually started a few blogs since the last one, just haven't gotten around to finishing any of them. Lets see... what have you missed... I have carpal tunnel in both arms - by the way the test for this, as I expected, is completely bizarre. What they do is shock you a bunch of times with these little electrodes, and just when you've gotten used to it, they plunge these long needles into your muscles and shock you from the inside. As soon as you get used to that sensation (which you don't) my doctor said "ok, hold still..." and proceeded to WIGGLE THE NEEDLE BACK AND FORTH. Yeah. It sucked a little. Oh yeah, and I have some sort of back injury which I'm supposed to go for physical therapy for when I have time... which means, as soon as my congressman (to whom I've written a letter already) gets on the ball and spearheads a campaign to make my dream of a 25th hour in the day a reality.
Lily, on a brighter note, is pretty much completely potty trained. We are, however, still in the stage where we have to discuss it all the time. "Did you hear my pee?" she'll ask, "It was loud. My poop looks like a hot dog...." and on and on... The alternative (changing diapers) sucked a whole heckofa lot more though, so for the time being I'm gleefully playing along. "A hot dog? It sure does! You rock!"
Sara and Maria took the kids to the shore last weekend too, from Friday morning to Sunday afternoon which was freakin' fantastic. I miss them like crazy when they're not here, but I fell asleep hella-early on Friday after going out with some of my work friends (awesome)... ran some errands without a timeline on Saturday morning (lovely)... took the dogs on a little overnight camping/fishing trip on Saturday night (delightful)... rolled home home on Sunday all crusted in fish scales and tick repellent (killer)... and hey, know what I discovered? My dogs much prefer lying on the couch to a nice 'man's best friend' outdoor excursion. Apparently, my dogs are pansies. Oh yeah, and Sara had a nice time too...
Lets see... what else... hmmm... I'm busy... Sara is busy... Jason Sippie is getting married... yep, I just about covered it...
Sorry I took so long to write, I'll try to keep up... Oh yeah, a few pictures, some old, some new... First, my Easter Lily, the troubled Bean, the group at the shore, and finally, a wet boy.

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We're all stressy over here at the moment, not for one good reason, but a lot of little ones. First of all, my wife can't take the heat. Really, really, can't take the heat. Makes her crazy. Now that I've put the downstairs air conditioner in, things have been a bit better. Still, she gets home around dinner time, huddles in front of the A.C. for a minute or two, and then dashes up to our air conditioned bedroom to change - quick like a rabbit - so that none of the warm air from the hallway can take the chill off of her skin... and then a mad dash downstairs again, and on and on. This is how we spend our summers. My kids have adapted pretty well though, they'll just ask her things really quickly so they can get in all in - cause you never know when the next air conditioner dash might come. If she's eating dinner, and shifts a little bit to the right, Sam will say "momcanyougetmesomeorangejuiceplease!" before she has a chance to spring up. Lily, god bless her, tries, but isn't that fast, and by the time she gets a sentence out, Sara will be upstairs yelling "Joe, I think Lily needs something!" It's really quite remarkable, the speed at which she disappears. She's like a cheetah.
Second of all, Lily started potty training last week, and to be honest, may be wearing a diaper for the rest of her natural life. She gets the concept - knows when she has to go, and tells us its coming - but for some reason it freaks her out. She'll either cry when she sits on the toilet - or she sits there and goes "RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR" accompanied by a "pushing face" and says, "Nope, maybe later." Then of course, she'll go back into the other room and pee on her chair. It's great fun. I know that the first few days are the worst, but she seems really stressed about it for some odd reason, and in turn it's stressing the rest of us out. Even Sam is a little edgy...
I started teaching last week too, which wouldn't be even worth mentioning if it weren't such a change from what I usually do. In the past, I've always taught adult classes, for college kids on up, and this is kids from 14 to 18 years old. Getting along with the kids is easy, but getting used to what they are able to do, and interested in, has been a bit of a challenge. Plus, the classroom conversations have changed from "I found a nice Gewurztraminer in the state store last week..." to "I found some beer from my dad's last 4th of July party behind our shed..." To be honest, I enjoy both of those conversations, so I really can't complain.
On the plus side, this Saturday is Sara's 36th birthday. One of the selfish parts of writing a blog is keeping a record of some of the moments in our lives just for me to look at... I know other people see this, but I feel a little bit like this is just for me. When I look back at the last few years online, I can't help but think about how much fun its been, the good and the bad. In retrospect, almost everything (even trips to the hospital, flirtations with injury or financial ruin) turned into some funny stories... mostly because she has been here with me this whole time. This year, on October 5th, it will be the 17th anniversary of our first date... almost half of her entire life. As crazy and frustrating as she is, there are days I am in awe of her... days when she is gone that I miss her so much it aches... and days when she is here that I can't imagine how I got this lucky. Plus, she's still hot, even though she is getting so, so old...

Petrichor Comfort

In a little break between this work and that work, I have a week off... which means I can squeeze in all of the things I've been neglecting. Some of the things, anyway...

First and foremost (this one is especially for you reg) I've been falling apart in the past couple of months, with some odd thing. So after endless prodding from my wife, I decided that losing feeling in my arms and legs and intermittent crippling pains for a month or two now was a good enough reason to go to the doctor. So far, my 'vacation' has been a checkup, some blood tests, a visit to a neurologist... and in the next few days an MRI; and an EMG - some sort of muscle-needle-poking test I didn't even bother to ask them to elaborate on (but a direct quote from Wikipedia "Because of the needle electrodes, EMG may be somewhat painful or extremely painful to the patient"... weehoo! those are my favorite kind of tests!) ... so I'm not sure what it is, but my understanding is that there will be needles, some sort of poking, and it sucks. I was thinking of having an online 'American Idol' type of poll, where one disease gets eliminated from the list of possibilities every week, until we have a winner. Cast your votes now, this years contestants are lyme disease, carpal tunnel, pinched nerve, herniated disk, and my personal favorite, the ever popular lyme disease peripheral neuropathy combo.

What I've been trying to do this week, to chill myself out a bit between running errands and getting ready for the classes I'm teaching this summer, is force myself to do nothing. Which, if you've never tried, is actually really hard. I was standing in the kitchen this morning, for example, and I found myself cleaning the stove. Really, I was thinking about what I should do before my appointment today, and I looked down, and there was a sponge in my hand. Creepy. Couldn't stop myself.

I did, however, manage to sit down in the tub for about five minutes before I accepted the fact that I just don't fit in a tub. Got to hang out with the chilluns at the park for a while, which was a cool afternoon... and finally did some weeding out front now that our garden is taking shape. The picture is a pumpkin blossom, by the way...

Anyway, don't have any roses out front, but dammit, I'm stopping to smell something.

Kiera and the Mighty Turnip

As strange as this sounds, I was at a church picnic the other day... really, a church picnic. Last Sunday, Sara asked if I wanted to come to church with her, and before I knew what was happening, she was packing lunches for the after-picnic. On the plus side, it was a pretty mellow affair with tables strewn across the lawn, and plenty of non-church discussions flowing.
We picked a table where a woman and her three-ish daughter were already eating, purely for show... to appear like we are social... which we are not... In the bustle of settling the kids down at the table, the lunch Sara packed (which was actually a fairly healthy one, as far as lunches go) tumbled out on to the table, each part in it's own little ziplock bag. Faster than Linsey Lohan going to rehab, the kids grabbed the bags with marshmallows and Ninja Turtle fruit snacks in them. Since neither of us were in a mood, we let it go, and said that they could have them if they promised to eat their lunch after.
It was only then, of course, because god hates me, that we noticed the woman and her daughter staring slack jawed in our direction. After a somewhat long and uncomfortable pause, the perfectly blond and perky three year old spooned some sort of kidney bean salad out of her reusable container made of recycled materials and said matter-of-factly "We're vegetarians."
"Of course you are," I said, "because today my kids are eating corn syrup, sugar cornstarch, gelatin, and whateverthefuck a Ninja Turtle fruit snack is made of... and even though you might think one would have to be relatively healthy to qualify as a 'Ninja Turtle' fruit snack (the most violent, and I assume, the most energetic of all the fruit snacks) as opposed to a regular fruit snack, I'd bet my pants there isn't any fruit, vegetable, or even turtle in there. So go ahead, wee little blond child with perfect porcelain skin and frighteningly cheery disposition, let me open your soy yogurt for you (she really had one) while you eat your pasty red beans, cause in my house we're waiting for the scientific community to come around and change their opinion on childhood obesity."
Actually, I just sheepishly mumbled, "wow... a vegetarian... cool". So there we were, munching away at our crap out of bags that pollute the earth, while Kiera moved on to her Tupperware container full of broccoli and other veggies - which were raw, by the way... not even lightly steamed. Suddenly, she stuck her healthy little hand into the container and pulled out what for a moment looked like a marshmallow ("I'm saved!" I thought) and turned out to be A WHOLE BABY WHITE TURNIP. As if the whole picnic was captivated by our shame, someone from ANOTHER TABLE shouted over "hey Ann, does she really eat turnips?". "Sure," Ann replied, "I've found that if she picks something from the farm we go to, she is more invested in trying it."
Could it have been worse? Sure, I was just waiting for someone to say "hey Joe, is that a Ninja Turtle fruit snack? What's in those things?"

Open Sesame

I took this past Friday off and went with the kids to Sesame Place... which, to be perfectly honest, I was dreading. I hate to sound like a bad parent, but the thought of spending a day chasing the kids around a hot-ass water park filled with six foot tall Elmos makes my stomach turn a bit. There wasn't any way to get out of it though, so I tried to make the best of it - and believe it or not, I actually had a pretty good time. We got there early, and were the first in line waiting for the park to open. As we stood in front of the gate looking into the pristine kid-less park with its beautifully sculpted gardens and brightly colored character statues, we were caught in a little blizzard of white fluffy buds from some sort of tree. I have to tell you, it was beautiful. Lovely summer day, manicured park in front of us, and we were enveloped in a sort of Disney-esque snowstorm.

All in all, a great day - the first thing Sam and I went on was the roller coaster, which was a lot faster than other roller coasters he has been on. I thought it was pretty cool, but when I watched the "See Yourself On The Ride!" movie after we got off the look on his face was sheer terror... and we both decided to try something a little tamer. After that, it was all good... everything we went on was so cool he wanted to do it again, and I had to drag him to the next thing. Lily got to see Elmo do a live 'Elmo's World' show - and even though she is a little past the Elmo phase, his shows are like the Red Hot Chili Peppers... the albums are good, but live, he's fucking fantastic. The only bump in the day was when Sam stepped on a huge thumbtack-like thing in a food line, and it went right through his Crocs and into his foot. Luckily, I've had him on a Rambo-esque toughening regiment, and with a little side trip to the first aid station all was well. The rest of the day was punctuated by funny little moments - like the look of sheer unadulterated excitement, wide eyes and massive grin, as Lily spun around on the teacup ride... and Sam saying more than once "This is going to be soooo cool. I am so (dramatic pause) excited".

The other bright spot in the weekend was buying a new grill... I have two at the moment, but the oldest one, which our wonderful friends got us for our engagement party about ten years ago, finally bit the dust. By the time it crapped out, the only original part left on it was the body and cover, and all of the innards had been replaced more than once. It could have been saved again, but I saw a really good deal on an enormous commercial grill, and I just couldn't resist the chance to get a grill that is 116,000 BTUs and is long enough to actually cook me on... if someone had the wherewithall to actually put me on a spit... which might not be a bad way to go... I'm pretty tender. Anyway, to illustrate how happy I am with my new found grill superiority, I've made a list in the tradition of "My dick is so big..." jokes... so without further ado, for your viewing pleasure, my top 50 "my grill is so big..." jokes.

1. My grill is so big we had a drinking contest and I woke up next to an empty bottle of whiskey with the word “rare” seared into my forehead.
2. My grill is so big it’s working with Ruben Studdard on a new clothing line for grills.
3. My grill is so big when I want to make lunch I have to have my agent call my grill’s agent.
4. My grill is so big the amount of heat required to raise the temperature of one pound of water by one degree Fahrenheit is now referred to as My Grill Thermal Unit (MGTU).
5. My grill is so big Al Gore is making a new movie called An Inconvenient Grill
6. My grill is so big that Trojans now come in three sizes – Regular, Magnum and My Grill.
7. My grill is so big it made a sex tape with Paris Hilton.
8. My grill is so big it doesn’t return my calls.
9. My grill is so big it has an unpaid intern.
10. My grill is so big it started a nonprofit with Bono called “Burgers for Darfur”.
11. My grill is so big it is on next season’s “Dancing with the Stars”. Its partner is Kim Fields.
12. My grill is so big it got its own little square on the Periodic Table next to Actinium named Mygrillimonium (My).
13. My grill is so big it bought a dog.
14. My grill is so big it was in Heidi Fleiss’ little black book. Its code name was Steve Propane-o.
15. My grill is so big it has its own grill, which it modified to use natural gas and attached to my house.
16. My grill is so big it had an affair with my neighbor’s wife, and he forgave her because my grill was on her “Celebrity Sex List”. The other four were Johnny Depp, Don Cheadle, Mark Wahlberg, and the ‘time to make the donuts’ guy.
17. My grill is so big it’s a Scientologist.
18. My grill is so big it has a MySpace page.
19. My grill is so big it gets junk mail.
20. My grill is so big it was recently reclassified as a ‘dwarf planet’.
21. My grill is so big Lily started calling it ‘dad’.
22. My grill is so big it’s only allowed to fight other grills in Nevada and certain parts of West Virginia.
23. My grill is so big Oprah’s dad is writing a book about it, and when my grill found out it was surprised, and a little bit hurt.
24. My grill is so big it’s filling in for Rosie on ‘The View’.
25. My grill is so big that when it goes to Germany, David Hasselhoff opens up for it.
26. My grill is so big it writes dark poetry for teenage girls, reads it at our coffee house, and they think it’s sensitive (and kinda cute!).
27. My grill is so big it doesn’t get carded.
28. My grill is so big it teaches a scrapbooking class.
29. My grill is so big when it breaks a Craftsman tool it doesn’t even bother with the lifetime warranty, it just throws it out and gets a new one.
30. My grill is so big Florida had to measure it twice.
31. My grill is so big there was a ‘Behind The Music’ film crew in my back yard.
32. My grill is so big it has a moon.
33. My grill is so big it cooked the Mastodon ribs for the opening credits of ‘The Flintstones’.
34. My grill is so big it is starring as Captain Georg von Trapp in the new Broadway production of ‘The Sound of Music’.
35. My grill is so big it employs a full time Fluffer.
36. My grill is so big when they went hunting it shot Dick Cheney in the face.
37. My grill is so big Michael Moore is making a new film called Fahrenheit 425.
38. My grill is so big Marlaina gets tickets to every show.
39. My grill is so big it summers in the Hamptons.
40. My grill is so big George Foreman renamed his sons Mygrill Forman, Mygrill Forman, Mygrill Forman, Mygrill Forman, and Mygrill Forman.
41. My grill is so big it does the crossword in ink.
42. My grill is so big that my smoker is its bitch.
43. My grill is so big it wrote a scathing critique of Finnegans Wake, summing it up as a 600 page crossword puzzle clue whose answer is simply, “my grill”.
44. My grill is so big it has a uvula.
45. My grill is so big it wins the Post’s ‘Style Invitational’ more often than Chuck Smith, Woodbridge.
46. My grill is so big it has a foyer.
47. My grill is so big John Holmes had a picture of my grill hanging in his dressing room.
48. My grill is so big it works in the waste management industry, and does some work with the unions...
49. My grill is so big it’s starring in the new Discovery Channel series “My Grill vs. Wild”.
50. My grill is so big it wrote most of these ‘My Grill’ jokes without me.

Voodoo Chicken & Wiener Magic

Here's a little discovery of mine - not really a brilliant one, but a discovery... even in a school cafeteria, a little marketing goes a long way. For those of you who don't know, in the mornings I am the chef in a private school for kids from 1st to 12th grade. Its kind of a unique place - we make up menus for the week, students and faculty order off of the menu when they get to school, and by the time they come in to eat we have their orders ready to go. Since the three of us in the kitchen decide what we'll have, we can play around a bit. Some days hot dogs and fries, pizza, or something equally schoolish - and other days we grill scallops, stuff pork loins, cook alligator, etc... In the past few days we've had a burger day, grilled cheese day, almond crusted pollock with lemon cream day, and jasmine tea smoked salmon with wasabi day... see what I'm getting at? It's a wacky, wonderful place where I can try out all sorts of stuff to use in my catering business.
Anyway, we've discovered that even the kids get into it if you sell them on it. Today, for example, I made a chicken and sweet potato soup with saffron, buttermilk, and a little dried chipotle for kick... and in the past I might have made a sign saying something along the lines of what it was, but since it was 85 degrees outside and I wanted them to eat it, I went with "Big Papa Joe's Voodoo Chicken". Do I have any left? No. Not a drop. The funny thing is, I watched kids come in from recess covered in sweat, look at the sign next to a steaming hot tureen of soup and say, "Voodoo chicken.. cool... gotta get me some of that..."
Suckers.
The other oddity we had today was some little pigs-sans-blanket that we found in the freezer. At some point we were given these wee little hot dogs, and instead of wrapping them in pastry, we made a sweet & hot sauce out of pineapple and chili sauce for them to swim in. Because I despise the wee dog, I was murmuring to Kate all day that she should work her wiener magic to make them palatable. The sign on the salad bar, naturally, said "Sweet and Spicy Wiener Magic"... mostly because it just felt so funny to actually write down. Seriously, name one other job where you can print out a "Sweet and Spicy Wiener Magic" sign. The icing on the cake of my day was actually taking down the sign though... there in my hands was a little 3x5 card WITH THE TAPE ALREADY ATTACHED! Now seriously, how could I do anything but tape it onto some one's back? Call me a child if you must, but look deep inside yourself - you know you would do it too. Don't think so? Try this - make a little sign that says "Sweet and Spicy Wiener Magic", attach some tape to it, and just hold it in your hand for a minute. You'll see, it's irresistible. It almost pulses with potential comedic energy... and almost before I knew it, as if I was in some Wiener Magic trance, I was patting my coworker Meri on the back as I walked by, deftly planting the sign right between her shoulder blades.
"Going somewhere after work Meri? No? Didn't you drive your convertible today? Lovely spring day, you should take advantage..."
"I've been meaning to stop at TJ Max..."
...and with that, Meri turned around and sauntered out, the "Sweet and Spicy Wiener Magic" sign fading out like the sunset as she walked away...

Setting Sail

Fresh off a of busy week, I had a little project to do for a student's art show. A couple of food trays, and a bit of fun to make the table nice - so here a little project for you kids at home if you have a few hours to burn. (Click on the pics to enlarge them...) First, find yourself a nice looking stable melon...

Slice off the top, and do a little scooping...

Slice the top bit up into little sail shaped squares, I used six for the larger front sail and five for the shorter back sail, and sew strong cotton thread through all four corners.

When all of your sewing is finished, line up the pieces in the shape of your sail, and tie the thread to some strong bamboo to make each sail.

Add some masts, tie it all together and find yourself a jolly roger, make a crow's nest... and voila, your own little picnic pirate ship. If you have a few cucumbers and some leftover watermelon skin - you can make a few fishing skiffs for the side with some carrots nets for catching the big ones... or if you only have a sec, a random pyramid of cheerleading chayote squash.

Sara's home, I have a couple of days off, a kickass pirate ship, and all is well....

Epicure in Three Acts

Act I - The Game
About two months ago I started planning for what turned out to be the biggest catering gig I've had to date... not the most people, but the most complicated by far. Seemed fairly simple in the beginning - 200 people, fancy hors d'oeuvres, filet mignon, full bar, etc... same old drill. Soon after my first meeting I got an inkling of what I was in for - I met with the food committee comprised of three volunteers excited to sink their teeth in, an off shoot of a larger event committee made up of 15 people. The event committee's first meeting apparently was pretty short, and the only minutes I ever came across simply said "All in favor of making the caterer's life miserable? Motion carried. See you next Tuesday at 11:00."
So we start to plan, and the jobs pile on... can you make us a seating chart? Table diagram? Would you mind ordering the tables and linens, and while your at it, the glasses for champagne, wine, water, soda, beer... and how about making us a signature drink? Nothing much I can do about it though. A few more jobs, a little more planning, as long as they are happy, life is good.
Before I go on, let me just tell you how much I love what I do. I'll complain endlessly to anyone that will listen, tear my hair out, sit on the couch at 4AM thinking about what I need to do tomorrow, tear someone in half if I'm paying them and they aren't pushing hard enough, burn myself and bleed out to get something done on time, post on this blog... but you know what's amazing? Right in the middle of it all there are moments of such clarity, moments when everything is running perfectly and watching a party unfold is like sitting in front of an orchestra...
Act II - The Offer
Morning of, one of the workers is throwing up... which is not such a wonderful thing, because hurling isn't a quality I really look for in a server during a black tie event. A few calls later, I'm still coming up empty, and Sara says, "maybe we can get a babysitter, and I'll work with you."
Stunned silence.
Halting, nervous laughter as I try to think up a response (this was days ago, and I still haven't figured out what to say)...
Tricky business, this... Sara has a sort of "let me just do one more thing before I go" work attitude. She works longer than almost anyone I've ever known. I can't even count how many nights I've rolled over at 3AM to find her spot empty, and heard her computer clacking away downstairs. She's been back and forth to Miami, Prague, and London in the past months (and is in London again for the week right now) and just slips right back into the groove when she gets back. Do I want her to work with me though? Uh, no. That would be a no. A big juicy no. Just to be clear, no. Why, I'm still not sure... rather, I don't really know how to explain it without sounding like the TV Guide description of a Gordon Ramsay reality show. I guess, I'm not sure I want her to see the person I am at work. At home, I'm fairly lazy. I'll sit on the couch all day if I can get away with it (which I never can). At work, I'm occasionally an asshole. I like nothing better than being able to work harder than everyone else. I want everything to be done the way I want it to be done, I love finding someone green and malleable that I can show things too, and I'm happy to yell at them when they don't do their best. I love to boss around a team, and would rather burn myself than drop a hot pan of something I spent time working on. Love seeing people exhausted, love watching them wait for me to pay them so they can go home, and I love buying them a drink after we're done. On top of that, I like who she is, and I don't want to her to be a part of that world. Almost everyone I know in the restaurant industry needs to be fixed. Need to find a drug addict or an alcoholic? A narcissist, misogynist, sociopath, masochist? Wander into the back of a restaurant. During my busy weeks, especially when I have to hire people, I feel a little bit like I'm leading a double life. On one hand I have this amazing family - and then I go off to this bizzaro world that's like walking into a three alarm fire - where I've been yelled at (and yelled back), been sent to the hospital, watched people drop like flies, have panic attacks, steal lobsters by putting them down their pants, watched people do drugs and drink to excess, leave their wives, and had some of the best and worst times of my life. Do I want you to work for me? No. Wait, lemme think, uh, no.
See? How can I possibly explain that...
Act III - The Sting
I finally get a just-out-of-culinary-school girl to work for me, it's five hours before people are supposed to show up, and I'm already behind. Filets to sear, dressings, sauces, food displays to make - and I'm getting calls from committee members. Can we get more ice delivered? Do I have extra linens? Can we move the stage?... on and on... Two hours later Ken (my favorite, and by far the most dependable food guy I've ever met) shows up, and dives right in... Two hours later I'm pressing a towel into my hand to stop the blood from flowing while screaming into the phone at three servers who decided to carpool and got stuck in traffic (two minutes later I'm devising a plan to make their lives miserable)... and before I know it, it begins. The bar is humming, and food from our perfectly sculptured hors d'oeuvre table is disappearing... and for the next seven hours I'm jogging... Around ten o'clock I take a breath and stand at the back of the room - and here's the rub - three people working the bar, two servers setting up desserts, two in the kitchen breaking down, and I feel like I'm on a first date. For a minute, standing still, everything I've been thinking about for weeks is spread out in front of me, and it's like an orchestra all over again.
Two days later, I finally see the head of the committee, all smiles. "I had a meeting with everyone this morning... and you" he says, "are a rock star."

"Thanks" but no "thanks"

You know, I may not be the best writer in the world, and I've certainly made my share of grammatical errors, typos, sentence fragments, etc... but you know what? If you can't write, don't write to me. I know it sounds snobbish, but I really don't care.... Here is the deal, can't complete a sentence? Having some trouble saying something? Never had an english class? Fine, email me, but get to the point. Want to spill your soul to me while asking for some catering advice? Buy a copy of Strunk and White, read it, learn it, live it, and then write.
Why am I acting like an ass, you ask? I am in the middle of negotiating this catering deal, and the guy who I'm writing back and forth to keeps freakin' putting things in quotes.
Thanks for making this "easy" (he says) I'm sure it will be "Fun"... You should talk to "John Edwards" when you have a menu (and the most random of all) I'm sure that "you and Kate will do a great job" for us.
"You and Kate will do a great job"... in quotes? Seriously? I really have to hold myself back from writing - Hey, I have an idea, why don't you make your own fucking "food", because you're driving me "insane" and I don't think that I'll "be able" to meet you in "person" without slapping you across the back of the "head". As it is, every "time" I get an email from you I feel like "stabbing my eyes out with a fork".
Sorry, I'm a little "tense" today.

Enid and the Nor'easter

As an homage to Regina and all of her trademark wiseass 'you're always sick' comments, I'll write a blog since I'm sick...
Amid the increasing chaos of menu writing and staff hiring that I have going on, I seem to have come down with a sinus infection or something... and the whole breathing thing isn't as footloose and fancy free as I'd like it to be. As a result, I haven't been in the best mood. Of course, Satchmo can sense all of my moods no matter how hard I try to disguise them, and has displayed his concern for my well being by becoming increasingly gassy. I should be flattered, I guess, because every time I doze off on the couch at night I am jolted awake by an odor which can only be described as alien - I suppose a dog's version of a cold shower and a slap - and he'll give me a sad puppy look as if to say, "did that help at all?". So as not to hurt his feelings, I've tried not to gag while giving him a reassuring pat on the head.
As stressed and crappy as I've been feeling, there are bright spots every day. Friday was a date night, and Sara and I went out to dinner for the first time in ... I dunno... forever. I had some raw yellowfin which was as fresh as it gets, a perfectly grilled lamb loin with creamy mint and pea risotto, a Cline Zinfandel, and a lovely wife that has been marinating in her own juices for almost 36 years. To top it off, our babysitter worked her magic and the next day Sam asked when she could come back... and at that moment I could have dashed into the street, raised my arms to the sky and screamed for all the world to hear "LET THE CHURCH BELLS RING, THE SIRENS BLAST! OPEN YOUR EYES AND WINDOWS WIDE, LET THE DOGS RUN AND THE WINDS BOW THE TREES! LET THE TIDES RETREAT, THE CLOCK STAND STILL, AND THE STARS WINK MY NAME IN MORSE CODE! STOP THE PRESSES AND SAVE AT LEAST 24 COLUMN INCHES ON PAGE B3 TO PRINT A PICTURE OF MY NAKED BUTT FOR ALL THE WORLD TO SEE - THEY WANT US TO GO OUT! US! TO GO OUT OF THE HOUSE!" Instead, I went with, "OK, I'll give her a call to see when she can come over".
Yesterday morning was a little bright spot too - two days of constant drenching rains had worn me down, and Monday morning's first glance out the window was a shocker. I expected dreary, but saw our big tree in the back yard completely caked with frozen snow like an enormous craggy twist of white coral staring back at me. Since power lines all around town were coated with ice and torn down by the wind, I had the day off while our daycare miraculously stayed open... so my sinuses and I stayed as motionless as possible and watched Tremors and Tremors II: Aftershocks, a pair of Kevin Bacon classics. As exhilarating as that may sound, I actually felt crappy enough to call the doctor who, as luck would have it, was closed because she had no electricity in her office. By last night I was praying for the sweet relief of death by the time Sara got home, and just barely made the trip back down to the couch while she put the kids in bed. As I was drifting off to sleep on the couch she came downstairs and told me that a woman named Enid at work started reading the blog, and I happily drifted off... thinking maybe there were other Enids at other offices, maybe even Margarets or Bobs, or a legion of Eds waiting with baited breath for the next post...

Bacchanalia

I finished teaching my latest semester of wine classes last week, and I'm a little sorry that it's over. It's a pain, to be honest, because it actually takes a decent amount of prep before each week's class - still, I'm sad they're finished. Aside from the refresher course that I get from teaching the class, and the wine tasting of course, it's nice to stand in front of a room of people who pay to listen to me jabber on for two and a half hours every night... even my wife's eyes glaze over after five minutes, so apparently, only people who don't know me find me entertaining... strange...
Another bonus is that it usually reminds me to check on our makeshift wine cellar, which I don't do all that often (what with the two kids and all). Every time I go down there, I kick myself for not taking stock more often. There are a few things that will be ready to drink soon, and more than a few that I moved to one corner so I wouldn't forget about them before they started to go downhill... but most importantly, there are the ones that I love to see again.
The first Barolo I ever had was a 1992 Villadoria - in the back yard of our apartment in philly on a warm spring day before we were married, Sara was wearing a black tank top, we were sitting on our white plastic patio furniture & everything was carefree and perfect - and we have some of them downstairs now... a Villadoria, Viberti, Marchesi, and Giacosa to name a few. There is a '69 Grumello and a '71 Valpolicella that I lugged down a looooong hill in Orvieto along with 10 other bottles - a feat which left me sore for days (and I think might have made my right leg a little shorter). A Pine Ridge Andrus Reserve that is worth more than my life - a wine I first had while I was talking about it to a class... I recommended it to someone as something they should consider for a private wine tasting in their home because I knew it was good and this was the only chance I'd be able to taste it - they went for it, and bought me an extra bottle to boot. So there I was, describing (in detail, in front of 30 tipsy women) the wine I had never tasted, when I finally got to have my first sip, and remembered why I love doing this... black cherry, currant and chocolate. Perfect.
There are 1994 Vintage Calem and a 2003 Fonseca Ports, which will both be perfect when Sam and Lily are in college and we have a moment to ourselves, and probably even better when they have kids of their own and we can giggle at them making the same mistakes we did... and on and on it goes... Beaux Freres, Chateau Laforge, Talbot, Beychevelle... each one tagged, gathering dust and the occasional crumb of masonry from the basement wall. Each one with their own little story, waiting for just the right day to make their way upstairs.
On Friday, with a sushi-boat-to-go waiting upstairs, I found a Saisons Des Vins L'ete that I bought in California a few years ago... and even though I feel like we are light years away from that sunny, carefree backyard in philly... for a minute or two all was right with the world. Things around here seem to change faster than I can keep track of, and I don't remember all of the twists and turns that brought us to this house with a four year old artist in residence and a two year old princess... and some of the wines I don't ever remember seeing before, but I still have some of the same shoes, some of the same dreams, and little reminders of who I used to be sitting around the house. Turns out, it helps to remember and appreciate what you have, downstairs and upstairs, even if I can't remember exactly how they got there in the first place...

Nothing Gold Can Stay, Ponyboy

Odd week - happy, sad, and nerve-wracking things happening over here. I'll skip the last two, just for blog's sake, and mention the good one. Finally came to terms a bit this week with the whole leaving-the-catholic-church thing. To be honest, I'm ashamed to say it wasn't really the biggest deal, not really a big church guy... It did give me pause, however, to admit to myself (and here) that for now, those days are over for me. Faith, my version of it anyway, has remained unchanged.... and for the moment I have left behind what was growing into a seething anger at the politics, hypocrisy, blah, blah, blah.. sure you don't want to read this. Suffice to say, it took a while to slough off the hostility (do I sound too angry?) and move on. So the small part of me that pays attention to these things is at peace for the first time in a while - and thinking for some odd reason of Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening - "The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep". Makes sense to me, and this blog is free, so you'll have to deal with it.
Ok, short little list for my sister - who has blogged these sort of lists before, and is probably bored out of her mind right now - things I have said (since I've had children) that I never imagined I would have said... None of these, by the way, are made up...
1. Why is there a Llama in the refrigerator?
2. You won't eat anything I cook, but you'll eat dried corn with duck shit on it?
3. Will you stop trying to pick my nose?
4. What are you doing with your penis?
5. and the best from today, sure to become a classic, "can I use this thermometer, or has it been in someone's ass?"

Google Me, It Tickles

I have this thing attached to my blog, for those of you who don't know, called a tracker. It doesn't do much of anything except show me a list of cities that have logged on to ticklecookbreathe, and the date and time they have visited. I put it on there just for funzies, and because I was curious about the amount of traffic I was getting. For the last six months or so I've been checking it every couple of days, and for the most part, I can identify who was peeking in... except for the occasional visit from Salt Lake City or Guam.
After the last post though, things have exploded. I don't know whether it was the Kopi Luwak or Alpha Gamma Civet references, or just the 'crap' joke - but something or other was just the right Google search term to get this blog hummin'. In the past week or so I've been getting hits from all over the country, as well as hit from Santiago, Fujian, Burnaby, Sydney, Shanxi, Barcelona, Rome, and on and on...
So before I write another post let me just assure my faithful followers, I will never post breaking news about Paris Hilton... as a matter of fact, I'll never include the name Paris Hilton in my blog just to get hits, from the name Paris Hilton. As a matter of fact, if Paris Hilton and Britney Spears just happen to drop by to discuss a new sex tape, Brad and Angelina pop in for some Kopi Luwak, or Patrick Dempsey and Oprah need to use my internet connection to search for some Cindy Margolis info - I probably won't mention it. It's just a cheap way to get hits, mentioning Paris Hilton (or Nicole Richie for that matter) over and over just for the sake of writing the name Paris Hilton.
I'll also be true to the art of blogging by not endorsing any products just to profit from your kind attention to my site. For example, I have always been a big supporter of Dulcolax brand laxatives. Personally, I don't use it that often, but I'm glad to know that it is in my medicine cabinet - so on those days when I'm just not feeling particularly regular and I want a stimulant laxative that is gentle yet effective, I know I can rely on Dulcolax brand laxative (the worldwide number 1 selling overnight laxative) to provide me with comfortable relief by the time I wake up the next morning - and with no chalky aftertaste! As a matter of fact, I'm sure if Paris Hilton ever ate anything, she would probably choose Dulcolax brand laxatives to get it out of her system as soon as possible - it's that good. I wouldn't endorse them though, cause that would be wrong... but you're welcome to learn more about this wonderful product yourself by visiting http://www.dulcolaxusa.com/ for more information.
To sum up, I'm glad you're here. It satisfies my gigantic ego, and helps me numb the pain of my countless insecurities to know that you are visiting me for me - and not just news about naked celebrities.... or just because you Googled the name Paris Hilton.... or Dulcolax....
Thanks,
Joe
Paris Hilton Paris Hilton Paris Hilton
Paris Hilton Paris Hilton Paris Hilton

Cuppa Weaselyak

The first step, I understand, is admitting that you have an addiction. There it is, I've written it down for all to see, I am addicted to coffee. The good thing is, I don't often start off my day trolling the streets for a fix - and end it by waking up in Camden snuggled next to a pants-less man named Armando. Usually, I just stay up a little too late looking for good deals on green beans that I can roast, or scanning coffeegeek.com to see the new commercial espresso machine reviews... Tired the next morning? No worries, I can fix that...
I know, it's a bit dorky, but I read a lot of reviews and tasting notes on beans - and every once in a while I come across articles about kopi luwak.... here is the deal... there are these weasel-like mammals calm Palm Civets in Indonesia that love eating ripe coffee cherries but can't digest the beans - which are affected by the enzymes in the digestive tract, and are changed by the time they come out the other end. Poo, that is, in case you haven't caught up. These are such great coffee beans by the time they come out though, that they are hella-expensive, and apparently have created jobs for anyone who feels like following civets around until they poop (a career which really gives your resume a little 'pop'). In Vietnam, they have something similar called 'weasel coffee' which is made from beans that another weasel-like cat has eaten and then thrown back up. This is a much cheaper version of the same sort of coffee for a couple of reasons -

1. There is more of the stuff in Vietnam, and it isn't as popular, hence the lower price.
2. Apparently, it is very easy to convince Vietnamese weasels to join weasel fraternities. The hazing is a bit rough ("chug the beans! chug the beans!"), but having AGC (Alpha Gamma Civet) shaved into your back fur really gets weasel chicks going...

Anyway, after a while I just couldn't take the curiosity anymore, and had to try it. A short search later, I found a weasel coffee dealer in Vietnam that sold in the US (god bless the internet, seriously, how many people in 1970 could find themselves some weasel coffee?) and bought a wee little bag to try.

Finally, it arrived in the mail. I'll spare you my lengthy review, because I'm sure you really don't give a crap (get it? crap? ha! oh my god, I'm hysterical) but suffice to say, it was pretty damn good coffee. Honestly, remarkably different from your average cup of joe. So good, as a matter of fact, that I went against my better judgement and told Sara about it, and then had to quick think up a good answer to "Seriously? You put weasel barf in my coffee maker?" which, apparently, is anything except "and I just ordered a sample of the poo one..."

Little Blue Case

I went through most of this week being frustrated, angry and depressed for some unknown reason. Not that it affected me that much, but it was a noticeable change for me, and colored my mood for a good part of the week. The snow was part of it - I spent the last few days wondering if I would be able to get my car out of the street, and back in when I was gone. Aside from that, I'm not entirely sure what was wrong, but I was more stressed than usual - I suppose an accumulation of worries from the last few weeks that finally caught up to me. Weekends without plans are a crap shoot too - you never know if the days will fly by with art projects and pizza making, or the weekend will be filled with nose blowing and tantrums.
It started on a bloody note - Lily had her third or fourth cold in a row, and by Friday evening I was hauling out our last working humidifier so she could sleep through the night without caking herself to the sheets with snot. Sara had neatly tucked it away on the top shelf of Sam's closet and I had to wrestle it down from between the sheets and aquarium filters. With a little jiggling and one last tug I freed it from some unseen entanglement on the back of the shelf - and the water tank jumped off of its base and fell squarely onto my chin before clattering to the floor. As it sat in the tub filling, I checked out the damage in the bathroom mirror - a gaping dime size slice underneath my goatee that yawned angrily back at me, spilling a line of blood down my chin... perfect start to a weekend.
Turns out it wasn't a bad omen at all though, we had a pretty good time despite the Kleenex and slippery roads. Went out to lunch and painted some pottery on Saturday, and got the kids to bed with a minimal amount of drama. Plus, I spotted my little blue plastic case in the basement as I was rummaging through some things, which was a bonus. I've had it for as long as I can remember - it's a little plastic case that snaps shut and has "Trantec Supercable" marked on the front (whatever that is) that I have used since about the 5th grade to store notes from girls. Nothing particularly seedy or private in there, but it's funny to look back and see torn bits of homework with notes ranging from "Jean asked me to ask you if you are going to the dance" (somewhere around 5th grade I'm guessing) to "I know it's been a hard year, and if you need anything, please know that you can call me anytime and I'll be there for you... oh yeah, and Jean is wondering if you are going to the dance" (somewhere around 12th grade). Most of the notes in there aren't all that special, but the box always was - because there was always something exciting about getting a note from a girl, and the box was a few pounds of creatively folded bits of paper - each one hiding a little secret, or a little crush.

On Sunday Lily seemed to be on the road to recovery, and was in a good mood for the most part, but Sara wanted to leave her at home when she went to church (hooray for me!) and I happily agreed to remain un-showered and stay home with her. Lately, she has been a bit of a mommy's-girl, and always picks Sara over me when it comes to comfort or companionship, so it was a nice change of pace to sit next to her on our bed and watch Diego & Dora without her calling out for mom. After an hour or so of Diego saving a lost myasaurus, a pygmy marmoset, and a pair of wayward tree frogs (all with the help of his constant companion Baby Jaguar, who's only discernible skill seems to be the ability to let out a feeble roar just at the exact moment a feeble roar is required) Lily rolled over to say "Dad, you're my best friend". Just so you know, if you hang around her long enough she'll say it to you too, because she says it to pretty much everyone - but it was just what I needed at the moment. Of course, since we aren't living in a Hallmark store, she punctuated the moment by turning back to the TV, slipped on the covers and slammed the back of her head into the almost-healed gash on my chin with such force that I saw stars and tasted a steel-y flow of blood seep into my mouth. Luckily, her enormous head is like a rock and she didn't seem to notice, but I had to catch my breath and shake off the pain a bit before I could see straight. Despite the searing pain, it was a moment I wish I could have saved in a little blue case of it's own. Things aren't often calm around here, and it isn't that often I get to sit next to her in the quiet, her warm shoulder nestled into my arm, without a care in the world.

Your Force To Break, Blow, Burn, and Make Me New

Strange week, in general - successful in that I had a good week with the kids while Sara was in London, but crappy because of a somewhat unhappy customer yesterday. A good balance I guess, I was really pleased that I seemed to manage my time pretty well. I had a decent amount of work to do, but got everything done when I hoped and the kids were blissfully unaware of my stress level. On the other hand I had a disturbing discussion today - I went against my better judgement & sent out something I wasn't particularly happy with & it came back to bite me on the ass. My own fault, really, and luckily it's a fixable situation, but I've been kicking myself all day. The fact that I only slept for three and a half hours last night isn't helping either, and part of my stewing over the whole situation is probably due to my pissy attitude today. Everyone needs a good kick in the ass every once in a while though, and I'm trying to keep in mind that days like these keep one from comfortably slipping down the path into mediocrity.
Aside from all of that, my drowsy spinning head has gone in all directions today. Most days, I can keep to myself for a good chunk of time if I choose to, which has made me into a bit of an introvert.... especially on days like today. Lost in thought, I stumbled around through high school and college, and for some reason wound up in an english class reading Shakespeare with Mrs Betancourt... and for the rest of my morning I was stuck with iambic pentameter in my head.... (please excuse the occasional rhythmic inversion - poetic licence, I'm tired, and you are a big dork for noticing in the first place)
To make the crab and pumpkin soup I need
My stock, a pot, an onion bag of mesh.
Pumpkin from a can? Why not, it's winter
and Bob, my produce guy, can't get them fresh.

... and on and on...

Is it itchy in here, or is it just me?

First of all, let me just say, I liked the last post. A little slice of my day, it was. I'm not waiting for columnist job offers to pour in necessarily, but my lovely wife seemed to think that it sucked. I think her actual words were "did you mean to publish that last blog, or did you submit it by mistake, ass". Actually, I added the "ass" part, but you get the drift. Lets try another little slice, and see if it passes muster.
So I get to work the other day just in time to find our fish delivery guy wheeling in a hand truck full of fun. Twelve sides of perfectly red salmon, wee little fins still quivering on the sides; a ten pound hunk of Mahi, firm, white and odorless; and five pounds of skate wings, which for those of you who haven't experienced the majesty of skate, is a marvelously mild half-moon shaped filet with little ridges that make it look a bit like a pair of corduroy pants. Big fan of corduroy pants, by the way, but they make my butt look like an enormous panini, so I try to stay away from them.
Salmon first, I trim the fins and wrap each filet individually to go into the fridge. Then the Mahi, which gets chopped into 2 1/2 pound pieces, to be used for soup or some future catering event, and tossed into the freezer. Skate is last, because it's the easiest and I like to feel like I'm getting faster at butchering - it just needs a quick wrap and away it goes. Suddenly, I notice that my hands are getting a bit irritated - I figure from 20 minute of fish slime, so I wash them off and keep going. Again, my hands start itching like they're on fire... and suddenly it dawns on me, I think I'm getting a seafood allergy.
As soon as I'm finished - because I'm half curious and half freaking out - I google 'skate' and 'allergy', and the first thing that comes up is an article about a chef that developed a fish allergy and can't even serve lobster or skate in his restaurant anymore.

shit.

At the moment, it's just an itch, so I'm trying to contain myself.... and thinking maybe I'll start a cookbook for the fish haters out there... or maybe just make up a Benedryl Bouillabaisse... yeah, that's the ticket...

Stranded At The Drive In, Branded A Fool

"Girls in this school are crazy."
That's how it all started. There I was sitting at my desk, getting ready to leave for the day, when a 16 year old girl named Heather came in and plopped down next to me.
"Yes, yes they are."... doing my best not to get roped into another one of these conversations with her.... which, of course, doesn't work.
"All I said to Lindsey was that she shouldn't be so mean to her boyfriend because he's a nice guy and it's just not right to treat him like that in front of everybody and now she's all mad at me but I had to say something because like I think that the way you treat people now is like how you're going to treat people when your older and she's my best friend and who is going to like her if she keeps treating people like that whenever they say something you don't like..."
"But Heather..."
"... and I saw her talking to Jen and now the two of them aren't talking to me even though all I meant was she should be mean to people and yesterday I got this weird rash on the top of my legs and it's all bumpy so my aunt who's a doctor came over and said that I should take benedryl to see if it helps but I can't because I'd just sleep all day..."
"So did you try to..."
"...and my parents are going to the Bahamas for five days and I get to stay home by myself for the first time and I can't believe they're actually going it's going to be killer so if I'm not here I'm probably skipping or I missed my train..."
... and on and on it went. Seriously, I even toned it down a little... and all I could think was, for the love of god, please let Lily skip this stage.

Chapter Four - Unwrapped

So I've finally finished a ... challenging, I suppose would be a good word... month or so. It's about 10:00 on Monday night, and I just walked back in the door after my final party until January 5th. Its odd how this blog thing works... I know I don't write as often as others, but often think to myself how I should write about this or that, and over the last few weeks I thought off and on about what I should write after the month's work was over.
Funny part is, I can't remember a spot of it at the moment. I learned this afternoon that one of my server's brother in law committed suicide last night - but she came tonight anyway just to keep her mind off things... and for the woe is me part, I am crispy with burns, have used up all of my band aids, and between the methylprednisolone for my foot, the silver sulfadiazine for my arm, and everything else I feel like I need a pill fob to get through the day. Aside from that, I am completely spent. Tired of keeping track of things, tired of standing all day, tired of answering questions, fixing everyone's problems, smiling and being introduced, and tired of waking up in the middle of every night thinking about tomorrow. At the moment, I have nothing funny to say, I'm just gonna take my dishpan hands and go to bed.

Chapter Three - Artwork, and The Top Ten Reasons My Mother Will Never Talk To Me Again

In the midst of my week from hell, there were a few saving graces. First of all, kids and wife - adorable. Second, the parties I catered, even though they were somewhere in the middle of a chaotic mess, went remarkably well. Walmart executives, a financial consulting firm, a random collection of Woodlynde alumni, and a birthday boy were singing our praises as we skulked in and out of each function as quickly as possible. Third, I was the lucky recipient of two pieces of artwork as the week dragged on. The first (pictured on the top of this blog) I found on the inside of a case of red peppers packaged by a company named Vantaggio all the way out in sunny California. I was so tickled by it, that I actually brought it home to take a picture of it... not because it was such a marvelous piece of work, or I was so intrigued by the O'Keeffe-esque sexuality of the piece, but more that it was such an unexpected surprise. I wondered all day how I was fortunate enough to get this particular box, or if some mad scribbler had spent the whole day drawing on the inside of cardboard pepper boxes before he/she sealed them up. Was it the outburst of a struggling artist just longing to create? An ill-conceived anatomy lesson in the middle of an otherwise uneventful pepper-packing-plant day? Perhaps it was created by a young man named Steve, trapped in an endless sea of red peppers only hoping that his girlfriend Monique would still be there waiting for him when he got home to soothe his aching feet and gently wash his produce stained hands before serving him a delicious pepper-free meal and letting him have the last Miller Light while they watched CSI Miami together.... or will Monique have gotten tired of his endless talk of peppers and box folding, and left to go north with Anthony, who shucks oysters all day, smells of the sea, and prefers CSI New York.... or maybe it was a twelve year old with a sharpie... either way, in the middle of a shitty day it cracked me up, which is almost as valuable as finding a copy of the Declaration of Independence taped to the back of a painting of dogs playing poker that you get at a garage sale.

The acquisition of the next piece was a bit more complicated. As simple as it seems, I had two different artists involved and 75 minutes of time... and at 3000 injections a minute, somewhere in the neighborhood of 225,000 wee little holes. Not to sound too much like Peter Trachtenberg, but it was a journey of sorts. For one simple little thing, I put in years of thought... not about the final piece, but the idea of it. The journey, I understand, is what's important - and at the moment I'm left with a marker of the trip.... four, actually. One to remember what I felt slipping away, one for being saved, one for luck, and one for my children. Anyway, after a little anxiety and some last minute modifications we got started... at first it's like a flu shot, and after about five minutes it's a burn that won't stop. For the next half an hour or so it's excruciating, and then, out of the blue, euphoria.

Unfortunately, for about a week or so it feels a bit like, oh, I dunno, someone just poked 225,000 holes in your arm. Plus for some odd reason, you're left with this nagging feeling that your mother will never go swimming with you again, and will look at you like you're an idiot next time she sees you. If for some odd reason this is the case, two things - 1. Just in case she doesn't know, I adore my mother more than the air I breathe. 2. Her grandchildren are too adorable, and I am holding them hostage.