I woke up this morning like a 5 year old on a sugar cookie high! All my life, christmas eve is a much bigger deal than christmas day. Following the traditional sicilian meal of the feast of the seven fishes, it's an all on production line in the kitchen today.
First course is Ivan's shrimp cocktail (he's an accomplished cocktailer these days, superb sauce coupled with perfectly prepared shrimp). I know he's also bringing sausage, which is not traditionally part of the feast of the seven fishes, but how can I, or anyone, for that matter, possibly turn down succulent sausage???
Second course is crab and roasted corn bisque prepared by Miss Coco Dolly. She's another one getting fairly comfortable in the kitchen lately. Glad to see something other than my curly hair rubbed off on her. I picture the future with Coco eventually taking over the brunt of the holiday cooking at the point when her kitchen is bigger than mine.
Third course is angel hair fra diavlo with clams, mussels and anchovy, served with fried calamari and sweet pomodoro sauce.
Trying to recall the wines Lou and I paired with these courses .....a viognier and petit chablis.....I think.
Fourth course is seared sea scallops with pea puree and sauteed bronzino ( a mediterrean sea fish) with roasted butternut squash. We have a pinot noir for this course. So what it's a red....it's very low in tannin so it's just fine to pair with fish, so there!
Dessert is strufoli, christmas cookies and croquembouche, served with spiked eggnog, port, cognac and laced coffee.
I hope anyone who takes the time to read this knows that I appreciate the time you spend here. Thanks so much for permitting me the opportunity to entertain you. Merry christmas, be well, travel safely, eat heartily and laugh often.!!!
xxoxxoxo
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Christmas Cookies Are A Food Group
9 Inches of snow on the ground and it really looks like christmas now!! Gotta admit, shelling out a hundred bucks on Monday to the snow blower fix it faiery sucked on Monday. On Sunday, however, it's a whole other story! Primed and started in about 15 seconds, it was a piece of snowy cake out there this morning. It was helpful having Lou around as well. I don't think I could manage the snow blower on the steps, ya know..?
Three days of work this week and then off off off till January 4th. It's breaks like that that make the entire work venture worth while. So, you suffer a few weeks out of the year, then you get nice breaks in the scenery so often that it makes up for it. As it appears, however, these three days will be a colossal waste of time. With the expectation of approximately $400 in sales, it's hardly worth the effort. I'd just assume stay home and lounge about in flannel sipping coffee with eggnog and rum, nibbling on christmas cookies.
Big Feast of the Seven Fishes for christmas eve. You can take the religion out of the girl (or, as in my case, the girl can run as fast from it as possible) but you can never take the italian out of her. So, a big day of dining on the fruiti de mare and then a week of trying to get the house to stop smelling like a fish monger's cunny. Wish me luck. I do love this holiday, though. I always remember my kids' anticipation of things like the cookies, the tree and their special christmas plates, bowls and cups. I should probably give them those keepsakes now that they are older and have homes of their own...but I cannot bear to part with them. No, I think I'll keep them a bit longer, and display them with love. I'll even make them oatmeal and serve it in their bowls if only they'll put those bowls on the window sill later in the day -- in the hopes that santa will do a little recon work and notice they ate all their breakfast.
Thinking of going to Washington Crossing State Park on Christmas day to see a reenactment of Washington crossing the Deleware on christmas eve. prior to his march towards Trenton and those drunken Hessians. Weather permitting, and flask in hand, that's the plan.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
The little train that could.........
Do you remember that story from years of yore?? Some little locomotive, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of it's tasks sets out to fulfil those tasks....and with the innocence only children and derainged fantasy choo choos can possess, up the side of mt. krimpet (oops, wrong story) up the hill he went, whilst all along sing songing to himself as only maniacle choo choos can "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can....." When he finally reached the precipice, or just a whisp of steam away, he changed his tune to "I know I can, I know I can". Naturally, everyone lives happily ever after; at least until Choo Choo Charlie came along and forced him back up that track for nothing more than a few measly licorice bits.
The point of this tale?? That's how I feel this christmas on a few levels. Not being possessed of pointy ears, curly shoes or overly diminutive stature, I have found the cookie baking a bit on the daunting side this year. No darling daughter to assist with the cutting, rolling, sprinkling. No suave son to come in stealing the lovelies instead of the uglies. Just moi and endless reels of Nat King Cole's Christmas Song.. I am happy and pleased to report that all 13 varieties of cookie are present and accounted for.
The tree is a work of art this year. I leave it each day, taking a mental photograph in the event of the recently acquired possibility that I discover it in a glistening heap on the floor upon my arrival. Max-i cat, a frightened shitless scairdy cat if ever there was one, had finally agreed the tree means her no harm, nor will it attempt to vacuum the living room while she's taking number 45 of 98 catnaps. This acceptance of the alien thing that smells like outside means she's quite content to get up close and personl with it. Last night I was disturbed from yet another inane evening in front of the television by the tinkling and jingling of glass ornaments doing the hustle....Max-i, in all her big belly glory was gently batting at the glass baker snowmen. Eventually, she tired of that sport and returned to dead mother-in-law's favourite chair (now festooned with a bright pink blanket) to sleep it off. Exhausting work, this being a cat.
Here it is, Tuesday evening, 5:30 or so. I"m still dressed from work, yet all I want is a cup of tea and warm fuzzy pajamas. I'll get to present wrapping in about an hour. I'll watch the season finale of Dexter, because serial killers who also work for the blood splatter crime lab are precisely what most people won't be watching as they wrap presents. I've already watched It's a Wonderful Life (and getting that goddam DVR thing to work is truly going to be the undoing of my sanity, I kid you not), I've seen Miracle on 34th Street. We watched Elf just the other night. I'd like to watch A Christmas Story but, as I said, I don't know how to make my DVR work without crying in front of it while it silently mocks my inability to know which button to press or which lever to lift. Fucker. So, serial killer it is, all the while I'll be using my very own scissor to make lovely ribbon curls.
As the magi said to the star.....see you soon.
The point of this tale?? That's how I feel this christmas on a few levels. Not being possessed of pointy ears, curly shoes or overly diminutive stature, I have found the cookie baking a bit on the daunting side this year. No darling daughter to assist with the cutting, rolling, sprinkling. No suave son to come in stealing the lovelies instead of the uglies. Just moi and endless reels of Nat King Cole's Christmas Song.. I am happy and pleased to report that all 13 varieties of cookie are present and accounted for.
The tree is a work of art this year. I leave it each day, taking a mental photograph in the event of the recently acquired possibility that I discover it in a glistening heap on the floor upon my arrival. Max-i cat, a frightened shitless scairdy cat if ever there was one, had finally agreed the tree means her no harm, nor will it attempt to vacuum the living room while she's taking number 45 of 98 catnaps. This acceptance of the alien thing that smells like outside means she's quite content to get up close and personl with it. Last night I was disturbed from yet another inane evening in front of the television by the tinkling and jingling of glass ornaments doing the hustle....Max-i, in all her big belly glory was gently batting at the glass baker snowmen. Eventually, she tired of that sport and returned to dead mother-in-law's favourite chair (now festooned with a bright pink blanket) to sleep it off. Exhausting work, this being a cat.
Here it is, Tuesday evening, 5:30 or so. I"m still dressed from work, yet all I want is a cup of tea and warm fuzzy pajamas. I'll get to present wrapping in about an hour. I'll watch the season finale of Dexter, because serial killers who also work for the blood splatter crime lab are precisely what most people won't be watching as they wrap presents. I've already watched It's a Wonderful Life (and getting that goddam DVR thing to work is truly going to be the undoing of my sanity, I kid you not), I've seen Miracle on 34th Street. We watched Elf just the other night. I'd like to watch A Christmas Story but, as I said, I don't know how to make my DVR work without crying in front of it while it silently mocks my inability to know which button to press or which lever to lift. Fucker. So, serial killer it is, all the while I'll be using my very own scissor to make lovely ribbon curls.
As the magi said to the star.....see you soon.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Here Come's Santa Claus
Once again, mea culpa for being so lax with the quill. I am beginning to realize the only way I'm going to write anything after work is if I parachute to the roof outside the computer room, climb in the window, sit my ass down and start typing. This way, I'll complete bypass the siren song of the sofa. Either that, or borrow wax from Ulysses for my ears.
Thanksgiving has passed without overmuch stress. Once again, I have enough stuffing and sweet potatoes left over to choke a horse. All in all, I was just happy the event got off at all. See, I overindulged at the Gomorrah family reunion party the night before. To top it off, I returned home famished. I'd squirreled away half a sandwich from Clemente, figuring to eat it when I got home. In a state of maternal love I offered it to Coco, feeling bad she was staying home alone. I also knew she had squirreled away her own half from her sandwich, so I really didn't think she'd take me up on the offer. Fast forward to my drunken return to the homestead at 1:45am. There sits Coco, looking like she just ate the canary from the cage. I inquired after my sandwich to discover she'd indulged her hunger. I then inquired after her half. Seems that half went to a strip club with her. Who the hell takes half an italian hero to a strip club on the night before thanksgiving???? Sadly, with a refrigerator full of food for the holiday, all there was to eat at that hour was bologna and swiss on rye bread. Drunken women do not make pretty sandwiches. I remember slapping the meat and cheese onto the bread and squirting mustard (no one should ever type those two words in the same sentence, by the way) on one of the slices of bread. I had purchased a bag of kettle chips flavoured with jalepeno and aged cheddar. As a drunk, they were delicious. Crisp and crunchy, the perfect accompanimenet to the bologna. Reading this now, my stomach is churning. I have to say, on the entire planet, there really isn't a perfect accompaniment to bologna, and the least likely winner of that award is jalepeno and aged cheddar chips. I proceeded to eat 1/3 of the bag.
I got upstairs, got the cinilon off, got most of the jewelery off, and crawled between the sheets. At 6am my head was pounding and Max was nudging me for something to eat. I got some tylenol into my system, fed the cat and contemplated how difficult it would be to put off thanksgiving for a day. With barely enough time to form an answer to that question I was up the stairs and giving bourbon drenched jalepeno cheddar chips to the toilet bowl. And then I gave the bowl some more. Before I managed to find a few more remnants clinging to my stomach lining I found my sneakers and hit the road. Usually, when I'm in that kind of condition, a walk does me good. I walked for close to 2 and 1/2 miles. Returning home, I still had a turkey to get into the oven. Get it into the oven?? I couldn't even get it out of the fridge without serious help. But, with that help, I got it stuffed to the gills (do turkeys have gills?), slathered with olive oil and mrs. dash, and into the oven before the parade started.
It just so happens that sitting down to watch that parade was possibly the biggest mistake since eating jalepeno cheddar chips along with a bologna sandwich. Head clearing and parade watching don't mix. I felt like one of the giant balloons, careening from one side of the street to the other. Back up the stairs, only this time I seriously had nothing to give the toilet, though not for lack of trying. Again, thoughts of just how I was going to postpone this holiday for a day or two are banging around in my head. Clearly, there was no way to pull that caper off, so into the shower I went. 40 gallons of hot water later, I emerged feeling none the worse for wear, and actually feeling a bit better. There would be no hanging my head upside down to towel dry my long hair, but so what..? What's a wet head in comparison to pushing back a nationally recognized holiday for a day?
And so, by the time Santa, oh how I do love Santa, passed Herald Square for his obligatory laying of the finger aside of his nose I was back in the saddle. I was going a very slow gait, but I was going, nevertheless.
Some time in the afternoon I spied that bag of kettle jalepeno cheddar chips and insisted they be given to the garbage pail. I haven't seen the bag since, so I'm assuming Coco obliged. Either that or she ate them sometime when she was eating chocolate in bed, soiling the linens...but that's a whole other chapter.
And now, on to christmas, with thoughts of the feast of the seven fishes, christmas cookies, holiday festivities, and inevitable weight gain. It's my plan not to have to consider moving christmas to the 27 of december. Let's see if I can stick to that particular plan.
Thanksgiving has passed without overmuch stress. Once again, I have enough stuffing and sweet potatoes left over to choke a horse. All in all, I was just happy the event got off at all. See, I overindulged at the Gomorrah family reunion party the night before. To top it off, I returned home famished. I'd squirreled away half a sandwich from Clemente, figuring to eat it when I got home. In a state of maternal love I offered it to Coco, feeling bad she was staying home alone. I also knew she had squirreled away her own half from her sandwich, so I really didn't think she'd take me up on the offer. Fast forward to my drunken return to the homestead at 1:45am. There sits Coco, looking like she just ate the canary from the cage. I inquired after my sandwich to discover she'd indulged her hunger. I then inquired after her half. Seems that half went to a strip club with her. Who the hell takes half an italian hero to a strip club on the night before thanksgiving???? Sadly, with a refrigerator full of food for the holiday, all there was to eat at that hour was bologna and swiss on rye bread. Drunken women do not make pretty sandwiches. I remember slapping the meat and cheese onto the bread and squirting mustard (no one should ever type those two words in the same sentence, by the way) on one of the slices of bread. I had purchased a bag of kettle chips flavoured with jalepeno and aged cheddar. As a drunk, they were delicious. Crisp and crunchy, the perfect accompanimenet to the bologna. Reading this now, my stomach is churning. I have to say, on the entire planet, there really isn't a perfect accompaniment to bologna, and the least likely winner of that award is jalepeno and aged cheddar chips. I proceeded to eat 1/3 of the bag.
I got upstairs, got the cinilon off, got most of the jewelery off, and crawled between the sheets. At 6am my head was pounding and Max was nudging me for something to eat. I got some tylenol into my system, fed the cat and contemplated how difficult it would be to put off thanksgiving for a day. With barely enough time to form an answer to that question I was up the stairs and giving bourbon drenched jalepeno cheddar chips to the toilet bowl. And then I gave the bowl some more. Before I managed to find a few more remnants clinging to my stomach lining I found my sneakers and hit the road. Usually, when I'm in that kind of condition, a walk does me good. I walked for close to 2 and 1/2 miles. Returning home, I still had a turkey to get into the oven. Get it into the oven?? I couldn't even get it out of the fridge without serious help. But, with that help, I got it stuffed to the gills (do turkeys have gills?), slathered with olive oil and mrs. dash, and into the oven before the parade started.
It just so happens that sitting down to watch that parade was possibly the biggest mistake since eating jalepeno cheddar chips along with a bologna sandwich. Head clearing and parade watching don't mix. I felt like one of the giant balloons, careening from one side of the street to the other. Back up the stairs, only this time I seriously had nothing to give the toilet, though not for lack of trying. Again, thoughts of just how I was going to postpone this holiday for a day or two are banging around in my head. Clearly, there was no way to pull that caper off, so into the shower I went. 40 gallons of hot water later, I emerged feeling none the worse for wear, and actually feeling a bit better. There would be no hanging my head upside down to towel dry my long hair, but so what..? What's a wet head in comparison to pushing back a nationally recognized holiday for a day?
And so, by the time Santa, oh how I do love Santa, passed Herald Square for his obligatory laying of the finger aside of his nose I was back in the saddle. I was going a very slow gait, but I was going, nevertheless.
Some time in the afternoon I spied that bag of kettle jalepeno cheddar chips and insisted they be given to the garbage pail. I haven't seen the bag since, so I'm assuming Coco obliged. Either that or she ate them sometime when she was eating chocolate in bed, soiling the linens...but that's a whole other chapter.
And now, on to christmas, with thoughts of the feast of the seven fishes, christmas cookies, holiday festivities, and inevitable weight gain. It's my plan not to have to consider moving christmas to the 27 of december. Let's see if I can stick to that particular plan.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
It's Challenge Garlic
Yeah, I'm still here. You try working nothing but numbers in a P&L account and watch said numbers go down in flames and still find something witty and charming to write about. I come home at the end of the day and immediately proceed to the confines of flannel for solace. It's disturbing on so many levels.
While we all seem to be running ourselves ragged at work, the sales numbers, particularly the cateing sales numbers are simply not producing themselves. Ways to increase actual sales at the stations but catering sales is a whole different animal. No way to force people to cater their breakfast meeting. Those days of continental breakfast ordered in for 4 people to discuss what side of the campus should have the first speed bump are over. Now it's 'grab a coffee on the way in if you want'. So, when I hear people asking me for a deal on the price of a bagel I tend to curl my toes and smile and mention how much I never did mind about the little things.
And speaking of shooting daggers from my eyes.....apparently spanikopita is a casserole. It must be so...a culinary student said it. Chef was serving a spinach pie - a very large spanikopita when you really get down to business (which is phyllo dough, spinach, feta cheese and enough butter to tan a full sized body) when a very large in a Baby Hewey sort of way student commented on how much he loved casseroles. Chef and I looked at each other and I asked if he just called the spanikopita a casserole. He proceeded to explain to me that since it has a crust it's a casserole. Since I was willing to agree that some things with crusts could be considered casseroles that happen to have crusts, he took it to mean that I was bowing to his genius. Flummoxed, I was silented by his girth and stupidity, and finally, by his boorishness. "you can take my word for it", he stated...."I'm a culinary student". Oh, then, in that case, let me get the hell out of my position right now, a culinary student clearly knows more about the business that I do. Both Chef and I were of a same mind - this kid is in for a rude awakening. I'd pay more than the average dollar to be there when he goes for his first professional interview, or better yet, his first day on the job. Oh, to have to watch him peel 50 pounds of red onions just for shits and giggles.. What a dope.
As for tonight, it's Battle Garlic. I'm making roasted garlic gnocchi with pork short ribs. I'll tell you all about it over there on that facebook place. That's where the pictures will end up, anyway.
Is it cocktail time yet?
While we all seem to be running ourselves ragged at work, the sales numbers, particularly the cateing sales numbers are simply not producing themselves. Ways to increase actual sales at the stations but catering sales is a whole different animal. No way to force people to cater their breakfast meeting. Those days of continental breakfast ordered in for 4 people to discuss what side of the campus should have the first speed bump are over. Now it's 'grab a coffee on the way in if you want'. So, when I hear people asking me for a deal on the price of a bagel I tend to curl my toes and smile and mention how much I never did mind about the little things.
And speaking of shooting daggers from my eyes.....apparently spanikopita is a casserole. It must be so...a culinary student said it. Chef was serving a spinach pie - a very large spanikopita when you really get down to business (which is phyllo dough, spinach, feta cheese and enough butter to tan a full sized body) when a very large in a Baby Hewey sort of way student commented on how much he loved casseroles. Chef and I looked at each other and I asked if he just called the spanikopita a casserole. He proceeded to explain to me that since it has a crust it's a casserole. Since I was willing to agree that some things with crusts could be considered casseroles that happen to have crusts, he took it to mean that I was bowing to his genius. Flummoxed, I was silented by his girth and stupidity, and finally, by his boorishness. "you can take my word for it", he stated...."I'm a culinary student". Oh, then, in that case, let me get the hell out of my position right now, a culinary student clearly knows more about the business that I do. Both Chef and I were of a same mind - this kid is in for a rude awakening. I'd pay more than the average dollar to be there when he goes for his first professional interview, or better yet, his first day on the job. Oh, to have to watch him peel 50 pounds of red onions just for shits and giggles.. What a dope.
As for tonight, it's Battle Garlic. I'm making roasted garlic gnocchi with pork short ribs. I'll tell you all about it over there on that facebook place. That's where the pictures will end up, anyway.
Is it cocktail time yet?
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Where did September go???
It's Saturday, 3 October and I'm actually awake enough to pen a few words here. Exhaustion is a weak word to describe the level of energy I've had lately. September in all it's apple picking glory was a horrid month and I say good riddance to bad rubbish. I finally put the Period 13 (september) work book on the shelf yesterday. I took a deep breath and shook that monkey off my back.
I've always been fond of October, even more so since 1985. My son was born in that month that year, followed three years later by my daughter, same month. Nice time to be born, I say. The landscape is a riot of warm colours. If you can't have the cool blues of water, I say go for the heat of the fire colours. Besides, it's also officially bourbon and scotch season.
Got that party for 200 under our collective belts. Kinda fucked up a bit on the OT projection, though. Blew that budget big time. Thought I'd spend $800 bucks in OT..spent $1500. Yeah, Lucy had some 'splainin' to do on that one. Overall, the client was as pleased as pie though, and at the end of the day, that's the hill you want to win.
I also survived the visit with my parents. Marianne is quite the trip. I don't think I ever even saw a strange toothbrush in the bathroom. She clearly wanted to make it seem like I had church mice visiting. The toaster shines like new, the coffee pot is crystal clear and the refrigerator has achieved a level of sanitation heretofore only present in the showroom. Thank you Jim.
And now, for the new dilemma....how to ask my sister not to stay at my house for a week between Christmas and New Year. I love her...and would love a visit...but that time of year is like a soothing balm for my overworked body. Once the christmas decorations are up, this shoebox size house I live in becomes even tinier....to have three guests using the one bathroom and postage stamp sized kitchen may be more than I can handle. By the time christmas comes I'll be wounder tighter than a Slinky. The idea of being 'on' for company for a whole week makes me want to steal some of Deb's towels, for wringing purposes only...
I have got to do some fancy footwork here to extricate myself from this. I'm considering offering to pay for a hotel for a few days just so I have some air... Lou has said that if I can pull this off without creating a rift that I may be able to find work over in Tudor City NYC - (where the UN is).
Wish me luck.
Oh yeah, one more thing...I missed writing here. I don't like being so tired at the end of the day that all I can manage is to lay on the sofa all night. Not good for business at all, if you ask me.
I've always been fond of October, even more so since 1985. My son was born in that month that year, followed three years later by my daughter, same month. Nice time to be born, I say. The landscape is a riot of warm colours. If you can't have the cool blues of water, I say go for the heat of the fire colours. Besides, it's also officially bourbon and scotch season.
Got that party for 200 under our collective belts. Kinda fucked up a bit on the OT projection, though. Blew that budget big time. Thought I'd spend $800 bucks in OT..spent $1500. Yeah, Lucy had some 'splainin' to do on that one. Overall, the client was as pleased as pie though, and at the end of the day, that's the hill you want to win.
I also survived the visit with my parents. Marianne is quite the trip. I don't think I ever even saw a strange toothbrush in the bathroom. She clearly wanted to make it seem like I had church mice visiting. The toaster shines like new, the coffee pot is crystal clear and the refrigerator has achieved a level of sanitation heretofore only present in the showroom. Thank you Jim.
And now, for the new dilemma....how to ask my sister not to stay at my house for a week between Christmas and New Year. I love her...and would love a visit...but that time of year is like a soothing balm for my overworked body. Once the christmas decorations are up, this shoebox size house I live in becomes even tinier....to have three guests using the one bathroom and postage stamp sized kitchen may be more than I can handle. By the time christmas comes I'll be wounder tighter than a Slinky. The idea of being 'on' for company for a whole week makes me want to steal some of Deb's towels, for wringing purposes only...
I have got to do some fancy footwork here to extricate myself from this. I'm considering offering to pay for a hotel for a few days just so I have some air... Lou has said that if I can pull this off without creating a rift that I may be able to find work over in Tudor City NYC - (where the UN is).
Wish me luck.
Oh yeah, one more thing...I missed writing here. I don't like being so tired at the end of the day that all I can manage is to lay on the sofa all night. Not good for business at all, if you ask me.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Wake up and go to sleep!
If you looked up exhaustion in the dictionary, you'd, sadly, see a picture of me, and probably the majority of my staff huddled close by, as well. At the moment, we're so tired we are keeping ourselves awake at night. Between surviving bouts of broncitis masquarading as faux pneumonia, outrunning cops while driving on suspended licenses, pretending not to have a hacking cough, the ufortunate illness of a dear friend, and the pinnacle of fatigue.....a visit from Marianne and Jim. If you can remember Lili Von Shtupp from Blazing Saddles...."let's face it, I'm tired". We're all tired and the light at the end of tunnel comes full blast at 10pm, Saturday night. At that point, I have a feeling that anything that comes later will be a piece of cake.
Big dinner, and all of the supporting cast, with the exception of your favourite author, have yet to experience something on this large a scale. Actually, that's not completely true...the bonbon candy did survive the June picnic. So, she's got the second most experience..... I'm not overly concerned, just midly cautious. I expect to make it seem to everyone who'll be getting drunk on shitty wine and even shittier beer that the entire affair was effortless. To those of us behind the lines, all we want is a bunch of pills, lots of booze, some excellent foot massages, the occasional hot breathy kiss on our throats, and some sleep....sleep that is not interupted by a towerlike pile of towels that requires folding and surely not interupted by sole that needs breading or brisket that needs braising or napkins, all 225 of them, that need tieing into need folds.
I'm ready for my close up Mr. DeMille......
Big dinner, and all of the supporting cast, with the exception of your favourite author, have yet to experience something on this large a scale. Actually, that's not completely true...the bonbon candy did survive the June picnic. So, she's got the second most experience..... I'm not overly concerned, just midly cautious. I expect to make it seem to everyone who'll be getting drunk on shitty wine and even shittier beer that the entire affair was effortless. To those of us behind the lines, all we want is a bunch of pills, lots of booze, some excellent foot massages, the occasional hot breathy kiss on our throats, and some sleep....sleep that is not interupted by a towerlike pile of towels that requires folding and surely not interupted by sole that needs breading or brisket that needs braising or napkins, all 225 of them, that need tieing into need folds.
I'm ready for my close up Mr. DeMille......
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
and this is why vorizon sucks....
I don't know whether to talk about Gettysburg or the fact that vorizon sucks the biggest pile of horseshit this side of the Rockies.
First Gettysburg - inspirational, educational, breathtaking and heartbreaking. The south sucked. I'd lean toward the fact that they still suck, but, there are some people below the mason dixon line that I'd toss a glass of water at if they were on fire....
However, being in Gettysburg, which resides smack dab in the middle of Pennsylvania could have been out in the middle of the great plains states for all it has in common with the rest of the megaglopolis of the east coast. These people even talk with an accent. And the clothes of the locals...well, the only word to describe it is tragic. And, everyone smokes. I saw one guy riding a motorcycle with his rifle strapped to the side. Am I to believe he's hunting...??? on his motorcycle?????
Most of the wine from PA vineyards is pure swill. We were hard pressed (haha, like the grapes, oh, I crack myself up sometimes) to find anything that wasn't cloyingly sweet. Most of the merlots, pinots and cabs all tasted like they wanted to be ports when they grow up. And the mead??!!! Don't drink the mead! No wonder the vikings were pissed and trying to leave norway all the time. Mead, made from fermented honey tastes like honey with everclear in it. With macerated bee wings tossed in for good measure.
End of the day, Gettysburg was magnificent. It breaks my heart and dampens my soul to know that after 150 years, that battle still seems like it may have been in vain. Too many people either still fighting that war, still angry they lost, or not prepared to accept the responsibility of teaching others what the victory was supposed to mean.
And then there's vorizon. Devil's spawn. I have that whole verizon triple screw you package - phone, internet and television. I wanted to have one of the tv boxes moved from one room to another. I wanted to schedule an appointment but they are ill prepared to actually schedule appointments. What a racket. You need them....they'll come when they are damn good and ready. Set the appointment in the agreed upon 4 hour window of opportunity. They can land the damn shuttle with a smaller window of opportunity than a fios dude can make a house call. What bullshit.... At 4:45, 15 minutes before that window slammed shut, I called to ascertain where my shuttle...ah...service technician was. I got the first human at 5:10pm. I was then passed to several other departments. Each department has a copy of the same script...'oh, I don't know how or why you were transferred to this department, this isn't the fuck you up the ass department at all, that's what you want, I'll connect you'. Marianne (my mother, visiting from florida, a whole other story..) asked me where the vorizon office was located. "Mars", was my response.
Apparently, the service ticket was written incorrectly. You'd think they'd phone. After all, when I scheduled the appointment, no less than 3 different people asked my phone number. With all the technology they profess to have at their fingertips, isn't it amazing that they have to ask your phone number when you call...that it doesn't appear on the work screen in front of them. I'm little more than joe blow from windy city and even I have caller ID.
At 5:45 it was clear to all players involved that no one was coming to hook me up today. An hour to agree that I wasn't going to get a visit between 1-5pm. Geniuses, the lot of them. Fine...lost time from work, blah blah blah...set me up again, this time I want a scheduled appointment for tomorrow, 8am. More interminable hold. Only this time, I've finally got a superivsor dealing with me, so the hold is of a better quality. I don't have to be subjected to elevator music on crack.
What I do get is this: I can have a technician tomorrow between the hours of 8am and 5pm....and get this...because they are doing me a favour by squeezing me in. Oh yes, indeed...they were going to do me a big favour. Thanks for the lube, vorizon, that's a big favour, all right. Not only did I waste the 4 hours waiting for a monkey with a wrench, but add on the almost 2 spent on the phone with the monkey with the keyboard, now they wanted to add another 9 hours of 'wait and see' . I wonder if I can say, the next time a vorizon bill comes 'sorry, the bill arrived upside down in my mailbox, so it will be deleted from my records, try again next month'....I wonder how that would go.
"Doing me a favour??" I was incredulous, and that incredulty bore repeating, several times. The whole squeezing me in was really the undoing. I am fully prepared to unplug everythign that has a vorizon tag on it and send it back. If I have to stand on my roof top sending smoke signals to communicate with people I'd do it, if just to get the vorizon monkey off my back.
Don't do me any favours, put me in for thursday, 8-12. I better be first or you're going to find your boxes hanging from the chimney.
You cannot make this shit up.
First Gettysburg - inspirational, educational, breathtaking and heartbreaking. The south sucked. I'd lean toward the fact that they still suck, but, there are some people below the mason dixon line that I'd toss a glass of water at if they were on fire....
However, being in Gettysburg, which resides smack dab in the middle of Pennsylvania could have been out in the middle of the great plains states for all it has in common with the rest of the megaglopolis of the east coast. These people even talk with an accent. And the clothes of the locals...well, the only word to describe it is tragic. And, everyone smokes. I saw one guy riding a motorcycle with his rifle strapped to the side. Am I to believe he's hunting...??? on his motorcycle?????
Most of the wine from PA vineyards is pure swill. We were hard pressed (haha, like the grapes, oh, I crack myself up sometimes) to find anything that wasn't cloyingly sweet. Most of the merlots, pinots and cabs all tasted like they wanted to be ports when they grow up. And the mead??!!! Don't drink the mead! No wonder the vikings were pissed and trying to leave norway all the time. Mead, made from fermented honey tastes like honey with everclear in it. With macerated bee wings tossed in for good measure.
End of the day, Gettysburg was magnificent. It breaks my heart and dampens my soul to know that after 150 years, that battle still seems like it may have been in vain. Too many people either still fighting that war, still angry they lost, or not prepared to accept the responsibility of teaching others what the victory was supposed to mean.
And then there's vorizon. Devil's spawn. I have that whole verizon triple screw you package - phone, internet and television. I wanted to have one of the tv boxes moved from one room to another. I wanted to schedule an appointment but they are ill prepared to actually schedule appointments. What a racket. You need them....they'll come when they are damn good and ready. Set the appointment in the agreed upon 4 hour window of opportunity. They can land the damn shuttle with a smaller window of opportunity than a fios dude can make a house call. What bullshit.... At 4:45, 15 minutes before that window slammed shut, I called to ascertain where my shuttle...ah...service technician was. I got the first human at 5:10pm. I was then passed to several other departments. Each department has a copy of the same script...'oh, I don't know how or why you were transferred to this department, this isn't the fuck you up the ass department at all, that's what you want, I'll connect you'. Marianne (my mother, visiting from florida, a whole other story..) asked me where the vorizon office was located. "Mars", was my response.
Apparently, the service ticket was written incorrectly. You'd think they'd phone. After all, when I scheduled the appointment, no less than 3 different people asked my phone number. With all the technology they profess to have at their fingertips, isn't it amazing that they have to ask your phone number when you call...that it doesn't appear on the work screen in front of them. I'm little more than joe blow from windy city and even I have caller ID.
At 5:45 it was clear to all players involved that no one was coming to hook me up today. An hour to agree that I wasn't going to get a visit between 1-5pm. Geniuses, the lot of them. Fine...lost time from work, blah blah blah...set me up again, this time I want a scheduled appointment for tomorrow, 8am. More interminable hold. Only this time, I've finally got a superivsor dealing with me, so the hold is of a better quality. I don't have to be subjected to elevator music on crack.
What I do get is this: I can have a technician tomorrow between the hours of 8am and 5pm....and get this...because they are doing me a favour by squeezing me in. Oh yes, indeed...they were going to do me a big favour. Thanks for the lube, vorizon, that's a big favour, all right. Not only did I waste the 4 hours waiting for a monkey with a wrench, but add on the almost 2 spent on the phone with the monkey with the keyboard, now they wanted to add another 9 hours of 'wait and see' . I wonder if I can say, the next time a vorizon bill comes 'sorry, the bill arrived upside down in my mailbox, so it will be deleted from my records, try again next month'....I wonder how that would go.
"Doing me a favour??" I was incredulous, and that incredulty bore repeating, several times. The whole squeezing me in was really the undoing. I am fully prepared to unplug everythign that has a vorizon tag on it and send it back. If I have to stand on my roof top sending smoke signals to communicate with people I'd do it, if just to get the vorizon monkey off my back.
Don't do me any favours, put me in for thursday, 8-12. I better be first or you're going to find your boxes hanging from the chimney.
You cannot make this shit up.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
who mops a floor at 4:30 in the morning????
Apparently, I do.... Especially when you don't expect to be home before 10:30 at night and you're planning to leave by 6am the next morning.
I cleaned the stove, emptied the dishwasher, washed whatever errant dishes and cutlery that didn't make the dishwasher cutoff, swept, mopped.....and now it's time to get ready for work. I can think of a thousand things to do today, least of all is finally getting packed... but noooooooooooooo, I have to go to work to battle the never endging shortage of change.
No one is using credit cards any longer...and I'm going through change like the Little Old Lady who Lived in a Shoe at the laundramat. 50 rolls of quarters in less than 2 days. 250 bucks in dime, another hundred in nickles and 25 in pennies... amazing.
It's times like this I can see the wisdom of rounding up or down. It takes a muscle necked gym goon to actually lift these boxes, too. I'd kill for an armoured truck service.
See you later..
I cleaned the stove, emptied the dishwasher, washed whatever errant dishes and cutlery that didn't make the dishwasher cutoff, swept, mopped.....and now it's time to get ready for work. I can think of a thousand things to do today, least of all is finally getting packed... but noooooooooooooo, I have to go to work to battle the never endging shortage of change.
No one is using credit cards any longer...and I'm going through change like the Little Old Lady who Lived in a Shoe at the laundramat. 50 rolls of quarters in less than 2 days. 250 bucks in dime, another hundred in nickles and 25 in pennies... amazing.
It's times like this I can see the wisdom of rounding up or down. It takes a muscle necked gym goon to actually lift these boxes, too. I'd kill for an armoured truck service.
See you later..
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Like sand in the hourglass...
and blah blah blah..I'm working till 10 or so tomorrow night and if I dont pack my bag tonight, I'll be doing it on Thursday night in my sleep.
Dinner reservations are made for Friday and Saturday. I've picked out several interesting ghost tours but committed to none. How do you commit to a ghost, anyway?? Are they not ethereal and what makes us think they'll show up simply because I purchased a ticket??
It's looking like rain for Friday and already it's smacking of our last historical trip to Williamsburg last March. 40 degrees every day and rain rain rain. Actually, the sun was out until we crossed into the virginia state..only to proceed behind a bank of clouds that proved impenetrable...that is, untill we exited the state like elvis leaves a building. Then, naturally the sun came back out.
Gloom is the perfect atmosphere for visiting a battlefield. Gloom, however, is not du rigor when you are attending a wine and music festival. Thank you, for Saturday I'll take some sunshine, please.
Okay, I have to get my hats and parasol in order. Gloves have to be paired and reticules must be taken from the armoire. Catherine Coatney goes to Gettysburg...I do so love a victorian vampyre with just a dash of tart thrown in for good measure.
Dinner reservations are made for Friday and Saturday. I've picked out several interesting ghost tours but committed to none. How do you commit to a ghost, anyway?? Are they not ethereal and what makes us think they'll show up simply because I purchased a ticket??
It's looking like rain for Friday and already it's smacking of our last historical trip to Williamsburg last March. 40 degrees every day and rain rain rain. Actually, the sun was out until we crossed into the virginia state..only to proceed behind a bank of clouds that proved impenetrable...that is, untill we exited the state like elvis leaves a building. Then, naturally the sun came back out.
Gloom is the perfect atmosphere for visiting a battlefield. Gloom, however, is not du rigor when you are attending a wine and music festival. Thank you, for Saturday I'll take some sunshine, please.
Okay, I have to get my hats and parasol in order. Gloves have to be paired and reticules must be taken from the armoire. Catherine Coatney goes to Gettysburg...I do so love a victorian vampyre with just a dash of tart thrown in for good measure.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Lazy on Labour Day
I got nothing of any consequence accomplished as of this time, today. Perfectly good day off and it's just about the time I'd be trying to leave work.. and what have I got to show for it?? The house is in worse shape than when the weekend started. The futon is open, (MissCocoDolly came home), the kitchen is the stuff nightmares are made of. Laundry wants to be folded but I'm ignoring it at this time. I have to so some letter thing to the Nissan people about my new lease. The dishwasher cannot be emptied because I have neglected to start it. And I'm dying for linguine with clam sauce but have neither the will nor inclination to make the sauce. I'm done in that kitchen for the rest of the day. I don't want to see how filthy the floor is. I don't want to see the broom mocking me from it's hiding spot next to the refrigerator. I'd much rather watch Bottleshock and drink wine for the rest of the afternoon.
Lou and I are going to Gettysburg next Friday. Friday is a day spent on the battlefield and poking around the museums and Saturday is a wine and music festival. I still have to make dinner reservations for both nights, find some touristy ghost tour thing and decide if I want to start racking up the unnecessary miles on the new lease or rent a car.
I did not put the autumn decorations on the front steps. My plan in that regard is to leave a plate of pumpkin pie out in the hopes that it will transform itselt into garlands, orange lights and scarecrow people al la cinderella. I mean, if the Brother's Grimm can pull shit like that off, why cannot I?? Hell, I'll even do a bibidy bobidy boo dance if it would save me the trouble of hacking through that mess I call a garage to look for my decorations. Every damn year it's the same damn thing...put the shit away neatly and it will be nice and tidy for you when you want it again. I mean christ, isn't that what we were taught when we were what..? 3?? But no, I just put in there and hope for the best. How can you hope for the best when the very place you are storing your stuff in has an ivy vine that doesn't seem to matter the lack of traditional sunlight...and is about 25 feet long, and starting to choke everything you have suspended on the walls? Who am I kidding?? My exhusband was just in there a couple of hours ago looking for some chairs for a party he's having next week. He didn't notice the vine (which resembles something Jack would be able to climb to find that errant goose that lays the golden eggs) or he chose not to comment. Commenting could mean that either I'm as poor a gardener as I am a housekeeper (and honestly, I'm not that bad a housekeeper, I just don't want to expend the energy by getting up close and personal with pie crust crumbs) or that we might have some area of the garage roof that is in such disrepair that ivy can meander inside. Take your pick, both answers suck.
But, back to the decorations...I'm pretty sure I know where they are. They should be in the area of the coffin I have in there. Yes, I have a coffin in the garage. It's of a stage prop type, and looks quite victorian. It was made for my 40th birthday party - the theme was a jazz funereal. It's black with gold handles and filled with soft cushy pink satin. By the end of the party, the thing was filled with gifts and flowers and now I have no real use for it. I suppose I could use it for what it was made for, one day...but that's a whole nother topic and I don't really expect to ever need one, anyway. When it comes to dying, someone is going to make an exception in my case. I'm sure of it.
So, time to start looking into the Gettysburg fine dining situations, checking into ghost sightings (I had seen something that mentioned a victorian funeral which sounds very very cool) and possibly do something about procuring some clam sauce.
Lou and I are going to Gettysburg next Friday. Friday is a day spent on the battlefield and poking around the museums and Saturday is a wine and music festival. I still have to make dinner reservations for both nights, find some touristy ghost tour thing and decide if I want to start racking up the unnecessary miles on the new lease or rent a car.
I did not put the autumn decorations on the front steps. My plan in that regard is to leave a plate of pumpkin pie out in the hopes that it will transform itselt into garlands, orange lights and scarecrow people al la cinderella. I mean, if the Brother's Grimm can pull shit like that off, why cannot I?? Hell, I'll even do a bibidy bobidy boo dance if it would save me the trouble of hacking through that mess I call a garage to look for my decorations. Every damn year it's the same damn thing...put the shit away neatly and it will be nice and tidy for you when you want it again. I mean christ, isn't that what we were taught when we were what..? 3?? But no, I just put in there and hope for the best. How can you hope for the best when the very place you are storing your stuff in has an ivy vine that doesn't seem to matter the lack of traditional sunlight...and is about 25 feet long, and starting to choke everything you have suspended on the walls? Who am I kidding?? My exhusband was just in there a couple of hours ago looking for some chairs for a party he's having next week. He didn't notice the vine (which resembles something Jack would be able to climb to find that errant goose that lays the golden eggs) or he chose not to comment. Commenting could mean that either I'm as poor a gardener as I am a housekeeper (and honestly, I'm not that bad a housekeeper, I just don't want to expend the energy by getting up close and personal with pie crust crumbs) or that we might have some area of the garage roof that is in such disrepair that ivy can meander inside. Take your pick, both answers suck.
But, back to the decorations...I'm pretty sure I know where they are. They should be in the area of the coffin I have in there. Yes, I have a coffin in the garage. It's of a stage prop type, and looks quite victorian. It was made for my 40th birthday party - the theme was a jazz funereal. It's black with gold handles and filled with soft cushy pink satin. By the end of the party, the thing was filled with gifts and flowers and now I have no real use for it. I suppose I could use it for what it was made for, one day...but that's a whole nother topic and I don't really expect to ever need one, anyway. When it comes to dying, someone is going to make an exception in my case. I'm sure of it.
So, time to start looking into the Gettysburg fine dining situations, checking into ghost sightings (I had seen something that mentioned a victorian funeral which sounds very very cool) and possibly do something about procuring some clam sauce.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Clean... or make pumpkin pies??
I grew up with a mother who insisted on chores for the kids. Even the mere mention of the word 'chore' makes my nose crinkle. Chore..what an awful word. Kids don't want to do chores, and I don't for one minute buy that crap that it makes us better people. Having an ability to clean a bathroom at the age of 6 makes you a freak, not a better person. I'd fill the sink with water, sprinkle in some comet and pretend all the toothbrushes were divers. I have no idea what a comet coated toothbrush did to myself and the family but I'm sure it wasn't good for business. I never understood why it was necessary to sweep the floor three times a day, either. It's not like we were tracking in burrs and thistles from the wild. We lived on a quiet street with pavement. The sound of a washing machine filling, agitating and spinning can lull me to sleep. My mother did about 75 loads of laundry a week; with the machine in the room next to mine that could have been a disaster. Instead, I got used to letting the sound have the opposite desired effect. What I didn't get was why so many loads...It's not like she was using different water settings. Everything was washed in cold water, with the same water level. So, what was the purpose of seperating out my dad's undershirts and handkerchiefs from the towels and jeans??
So, Marianne and Jim are coming for a week long visit on the 15th. Hands downs, my mother and my sister are better housekeepers than I am. My sister has taken the process of cleaning her house to a manic level that is paralleled only in asylums. She's more my mother's daughter than I am. I, on the other hand, have little in common with either of my parents when it comes to keeping house. I'd rather lounge on the sofa after work than paint the bathroom, change the curtains or move the garage 6 inches to the left. I don't see the purpose of dusting the top of the washing machine or dryer. Why do I need paper lined cabinets for my pots and pans? Does anyone ever really see the dust bunny camp beneath my sofa? If you keeps the lights dim, who really notices the handprints near the lightswitches? Why bother weeding the garden when it's hot? In another month I'll just pull the whole shooting match up anyway.
What I do need to attend to is the refrigerator. I've got enough dried greens at the bottom of the produce drawers that you'd think I was intentionally drying herbs down there. The gaskets need attention, as well. I could move the 'majiuana, hey, at least it's not crack' post card off the front of the refrigerator but then I'd have to clean the door, too.
The stairway needs to be dusted, polished and vacuumed. You can write your name with your finger tip on the landing. Maxi-cat like to poke her paws through the knewels, and you can see a couple of those marks too.
The voodoo dolls and photos on the wall could use the dust rag fairie, too.
There are a few spiderwebs in the foyer. Admittedly, I don't hang out in there overmuch. It's really just a jumping ground for the rest of the house. Shoes are kicked off in there, gym bags deposited, mail and especially bills forgotten. The only thing of any majour importance in there is the wine fridge. If the house ever goes up in flames, at least the wine is close enough to an exit that it could probably be saved.
I need to autumnize the front of the house. That has to be this weekend. I am hoping to get to that today. If not, then it's a project I'll have to do after work one day, and you know how inviting that damn sofa is.
I need to get the Fios dude here, too. When my kids moved out, not only did they take their beds and leave me with the clean up, but the fios situation is poor. One set up in the living room and one set up in my room are fine. There is one in the basement that is a complete waste of money and I think one in my son's room that is only satisfying the television watching urges of the above stairs servants.
I should mop the floors. There's no excuse for the condition of my floors other than I really hate to do it.
I have to clean the bathrooms. It's times like this I wish I only had one, but I have two and both are not up to the standards of my father and his ever present bottle of Jubilee.
I believe my mother gets her housekeeping habits from her mother, who insisted on folding dirty clothes before they were placed in the hamper. With these kinds of genes, it's a wonder I'm from this family at all.
So, Marianne and Jim are coming for a week long visit on the 15th. Hands downs, my mother and my sister are better housekeepers than I am. My sister has taken the process of cleaning her house to a manic level that is paralleled only in asylums. She's more my mother's daughter than I am. I, on the other hand, have little in common with either of my parents when it comes to keeping house. I'd rather lounge on the sofa after work than paint the bathroom, change the curtains or move the garage 6 inches to the left. I don't see the purpose of dusting the top of the washing machine or dryer. Why do I need paper lined cabinets for my pots and pans? Does anyone ever really see the dust bunny camp beneath my sofa? If you keeps the lights dim, who really notices the handprints near the lightswitches? Why bother weeding the garden when it's hot? In another month I'll just pull the whole shooting match up anyway.
What I do need to attend to is the refrigerator. I've got enough dried greens at the bottom of the produce drawers that you'd think I was intentionally drying herbs down there. The gaskets need attention, as well. I could move the 'majiuana, hey, at least it's not crack' post card off the front of the refrigerator but then I'd have to clean the door, too.
The stairway needs to be dusted, polished and vacuumed. You can write your name with your finger tip on the landing. Maxi-cat like to poke her paws through the knewels, and you can see a couple of those marks too.
The voodoo dolls and photos on the wall could use the dust rag fairie, too.
There are a few spiderwebs in the foyer. Admittedly, I don't hang out in there overmuch. It's really just a jumping ground for the rest of the house. Shoes are kicked off in there, gym bags deposited, mail and especially bills forgotten. The only thing of any majour importance in there is the wine fridge. If the house ever goes up in flames, at least the wine is close enough to an exit that it could probably be saved.
I need to autumnize the front of the house. That has to be this weekend. I am hoping to get to that today. If not, then it's a project I'll have to do after work one day, and you know how inviting that damn sofa is.
I need to get the Fios dude here, too. When my kids moved out, not only did they take their beds and leave me with the clean up, but the fios situation is poor. One set up in the living room and one set up in my room are fine. There is one in the basement that is a complete waste of money and I think one in my son's room that is only satisfying the television watching urges of the above stairs servants.
I should mop the floors. There's no excuse for the condition of my floors other than I really hate to do it.
I have to clean the bathrooms. It's times like this I wish I only had one, but I have two and both are not up to the standards of my father and his ever present bottle of Jubilee.
I believe my mother gets her housekeeping habits from her mother, who insisted on folding dirty clothes before they were placed in the hamper. With these kinds of genes, it's a wonder I'm from this family at all.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Broken cookies don't count
The books are cooked, the fix is in....it is officially tee minus 62 minutes to cocktail hour. And, oddly enough, I still don't know what the cocktail du jour is.
Fridays at work are a piece of cake...cake dripping with chocolate sauce, topped with sweet strawberries and a bowl of freshly whipped cream to dip your toes in. One cafe is closed, one is open, and I have a quiet office to myself to ponder the affairs of the vagabond finance fairies. I still have 38 unanswered (and unopened) emails but you really have to draw the line somewhere. Enough is enough.
I did have some concerns abour the lack of prep that was attended to on Thursday afternoon. My staff never let up for a minute, yet still....very little in the way of advance prep was prepped in advance. Tuesday will suck like a hoover for all of them. I, goddess of the demi monde and convection oven that I am...waved my magic tong and lent a hand. Well, actually, I jobbed it out, but who's going to quibble when they see that I got meat...lots and lots of meat and cheese cut for them. 5 turkeys, 2 hams, 2 roast beefs, and enough cheese to choke a rat are all sliced and ready to go. Before you get yourselves all excited, none of it is portioned out. Getting it cut is as close to godlike as I come. They'll have to deal with the weights and measures themselves. I also baked more cookies than Mrs. Fields. Kids like cookies. I don't care if you're 3 or 83, who doesn't love a cookie?
I must confess, I sampled a few. I have a theory that broken cookies contain zero calories. However, break them yourself and the calorie magic doesn't work. They have to be naturally broken. Since I was baking them they had no time to actually break in transit. After all, they were only moving from the pan to the oven and then to a rack. No time for damage. So, upon close inspection I discovered several mutant varieties. Cookies so distorted in shape that any child would run screaming for cover at the discovery of such a cookie. Loathe as I am to waste anything, naturally, I put those cookies out of their potential misery. A warm and gooey chocolate chip cookie , what more could you ask for? Don't answer that. I was at work, after all... how much could you possibly hope for there?
The quiet of the kitchen also gives me opportunity to inspect the kitchen. The pizza area was quite impressively clean. I did discover 8 hardening slices of swiss cheese left in the deli cabinet. By the time Tuesday rolls around those cheese slices could be strapped to the bottoms of a bums feet and he could walk a mile before his flesh touched the pavement. I appreciate the attempt to protect my food cost, but those slices will deal like cards on Tuesday.
The walk in refrigerator and freezer demand some attention. Nothing rattles my cage more than disaray in the boxes. I hate seeing cheese and produce and eggs and salad dressing on the same shelf. I hate seeing half a sliced turkey far and away from the whole turkeys. They are family, they like to be together. They talk turkey when no one is listening and the cut turkey ends up feeling bad about himself because he is not privy to the conversation. I hate seeing the quiznos shit mixed in with the house shit. I hate finding 4 grapefruit clinging to cover in the bottom of a box...put those suckers into a bin! It wasn't horrible, but it wasn't something I'd photograph for Time magazine, either.
The new chef, that naughty boy....failed to locked his coolers at all. tsk tsk tsk. He doesn't know me well enough to know that constant threat of a kick in the ass is as real as the nose on his face. All he needs do is query the 'bonbon' to know I mean business. She has enough footprints on her ass from me to lead Hansel home again. 5 crumb like things on the stove top and a bag of rolls beneath his spotless counter and I'm none too displeased. Something does have to be done about that Mets hat, though....if he'd don a Yankees hat I might not ever insist he wear something professional. The hat situation is my fault, however..they are on backorder.
To the back of the kitchen, the cold prep area. I don't have much to say about this area. The music coming from this part of the kitchen generally sucks but it seems to keep the bonbon and the teamaker happy and productive. There was a festering bucket of sanitation fluid and a disintergrating towel swimming in it, but hey...at least they did have their sanitizer buckets out, eh?
There has been a knotted hairball on the floor of the ladies room for a week. It looks like someone had a huge almost dreadlock in their hair, yanked it out and tossed it on the floor. I know this strange guy comes in to clean the toilets every day (or sniff the air, who knows?) but apparently, he comes sans broom. I look at this thing every day and wonder if anyone else has noticed it. I leave it there because I wonder if the bathroom sweeping fairies will come for it.
Okay...time to wash the dye out of my hair, get my self presentable for date night, coax some ice into a glass of Tito's Handmade Vodka, pick up Lou and have at this weekend.
Fridays at work are a piece of cake...cake dripping with chocolate sauce, topped with sweet strawberries and a bowl of freshly whipped cream to dip your toes in. One cafe is closed, one is open, and I have a quiet office to myself to ponder the affairs of the vagabond finance fairies. I still have 38 unanswered (and unopened) emails but you really have to draw the line somewhere. Enough is enough.
I did have some concerns abour the lack of prep that was attended to on Thursday afternoon. My staff never let up for a minute, yet still....very little in the way of advance prep was prepped in advance. Tuesday will suck like a hoover for all of them. I, goddess of the demi monde and convection oven that I am...waved my magic tong and lent a hand. Well, actually, I jobbed it out, but who's going to quibble when they see that I got meat...lots and lots of meat and cheese cut for them. 5 turkeys, 2 hams, 2 roast beefs, and enough cheese to choke a rat are all sliced and ready to go. Before you get yourselves all excited, none of it is portioned out. Getting it cut is as close to godlike as I come. They'll have to deal with the weights and measures themselves. I also baked more cookies than Mrs. Fields. Kids like cookies. I don't care if you're 3 or 83, who doesn't love a cookie?
I must confess, I sampled a few. I have a theory that broken cookies contain zero calories. However, break them yourself and the calorie magic doesn't work. They have to be naturally broken. Since I was baking them they had no time to actually break in transit. After all, they were only moving from the pan to the oven and then to a rack. No time for damage. So, upon close inspection I discovered several mutant varieties. Cookies so distorted in shape that any child would run screaming for cover at the discovery of such a cookie. Loathe as I am to waste anything, naturally, I put those cookies out of their potential misery. A warm and gooey chocolate chip cookie , what more could you ask for? Don't answer that. I was at work, after all... how much could you possibly hope for there?
The quiet of the kitchen also gives me opportunity to inspect the kitchen. The pizza area was quite impressively clean. I did discover 8 hardening slices of swiss cheese left in the deli cabinet. By the time Tuesday rolls around those cheese slices could be strapped to the bottoms of a bums feet and he could walk a mile before his flesh touched the pavement. I appreciate the attempt to protect my food cost, but those slices will deal like cards on Tuesday.
The walk in refrigerator and freezer demand some attention. Nothing rattles my cage more than disaray in the boxes. I hate seeing cheese and produce and eggs and salad dressing on the same shelf. I hate seeing half a sliced turkey far and away from the whole turkeys. They are family, they like to be together. They talk turkey when no one is listening and the cut turkey ends up feeling bad about himself because he is not privy to the conversation. I hate seeing the quiznos shit mixed in with the house shit. I hate finding 4 grapefruit clinging to cover in the bottom of a box...put those suckers into a bin! It wasn't horrible, but it wasn't something I'd photograph for Time magazine, either.
The new chef, that naughty boy....failed to locked his coolers at all. tsk tsk tsk. He doesn't know me well enough to know that constant threat of a kick in the ass is as real as the nose on his face. All he needs do is query the 'bonbon' to know I mean business. She has enough footprints on her ass from me to lead Hansel home again. 5 crumb like things on the stove top and a bag of rolls beneath his spotless counter and I'm none too displeased. Something does have to be done about that Mets hat, though....if he'd don a Yankees hat I might not ever insist he wear something professional. The hat situation is my fault, however..they are on backorder.
To the back of the kitchen, the cold prep area. I don't have much to say about this area. The music coming from this part of the kitchen generally sucks but it seems to keep the bonbon and the teamaker happy and productive. There was a festering bucket of sanitation fluid and a disintergrating towel swimming in it, but hey...at least they did have their sanitizer buckets out, eh?
There has been a knotted hairball on the floor of the ladies room for a week. It looks like someone had a huge almost dreadlock in their hair, yanked it out and tossed it on the floor. I know this strange guy comes in to clean the toilets every day (or sniff the air, who knows?) but apparently, he comes sans broom. I look at this thing every day and wonder if anyone else has noticed it. I leave it there because I wonder if the bathroom sweeping fairies will come for it.
Okay...time to wash the dye out of my hair, get my self presentable for date night, coax some ice into a glass of Tito's Handmade Vodka, pick up Lou and have at this weekend.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
And the really good thing is....
Other than the fact that cocktail hour is a mere 22 hours away....the really good thing is there were no additional casualties after the sub par cook and the nervous nelly. For all intents and purposes, the first week of Fall Semester, 2009 is neatly and securely packed away in the vault. Done deal. Withe the exception of a scrapes, bruises, nicks and burns, we are no worse for wear. All plates cleaned and accounted for, thank you oh so very much. Good by and good luck, thank you very much, you're on you're own, good night.
Which brings us to this holiday weekend. Sure, I have to go to work tomorrow to flash the numbers and cook the books, so to say..but as far as I can tell, the weekend began about 3 hours ago. In keeping with my latest tradition of spending money like a drunken sailor on shore leave, I had some interest in booking lodgings down the shore for the weekend. While we've spent almost every Saturday this past summer in Belmar, we have not experienced the Ocean City boardwalk at all this summer. Not that we're overmuch fond of a town so dry you could dehydrate apples on the sidewalk (can't find a drop of booze in that town for the price of all the tea in china) but we do appreciate the efforts of the entire community to be welcoming. Just don't be a boozer, that is.. So, before Lou and I ever set foot in Ocean City, we make the obligatory stop to the liquor store on the city limit line.
'Twasn't in the cards this weekend. I looked into a few places but nothing reached out and grabbed me or my wallet. Grabbing me or my wallet would have been a cinch, too...I'm as easy as a cheap date. I wasn't opposed to spending the money, I just don't like being forced to book more nights than I desire. A three night minimum on a holiday that only encompasses three days means ditching work either Friday or Tuesday. Since I'm already ditching work next Friday I don't see how I could possibly hit the company up again for time away. So, the Osborne Inn, Manna and the chef's most amazing paella, and even more sadly, Sea Isle City's Basillicos will not be graced with our presence this year. More's the pity, I say.
Saturday is looking to be quite the lovely day on the more northern stretch of the jersey shore. Belmar has the most magnificent beach I've ever been on. Sand as soft as powder, the beach is smoke free, and we are free to picnic and drink wine (out of a cranberry juice bottle....why yes, officer, I always drink cranberry juice on the beach, it keeps me from peeing in the ocean....) to our hearts content. This may be the last weekend I can get down there. Too many other obligations on the horizon which will prevent additional sojourns.
The weekend menu is shaping up. The food challenge at NetCookingTalk.Com is Battle Burger. Strange that a burger battle happens to fall on a holiday weekend that literally screams for burgers, but who am I to question the ways and works of the secret challenge. I just participate, ya know..? So, Saturday, after a full 8 hours on the beach we'll be back home drinking bourbon sidecars and prepping dinner. Not quite sure what an appropriate first course is when burgers are the headliner...but I'm thinking fried zucchini slices with goat cheese and mango slices. The burger must be served with sauteed mushrooms and swiss cheese, not that 1/2 a pound of ground beef needs a friend, but in a for a penny, in for a pound, I say. Before our arteries have a chance to unclog, I'm considering a creme brulee for dessert, or chocolate pots de creme.
Sunday is a bonus night...I get to treat it like a Saturday and start the jazz and liquor parade all over again. Hard to think this far in advance what the cocktail will be.. but the first course is a warm salad of green beans with pan fried potatoes & pancetta. Dinner will be slow braised ham hocks over gnocchi with butternut squash, walnuts and dried cranberries. A dinner like this is screaming for cornbread and I shall oblige, naturally. It's also demanding a pumpkin pie for dessert, which I shall also oblige. Please do forgive if I don't roast and peel a milk pumpkin this early in the season. I'll get around to that chore soon enough.
With a planned menu ( I have no idea what we're doing for Monday, but I surely hope reservations are involved!) the weekend has begun. Crack open the ice trays, it's just about time for jazz and liquor.
Which brings us to this holiday weekend. Sure, I have to go to work tomorrow to flash the numbers and cook the books, so to say..but as far as I can tell, the weekend began about 3 hours ago. In keeping with my latest tradition of spending money like a drunken sailor on shore leave, I had some interest in booking lodgings down the shore for the weekend. While we've spent almost every Saturday this past summer in Belmar, we have not experienced the Ocean City boardwalk at all this summer. Not that we're overmuch fond of a town so dry you could dehydrate apples on the sidewalk (can't find a drop of booze in that town for the price of all the tea in china) but we do appreciate the efforts of the entire community to be welcoming. Just don't be a boozer, that is.. So, before Lou and I ever set foot in Ocean City, we make the obligatory stop to the liquor store on the city limit line.
'Twasn't in the cards this weekend. I looked into a few places but nothing reached out and grabbed me or my wallet. Grabbing me or my wallet would have been a cinch, too...I'm as easy as a cheap date. I wasn't opposed to spending the money, I just don't like being forced to book more nights than I desire. A three night minimum on a holiday that only encompasses three days means ditching work either Friday or Tuesday. Since I'm already ditching work next Friday I don't see how I could possibly hit the company up again for time away. So, the Osborne Inn, Manna and the chef's most amazing paella, and even more sadly, Sea Isle City's Basillicos will not be graced with our presence this year. More's the pity, I say.
Saturday is looking to be quite the lovely day on the more northern stretch of the jersey shore. Belmar has the most magnificent beach I've ever been on. Sand as soft as powder, the beach is smoke free, and we are free to picnic and drink wine (out of a cranberry juice bottle....why yes, officer, I always drink cranberry juice on the beach, it keeps me from peeing in the ocean....) to our hearts content. This may be the last weekend I can get down there. Too many other obligations on the horizon which will prevent additional sojourns.
The weekend menu is shaping up. The food challenge at NetCookingTalk.Com is Battle Burger. Strange that a burger battle happens to fall on a holiday weekend that literally screams for burgers, but who am I to question the ways and works of the secret challenge. I just participate, ya know..? So, Saturday, after a full 8 hours on the beach we'll be back home drinking bourbon sidecars and prepping dinner. Not quite sure what an appropriate first course is when burgers are the headliner...but I'm thinking fried zucchini slices with goat cheese and mango slices. The burger must be served with sauteed mushrooms and swiss cheese, not that 1/2 a pound of ground beef needs a friend, but in a for a penny, in for a pound, I say. Before our arteries have a chance to unclog, I'm considering a creme brulee for dessert, or chocolate pots de creme.
Sunday is a bonus night...I get to treat it like a Saturday and start the jazz and liquor parade all over again. Hard to think this far in advance what the cocktail will be.. but the first course is a warm salad of green beans with pan fried potatoes & pancetta. Dinner will be slow braised ham hocks over gnocchi with butternut squash, walnuts and dried cranberries. A dinner like this is screaming for cornbread and I shall oblige, naturally. It's also demanding a pumpkin pie for dessert, which I shall also oblige. Please do forgive if I don't roast and peel a milk pumpkin this early in the season. I'll get around to that chore soon enough.
With a planned menu ( I have no idea what we're doing for Monday, but I surely hope reservations are involved!) the weekend has begun. Crack open the ice trays, it's just about time for jazz and liquor.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Wednesday 2 September - stop folding that towel
Sorry I missed last night, but you try spending a day with your boss who critiques the way rice falls from a 50 pound bag and close your books for the month at the same time...see if you have the energy to pass a coherent thought from your fingers after that. Her presence caused one unfortunate towel to be folded and wrung about 100 times as Xanax replacement therapy. She later informed me the towel folder was a wonderful hire...in fact, she was quite pleased with everyone I'd hired. But oh how she can frazzle a person. She intimidates some members of my staff so much that the mere mention of an upcoming visit causes them to swear profusely and then begin assuming prairie dog positions...they burrow down beneath the surface until the storm passes.
We met with the client who is quite pleased with the first two days. She appreciated the small upgrade to the serving/presentation collection that she encouraged me to purchase more. That kind of encouragement, in front of my boss...well that's just the kind of thing you should avoid doing to a shopping, kitch collecting junkie. That was carte blanche, premium weed to me....sure, I'll buy more. Don't you worry.
Okay, I've got to get in there now. I have stories still from yesterday and I'm quite convinced that today will reap a bevy more..
See you later.
We met with the client who is quite pleased with the first two days. She appreciated the small upgrade to the serving/presentation collection that she encouraged me to purchase more. That kind of encouragement, in front of my boss...well that's just the kind of thing you should avoid doing to a shopping, kitch collecting junkie. That was carte blanche, premium weed to me....sure, I'll buy more. Don't you worry.
Okay, I've got to get in there now. I have stories still from yesterday and I'm quite convinced that today will reap a bevy more..
See you later.
Monday, August 31, 2009
31 August - not so screwed, but who took my damn plates?
It's a P&L, and on top of that, a P&L that is budgeted to barely break even..so I have no budget to buy nice things that make the eating venture more pleasurable...so I did what I always do, spend the money anyway and worry about it in the next life.
Got really cute presentation plates from Pier 1, 5 of them. Two were in use, and the rest were neatly stacked on top of the salad bar with a couple of other serving platters. When I walked out towards the salad bar to check the pans I notice 2 plates are missing. Naturally, I asked both cashiers if any customers came through their lines with really swank glass plates instead of the typical eco friendly paper we sport...and neither saw a thing. Makes me wonder how they know what to charge for the food if they don't bother to actually look at what is placed in front of them. "oh no, I didn't see them, they didn't come through my line, oh no".... Where, upon further inspection (I walked through the dining room looking at each table to see what the customers were eating on) sure enough, I find some precocious tot eating pancakes on my presentation plate. I hope I didn't freak the kid out too much when I grabbed the plate which only had the remaining smear of aunt jemima slicked across the gleam as proof my plate had been pilfered. "oh.." clueless mother of tot said "are these the wrong plates?" 'No, of course not" I wanted to reply..."I'd hoped someone would help themselves to my special presentation plates which were placed out of the line of sight and apart from every other eating aparatus so my plates wouldn't feel left out. You don't need college, you're smart enough!"
I'd give the entire day an 88 out of a hundred. The new staff was baptized with fire and all but one is going on to the next circle. Sadly, one, the part time , evening grill person is not cut out for this type of work. What I don't quite understand is how you can work in a kitchen in an elementary school and deal with a gaggle of precocious tots and their endless cantankering for chicken fingers and french fries ...know the job you accepted is clearly on a college campus, at the grill on a college campus..and not be able to deal with a gaggle of young americans and their endless cantankering for chicken fingers and fries. What's the difference other than a few pubic hairs and pimples??
Time to place another ad on Craig's List. I should have stock in the company, I spend so much time placing ads there.
My boss is coming tomorrow. This is why I say there is no god.
Got really cute presentation plates from Pier 1, 5 of them. Two were in use, and the rest were neatly stacked on top of the salad bar with a couple of other serving platters. When I walked out towards the salad bar to check the pans I notice 2 plates are missing. Naturally, I asked both cashiers if any customers came through their lines with really swank glass plates instead of the typical eco friendly paper we sport...and neither saw a thing. Makes me wonder how they know what to charge for the food if they don't bother to actually look at what is placed in front of them. "oh no, I didn't see them, they didn't come through my line, oh no".... Where, upon further inspection (I walked through the dining room looking at each table to see what the customers were eating on) sure enough, I find some precocious tot eating pancakes on my presentation plate. I hope I didn't freak the kid out too much when I grabbed the plate which only had the remaining smear of aunt jemima slicked across the gleam as proof my plate had been pilfered. "oh.." clueless mother of tot said "are these the wrong plates?" 'No, of course not" I wanted to reply..."I'd hoped someone would help themselves to my special presentation plates which were placed out of the line of sight and apart from every other eating aparatus so my plates wouldn't feel left out. You don't need college, you're smart enough!"
I'd give the entire day an 88 out of a hundred. The new staff was baptized with fire and all but one is going on to the next circle. Sadly, one, the part time , evening grill person is not cut out for this type of work. What I don't quite understand is how you can work in a kitchen in an elementary school and deal with a gaggle of precocious tots and their endless cantankering for chicken fingers and french fries ...know the job you accepted is clearly on a college campus, at the grill on a college campus..and not be able to deal with a gaggle of young americans and their endless cantankering for chicken fingers and fries. What's the difference other than a few pubic hairs and pimples??
Time to place another ad on Craig's List. I should have stock in the company, I spend so much time placing ads there.
My boss is coming tomorrow. This is why I say there is no god.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
30 August 2009, Sunday
Just starting this thing today means you have no idea how I got to this point.....and since it's a 47 year and change calliope ride, how can I possibly hope to adequately bring you up to speed? Cutting to the chase, the cafes open tomorrow at the college. We've been on summer slumber mode since the last week in May...and bad habits have taken hold like mold on bleu. No one punches the time clock fully dressed and ready for work. No one has been wearing hats. The damn cell phones ring more than the bells of St. Mary's. The opening is not going to be easy for my staff....
There are two cafe's. One has a full kitchen, all production. The other is simply a grill and a quizno's (of all things, oh how horrid). Of the 15 staff members I have, 6 of them are new, 3 of them are fairly useless, one is only partly useless because he only works part time, and the rest put in an honest day's work.
For the record, I am the director of dining services. My previous appointments have been as executive chef on large college campuses or in corporate arenas. I know food, I can manage time better than Big Ben and I know what a kitchen can produce. I do not like the financial aspects of my job and with fervently that accounting fairies would come into my office in the wee hours of the night and do all my paperwork for me. I'd even leave delicious morsels as rewards if only they'd appear.
First staff members are in the house tomorrow at 6:30am. It's my plan to be there by 6. No, I will skip my daily torture event at the gym and go directly to work. I've spent 200 bucks on autumnal decorations (which my boss is going to skewer me like a kabob for). It's my plan to have both joints decorated before we open.
If there is a god, which I seriously doubt, actually, totally doubt, we'll get through all services tomorrow without over much rancor and with great aplomb. Patrons will sing our praises and the accounting fairies will pay me a visit.
I do not expect to sleep a wink tonight. If I do, I expect to have that recurring theme dream where it's christmas and I've neglected to wrap presents, or bake cookies or decorate the tree.... In short, it's the how screwed am I dream......
There are two cafe's. One has a full kitchen, all production. The other is simply a grill and a quizno's (of all things, oh how horrid). Of the 15 staff members I have, 6 of them are new, 3 of them are fairly useless, one is only partly useless because he only works part time, and the rest put in an honest day's work.
For the record, I am the director of dining services. My previous appointments have been as executive chef on large college campuses or in corporate arenas. I know food, I can manage time better than Big Ben and I know what a kitchen can produce. I do not like the financial aspects of my job and with fervently that accounting fairies would come into my office in the wee hours of the night and do all my paperwork for me. I'd even leave delicious morsels as rewards if only they'd appear.
First staff members are in the house tomorrow at 6:30am. It's my plan to be there by 6. No, I will skip my daily torture event at the gym and go directly to work. I've spent 200 bucks on autumnal decorations (which my boss is going to skewer me like a kabob for). It's my plan to have both joints decorated before we open.
If there is a god, which I seriously doubt, actually, totally doubt, we'll get through all services tomorrow without over much rancor and with great aplomb. Patrons will sing our praises and the accounting fairies will pay me a visit.
I do not expect to sleep a wink tonight. If I do, I expect to have that recurring theme dream where it's christmas and I've neglected to wrap presents, or bake cookies or decorate the tree.... In short, it's the how screwed am I dream......
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)