Last week my newsfeed on Facebook and Instagram started getting flooded with sexy lingerie ads, gifts and recipes. Every other scroll there is another one. This morning I woke up and saw on our Alexa screen “Top 20 trending recipes for Valentine’s Day.”
Before I really get going on this I want to acknowledge that some people really look forward to Valentine’s Day. Many people get married and celebrate their anniversaries on February 14th. I think that if it’s your thing, you have every reason to enjoy it.
I want to talk about what how I feel about Valentine’s Day. With almost all of our other American holidays, none make many people feel so left out, lonely, depressed and miserable.
On St. Patrick’s Day everyone is Irish and can celebrate it. I hated not knowing my nationalities and my mother made is worse every year by saying, “Don’t worry you can wear green today, everyone is Irish on St. Patrick’s Day.” Well thanks so much!
Next the Christians have Easter and the jewish people have Passover. On Memorial Day & Veteran’s Day we remember those who died for or served/are serving our country.
Halloween is considered a pagan holiday, but anyone can dress up, go trick or treating or give out candy. The people who feel like its the devils holiday have All Saints Day the following day.
Thanksgiving, everyone can be thankful for something, no matter how small it may be.
Finally the Christians have Christmas and the jewish people have Hanukah.
New Years is celebrated by the world, hoping for a wonderful new year. I know I left out other nationalities and what they celebrate, but they celebrate! That’s my point.
I noticed how Valentine’s Day made me feel early on. I hated that Charlie Brown didn’t get many Valentine’s like everyone else. I hated even more that in my own classrooms some kids didn’t get as many cards as others. I knew they were disappointed. I gave everyone a card, even if I didn’t like them. 😉
Valentine’s Day is a commercial holiday that retail stores, florists, card manufacturers, restaurants, and jewelry stores cash in on big time. There is so much pressure on people to give nice gifts to show how much they love someone.
Over the last ten years on social media people post their gifts. I am shocked and blown away by what people gave and received. I am not jealous, I am dumbfounded!
I am also amazed how many people want to go out for a romantic dinner. Remember this is me talking here…why would you want to go to an overcrowded restaurant that is serving a limited price gouged menu? Why would you want to be eat a meal that is being hurried along so they can turn over your table. It’s amateur night, just like going out for an expensive New Year’s Eve dinner.
Looking at so many of my friends on Facebook who post such sad posts on Valentine’s Day makes me feel like I am in the third grade again and watching everyone look in their paper mailboxes and pull out their Valentine’s Day cards.
This year especially Valentine’s Day will be extra tough for all the folks that have lost someone. I am dreading the day for my friend who lost his wife last year. It will be the last “first” since her death in March. The four of us ate together twice a week, every week. On Valentine’s Day, we ate together and enjoyed some wine and a lot of laughs, but nothing more special than all our other dinners together.
I have had a “valentine” since 1985. To us, we love each other every day. We show our love by the way we treat each other all year. I make beautiful dinners all year, I don’t have to be guilted into making a lobster or fillet mignon just because it’s Valentine’s Day.
Photo from Cafe Press
The commercial push of products and that so may people get sucked into makes me want to scream. I am not condemning people who want to give their love some flowers, take them to dinner or just get them a nice card. I am condemning how people get taken advantage of and pressured into doing things they don’t want to do or more importantly can’t afford to do.
Happy Valentine’s Day. Don’t get sucked in. Wait to go out for a delicious dinner another night where you will get better food and service. Surprise you partner with a bouquet of flowers on another day, just out of the blue. If you want to be romantic, be romantic whenever you feel like it. Call or check in with someone alone and have a little compassion for your single friends that are reminded how alone they are and sick of everyone’s drippy, rub it in photos and gifts.
Today I wanted to start a recipe series titled, “Bringing Back Old School Favorites.” I know the title suggests different things to different people. The old school favorites I am referring to are dishes that have been labeled as outdated according to the fine-dining world. Not extinct, but hard to find, that is until recently.
Back in 2013, I watched Chef Emeril Lagasse make a dish called Steak Diane. As he talked about it he explained that this was a dish served tableside in fine dining restaurants in the 50s & 60s. I watched him prepare it. It looked intimidating. You had to set the sauce on fire!
I went to a few fine dining restaurants growing up, for my sixteenth & eighteenth birthdays in NJ. I never got to go to one in “the city,” New York City that is. My father hated the city. I did get to go to a famous one in New Orleans. I was with my parents on a family vacation, we were headed back to NJ from my Aunt’s in TX and stopped in NOLA for a couple days. I was eighteen and could drink legally there! 🍹🍹🍹 That’s another blog post story!
Let me set the stage of “old school” fine dining…these restaurants were called “white tablecloth” restaurants that required men to wear a shirt, tie, and jacket. They offered valet parking. People loved this because they just drove up to the door, put the car in park, and headed straight into the restaurant. The valet driver would give you a tag that matched with your car so it will be easy for them to retrieve after dinner. The valet driver would then park your car and keep an eye on it while you dined, or took it for a spin I am sure if it was a fast car. When he returned your car, you tipped him.
There was a coat check girl when you entered. You gave her your coat and she gave you a tag matching with the one on the hanger of your coat. One of the other duties of the coat check girl was to dig out a tie or jacket to loan a diner who came underdressed. After dinner, when you retrieved your coat, you tipped her. There was no such thing as coats thrown over the back of a chair or an empty chair.
Waiters usually wore black suits or tuxedos. There were waiters and a Maitre d’ or Captain. The waiters were all part of a magical experience for their diners, to treat them to the lap of luxury. The waiters held the chair out for ladies to sit down. They took the orders, made recommendations, and provided table-side service to their tables.
Other waiters served the food, brushed the crumbs away from the table in between courses, and refolded your napkin when you came back from the restroom.
There were water boys who also doubled as busy boys. Their job was you make sure your water glass was never empty and to take away the dirty dishes.
Now the Maitre d’ or the Captain was the head honcho. He took reservations, sat people, opened and poured the wine, oversaw the waitstaff. He also went around and checked in with diners making sure everything was to their liking. He was the guy in charge.
Fine dining restaurants today still have all of those things, but old school dining had tableside service.
Tableside service refers to dishes that were prepared right at your table. Waiters became part of dinner theater, chefs loved it because it took off pressure in the kitchen.
The waiters would wheel up their carts and amaze and dazzle diners with all sorts of magic. They could make an emulsion appear right before their very eyes! They were masters of the art of flambéing and made it look spectacular and dangerous.
Each waiter in a restaurant was given the exact same ingredients on their carts for each of the dishes, but each had their own special way of preparing the dishes. These dishes came together quickly and made with precision.
One of the dishes prepared table side was Steak Diane. What exactly is it beside delicious?
Steak Diane is a tableside flambéed dish. The steak is pounded thin and often brandy, cognac or Madeira is poured over it, as well as a sauce of such ingredients as butter, mushrooms, mustard, shallots, cream, Worchester sauce, and meat stock.
Flambé is a cooking procedure where alcohol is added to a hot pan to create a burst of flames. The word means “flamed” in French. Wikipedia
According to a 1948 citation, the dish was invented at the Drake Room, at 56th Street and Park Avenue in Manhattan’s Drake Hotel, and was named after chef Beniamino Schiavon’s small daughter.
Others say it was supposedly named after the Roman goddess, Diana or Diane. Diana was the Goddess of the Hunt and also the Goddess of the Moon. Steak Diane was originally a way of serving venison.
So why did Steak Diane become an outdated dish and taken off menus? Diners began eating healthier fare and demonizing the saturated fats found in butter and beef.
Restaurants were mandated to install expensive sprinkler systems. Tableside cooking in the dining rooms scared owners they would soak their guests if the sprinkler system went off. Steak Diane’s star began to fade and died a peaceful death around 1979.
The first time I made Steak Diane was in 2014. I was intimated as hell. I looked in all my cookbooks and read how each of them made the dish. They were all similar, but also different from each other. They all flambéed in the recipes. I noticed that recipes I found on the internet didn’t use thinly pounded steak anymore. Steak cuts like flank steak, filet, skirt steak, sirloin, and flat iron steak could be made medium-rare or medium how people like their steaks done now and not well done.
Steak Diane with Crinkle Cut Fries
My first try and the recipe went off without a hitch. I put my big girl pants on and pulled off my first flambé! It was as delicious as I imagined Emeril’s was! I shared the dish on my Facebook page and people didn’t know what Steak Diane was, especially the younger generations. Now they did and I thought it was pretty exciting to share this long lost dish.
Since then I’ve made Steak Diane dozens and dozens of times. I actually taught my cooking class how to make it. When I pan seared the steak in my cast iron pan, I thought the fire department would be pulling up any second because the room filled with smoke.
We quickly opened the doors to vent the smoke out. I am sure the place smelled like steak for days! I made the on the spot decision to not ignite the cognac. I showed my class that if they are afraid to set the alcohol on fire, turn off the flame, add the alcohol and turn the flame back on low to cook out the alcohol. It does taste the same, but having it burst into flames is way more fun!
I usually cook alone in my kitchen, but one night Marty walked in just as I ignited the pan. “Holy shit what are you doing? You are going to burn the house down.” I told him, “Settle down there sparky I have this under control.”
I looked online today and found a shit load of Steak Diane recipes. It seems since 2017 the dish is making a comeback. Gordon Ramsey’s recipe uses small sirloin steaks. Guy Fieri uses filet mignon. Emeril uses pounded filet mignon. I just saw that the Cheesecake Factory has Steak Diane on their menu.
I hope you will try my recipe, please don’t flambé if you don’t want to. Don’t be intimidated, it’s only a steak. I like to serve mine with lots of different potato side dishes and a salad.
Steak Diane with Mini Golden Hasselback Potatoes & Mixed Greens Salad
Steak Diane
1 lb steak of your choice: flat iron, skirt, tenderloin, filets, rib eye etc. Kosher salt and freshly grated black pepper 4 Tbsp butter divided 4 Tbsp finely minced shallots 3 Tbsp cognac 1 cup beef broth divided 2 tsp dijon mustard 2 tsp Worchestershire sauce
Serves 2
It is important to have everything ready for the sauce before you cook the steaks.
Take the steak out 30 minutes before cooking trimming off any excess fat. After the steak has come to room temp season with kosher salt and pepper on both sides.Preheat a large skillet or cast iron pan. Add 2 Tbsp butter and let melt. Once the butter is bubbling, add seasoned steaks and cook. The amount of cook time will be based on the thickness of your steak and how you like it cooked. For example I use flat iron or skirt which are thinner cuts, I cook 3-4 minutes on each side for a perfect medium rare then let rest on a plate. Turn off pan. Thicker cuts may take 7-8 minutes per side again depending on how you like your steak.
After the steak rests a minimum of 5-7 minutes slice thinly according to the cut of your steak. For example my flat iron or skirt steaks are sliced against the grain. Filet mignons should be kept whole. Rib eyes may be kept whole if each person is getting one whole steak or thinly slice if the steak is larger. Arrange on a serving plate.
Turn the skillet back on to low and add the remaining 2 Tbsp butter and shallots. Saute until just translucent, about 1 minute. Increase the heat to high and add cognac carefully and let cook for 30 seconds. If your pan does ignite don’t panic the flame will go away as soon as the alcohol is burned off. If you are really afraid relax. Turn the heat off, add the cognac, then turn to high and cook for 30 seconds. Add ½ beef broth and use a wooden spoon to scrape up any brown bits stuck to the pan. Sir in mustard and Worcestershire sauce. Cook stirring often until the liquid is reduced about 2-3 minutes. Add the remaining ½ cup of broth and continue to boil, stirring often until the sauce thickens about 3-4 minutes more. Adjust the seasoning according to your taste.
To serve spoon the sauce over the steak. Serve any leftover sauce tableside.
*If you want to be a hotshot tip the pan to flambé like the old school waiters but be careful!
The opposite of yesterday’s carefree summer living photo. Same loose hair, same sunglasses but bundled up since it was 60 degrees colder out this morning. A brisk 12 degrees.
When we sat down for our morning coffee, Marty said, ” I have something I have to tell you.” My quick response was, “Oh God what did you buy?”
He said that he didn’t buy anything, but he’s been thinking about something since last night. He had to be honest with me. Now I really didn’t know what he was going to say.
He said, “It’s about your dinner last night. I just don’t think that it was good and I didn’t enjoy it.” The meal he was talking about was chicken and dumplings.
Let me stop right there and for the record tell you guys that we are not food snobs. If I wasn’t gluten-free, I would still be eating Kraft macaroni and cheese, ramen noodles, Doritios, pizza bites, ding dong‘s, devil dogs, Twinkies, ho hos, and White Castle hamburgers.
We have some gluten-free versions of things that we love and are always on the lookout for it. Pringles and pop tarts are at the top of the list. Marty hit the jackpot today at the dented food store!
OMG I was so stinking excited when Marty showed me his dented food store finds today!
We have frozen food like everyone. We have things like frozen cauliflower pizza crusts and gluten-free breaded chicken tenders. My pantry always includes gluten-free Bisquick, canned beans, corn, Bob’s red mill muffin mix, and a gluten-free box cake mix for a last-minute dessert.
Ready to eat and quick to prepare food is necessary for busy families. Often if I’m using something like the breaded chicken tenders I will try to serve it with something that I’ve made. But sometimes those tenders are served with frozen french fries or tater tot‘s.
Ok, back to Marty telling me why he didn’t care for our dinner last night. Before I got defensive I stopped and listened. “You’re a much better cook than what you made last night.” He continued, “Now I know why kids don’t like their vegetables.” I knew exactly what he was talking about.
The cheapskate in me wanted to use up a bag of frozen 4-way. 4-way is known in the professional kitchen world as a mixture of peas, carrots, string beans, and corn. I had a bunch of 4-way on hand. I used to add it to the homemade dog food I made for Klaus. When we found out he was allergic to corn, that was the end of the homemade food and we started him on zero-grain dry food.
Marty continued by saying, “The four-way didn’t have any flavor at all, and everything was the same texture.” Not a good one at that. “It would’ve been better with just some fresh carrots along with the fresh onions and celery.” True.
OMG, he was right! I started making up the excuse about wanting to use up the 4-way and stopped. I agreed with him 100%. I am much a better cook than that. It was kind of embarrassing.
A million things started running around in my head. I just wrote about seasonal eating and did the opposite. I totally didn’t practice what I preached. I’m such a hypocrite!
My less than par Chicken & Dumplings. The soggy vegetables watered down my gorgeous gravy too! Grrrhhh!
My chicken and dumplings would’ve been so much better if I would’ve only put whatever fresh veggies I had on hand, along with the onions and celery. The fact of the matter is that I didn’t. It was a mediocre meal, totally edible, but I made the wrong decision going against everything I believe in for a $3 bag of 4-way.
I have to thank Marty so much for bringing this up. He believes in me and knew this was not me or my cooking.
So this is my first imperfect situation after yesterday’s post about perfectionism. This was my chance to see if I could cut myself some slack or would I beat myself up for the rest of the day.
My reaction to criticism was excuses. Clearly, a pattern when I do something wrong. However, when I am critiqued at dance, that’s different. I take the criticism like a champ. I’ve asked for it because I wanted to become a better dancer. I’m not saying it’s easy, I used to go home after dance and want to cry. Beat myself up. Well, suck it up buttercup, you want to get better right? Then knock it off and practice your ass off.
Today my first reaction to Marty’s criticism was to make an excuse. At dance, I try to never make up an excuse when my technique is sloppy or wrong. For example, “My arms are wrong because I was lifting heavy things yesterday.” “I wasn’t shimmying because I didn’t sleep well last night.” Save it, sister, if you want to get better you have to listen, make corrections, and practice. Hmmm? The same thing goes for cooking! An ah-ha moment!
I did cut myself some slack today. That meal was a complete cop-out. Did I learn something from it? Hell yes! Don’t use shitty ingredients just for the sake of using them. Cook with love. I should’ve thrown that 4-way out when I stopped making the dog food. It was freezer burned anyway.
The perfectionist in me actually accepted the fact that what I made wasn’t up to snuff. It wasn’t up to the caliber of cooking that I normally do, the kind of cooking that I enjoy. The real shame is that I took the time to roast the chicken, made a delicious gravy with the drippings from the pan, and ruined it by throwing in that damn 4-way.
Tonight I used the rest of the roasted chicken and made Singapore Street Noodles. Everything was fresh, crunchy and spicy! My lips are still tingling from it!😋
One thing you will learn about me is that I think about things long after they have happened. I often revisit things. I could have, would have , should have…bla, bla, bla.
After writing my piece about driving in the snow today, I realize that I left out the most important part of that story. I danced around the truth. Why? Why am I so afraid of driving in the snow. When did this happen? Why did it happen? I thought about it and can I share some honest reason why I think I am afraid of driving in the snow?
Why am I afraid? I am sure that this question has many answers. I am sure this fear thing has happened in other situations. Why am I thinking about it? Because it’s high time I face the truth.
“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” Famous words from JFK. Truthful words. Words to be afraid of, or not.
When I sat down and started thinking about why I am afraid of driving in the snow the first thing that came to mind was what was the worst thing that could happen to me if I drove in the snow and got into an accident?
Getting hurt or injured came to mind, but I don’t think that’s really it. Driving on a beautiful day is when many horrific, deadly accidents happen. This I know from rescue squad calls.
Wrecking my car. Yes, it would be a total ass-ache to have my car towed, making an accident report, contacting my insurance company, renting a car while mine is being repaired. While these are things that would make being in an accident inconvenient, I am not sure that is it either.
Was I ever in a snow driving incident? Yes, the first-year winter we lived here in VT. One of the first snowy days I slid off the road close to where we lived. I was on my way to my new job in Rutland, VT.
We lived in South Londonderry and the commute was beautiful in the summer when I interviewed for the job. The ride was gorgeous during foliage. The ride was on a road that had no traffic, no lights, no anything. It was one of the last roads to be plowed. I found out the hard way.
I slid off the road and my Jersey car couldn’t get out. I felt like a typical idiot Jersey person that just moved here. A total flatlander as we are called. Marty and our landlord were both at work. There were no telephone booths, stores, or anywhere I could get help. I was dressed to work in an office with totally inappropriate shoes and clothing.
Within moments of my slide off a big pickup truck showed up. A guy jumped out and immediately got under my car checking out the situation. He got a tow rope out of the bed of his truck and started pulling my car back onto the road.
While I was watching him I knew I didn’t have any cash on me. How was I going to pay him? Was he going to be mad if I couldn’t pay him, will he kill me, yell at me, beat me to a pulp? Remember I just came from previously working in NYC and living in NJ.
I thanked him and started to tell him I didn’t have any money on me but I would…he stopped me mid-sentence. He said, “If my wife slid off the road I would want someone to help her. All I ask is to pay it forward.” He got into his truck and that was that.
When Marty and I saw each other after work I told him what happened. I told him what the guy said. He took what the man said about paying it forward more seriously than I could have imagined. Marty has helped hundreds of people both on his personal time and responding with an ambulance.
One idea that popped into my head while I was thinking about this fear was deep-rooted. I know that you can’t blame stuff on your childhood for everything, but was I on to something?
As I mentioned at the beginning of my blogging journey I wrote that I always felt like I had to do everything well. I was adopted and always felt like I had a debt to repay. I needed to show how much I appreciated my parents. I was God’s gift to my parents who wanted a baby, I better act like a gift. A perfect gift, the start of my perfectionism.
Of course, I learned through therapy that my need for perfectionism was real, but that I was being manipulated with it. I felt guilty if I made a mistake or didn’t do my best. No wonder I have been dealing with severe ulcerative colitis since my early teens.
My parents would praise me if I did good, but was it ever good enough? I only found out a couple of years ago that nothing that I ever did was good enough. That’s where the manipulation comes into play along with perfectionism and guilt trips.
What the hell does this have to do with me being afraid the drive in the snow? Could it be that I would feel embarrassed again if I had an accident? What if it was my fault? What if I killed someone? What if I made someone’s life harder because I damaged their car? What if they couldn’t get to their job? Pay their rent if they couldn’t work, left their children an orphan? Wow! Reading it back I am thinking…this is some fucked up shit. No wonder I’ve been in therapy!
Was this the reason? I think it could be. Will I always be afraid to drive in the snow? Yes. What can I do about it? Well, I will tell you this, I won’t be driving in the snow tomorrow just to prove a point to myself.
Is it ok to be afraid of things? To fear things? Is it a sign of weakness? I have spent years building up a tough layer of protection. A defense if you will. How can I admit I am not good at something? What if I let someone down? What if I let myself down? Will this fear be used against me? Can I be manipulated with this fear?
I don’t have the answers to those questions. I’ve always thought of myself as a somewhat fearless, confident person. Since writing this blog I have admitted a few very honest things that were hard to say, let alone tell the world. It seems like my fear of failure could be the root of it. Maybe if I keep acknowledging my fears and failures I can heal and move forward.
Was I really fine today? No. Definitely not!
I love what one of my readers commented, “It’s fine until it isn’t, driving and the rest of life.”
Ice beneath the dusting of snow on our driveway this morning.
The definition of the word fine according to Merriam-Webster means several things.
Alright – That’s fine with me. Well or healthy: not sick or injured – I feel fine. Superior in kind, quality, or appearance – A fine job, a fine day, fine wines. Very thin in gauge or texture – Fine thread, fine sand, fine print, fine edge of a knife, fine judgment. Delicate, subtle, or sensitive in quality, perception, or discrimination – Fine distinction, fine writing, fine manners.
This one I added on my own. If you ever have an argument with a woman and she says, “fine” you should worry. It means the total opposite of fine. “Whatever” is an even bigger one to worry about. Whatever is a nice way of saying “fuck it I am done!” 🤬. That is a whole separate blog post though.
I must have heard the word “fine” 10 times already this morning. I wanted to head over to Cambridge, NY to pick up a few necessary things at Walgreens and drop off a thank you gift I made for my friends Maria & Jon for all their help with my blog.
Just as I was getting ready to leave, I looked outside and it was snowing, again. The roads were just slightly covered and I said, “Dammit! It’s snowing!” Marty replied, “You’ll be fine.”
My fear of driving in the snow goes back at least 25 years. I hate driving in the first place but put snow, sleet, or freezing rain into the mix and it is almost paralyzing to me. It’s not so much that I am worried about myself since we’ve had always had vehicles or tires that are good in the snow. It’s those overconfident assholes that are going way too fast. They are either passing cars, fishtailing, or up my ass.
Many people don’t know that just a dusting of snow can be more slippery than a couple of inches. In addition, you can’t see what’s lurking under the snow. Our driveway is a sheet of ice under the dusting of snow. I almost went down coming out our back door.
Then there is this little gem out there that is supposed to help people remember how to drive in snowy conditions, “White you are alright, brown slow down.” They are referring to packed white snow as opposed to a brown slushy mess.
“Why the hell do you live in VT if you don’t like snow?” “It’s the other three seasons that I love, thank you very much.” Everyone who chooses to live in the Green Mountain State doesn’t have to like winter or cold weather outdoor activities. Ca-peech? Being said in my best Jersey accent.
Capisce?” is American pseudo-Italian slang for “understand?” and functions rather like “know what I mean?” In Italian this form would be used only in a formal setting; the typically casual American-style contexts would require capischi.
Back to my trip to Cambridge. “Your vehicle is great in the snow,” Marty told me. He would know because he used our delivery van with studded snow tires for 500-mile delivery loops in the winter for the first two years of our business.
Keeping that in mind I got to Walgreens, which is a 20-minute ride on main roads. The NY roads were better than the Vermont ones, hardly covered at all.
I did my shopping and when I was checking out, it was snowing like a bastard and even Route 22 was covered. Well, Jon and Maria only live a few miles up Route 22, I would be “fine” I told myself.
Maria was surprised that I drove in the snow. I told her that our van is “fine” in the snow since we have studded tires. I did share with her that I was out of my comfort zone.
I asked Maria how Jon was doing, he had an accident on Friday. Oh, he’s “fine.” I asked, “Is he really “fine,” or is that what he is saying?” She said no he wasn’t injured at all even though the accident was terrifying almost rolling his car into a water-filled ravine. Only one tire and some rocks saved the car from rolling over. Thank God he is ok and had so many community members come to his immediate aid. Small town living perk for sure.
We only chatted for a few minutes because I was getting more and more anxious about my ride back to Arlington.
As I made my way home I didn’t take any of my usual shortcuts to Route 313, I stayed on Route 22. Right at the intersection of 22 & 313, there was an accident. There were lots of cars and emergency vehicles. I was able to turn left onto 313 and continue my way home.
The rescue squad radio in the van kept reporting of cars off the roads and accidents galore. Marty has been an EMT on Arlington Rescue since 2000, along with our son Sam who joined when he was 14. There are radios in all our vehicles and rooms of our house.
I could feel myself begin to tighten up and I was getting more and more nervous. “Dammit, Julz you are fine!” Then this piece started writing itself in my head. I realized as I was almost home that getting my mind off of driving in the snow and writing instead made the ride “fine.”
When I got home I told Marty the roads were bad. “No, they weren’t, they were fine and so were you,” “Oh really you don’t say,” I asked him if he heard all the accidents on the rescue squad radios. He said he didn’t. We have a hundred radios all over the place, and he didn’t have one to listen to? “Fine,” I thought.
So what I realized is one person’s fine is completely different from another person’s, even in the same situation. This is especially when someone is drunk off their ass and they say, “I’m fine!” The more they try to convince others, the drunker they are.
The roads may be fine if you have the proper vehicle and tires, but not to someone cruising around in bald tires, the worse part is they don’t even realize it and think they are “fine.”
Barely put my bags down before I wanted to start writing. I was starving, so I had some leftover stuffed cabbage for lunch while I wrote. I am not nice or good at anything when I am hungry. My kitchen island or workbench as I like to call it is one of my favorite places to write.
Death Valley is a spot in Arlington that is named that for that very reason. It is always in the shade so nothing melts, it is curvy and hilly. We all know to take it easy when going through the area, but out of state drivers don’t slow down, think about black ice, or braking. They usually end up in an accident. The roads weren’t “fine” for them in those conditions since they didn’t know about them, but was”fine” for the locals.
I still hate driving in the snow. I still hate when someone says the roads are fine. That being said Marty was right, I was “fine”. My trip back to VT did get me thinking that it could just be mind over matter. That’s “fine!”
We moved from Elizabeth to Iselin when I was nine years old. My father’s family were shocked that we were moving to the “country.” To them, it was the country because they all lived within a three-block radius. Most never left their neighborhoods.
My parents put in an offer on a house in “the neighborhood.” Houses didn’t come on the market that often since no one left, but their offer was rejected. I don’t know if that was true or the excuse they used to move away.
Iselin back in the early 70s wasn’t actually the country, However, the spot where “Metro Park” is now was a farm. Hard to believe! I remember my parents taking me to that farm for a pony ride. I’m not sure if it was a pony or a horse, but I did know his name was popcorn.
A year later the farmer, became a very rich farmer, maybe a millionaire when he sold his property.
Metro Park is one of the busiest train stops for NJ Transit & Amtrack. It was built up and became overcrowded overnight. Dozens of office buildings, hotels, and other businesses are located in Metro Park as well.
Metro Park then and now
At our new house, we lived next door to a widow named Annie Farkas. Our house was a cape cod style, and hers was a bungalow.
Annie was the first adult outside my parent’s circle that told me to stop calling her Mrs. Farkas! “Just call me Annie,” she told me.
Annie became a special person in my life. I didn’t realize how important she really was until I was an adult.
Annie was a Hungarian woman with dyed reddish-brown hair and a loud, almost piercing voice. She must have been hard of hearing, but it never bothered me. I could hear her call to me easily when I was outside playing.
Annie was a fantastic cook. There was always delicious smells coming from her back door.
When she called me in the yard, she would ask if I wanted to help her in the kitchen. There was no gate to her yard, so I had to go through the house and out the front door.
I would tell not really ask my mother that was going over to Annie’s to help her. She never said no. If she knew how much I loved going over there it could have been used as something to take away when I was punished. I was a smart cookie and didn’t tell her that Annie was teaching me to how to cook.
Annie had me pullover a kitchen chair so that I could see. I would watch everything she was doing and she let me help.
I always wanted to help when my dad did projects around the house. I would ask him, “daddy can I help?” and he always replied, “nope this is a one-man job.” It really hurt my feelings and could never figure out why I wasn’t allowed to help.
At Annie’s house, I learned how to make soups, casseroles, pierogies, stuffed cabbage, stuffed peppers, and all kinds of other things.
At Easter, Annie asked my parents if I could go to her Hungarian church in Perth Amboy and help the ladies prepare food. This was work to my mother, not fun, so of course, I was allowed to go.
Ingredients for stuffed cabbage. Sautéing onions. Meat with soaked rice, spices and onions. The only way to mix the mixture is with your hands, making sure everything is evenly incorporated.
I remember Annie’s little blue and white car stuffed with brown grocery bags and dozens of aluminum, disposable pans.
When we got to the parish building I helped Annie bring in all the supplies. I had no idea what we would be making, I was so excited!
When we walked in, all the old ladies stopped what they were doing and looked at me. They smiled and went back to work.
In the mind of a 9-year-old girl, it seemed like there were 100 women all sitting down at long tables making stuffed cabbage and pierogies. I wondered what I would be doing.
Cutting out the tough vein, separating the good leaves from the not so great ones.
Annie sat me down and got me set up. First, she had me work in the stuffed cabbage section. Everyone was speaking Hungarian while working, I was concentrating so it didn’t matter.
I felt shy at first, afraid to mess up. Ah, but then I started picking up speed. A couple of ladies looked at me and called over to Annie. I didn’t know what they were saying. I started to panic. Then I saw Annie smile and wink at me. They told her I was a “ chip off the old block.” they thought that I was her granddaughter.
Filling leaf with meat mixture. Rolling cabbage rolls. Cutting up leftover cabbage for the bottom of the pan. Cabbage rolls ready for the pot.
Later, I helped at the pierogies section. My small fingers had no trouble filling and closing up my pierogies. At the end of the day, there were mountains of food placed in take-out style aluminum containers. I had no idea who would be eating it all.
It was a great day! It was at this point that not knowing my nationalities since I was adopted began to bother me. Sitting with all those Hungarian women made me feel like I was part of a nationality. (I am not Hungarian I found out since.)
When we got back Annie told me to wait a second before I went home. She went to her house and she came out with her small Hungarian cookbook from the church. She gave it to me so I could remember how to make the stuffed cabbage when I was older.
Cabbage rolls layered in the pot. Smaller inner leaf rolls on the bottom. Tomato sauce added along with boiling water to cover. I always put in my tomato sauce brown sugar, corn starch & kosher salt. Brown sugar in the tomato sauce takes out a lot of acid, see the bubbles?
As we settled into our new town I begin making friends, joined the cheerleading squad, rode my bike everywhere. I wasn’t home as much anymore. During that point, Annie got older and wasn’t cooking as much anymore. Then I became a teenager and waved over the fence when I saw her. Every once in a while, I would stop by to say hi.
I think she passed away when I was in my late teens or early 20s. I actually remember taking her death pretty hard but did not go to her wake or funeral…I found out about her death afterward.
Yesterday in the production kitchen, I was trying to decide what I would make for dinner this weekend. It shocked the shit out of me that Marty said, “Why don’t you make stuffed cabbage?” What? I didn’t even think that he liked my stuffed cabbage. After making some deliveries, I stopped and picked up the ingredients and started making my stuffed cabbage early this morning.
You will see from the demo photos I’ve included steps that I have added over the years. Annie’s recipe is concise and sweet. I think they expect you to know already how to cook.
I got out Annie’s cookbook, stained from my use, and looked at the recipe. I noticed that the recipe had no quantities for any of the seasonings. It was just all to your taste. I even added more tomato sauce to my recipe because I liked a lot of sauce. I eyeballed the recipe just like she did and said a little prayer to her. Writing this blog post made me realized that Annie was the first person who not only taught me how to cook but let me!!!
Yes, this blog post made me cry.
Annie’s Stuffed Cabbage
1 lb chopped beef and pork 1 cup long grain rice soaked and drained 1 medium onion chopped and sautéed in 1 Tbsp butter or lard 1 14 oz can sauerkraut 1 28 oz can tomato sauce or puree 1 medium head of cabbage Salt, pepper & paprika to taste
Core the head of cabbage and parboil it. Mix the first four ingredients in bowl. Take one cabbage leaf at a time, cut off heavy vein. Fill leaf with 2 Tbsp mixed ingredients and roll loosely. Fold one side of leaf as you roll and tuck in other with finger.
Put cabbage rolls in deep pot lined with sauerkraut. Place in pot folded side down. Pour on tomatoes and enough boiling water to cover. Cook for an hour or until rice is tender.
Some folks put sauerkraut on top also, or shred remaining cabbage and put on top cabbage rolls; others omit sauerkraut entirely.
Is this the 80s or what? I was working in Manhattan at the time and Marty was a club DJ
We have been addicted to the broadway sensation Hamilton for a couple of years and have watched it dozens of times since it came out on Disney Plus on July 3, 2020. Currently, we are watching a Netflix series called Bridgeton.
Hamilton takes place during the Revolutionary War era through the early 1800s. Bridgerton takes place in the early 1800s, almost picking up where Hamilton left off, but in England.
We were listening to the original Broadway soundtrack of Hamilton for a long time, not knowing how they actually did the scenes in the play. It was hard to imagine how they did battles and flashbacks, but after seeing it, everything made sense and fell into place.
The courtship of Alexander Hamilton and Eliza Schuyler was very fast. It seemed like they were only courting for 2 weeks and they were married. This confused me for sure since I knew nothing about courting in the 1700s.
When we watched Bridgeton, the courtship between two people was rather short as well. The point was to get married. The couple wasn’t allowed any hankie pankie at all or it would disgrace the woman and her family.
Courtship or calling was a family affair, callers meant heirs, property, and happiness, and ultimately marriage. Prospective men, callers were determined by land, status, and wealth. Marriages had to be approved by the family. Not very romantic that’s for sure. It was more of a business transaction for two families instead of two people becoming man and wife.
Opening day at Shea Stadium with Marty and his friends. This was only 3 months into our relationship. I had short hair and he had a perm! 😜
Dating came about in the 1900s. Women were free to choose with whom they wanted to spend time with. The word dating refers to filling one’s datebook. Makes sense right? The mid-century term, “going steady”meant the couple who had been dating are now dating exclusively.
Speaking of mid-century a couple of my favorite tv shows when I was a kid were Happy Days and Laverne & Shirley which took place in the 1950s, along with the movie Grease.
I never really knew when I was 10 or eleven why all the guys wanted to do was neck and go to inspiration point. Laverne & Shirley were two friends that were also roommates living on their own without men. Shirley had a boyfriend The Big Ragu, but I don’t think they ever married.
In Grease I knew there was more of that necking stuff, and could recite “A hickey from Kenickie is like a Hallmark card when you care enough to send the very best.” I didn’t know what a hickey really was, but if it was coming from Kenickie it must have been good because I thought he was cute.
When I was in grammar school I remember we would write notes to boys and asking them if they liked so and so. Please check the following box the note would say. Check yes or no. Crystal clear directions just in case they couldn’t figure it out.
In high school, dating was called going out with someone. My father couldn’t grasp the concept that I was going out with someone, but we didn’t go anywhere. I explained it to him a hundred times. “Daddy, I was just seeing so and so, but now we are going out.” This was dating and going steady in his era the 50s.
Men and women started off calling each other beautiful, handsome, cute, pretty, gorgeous, a hottie, a fox. In our high school JFK we called people we found attractive a “burger!” I think that our town of Iselin and maybe Colonia was the only place on earth to call someone a burger. “Oh check him out, he’s a total burger.” You just can’t make this shit up! I have no idea who started it, but it stayed around for a couple of years.
At our rehearsal dinner 10/20/89. Gosh that was some real Jersey hair!
I met Marty and we dated, went out, were seeing each other, going steady for 4 years before we got married. He indeed asked my father for permission. Marty was probably one of the only guys my father ever liked. I knew he liked him when he started calling him Mart.
I wasn’t allowed to go out if someone just honked the horn. They had to come in and meet my dad. It was torturous for me, especially when I wasn’t allowed to go because my father didn’t approve.
He had many reasons why he didn’t approve of someone. His shoelace was untied, he was chewing gum, he had some stupid thing on his head. “Daddy, it’s a bandana!” “I don’t give a shit what it is, you aren’t going with him.” Didn’t he know the lead singer from the band Loverboy wore one just like it? Dating was tough business in our house.
Since then dating has changed a lot. You don’t even have to go on actual dates anymore.
You know someone is dating these days because they change their Facebook status to “in a relationship.” When people break up, everyone once again knows, because their status goes back to “single.” I think they took away the optional status “it’s complicated.”
“Friends with benefits” was a friend that you could have an occasional and casual sexual relationship with. This is different from “hooking up” which is a one-time-only thing with someone new.
“Netflix & chill” is a slang term for two people going to each other’s houses and having straight-up sex or just some sexual related acts. It took parents a long time to figure out what the code word was for.
Photo credit Jen A This summer at Sandy Hook Beach
These days guys and girls are talking. I have a younger friend at my farmer’s markets and thought it was amusing when my buddy said to me right out of the blue, “Yea, I’m talking to this girl.” I was like that’s cool. ” I want a girl to date, a girl that wants a man around, a girl to fall in love with like you and your husband.” “I really want to date and go places. I don’t want to hook up even though that’s what most of them want.”
I am smiling while I am typing this because my buddy is the nicest guy, handsome, great personality, caring, spiritual and funny. I told him that she was out there, he will find that special someone when the time was right. He is only 27, he still had plenty of time. And this girl? She will be one lucky girl…but for now, they are just talking. I haven’t seen him for a few weeks I wonder if they are still talking?
My father never would have been able to figure that one out, he would say “how the hell much stuff can you talk about?” 😂
I’ve been writing this piece in my head for years. When I took over as the school lunch director at the Arlington, VT school district I took my job very seriously.
I started my position a few weeks before the opening day of school, cleaning, organizing, and planning my menus. I never did this type of job before so I had a lot to learn. I was lucky that I had Marty who was a school lunch director for 20+ years at that point to help guide me with all the regulations and guidelines I had to follow.
As I was cleaning I found a black and white composition notebook that had fallen back behind one of the drawers of a filing cabinet. It said Hot Lunch 1946-1947. This was an amazing discovery! A piece of Arlington history. It gave me a chance to see what Mrs. Keough & Mrs. Ouhl served every day which was perfect timing since I was in the middle of menu planning.
As I started looking through the notebook I couldn’t believe how much information they kept track of! From the menus, quantities of ingredients used. How many students ate that day, how many milks they sold. Exactly who worked and how much their payroll cost each day.
They did weekly and monthly summaries. Wow! This was all the stuff I was learning from Marty. I felt connected to these women who did my job 60 years before me, in the same building.
Lunch was still served in the high school back then, it later moved across the street to the new elementary school. The newly built elementary school had a brand new fancy kitchen which I am sure was an improvement to the old one that served K-12 up until that point.
Dino was one of my buddies at school. He was a history teacher. He came in almost as early as I did in the mornings and bought a coffee and a muffin from me every day. Every day for 7 years! We had some great discussions and got to know each other pretty well while I was doing food prep and he ate. He was everyone’s favorite cool teacher and soccer coach.
Where Mrs. Keough & Mrs. Ouhl were lunch ladies.
One day Dino told me about the lunch lady when he went to school right here in Arlington. He told me that everyone called her “No Way Mae.” He got a big smile on his face when he started telling me about her.
He told me that he and his classmates walked from the high school down to the elementary school where lunch was served. He also told me something that didn’t surprise me, he brought his lunch from home every day and had school lunch.
When Dino and his classmates went through the lunch line they would ask Mae if they could have seconds. Dino said she would bellow out in a harsh raspy voice, “No way!!”
He said the kids in the dining area would crack up when they heard her voice bellowing through the hallways.
Halloween is my favorite holiday. It’s the one holiday that the only thing anyone excepted from me was candy. I loved to dress up, it was the one day a year you could be whoever you wanted to be with no questions asked.
One year I decided to dress up as No Way Mae. I got my costume from a thrift store at a senior center along with some uncomfortable shoes. I borrowed a wig from the theater department at school. I made a big padded butt and bought a color lipstick my grandmother wore.
I didn’t tell anyone who I was going to be. I wanted it to be a surprise. On Halloween, I dropped my kids off at school and quickly came back home to put on my costume. I had to really bust my ass the day before to prep everything I needed for breakfast and lunch.
The school had a Halloween parade in the gymnasium. All the students and teachers who dressed up would walk around in a circle after Mr. C the principal addressed the students and faculty.
I snuck into the gym as Mae and stood off to the side where no one really saw me. When he called everyone to participate in the parade I began to make my way across the gym floor.
I walked hunched over like a tired old lunch lady. It took me forever to join the circle. I knew everyone was watching me thinking who the heck is that? I found out later that neither of my sons had any idea it was me. 😂
I stayed in character all day. I even wiped the sloppy Joe we were having that day all over my apron on purpose. I told everyone “No way!” It was by far one of the best Halloween’s ever.
I really connected with Mae. She and I leaned over the same counter serving lunches 30 years apart. We probably made some of the same dishes. Hell, the equipment and cookware were probably around in her day too. As a matter of fact, I am sure they were.
I have not spoken to Dino for quite a long time but texted him last night and asked him if I could ask a few questions about No Way Mae. He shot back a text and said sure ask away. Then I said can I call you way too much typing. LOL
I asked him to tell me the story again about No Way Mae. I wanted to make sure I remembered the story correctly. He added last night that her name was Mae DeBlock. She worked with another older lunch lady named Charlena Hilliard. He said he remembered those two in the kitchen for as long as he was in school.
Mae DeBlock must have worked part time with Mrs. Keough & Mrs. Ouhl, was this where she had her training?
I could tell he was smiling as he was reminiscing about his school days with Mae. He did his best impression of Mae bellowing out “No way!l. He told me that sometimes the kids would keep their forks for a few days and not return them to the dirty dish bin. They liked getting a rise out of her.
I wonder what Mrs. Keogh, Mrs. Ouhl, Mrs. Hilliard, or Mae DeBlock would have thought about me as a lunch lady? I’m sure that they never would have expected a lunch lady to have both arms tattooed. I am sure they couldn’t imagine any woman having a tattoo, let alone one with her nose and upper lip pierced and…was a belly dancer.
I think that if they could’ve gotten over all of those things they would’ve seen that I was so much like them. I loved those kids and took great pride in feeding them good food that was made with love. I had the privilege to watch them grow up and turn into young ladies and men, just like the lunch ladies that came before me did.
Roasted Butternut Squash & Spatzle with Brown Butter, Sage & Parmesan.
Seasonal eating…I learned about this a couple of decades ago when I read the book “Never eat a tomato in January.” I like the way the author wrote the book and made me laugh. I realize now that his style of writing was very much like my own. He let readers understand seasonal eating in a non-intimidating way.
I looked for the book online and can’t find it. I borrowed it from someone or the library I just can’t remember. I don’t remember so many details of things when my kids were small. I must have had my head up my ass most of the time worried about raising them. There is a sweet children’s book “I will never eat a tomato,” but that isn’t the one I’m talking about.
Basically, eating fruits and vegetables that are in season will always taste better, no matter what. Think of greens, peas, and asparagus in the spring, a ripe and delicious tomato, or a juicy piece of watermelon in July & August. Pears and apples in the fall. Turnips, squash, potatoes in the wintertime.
People look forward to going apple or pumpkin picking with their families. Sometimes people are merely acting out how they want their lives to be like or supposed to be. I’ve seen my share of kids having meltdowns with stressed-out parents in the orchards or pumpkin patches. It happened to my family and I was super disappointed. My family didn’t fit that fantasy of mine and we had a ton of fruit that went to waste.
Many people do have notions about seasonal eating and I have found over the last 3 years that butternut squash is one of them. A big one!
Photo from the publication Medical News Today
When people think of the fall they think of pumpkin spice things, fuzzy sweaters, furry boots, bon fires and butternut squash.
I say a notion because while they like the idea of eating and enjoying the butternut squash, but actually cooking it is a whole different ball game.
Scooping out the seeds and trying to fit on sheet pan. I rubbed the insides with a little olive oil, kosher salt & pepper.
We have many recipes from our website using our Spatzle on our tables at our farmer’s markets. Many of them are using seasonal vegetables, which makes sense since we are at farmer’s markets. From what I have gathered, people love the idea of coming home with a basket loaded full of seasonal veggies that never get used in many cases. I love it that when people are given an idea or recipe for something they just purchased, they can’t wait to get home and make it, and do!
Many people will come back or email us how much they loved whatever recipe they tried. It makes me so happy and proud that they trusted me and my recipes.
Our recipe that I wrote Spatzle with Butternut Squash, Sage, and Parmesan is one of the most popular dishes for people to make. Don’t get me wrong, many of the folks who come to the market every week are wonderful cooks. They know exactly what they want and what they are going to do with it, but as I said earlier, many don’t.
I used to be like the other half that wanted to try new veggies, but it’s hard to figure out what to make if you have never even had it before. Talk to the farmers. They not only provide their products to their farmer’s market customers but supply many restaurants and know what chefs are looking for. Farmers I have found know the tastiest ways to use their products themselves. Don’t be afraid to ask them, they love it!
During the first farmer’s market season, I traded our Spatzle with a bunch of farmers for some really different varieties of produce. After talking to the farmers I had an idea of where to go with these new fruits and veggies. It was a whole new world of flavors!
Everyone knows what a butternut squash is, it’s the prepping of it that people don’t like. I sense this when someone is reading our recipe I tell them the truth. “I created this recipe because I had a squash that was about to go bad and I needed to do something with it.” People already know where I am coming from. I continue on, “I peeled, cubed, and roasted it on a Tuesday night. I knew I wasn’t going to use it that night because I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with it, but at least it was cooked.”
Puréed
Then I tell them, “Friday night I was running around like a fool and needed to make a fast dinner. I took that roasted butternut squash and sautéed it with our Spatzle, garlic, sage and threw in some parm cheese.” My family ate it and complimented me and told me that this dish was a keeper. The dish can be made with gnocchi or tubular pasta for that matter as well.
The thing that I realized is why people don’t like peeling and cutting up butternut squash. First off, it’s a bastard to peel and even harder to cut up. I watch people scrunch up their noses and listen to how they hated scooping out those seeds because it made their hands slimy. One woman said her hands felt like they had on one of those facial masks that harden up on your face. I’ve got to admit, I never thought of that one.
That woman, well she was right! It’s called “Squash hands.” I read all about it in an article in Southern Living. The sliminess is the sap from inside of the fruit, yes squash is a fruit. The sap hardens up when it is exposed to air, if the squash gets a gash in it, the sap will actually seal up the fruit and prevent rotting. That’s one smart squash!
Puréed butternut squash, butter, maple syrup, pumpkin pie spice, kosher salt & pepper
Basically, I tell the people who want to try our recipe they can do two things. They can buy a butternut squash and suck it up or buy it already cubed up ones that you find in the grocery stores.
If you don’t have your heart set on a specific recipe that requires peeling, cubing, and roasting it, you can roast it without peeling or cutting it up.
Cutting the squash in half longways and scooping out the seed I the only prep for roasting butternut squash. There are literally endless possibilities you can do with squash prepared this way. I also do this with acorn squash.
You can mash it instead of potatoes, whip it, make pancakes or muffins, a ravioli filling, a cream sauce. The list of recipes goes on and on.
I found a monster squash about a month ago and every time I looked in the fridge I was like, “Shit, I’ve gotta use this thing.” Yesterday I decided I had the time to roast it up and serve it with dinner mashed with a little butter, kosher salt & pepper, maple syrup, and a little pumpkin pie spice.
Done! Ready for dinner.
After the squash was roasted, I let it cool. I scooped the flesh out, which by the way is super easy. If you notice in my photos the outside of the squash caramelized which adds a nice depth of flavor.
I decided instead of just mashing it, I threw it into my food processor. Afterward, I used some for dinner and had enough to divvy up and freeze.
Whenever I freeze something my food service training tells me to label and date whatever I put into the freezer, this way three months later I don’t pull it out and say, “What the hell is this?”
I hope this makes seasonal eating and farmer’s markets less intimidating. I also hope that if there is a dish, fruit or vegetable you have always wanted to try, do it! Don’t let the farmer’s market, the actual produce, preparation or recipe stand in your way.
Otto happy to have his favorite spot all to himself again
Whenever I hear those words, “Don’t try this at home” it’s the first thing that I want to do! Now I am not a complete moron but would try some really dumb things. I have to admit I have pulled some really stupid stunts in my day.
When I was a kid around 4 or 5 I got my hand caught in a mousetrap. My father was working nights so my mother ran me down to the neighbor’s house for the man of the household to get it off me. It really hurt. I can still remember how much. The next morning my mother told me to tell my father what I had done. That was worse than the actual mousetrap.
That summer I jumped off the deck railing of a house in the Poconos attempting to do a backward summersault in the air. The next thing I knew I was on the deck trying to breathe. I knocked the air out of myself. I scared the daylights out of my parents. All the way back to NJ my father kept saying, “She’s lucky she didn’t break her neck!” or asking me “What the hell was I thinking?” I cried the whole way home but came out unscathed.
The following year, I found my father’s pipe and blew into the barrel containing the already smoked tobacco. I loved the smell of his pipe tobacco when he smoked it. I also liked the way the tobacco smelled in the plastic pouch it came it. As far as blowing in it, I don’t know why I did it, but I remember sitting on the floor of the living room pulling this trick. Pieces of tobacco got into both of my eyes.
My dad was home alone with me, my mother was out. He took a matchbook out and I panicked thinking he was going to set my eyes on fire. He took off a few of the paper matches and separated the bottoms of each match, splitting it in half. Then he licked it, told me to hold still, and got the tobacco out of both of my eyes.
When it was all over with he told me whatever I did, just don’t tell your mother! So I never did. He and I had many incidents over the years that my mother didn’t know about. My father on the other hand was always given the rundown of my behavior the second he walked into the house. “Wait until your father gets home!” was real in our house.
I went to Catholic school and you were supposed to go to mass every Sunday not only like good Catholics were supposed to, but because I went to Catholic School. You HAD to go since all the school news, schedules, or lunch menu were in the bulletin, you had to have a bulletin for the things you needed to know for the upcoming week.
My folks adopted a second child and my mother wouldn’t take the new baby to mass. I say a second child because that was all this person ever was to me. Always referred to me as the other child they adopted. I was nine years older and can’t remember having any kind of a relationship or even having one legit conversation with this person. I haven’t seen this second child since my father’s funeral in 2000 and that is okie dokie with me.
Back to the mass thing. It became my dad’s job to take me to church, bring the donation envelope and make sure we got a bulletin. My dad and I went to mass once. My dad also went to Catholic school and was an altar boy for years, until he got caught drinking the wine. Lol! Then my dad came up with the ultimate plan.
My dad and I would go for a ride, then he would park in front of the church after mass began. He sent me into the church and told me to give the usher man our donation envelope and ask him for a bulletin. It worked! It was easy. The usher man always gave me a wink and a smile. We had that coveted bulletin and I knew what days I was going to eat at school or bring cold lunch from home. I also knew when school picture day was coming up, a very big deal because you could wear your regular clothes and not our uniforms. After I ran back to the car we went to a diner for breakfast and my father warned me to not tell my mother. Why would I? This was the best!
My dad and I went about this Sunday arrangement for a long time. It got nerve-wracking some Mondays because one of the nuns would ask me a question about Sunday’s homily. Being able to think on my feet I always had reasonable enough answer.
My mother never found out and still doesn’t know about our Sunday morning shenanigans and breakfasts out. We usually ended up at a donut shop since my father loved a good jelly donut and a cup of coffee.
Now back to today. I took one for the team. Remember how I offered myself up to be a guinea pig and try out the Japanese Towel trick? It was going well. I looked forward to laying in Otto’s spot on the heated bathroom floor and covered myself with my heated towel. I set the alarm for five minutes and settled into the position. I started to meditate and it made the five minutes seem like thirty seconds.
Remember this towel thing started as a way to help people with back pain. It was supposed to realign the pelvis. The instructions for the towel exercise tell you when you are done to sit up evenly and slowly. Do not make any jerking movements. I was very careful since I’ve had lots of back issues in the past.
Last night I sat up carefully and stood up and wouldn’t you know my back was jacked! Are you kidding me? Dammit was then followed by a slew of more curse words. It wasn’t nearly as bad as times when my back “went out,”, but enough for it to hurt.
During the night I had to get up 4 or 5 times to put on more Ben Gay. I took a super hot shower this morning and it didn’t do shit. I actually thought for a second to do the towel trick again and maybe it would fix itself.
After a morning of being uncomfortable, I decided to do things my way. I went out to our inversion table in the gym and hung there in pain. Then I heard a bunch of cracking sounds coming from my back. I got myself out of the contraption and came back into the house. I mixed myself a strong ass Bloody Mary with lots of horseradish, Worcestershire sauce & celery salt.
I just took a couple of Tylenol and going to take a nap. I can already feel my back relaxing and think I may have fixed myself playing chiropractor again. I am great at fixing sciatic pain when that bothers me, so why not this too? I know my body well enough to know what works and what doesn’t. I also know when I am in trouble and need professional help.
It’s a couple hours later. I took a short nap and laid in bed doing some research for a piece I am getting ready to write. My back is a lot better. Better enough that I was going to go out and walk on the treadmill, but dinner needs to be started.
