I know we aren’t out of the woods yet with covid, but there are some positive things that have me taking a deep breath of relief. I don’t think I have taken a breath since the shit hit the fan back in March and everyone panic shopped hoarding everything in sight. I keep a well-stocked pantry and freezer in the winter especially and I usually have enough Charmin toilet paper and Bounty paper towels for our home and business.
Whenever we open the last of something, it goes on a shopping list. This way I rotate my stuff and always have the important stuff on hand. When we did go to the store for the first time I was in utter shock like everyone else.
When I walked up and down the aisles of Hannaford the shelves were empty. I felt afraid, scared to death, worried, what were we going to do? I have ulcerative colitis I need fucking toilet paper dammit! Then every time I went to the store I got angrier and angrier. Why was it taking so long to restock everything even with limits on everything? Did I arrive every single time when everything was sold out again? Seriously WTF?
On one trip to Aldis I almost had a panic attack. There was not one package of meat, chicken, sausage, or fish in the meat section. My shoulders tighten up just thinking about how afraid I was. It was like living in a third world country and there were no food rations left for me.
I am sure we all experienced it. Every time I go into a store, no matter what one, I hold my breath and slowly look down each aisle. Up until a few weeks ago, aisles were still low on inventory. I would start cursing under my breath and get myself into a total tizzy asking why is this taking so long. Me cursing under my breath? 😂
Every time I saw Charmin or Bounty I bought one of each. I left the store feeling like I won a million bucks. I wasn’t hoarding, I was looking out for my own ass, literally.😜
A couple of weeks ago I started noticing things were starting to reappear on the shelves giving me some sense of relief. We went to a big Shop Rite the other day when we were out delivering, the last time we were there the shelves were still almost bare, but this time they were full, full, full! I controlled myself and didn’t buy one package of Charmin or Bounty.
Now that I have enough of the good stuff on hand, I realized that I had to start using up those cheap ass paper towels I was forced to buy. We can’t use them in the production kitchen at all since they are a hazard when they literally fall apart when you are using them. I am happy to report that the last roll of that horrible, thinner than shit, garbage is gone.
Who would have ever thought that in a world where people want vacations, fancy cars, big homes, nice designer clothing we would be satisfied and relieved coming out of a store with some toilet paper, sanitizer, Lysol, and maybe a can of soup or box of pasta?
Marty got to the empty tube of paper towel before I did. We both will either blow into the tube and say, “do do dooooo!” or clunk the other person or the dogs on top of the head with the empty tube like when we kids. That I think maybe the secret to our 32-year marriage.
Since I started this blog journey I’ve mentioned my work and our business The Vermont Spätzle Company, but I never really talked about it. I know that many of you have been on this journey with us since the beginning, but for those who aren’t familiar with our product…here we go.
Marty and I own and operate the Vermont Spatzle Company. We are the whole kit and kaboodle. We make the product, package it, box it up, deliver it, market it and sell it ourselves. It took me over seven years to develop our recipe. We have the world’s only gluten-free, no-boil, ready in less than five minutes pasta. I was trying to develop a gluten-free spätzle because there was not one on the market. There still is not another gluten-free spätzle available commercially besides ours.
When we had to go gluten-free in 2010 due to medical reasons. Marty really started missing spätzle. He’s from Germany and grew up eating it, I used to make it a few times a year. While we could get terrible gluten-free bread, pizza, bagels, and pasta you could not get spätzle. It seems the more you can’t have something, the more you want it.
The actual cast iron pan of spatzle that is in the background of our label.
So what the heck is spätzle anyway? Well, spätzle is a German egg noodle that is like a little dumpling. In Germany, it is served with sauerbraten, different types of wursts and other things with gravy. One of the most popular ways to have it is fried up in a little butter, then topped with caramelized onions and cheese.
On March 11, 2017, I finally nailed down the recipe and we decided we were going to go into business with 150% effort. We had to find the right packaging, design a logo & label, obtain licenses, nutritional labels, and UPC codes for stores. We learned a lot the first year!
Farmer’s Market
We were quite surprised how fast people found out about our spätzle, and how much they loved it. Social media was the driving force behind getting our product in so many stores. People knew who we were whenever we went into a store. They would say, “Oh look, it’s the spätzle people.”
We also started doing farmer’s markets right away, sautéing our spatzle at our tables, giving people samples, and educating them about what spätzle is. Our product is not geared only towards gluten-free customers, 75% of our customers are not gluten-free. Once they try it ,they are hooked. People ask us if we put crack in our spätzle, that’s how addicted to it they are.
Spatzle for breakfast! Sautéed in butter, dusted in cinnamon topped with fresh berries and whipped cream!
Our customers use our spätzle sautéed with butter, pesto, with different types of sauces and stir-fried dishes. Italian dishes, soups, casseroles, and macaroni & cheese. Someone actually replaced a flour tortilla with our spätzle and they called it the spätzle enchilada. It can even be eaten as a sweet dish. It is truly a blank canvas and the possibilities are endless.
Tradition German meal with pork cutlet and a hunters sauce, leftover turkey spatzle soup, chicken parmigiana with spatzle and cold spatzle caprese salad with fresh mozzarella pearls and a balsamic reduction.
Our product is available through the entire state of Vermont, a few locations in New Hampshire, and Pennsylvania. It is also available through a few online farmers’ markets that offer home delivery, or at pick-up locations near their customers.
Our spätzle has been featured in newspaper and magazine articles. We were featured on a television news show in a segment called “Made in Vermont.” After the show aired everyone in Vermont knew who we were. The more people read about it or heard about it they wanted to try it.
Our “Made in Vermont” segment being shot.
When say that our spätzle is made with love, we mean that 100%. At our super busy times, Marty and I can produce around 1500 pounds a week, but we put love in every batch. By the way, 1500 pounds is a lot of spätzle!
I was able to quit my job within two months to be a full-time spatzle maker. Marty worked another full-time job and full-time at The Vermont Spätzle Company for the first year. He was our marketing person who went from store to store, did demos, and was our delivery person. While Marty was working at his “real” job, I made all of the product and packaged it. We both worked farmer’s markets every weekend and sometimes mid-week.
When I say that working for yourself, having so much passion and love for what you do and the product that you make, is the best feeling in the world! Having our customers share with us their spätzle memories telling us of their grandmothers making spätzle or that they included our product in their holiday meals. Wow-what an honor!
When everything shut down with Covid last March, I had a mini conniption and worried about what would happen to our business since our farmer’s markets were nearly extinct. We are a food manufacturer and essential business so we continued working, business as usual.
We have been extremely lucky and blessed the people still have to eat, cook at home, and have supported our business. Our customer wholesale business is thriving, even though our once busy farmer’s markets are not.
From start to finish ending with a delivery to one of our wholesale customers Field Goods an online Farmer’s Market that delivers to parts of NY, NJ, CT and Long Island.
Conventional spätzle is a batter made of wheat flour and eggs. Sometimes it is cut with a knife into little strips on a cutting board or pushed through a press with holes in it into boiling water. It forms little dumplings that are drained. In our country you usually find spätzle in the dry pasta section, you have to cook in boiling water, drain it then sauté with a little butter. While we do make a batter and push our spätzle through a press into boiling water that’s where the similarities end. We have developed a special mixing process when making our batter.
We decided in the very beginning that if we were gonna do this, we were going to do it right. We wanted to use local milk and eggs which are the first and second ingredients. When we were sourcing our special flours it was important for us to find non-GMO products. We finish our spätzle off with a small amount of nutmeg. The nutmeg gives the spätzle a homey familiar flavor that people just can’t put their finger on. It reminds them of their omas or grandmothers in Germany.
Those gorgeous little brown specks…ground nutmeg.
Our product has won numerous awards including Best Artisan Food at the Vermont Cheesemakers Festival, one of the top ten festivals in the country. That was a very big deal for us.
We also did some festivals in which we sold our spätzle as a hot food item we called Spätzle Bowls. It was always a huge hit at different Oktoberfest celebrations and was a crowd favorite. It was so exciting to hear how many people loved our product. We could see it on their faces when they dug into their Spätzle Bowls, instant gratification for us.
Our spätzle is sold in retail stores in 12-ounce packages. We started to offer our 2-pound family packs at our farmer’s markets. Families would come every week and would have to buy several packages. We thought that it was a waste of packaging and came up with the idea of a bigger serving size bag. Most stores still only carry the retail size, however, The online farmer’s markets and a few local stores carry both sizes.
Not many people have seen the inside of our production facility in person. We built the facility ourselves behind our house. We have a 38 step commute to work and I thought that I would share a typical production day with you.
Our 300 square foot production facility. Steam kettle and sink area, refrigeration, packing area, Big Bertha working hard.
While I was working my ass off for other people, I would pray every single night, “Please God, I would like to have a business that no one else has.” When we were starting the business it was like someone slapped me on top of the head saying, “Wake up stupid! This is it!” Right then and there we knew we would be a success, we had the Big Guy helping us out. 😉
Dear God I have got to clean that mirror in our gym!! Yesterday mid workout, no fooling around or smiling.
It’s been 4 months since I had my shit-fit and walked away from belly dance out of complete frustration and anger. At that point, I was at the end of my rope with all of this Covid bullshit affecting my love of dancing and teaching.
I took myself out until I can go back to teaching and dancing without restrictions. I would rather not dance than be dicked around with…you can dance today, then the next day you can’t.
I just passed my four-month mark of, “Operation get back into shape.” It started off as a way to blow off steam and be as angry as I wanted in the gym. I listened to angry music and went back to serious weight lifting. No diet, no pressure, no weighting myself, just get in there and get my strength back. I’m going to come out of this a stronger person.
I am even more determined to keep at it and make this a lifestyle choice like it was for so many years of my life. I do have to admit there are many days I have to talk myself into working out and sticking with it. That’s when I thought of what my Nana would tell me when I was a little girl.
Nana would say that everyone has two little angels on their shoulders. On the right side you had the good angel, and on the left side was the bad angel.
She said that whenever I was about to decide to something or not do something I needed to listen to the angels on my shoulders and make the right choice.
For example, when I was a kid if I wanted to eat a bunch of candy before dinner…The bad angel said, “Go ahead kid you deserve it.” The good angel said, “Your parents will be mad if you don’t finish your dinner.” The bad adds, “Hey shut up, it’s her favorite kind of candy.” The good one said, “Don’t listen you will get a bellyache.” Ok, I won’t eat the candy.
If only I would have listened to Nana’s advice when I was a teenager or as an adult. I forgot all about the good and bad angels. They would have saved me a lot of heartache and trouble over the years.
I spent a lot of time with both of my grandmothers when I was young. I loved both of them and looked forward to visiting them. They were both widowed, but other than that they were so different from one another. I had different relationships with each of them. In one relationship I was the nurturer, in the other one I was nurtured.
Nana was a lot older than my other grandmother that I called Mema. Nana lost her eyesight from cataracts when I was around 7 or 8. I became her helper. I would get dropped off at her apartment on a Saturday mornings after my dance classes.
Best day ever with Nana! I went with her on a senior citizen bus ride to Asbury Park, NJ
I would help Nana with her laundry. I loved wheeling her laundry cart down the long hallway and onto the elevator. I liked loading the laundry into the washer and throwing in some detergent. Nana had a bunch of quarters in her housecoat pocket. She would count out how many I needed to put into the machine.
While the laundry was washing we would sit in the lobby of the senior citizen apartment building. I knew everyone and they would ask me to show them what I learned in dance that morning. I loved performing for them. Nothing has changed in that department.
When the washer was done, we would go and do the same thing with the dryer. Later nana folded her things. She folded some and rolled up some. Since she couldn’t see, that was how she could tell what was what.
Later in the day, I would walk Nana around the corner to a little store. She had one of those old fashion grocery wheely things. I remember that the store always had a bad smell. We would get the same thing almost every week. Milk, eggs, bread, and bananas. Thank goodness I never had to ask anyone for help, because no one spoke English. This was the Spanish section of her neighborhood.
As we would walk back to her apartment, and rounded the corner, there a gospel church. We could hear the choir rehearsing for the next day. Nana and I sat on a bench on the apartment grounds and listened to them sing. Church hymns are church hymns so Nana would sing along. I liked these hymns so much better than the ones we sang in our Catholic Church. They were jazzy, fun, and full of life. I never got to go into that church, but I could imagine what it looked like and who was singing.
On our way back into the building, Nana would hand me her keys and I could get her mail. I could reach her mailbox on my tippy toes. I did my best to read her mail to her. She was very organized since she was blind so she would tell me back in her apartment what basket got the mail and what one got the bills. My absolute favorite thing to do of all was to take her little brown bag of trash to the incinerator. It had a handle like a mailbox at the post office. As I dropped the bag down the shoot I would say to the bag of trash, “Goodbye cruel world.” 😂
Nana managed very well for a long time living alone and being blind. She could cook, do dishes, and clean. I started to notice when I came that her cleaning wasn’t as good anymore, so without her knowing I would clean what she missed.
Images of shoulder angels on Pinterest
The idea of the good and bad angels represents your conscience and temptation. Decisions we have to make every day, even if we don’t realize we are doing it. That was what Nana was preparing me for in her way.
Yesterday I really didn’t want to work out. I mean, I really didn’t want to. “Don’t work out today, you deserve a day to relax,” said the bad angel. “Don’t listen to him, you get out there, you will be glad you did,” the good one whispered. I listened to the good one and felt great after my workout.
Nana passed away in 1993, but I feel her around me from time to time. Yesterday, she joined me on my workout journey, and it was a Saturday, our day we used to spent together.
When we moved to Vermont from hectic, overcrowded NJ over 30 years ago I knew there was going to be some big trade-offs. I kind of knew back then that food was going to be a big one.
On this blog journey, I’ve already written about some of my favorite food memories. But there are more, many, many more!
We still had the chance to go back to my hometown until 2002, when I suggested my mother move up here after my dad passed two years before to be closer to her family. Hindsite is 2020.
We didn’t have to go gluten-free until 2010, so whenever we went back we ate all of our favorites that you just can’t get in Vermont. It’s torture whenever we go back now because everything we loved has gluten in it.
One of my favorite food memories is a pickle. I am not talking about a dill pickle, or a bread and butter. I am also not talking about the garlic ones you can get in a real deli that are in a big barrel. I am talking about Reo Diner pickles.
The Reo Diner was and still is in Woodbridge, NJ, the next town over from where I lived. I went there a lot. I went with friends, my parents, and Marty. There were so many fantastic diners to go to, but this one was a sober, day time diner for real food.
We went to diners closer to where we lived when we went out at night, after drinking and dancing. We went to other stand-bys like White Castle, Stuff Your Face, The Steak Out, and our choice of a million other places. All good drunk food. Good during the day, but better when you were shit faced.
Drunk food at a diner for me was either was french fries with brown gravy or disco fries which is the same thing but with cheese. Or runny over-easy eggs with the all-important home fries to soak up all the booze so you wouldn’t have a hangover in the morning.
Going to the diner during the day meant a pizzaburger deluxe or a happy waitress special. An open-faced roast beef or turkey sandwich with mashed potatoes. During the day at the Reo Diner, I remember the pickles they had out on the table that you could munch on while you were looking at the massive ten-page menu. How they can offer those many choices is mind baffling!
These neon lights were not there when I last went to the Reo. Probably trippy when drunk! LOL!
The pickles…different from the ones I mentioned earlier. They were crunchy cucumbers with salt and garlic. That’s it. Not a hint of vinegar. The memory was rooted so deeply in my mind that I was able to duplicate them.
I’ve been wracking my brain trying to remember how I learned this pickle making technique. At first, I thought it may have been from Annie, but it wasn’t. I thought I saw it in an Amish cookbook my father had, but nope. I searched the internet and I could not find it.
I’ve been making these pickles for 20 years and have no recollection of how I learned, but it really doesn’t matter does it? The point is that I can tell you about them and show you how I make them. When you are knee-deep in cucumbers from your garden, I hope you will remember these pickles. I use smaller pickles or sometimes European pickles because I can’t digest the seeds of regular cucumbers. If all else falls I scrap some out before I put them into the garlic brine.
These are refrigerator, revolving door pickles. I say revolving door because they are fresh without any preservatives, not even vinegar. They are stored in the refrigerator in the briny garlic liquid they were made in. They last about 5 days so you really should only make as many as you think you will eat. In the summertime, oh hell now too whenever I open the refrigerator I get out the jar and have a couple of spears. As soon as one jar is gone, I make another batch, hench the revolving door pickles.
Refreshing and ice-cold describes these pickles in the summer. They don’t need a fantastic sandwich or burger to accompany them, they are just to be eaten. Just like on the table at the Reo Diner.
The three ingredients…
To start these pickles you should choose firm cucumbers that are all about the same size and ones that will fit length-wise in a mason jar or container that you can store them in. You will also need a large bowl, some fresh garlic cloves, kosher salt, and ice.
Cut the pickles into spears, cut cucs longways in half and then cut again to make the spears. Place the spears in a large bowl. My recipes are usually straightforward, pretty much like me, I don’t like to fool around with ridiculous measurements.
For each cucumber used, you will use the same amount of garlic cloves and tablespoons of kosher salt. This is the way that I like my pickles seasoned. If you get it wrong and think it’s too garlicky, too salty, or not enough garlic or salt, the beauty is, you can always correct it.
The salting and melting process.
Next, you finely mince your garlic and sprinkle it on top of the cucumber spears. You cover the spears completely with ice, mounding it up. Finally, you sprinkle the kosher salt on the ice just like you do putting salt down on an icy driveway. Where I learned this from I will never know, I don’t think I dreamed it up.
Leave the bowl out on a counter at room temperature. By the time the salt melts all the ice, the pickles are done. This is when you can taste your garlic brine. If it’s too salty you can drain some of it and add more cold water. No big deal. The same is true with garlic, if it’s too over the top take some out of the brine, drain some of the brine and add some cold water. Not enough salt or garlic, add more a little at a time. You do have to have the salt to preserve the pickles in the jar, just like fresh mozzarella or feta cheese.
That’s it. That is the recipe. I took step by step photos to demonstrate what in the hell I am talking about. You may have to tweak the recipe a few times to get it how you like it and don’t do like me, write it down! It takes the guesswork out the next time you make a batch.
I went online and looked at some of the Reo Diner food photos. I did see a couple of lame-ass jarred pickles on the plates. If anyone from NJ has been there recently, please report back to me about the pickle situation.
Certain foods that I prepare remind me of specific people. Yesterday, I made corn chowder for lunch. It wasn’t my usual corn chowder I learned how to make more than 25 years ago, it was yesterday’s version.
The longer I cook the more I can branch off the solid core recipes I learned. In the beginning, I wasn’t one of those people who could just open their fridge and make a five-course meal with whatever they found. When the Food Networks show Chopped first came on I remember thinking I could never do that.
Most of the contestants are chefs or professional cooks. They are each given a basket full of random ingredients that they have to make a cohesive meal out of. They can use basic pantry items to help, but the show puts some wacky ingredients in the baskets. They are giving away $10,000, so it should be challenging, especially for chefs.
My boys would say, “ You should go on Chopped.” The thought was scary, here we go…back to me not wanting to look stupid or to be embarrassed if I made something less than perfect or even good. I was sure I would have choked on camera and would be the first one eliminated.
When the contestants would open their baskets, I would pause the tv and say out loud in under 20 seconds what I would make. More times than not one of them would make what I said. I got better and better at it.
Not to toot my own horn, but I’ve come along way. I have no desire to be on Chopped now because it just isn’t challenging to me anymore.
Ok, back to my corn chowder. My usual one is a quick and simple Betty Crocker recipe. I really taught myself how to cook using my Betty Crocker cookbook, then graduated to “The Joy of Cooking.”
The Betty Crocker recipe uses pantry ingredients so it can be prepared any time of the year. “Real” corn chowder recipes use corn on the cob, celery, onions, bacon, stock, potatoes, and lots of heavy cream.
The original Betty Crocker Corn Chowder.
Betty’s recipe uses canned creamed corn, bacon, celery, onions, flour or in my case potato starch, potatoes, and milk.
After my last severe ulcerative colitis flare-up 2 years ago I have been following a strict low residue diet. This type of diet eliminates hard to digest things like nuts, seeds, certain types of raw fruits and vegetables, and certain legumes. I miss popcorn the most.
When I make my chowder I put the creamed corn into the blender and blitz the heck out of it. This makes it not only edible for me, but it is also is a great natural thickener. If I was having company I would take some out of the pot for me, then put either fresh or canned corn kernels into the chowder for texture for everyone else. I love corn so much that I just appreciate having the flavor of it.
Yesterday, I only had maple bacon, which I bought by mistake. As I was making the soup I decided to use sweet potatoes instead of yellow potatoes like I usually use.
I thought the sweet potatoes would go nicely with the maple. I added a dash of cayenne pepper and lots of chopped green onions. It was delicious and a nice change from my usual version. I actually think it was better, I will be making it this way again for sure.
Whenever I start a pot of corn chowder I think of my good friend Patti, Noah, my son’s Godmother. I also think about a couple of her visits to Vermont.
The first time Patti came to visit she brought her younger sister Meg with her. I love Meg and knew we all would have a really fun time. We had just moved to Vermont so hanging out with other Jersey girls was going to be awesome! I missed these guys and was homesick.
The next morning after Meg took her shower she came running into the living room so excited. “Oh my God! I love the water up here in Vermont! My hair never came out so good!” We were crying laughing, not at her, but that we knew exactly what she meant. She got the most height and volume of her “big hair.” Good hair days are a big deal! They still are to me.
The next time Patti visited she came with her husband Ken. As soon as we made plans I immediately started thinking of some things I would cook. I needed some go-to recipes that were quick, easy, and delicious. Noah was not quite two years old yet, so the dishes needed to be recipes I could bang out during his nap time.
My famous tomato tart that I taught all my friends how to make and it became their go to recipe as well!
They came on the Friday of Columbus Day weekend. I wanted to make a couple of seasonal things so I made corn chowder and an apple pie. I also made my famous tomato tart that I made whenever somebody visited. The rest of the food I figured we could wing over the weekend. I cleaned like a madwoman all week during Noah’s nap times, I wanted everything to be perfect. Really now? Imagine that! 😂
On a Friday afternoon, after Noah got up from his nap I put on his favorite show Blue’s Clues, and gave him a snack. “Noah, Aunt Patti, and Uncle Ken will be here soon. “Mommy is going to take a shower and get ready.” I knew I had about 22 minutes to get it all done.
Noah around the time of The Mero House incident.
When I was toweling off I thought I heard something downstairs. I quickly threw my clothes on and went to investigate what he was getting into.
When I came down the stairs there was an older couple sitting on our couch and Noah was sitting on the lady’s lap eating his snack.
What the actual fuckity was happening here? I was so confused I could barely put words together to form sentences. I think I forgot how to speak English. I was in such shock. “Um can I help you?” was all I could get out.
The woman smiled and said, “We are here to check-in. What a lovely home you have and it smells wonderful in here.” I had no idea what she was talking about. Her husband said, “I hope you don’t mind, but your son showed us where our room was, I put our bags in there.” Huh?
“What an adorable little boy you have, we weren’t expecting children, but he’s darling.” She told me.
With that, I realized they were staying at The Mero House, a seasonal bed and breakfast during foliage across the street from our house.
I explained to them their mistake and pointed diagonally across the street. They were so embarrassed, but I reassured them it was an easy mistake to make and it was totally fine.
The husband went into our guest room and retrieved their bags. As he walked past the now cool pie on the dining room table he told me how disappointed he was that he wouldn’t be eating all the delicious food he smelled, “Especially that pie!” We all laughed.
After they left to check-in across the street I was completely rattled. How in God’s name could I let that happen? How could I be so stupid to leave our front door open for anyone to come in?
Noah asked where those people went. I explained to him what happened and he immediately said, “I’m not a good boy?” Sadly a chip off the old block like me.
I tried to not make a big deal about it, he had no reason to think he did anything wrong. He was just being a “big helper.” I told him he was a good boy, mommy was wrong leaving the front door unlocked. Just for the record, no one locked their doors in Vermont. We did of course at night, but not during the day. Back then everyone left their keys in the ignition of their cars & trucks too. I don’t think we ever did.
I took a second to talk about letting strangers in, next time come and get mommy. I went back upstairs to finish getting ready, Patti and Ken arrived a few minutes later. We had a big laugh over what happened. When Marty got home from work I was no longer feeling like the worst mother in the world.
We had a fun weekend being tourists, eating all the food I made, and drank lots of wine. The next time I saw Patti for an extended time was when my father passed away unexpectantly when we were visiting for Easter. Noah was almost five and I wasn’t in any shape to worry about him and my mother, plus I was 5 months pregnant with Sam.
Noah-guy with his Pop-pop
Patti came to the rescue and took care of Noah for me. She had her own family and life but dropped everything to help. The whole thing is still a complete blur, I don’t think I really ever told her how much I needed her, she just knew. My dad loved her and I know he was happy she was taking care of his “Noah-guy.”
It was a few very long and exhausting days, a really tough time, and Patti made it possible that Marty and I could take care of making all the arrangements with my mother and not worry about him at all.
I texted Patti yesterday and asked if I could write about her and Ken and if she remembers anything else. She quickly typed back, “ I just remember the corn chowder and that tomato tart.” She also reminded me about Meg and her best hair day ever.
I smiled from ear to ear, I was so happy that my food was a good food memory for Patti! Marty and I laughed remembering how excited Meg was that morning and what a good time we had whenever they came up.
Patti and I do keep in touch, she is the type of friend that even if we don’t talk for a year, we can pick up exactly where our last conversation ended. We really need to get together after this pandemic bullshit is over. Life got busy when our kids were growing up and we haven’t seen each other for years and years. This is the reason why Facebook is a great thing. We still got to watch each other’s kids grow up, including Meg’s daughters as well.
I honestly didn’t expect this piece to suddenly turn sad, but the words came out when I started writing about my friendship with Patti and knew they needed to be included.
Writing this piece also made me wonder if that older couple had a nice weekend and if they thought of us when they reminisced about their stay in Arlington. I also wondered if the husband was able to track down some apple pie. Dammit, now I want apple pie.
Noah with his arm tattoo dedicated to his Pop-pop.
Yesterday morning I saw a recipe for eggplant rollatini which was perfect because I just bought an eggplant on Monday.
I made the cheese filling and marinara sauce right after we finished work in the production kitchen.
We are extremely blessed during this pandemic that we are in production almost every day trying to keep up filling our wholesale customer orders.
After lunch, I started to make the rollatini. I peeled the eggplant and began slicing it longways and boom. The damn thing was all brown and rotten in the middle even though the outside seemed ok. I HATE WASTING MONEY LIKE THAT!
Flashback to Monday in the grocery store with Marty “Those eggplants don’t look good.” He told me. “Look this one that’s wrapped up like a baby is fine,” I said confidently. One box had loose eggplant and a new box had them wrapped individually with paper.
So when I cut into that brown eggplant I was like, “Oh shit he was right.”Grhhhh! I hate being wrong, especially about food.
Yesterday was a planned day off from working out so I decided to make cheese manicotti instead since I already had the filling and sauce made.
Ready to make manicotti…or maybe not!
I got out my pasta maker, made some pasta dough (gluten-free), and rolled out sheets. I parboiled them because gluten-free pasta becomes brittle if it dries. I’ve done this with my fettuccine and it works.
I laid the cooked pasta squares on a sheet pan spraying the layers with pan spray, not olive oil like I do my pasta. You do know what’s going to happen right????? At this point, I didn’t.
After I got done writing my anti-Valentine blog post I started making my manicotti. In NJ we pronounce it mon-a-gut. “You gotta problem wid dat?” Said in my Jersey accent.
I got out the sauce and cheese and set myself up a rolling and filling station. I uncovered the pasta squares and the MF things all stuck together.
“Are you kidding me right now?” WTF! It was almost 6:30 pm. So now I had to do what good cooks do and think on their feet.
I decided to carefully get the squares apart as best I could under warm running water. Plan C was to make lasagna. Why not? It’s been a couple of years since I made just regular cheese lasagna.
I didn’t tell Marty who was sitting in the living room. I didn’t talk out loud to myself and continue to curse the stuck pasta sheets, I put my head down and got to work.
I was pretty happy how I had just enough sauce, cheese, and pasta. I popped it into the oven and was pretty sure it was going to be good.
While the lasagna was baking, I was thinking about how the entire day was a complete train wreck.
First thing in the morning I walked over to my neighbor’s house to feed his cat that I was cat sitting. I took off my boots, which I am tired of putting on and off constantly. Next, I stepped in warm mushy cat puke with my clean socks I just put on. After I fed the cat I threw my socks in his garbage and walked home in my boots without socks. This was all before my morning cup of coffee.
Later on in the day, I knocked over the dog’s water bowl that was just refilled to the tippy top. All the water ran into the center of my kitchen since all the floors are slanted. The character of an 1832 house is not always charming.
The water quickly ran onto my kitchen runner rug in front of my sink and island. When I raced to get paper towels I got both my second pair of socks soaked. 🤦🏻♀️
The saving grace of the entire day was when I took that lasagna out of the oven. You could almost hear a choir of angels singing. It looked and smelled luscious. I let it cool a bit to let the cheese set up while I set the table.
Let me tell you what! It was the best damn lasagna I ever made and I’ve been making lasagna for 40 years! The crazy thing is, the filling was almost like the ravioli from Spiritos I’ve been trying to duplicate for decades!
I said the best lasagna that I ever made, not ate. I will leave that honor up to Marty’s best friend Paulie’s mother Mrs. Moramarco. Her lasagne was another food memory that will go down in history. Marty and I don’t think it will ever be topped. It was pure perfection! 🙌🏼
So the title of this blog post could have been “Third time’s a charm, but after we finished eating, I announced, “That was a delicious mistake!”
My cheese lasagna with some focaccia bread I made earlier in the day.
Ten or fifteen years ago the old me would have gotten so pissed off when the pasta sheets stuck together I would have thrown everything away. I guess I am either getting more patient as I get older, or I just know how to fix a kitchen disaster. I think a little of both.
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.”
