Butterfly on basil

Great success in the summer garden this year. How about you?

Best crop by far was sweet basil (seen her) and bush basil. Also, great success with peppers--green, banana, jalapeno and super-hot tiny red peppers. Cilantro, parsley, tomatoes all feel victim to rabbits.

Post your proud garden photos on the Simply Sibarita Facebook fan page!

Attn: Philly-area residents!

Had an amazing dinner at Lai Lai in North Wales last night:

• Shredded pork and pickled cabbage soup (for 2)--great broth and crisp, not-at-all overcooked veggies that tasted like nature intended them to


• Steamed dumplings in a sweet and spicy ginger, plum and chili oil sauce


• The chef's special--sliced beef with tomatoes and ginger


• Melt-your-face pork short ribs (pictured above--and yes, all those red things ARE chili peppers)

We were warmly welcomed by the staff. The service was first class. Our host--a lovely attentive woman (one of the owners, perhaps?)--kindly offered us the authentic Chinese menu in lieu of the Americanized-Chinese/Korean menu. And when my husband ordered the short ribs, she asked him, "How spicy would you like it?" Even when he nodded and said, "Spicy! Kick it up a notch," she wisely instructed the chef to prepare it with "small heat NOT regular heat," and we both enjoyed some giggles and knowing glances when my husband's eyes began to tear and sweat formed on his brow. I tried it, too, and it was HOT, but not at the sacrifice of flavor.

All-around great meal, and I can't wait to go back!

Simple and Colorful: Carnitas!

Pork carnitas, stewed in sofrito; served on a whole-wheat tortilla, and topped with advocado, cilantro and a squeeze of lime.

Goodness in a glass

It's Belgian chocolate; it's red wine. It's ChocoVino!

Thanks to wonderfully generous friends, Jaime and Marcio, for this delicious gift!

"Thing globally; act locally." Or vice versa.

There's a saying, "Think globally; act locally." But there's nothing to prohibit each of us from acting globally, too. Jessica Posner, thanks for reminding us of our power.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/07/20/jessica-posners-do-someth_n_652145.html

Favorite summer flavor?

No dish exemplifies "summer" for me more than a New England lobster roll. It's simple to make; just three necessary ingredients: freshly boiled lobster, melted unsalted butter, and a good roll.

If you want to "jazz" it up a bit, as I attempted here, it's also nice to add a little Bermuda (sweet, purple) onion and a squeeze of lemon!

What food/meal exemplifies summer for you?

Feast on this: Black bean and corn salsa!

Photo by Allison Eckel, 2010, All Rights Reserved.

Black Bean and Corn Salsa

By Allison Eckel

Summer grilling and backyard parties remind me of my favorite way to answer the question, “What should I bring?” Black bean and corn salsa is easy, quick, inexpensive, light on allergens, vegetarian, and actually healthy.

Ingredients:
1 can black beans, rinsed and drained
1 can of whole kernel corn, rinsed and drained
1 /3 red onion, diced (adjust according to taste and the strength of the onion)
1 /2 jalapeno pepper, diced
Juice of 1 lime (2 if you’re squeezing by hand)
1 avocado, chopped

Directions:
Combine all ingredients in the order listed. Add the avocado just before serving. This is great with corn chips. I chose baked Tostito-brand chips because, well, they’re baked but also because they are scoops, which hold more salsa!

On the rare occasion you have leftovers, this salsa goes well with grilled tuna steaks brushed with herb-infused olive oil and a chilled pinot grigio.

Now, a little more about my assertion that this side dish/garnish is healthy. My criteria for a healthy food is that it contain no high fructose corn syrup (check) and limited things with chemical names, if at all (check). And although I love summertime salads that rely on mayonnaise, they really are junky (and will spoil in the heat).

David Zinczenko (editorial honcho at Men’s Health and Women’s Health magazines) publishes the fantastic book/blog series Eat This, Not That: http://eatthis.menshealth.com/home. His mantra is “the simpler, the better.” If an ingredient list is complicated, the food is probably the wrong choice. This salsa is as simple as can be. Plus, the fat component is avocado, which provides beneficial cholesterol-lowering monounsaturated fat.

The only down side to this salsa is the cans used for the beans and corn. Many food cans are made with an epoxy liner called Bisphenol A, better known as BPA, or that chemical you don’t want in your kid’s reusable water bottle. Not to scare you, but it is definitely lurking in the can of his Spaghetti-Os, which are nutritional wastelands anyway.

This 2008 article on TreeHugger.com provides a lot of content from the FDA and research groups in an easy-to-read format: http://www.treehugger.com/files/2008/04/bpa-danger-from-cans.php

To reduce the danger of BPA in your salsa, cook black beans ahead of time and shave corn from fresh ears bought at the farmers market. But if you’re like me, you pick your battles. I am below average in my use of canned goods, so I splurge on the canned beans. I would rather use my cooking time in other ways. The whole point of black bean and corn salsa is its easy, breezy yumminess.

In search of "the friendly skies"

In search of “the friendly skies”

My step-daughter is preparing to take her first plane ride—EVER. I’m ashamed that she is nearly 17 years old and has not yet experienced this phenomenon—the feeling I love so much, of lifting off and crossing miles and miles of globe in mere hours, of going to someplace new, of seeing new things, new people … new, new, new.

But there have been obstacles—which I must not discuss here—that have prevented us from getting her onboard an aircraft before now. I’m excited for her, knowing the butterflies will be fluttering in her stomach, and how everything she’ll see and do from the moment she lifts off until she finds herself on the return flight will be an entirely NEW experience to her. Surely the travel bug will sink its teeth into her, as it did to her step-mother so many years ago.

Speaking of air travel …

Does it seem as though the backlash from all the baggage add-on fees has done any good? Or have you found airlines that are still charging out the wazoo for one, two, or more bags? I still don’t know why they don’t just factor that into the airfare. No one would have batted an eye had they done that.

I hear they’re considering doing away with peanuts:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/06/12/peanut-ban-on-airplaines-_n_610247.html?ir=Food
The risk of food-allergy illness seems enough reason to do this. Besides, will anyone REALLY miss that miniscule bag of overly salted peanuts? It only makes you want to drink more, and by the way, that’ll cost you, too.

Here are a few “tips” for surviving modern-times air travel:
http://lifehacker.com/5561002/top-10-strategies-for-surviving-airports-and-airplanes
Though I TOTALLY disagree with the “check your pistol” strategy, unless you’re trying to get yourself on some “watch list.”

Here are a few airlines said to “do it right:”
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/05/27/the-best-airlines-in-the_n_591738.html

MG's been to the desert (minus the no-named horse).

Photo by Mary Gay Marchese, 2010. All Rights Reserved.


Photo by Mary Gay Marchese, 2010. All Rights Reserved.


Photo by Mary Gay Marchese, 2010. All Rights Reserved.

Photo by Mary Gay Marchese, 2010. All Rights Reserved.

Mangoes!

My husband loves mangoes (especially spiced-up in salsa), so I post this for him:

http://www.salon.com/food/francis_lam/2010/06/04/how_to_cut_mango/index.html?source=newsletter

I have two issues with mangoes:

1.) I think they're deceptive. You cut them open and expect the juicy pink-orange meat to be sweet, only to find that they sort of taste like carrots. Not that that's a bad thing. I like carrots, but I wouldn't make a shake out of them.

2.) Perhaps my skepticism about mangoes dates back to sixth grade when I attempted to pick one from a tree near our home in Venezuela, only to anger a nest full of hornets. Ouch.

Becky is "parked" in Amsterdam for a few years.

Beatrixpark, Amsterdam. Photo by Becky Churilla, 2010, All Rights Reserved.

Serenity now. Beatrixpark, Amsterdam. Photo by Becky Churilla, 2010, All Rights Reserved.

Blijburg Beach, Amsterdam. Photo by Becky Churilla, 2010, All Rights Reserved.

The pool at Beatrixpark, Amsterdam. Photo by Becky Churilla, 2010, All Rights Reserved.

Things We Like: Ceviche!

I tried ceviche for the first time, relatively late in life. We were living in Norristown at the time—right in the heart of the hood on West Main Street. Our best friend in the neighborhood lived two doors down—Guatemalan Gus. Gus had a heart of gold, a certain joy that radiated and infected others. If Norristown had an unofficial mayor, it was Gus; he called the shots—maybe because of his happy demeanor, or maybe because he always looked a little crazed, with his long, thick, black mane flowing, and his omnipresent sunglasses, which sat on his nose even in the dead of night.

One night, Gus came to the door and asked if we’d already had dinner. We hadn’t, and were instantly grateful, for when Gus cooked, we were well fed. We told him we hadn’t, and welcomed him into our dark, dated kitchen, where he produced some limes, cilantro and hot peppers from his pockets, and pulled a not-long-dead squid from a soggy paper bag. He made quick work, dicing and chopping and mixing.

When the ceviche was all assembled and colorful in the bowl, he declared, “And now we have a beer!” Which we did—or maybe it was three—and by the time our thirst was quenched, the squid had stewed perfectly in the lime juice. It was tender and tart and spicy, and “so easy to make,” we marveled. And it is. Any garden variety shellfish or seafood will do—the rest of the staple ingredients easy and cheap to procure.

Gus’ ceviche was excellent, but the best I’ve ever had comes from Los Sarapes in Horsham, PA. It’s consistently divine. http://www.lossarapeshorsham.com/

MG went to Central America

A Costa Rica sunset. Photo by Mary Gay Marchese, 2010, All Rights Reserved.


Boat trip. Flores, Guatemala. Photo by Mary Gay Marchese, 2010, All Rights Reserved.



Tamarindo, Costa Rica. Photo by Mary Gay Marchese, 2010, All Rights Reserved.

Billy takes on Clearwater Beach

Umbrellas, ellas, ellas, ey. Photo by Billy Whartenby, 2010, All Rights Reserved.


Sugar Sands. Photo by Billy Whartenby, 2010, All Rights Reserved.


Palm trees. Photo by Billy Whartenby, 2010, All Rights Reserved.

In the Kitchen with Mom

I think my mother would be the first to admit she’s a good cook, but not necessarily a great one. She spent all her life doing the best she could in the kitchen, while juggling a pretty demanding career. I myself only began to really cook when I started working from home a decade ago. It’s a luxury when you can forego a white-knuckled commute for an extra hour in the kitchen, preparing a meal you hope your family will savor.

So my mother never really had a lot of that luxurious time in the kitchen when I was growing up. And often she’d resort to quick-and-easy, simple meals—things easily brought to a boil on the stove or heated in the microwave.

Often, we’d eat according to some new fad she’d discovered. Fondues and La Choy (not at all) Chinese from cans marked the 70s. When she discovered Latin flavors in the 80s, there was a span of time when all our meals were muy caliente. She had a heavy hand with jalepenos.

Unlike my husband, who grew up in a home with imposing structure and scheduling and order (they had certain meals, certain nights of the week—most of it pretty good, he recalls), to my mother’s credit, she always kept it interesting and wasn’t afraid to try new things.

There were a few dishes my mother made really well. Mashed potatoes, for example—not too thin, just this side of chunky. And party food! She was very good at that; she loves to entertain. In particular, I covet her cocktail meatballs and these little ice-cream cream puffs she makes with warm raspberry sauce. I’m sure both recipes came from a cookbook at some point, but I’d rather credit her with these concoctions.

And just recently, during a lovely visit with my folks, she made one heck of a meatloaf—so good and comforting and saucy that I had the leftovers for breakfast the next morning (in lieu of pastry, much to my Dad’s amusement), with just a touch of ketchup, on a tiny roll.

Thanks, Mom, for everything—even the La Choy. Happy Mother’s Day!

Bob's in Paris, working on a book!

Patisserie/Boulangerie. Photo by Bob Adams. 2010, All Rights Reserved.


Paris: Pastry Heaven. Photo by Bob Adams. 2010, All Rights Reserved.


Statue atop the Grand Palais. Photo by Bob Adams. 2010, All Rights Reserved.

Skyscraper. Photo by Bob Adams. 2010, All Rights Reserved.

Arc de Triomphe, near Place de La Concorde. Photo by Bob Adams. 2010, All Rights Reserved.

Hot, wet and steamy ... like a South American rainy season.

So hot, wet and steamy today in Philadelphia. Reminds me of South America during the rainy season.

Great article in the NY Times here, tying together two of my loves--literature (Gabriel Garcia Marquez) and travel (Cartagena, Colombia):

http://travel.nytimes.com/2010/05/02/travel/02cartagena.html?th=&emc=th&pagewanted=all

City dwellers, how does your garden grow?

In the window, of course!

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=125504307&sc=fb&cc=fp

HP, GrillMaster: Tip 'o the mornin'

If you’re fortunate to live in a part of the world that’s getting the glorious sunshine and warm temps we’re getting in Philly today, you’re probably thinking about the sweet aroma of your favorite food cooked over an open flame. So, it’s time for a tip from our resident GrillMaster!

This week, our Titan of Tenderloin shares a tip on seasoning your grill, and extending its life:

“This is what I call ‘a before-and-after’ tip. After you’ve used your grill and the coals are mostly burned out, scrape any residue off of the grates. I use a jumbo brush—a Christmas present.

Then, take a large onion; cut it in half, and soak it for a few seconds in vegetable oil. Use the oiled onion halves to run across the grill grates, applying a thin layer of oil to the surface. This ‘seasons’ the grates, makes them more ‘non-stick,’ and extends the life of your grill.

When you’re ready to grill the next time, repeat the onion/veggie oil rub.”

Talk Derby to me.

Thanks, Billy W, for the title today! I stole it from him, y'all.

It's KY Derby day! True confession? I won't be watching (the Flyers have Game 1/Round 2 against the Boston Bruins today, so that will hold my attention for most of the afternoon). But if you're going to don a big hat, clip off the ends of cigars, place your bets, and watch the horsies run, then you're going to need a batch of mint juleps:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/max-watman/mint-juleps-by-the-batch_b_556841.html

Films featuring food

Check out "The Best Food Movies, by Farr:"

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/john-farr/the-best-food-movies-by-f_b_543173.html

I haven't seen most of these. But, yes, Silence of the Lambs ranks high on my list, too. I would also submit:

Chocolat

Diner

9 1/2 Weeks

Bridget Jones Diary

Mystic Pizza

Flashdance (because of that scene with the lobster)

Julie & Julia

The Godfather trilogy (because they're always eating, and because of the oranges)

Fried Green Tomatoes

Do the Right Thing

The Secret Lives of Bees (the book was a thousand times better)

Waitress

Nuts and Oolong Tea

Grabbing the bull by the what? I consider myself to be an adventuresome eater, but ...

http://www.reuters.com/article/idUSTRE49645B20081007?feedType=RSS&feedName=lifestyleMolt&pageNumber=1&virtualBrandChannel=0

ALSO:

Looking for great Chinese in Chestnut Hill? Check out King's Garden on Germantown Avenue.

http://www.yelp.com/biz/kings-garden-philadelphia

Enjoyed a fabulous meal there: hot-and-sour soup; vegetable spring roll, and a spicy/sweet shrimp dish that left me wanting to lick the plate. And a special shout-out to the lovely proprietor, who kindly sent me home with a great little bag of the loose oolong tea they serve (Hung Lee brand).

I'd mentioned to the waiter that I liked it, and the next thing you know, we were chatting with the staff and becoming fast friends. Thank you! Lovely dining experience, and I'll look forward to our return.

As easy as boiling water

Cooking pasta should be easy. Often, it’s not. Cook times to achieve the desired al dente are so dependent on the type of heat and the vessel—even the altitude. I’ve been guilty of serving up that gummy stuff Harold McGee talks about in this piece:

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/02/25/dining/25curi.html?_r=2&th&emc=th

There’s only one sure-fire way to tell whether pasta is done: Bite it.

I totally get it, Mayor Bloomberg.

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/26/nyregion/26bermuda.html?th&emc=th

I'd be happy with only five

The New York Times says that there are 31 places you must get up close and personal with this year, which is (yikes) more than a quarter over! Get busy, people!

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/10/travel/10places.html?th&emc=th

Frankly, I’d be happy to see just five of these. I’d consider myself very fortunate, and if I had to choose …

5. Vancouver Island. Would love to visit soon. It would be nice to see the landscape and friends out there. I feel I missed the opportunity to visit during the Olympics!

4. Breckenridge. Why not? It’s Colorado. I love Colorado.

3. Kuala Lumpur. Because of the food, the people, the culture, the feeling of truly being halfway across the world. http://travel.nytimes.com/2009/12/20/travel/20hours.html?th&emc=th

2. Costa Rica. So many friends have been recently, and have returned with a glow that transcends their sun-kissed skin. It’s a new attitude, a certain laid-back air that lingers briefly before life in States reclaims them. http://www.cnn.com/2009/TRAVEL/getaways/01/21/costa.rica/index.html

1. Patagonia—Not too far out of the realm of possibility, since we’re feeling the want to visit immediate family in Argentina.

Out of the 31 must-sees the NY Times suggests, what are your top-five picks?

Go to your happy place

The people are happy in Costa Rica:

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/07/opinion/07kristof.html?th&emc=th

Wasn't Rush Limbaugh supposed to set up residence there if the healthcare Bill passed? Anyone spot any moving PODs at his house?

The Money Shot

Here’s an interesting article about people who photograph food—food they eat, every day:

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/07/dining/07camera.html?th&emc=th

I have been known to photograph dishes I’ve created, but I’m not OCD or disciplined enough to keep a full-fledged “food diary.” Shoot, I’m no good at simply keeping track of what I eat—and the calories—even when I’m trying to be conscientious about my diet.

There were a couple of interesting tidbits to this article, which piqued my interest. First, that some of these food-photo fetishists brazenly whipped out their cameras at restaurants. Maybe this is a generational thing. I remember all too well when cameras were forbidden at most any event—sporting, music, dining experiences. Then camera-phones came along and destroyed the old rules. So I suppose it’s okay to do this now, to photograph food someone else made. I wonder if the chefs cringe a little when folks do, fearing that they’ll somehow steal the recipe or make money off their culinary creations?

Food in photography is, arguably, art. And I always feel funny about capitalizing on someone else’s artistic expression. Heck, I’m just now retraining my brain to acknowledge that it’s okay to take a camera to a concert or a Flyers game. And when I do, I’m covert in its use.

Also of interest to me was the mention of new cameras coming out—from Nikon, Olympus, Sony and Fuji—that have special “food” or “cuisine” modes. I think I may need (want) one of those!

Planetary TLC

Today, we celebrate Mother Earth. I have to confess that when I first became cognizant of Earth Day—way back in college—its meaning was lost on me. I considered it more of an excuse to blow off classes and party than I did a reason for reflection. Even though I grew up appreciating nature, I, like so many others, took it for granted.

Today, I’m obviously more mature and naturally introspective, so I treasure the day. It’s not that on this day I do any more to reduce my negative impact than I would on a normal day. Still, I could do more. We all could do more. But it’s nice knowing that on this day everyone across the globe is celebrating, considering, learning, and trying, right alongside me. A day when millions of school children are learning about how to protect the environment, and reduce the carnage left behind by earlier generations.

And since this is a “food and travel” type-o-site, I offer some food for thought on how both impact the world we’re renting:

Stop and think about where your food comes from, and how it’s living and dieing before it gets to your plate—like the seafood we (I) covet:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/04/04/sustainable-seafood-photo_n_522387.html

And if you need empirical proof that we’re all interconnected, one people, one Earth, check this out (and consider the impact the next time you travel):
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/04/08/world-air-traffic-over-a_n_529905.html

Give Me That Old-Time Religion

A few weeks back, I made a long overdue drive to see my folks who have settled in Denver, NC. I was excited to see their new digs, meet their new friends, hear about their adventures in starting a new life, with new scenery and new opportunity. I’m a big fan of relocation, of fresh starts, of perpetual change. That’s why it’s so strange that I have been relatively at peace with living here, in this single spot for so many years. But in the back of my mind, there’s always just a hint of want, of new geography and culture and people. So I was excited for my folks.

The visit was lovely—a perfect blend of busy and sloth, replete with laughs and storytelling. It was nice to be with them again.

But this isn’t a story about our little family reunion. Rather, it’s of this place we passed by as my mother drove us to the local thrift store, to pass an hour of time. As we neared it, she instructed us to look to our left as we passed what appeared to be some abandoned shanty town. “Interesting, right,” she nodded.

“What is it,” I wanted to know.

“It’s the campground,” she replied matter-of-factly.

“People go camping there?”

“Yes. Each of those little—oh, I don’t know what you’d call them, buildings maybe—those are owned by people. And they come here for events—revivals and so forth,” my mother explained.

I hadn’t heard that word in a very long time. “Revival.” It was so familiar to me, and it started to conjure up memories.

She’s a regular there at the thrift store, my mother. The sales go to benefit the local community (it doubles as a food kitchen, which I understand has no shortage of patrons these days), and my mother often finds treasures among its racks and shelves, which she resells on her ebay store. That day she found a little statute and a few other trinkets, including a “vintage” IBM Selectric typewriter—this one unique, in that it was red, rather than the standard black. I don’t know how she’ll ever sell it on ebay. How you could you ever ship that? They’re like anvils!

I bought some books (former library books, sadly) and a stack of 45s that I’ll use as art in our rec room.

On the way home, we were fixin’ (in honor of NC) to pass by “the campground” again, when I said, “I’ve got to get a picture of this place.”

My mother obliged and pulled into the circular drive the surrounds the compound. She told me some are more rudimentary than others. That the crème de la crème of the shacks—really, for lack of a better word—had electricity. She wasn’t sure if any had running water, however, but remarked that there were a couple of communal bathrooms—for the men, and for the women.

I don’t know how to describe the buildings, really. You have to see them for yourself. I have posted some photos here, but I’ll also post a video my husband shot, peeking into one of the structures. The roofs are tin and rusted. The wood is local and has that tell-tale southern sign of blackened age. There’s not much to them, and they all seem to have been built based on a central style or theme—slatted and open, as to foster a communal vibe, where people can just make the rounds at night and peer in on their neighbors and strike up a conversation. Which sounds kind of nice and old-fashioned and quaint, but I had to wonder if the “open door” policy—or open wall, as in this case—didn’t have more to do with keeping people on their best behavior when they’re camping and worshipping. Maybe it was about maintaining some sexual purity while your mind should be solely focused on spiritual matters. I don’t know.

I did find some basic information on Rock Springs Campground when I got home and began to surf the Web a little. Here’s some history on the place, if you’re interested:

http://www.denvernc.com/rockspringscamp.htm

I wondered, too, about my fascination with the place. It was rather vile looking, but who am I to judge? I realized that my fascination was more about a memory—memories, plural—it conjured up for me. When I was little, my great-grandmother (who most of you know, I adored) would, on an occasional hot summer night, load up the station wagon with lawn chairs and take me way out into the country for “revivals.”

We’d arrive, and I’d marvel at the big tents they’d erected and strung with twinkle lights. Underneath were rows upon rows of other God-fearing people in their lawn chairs, eating country ham sandwiches or fried chicken, while being entertained by some gospel group or preacher who’d tell corny jokes. And when I say “gospel,” I mean white, southern Baptist gospel. I don’t remember there ever being any people of color at these events, or maybe I simply hadn’t noticed.

From what I understood about these events that would come through town like carnies, some people would camp out, and there would be religious ceremonies—sermons and such—during the daytime, and at night, the pulpit would double as a makeshift stage and the music began. I loved the music, truthfully. It made me want to dance, which I think was frowned upon—yet I got away with it, because I was just a little kid. I also got away with some very bad behavior at times. Already boy crazy by that point, I would inevitably wander away from my great-grandmother’s watchful eye, and stroll around through the tents, hoping I might stumble upon some kid my age who wanted to do less wholesome things than listen to some quartet try to harmonize.

My great-grandmother loved the music. It’s why we went. I don’t remember us ever attending any of the sermons. And trust me, that was not because she wasn’t religious or spiritual. She was perhaps the most devout Christian to walk the Earth. But my great-grandmother was also unwaveringly devoted to her Church and to her preacher, and I imagine she felt that listening to any other—especially one who traveled around the country like a gypsy—was blasphemous in some way. Yes, it was the music that drew us each in, bonded us on those hot summer nights.

It may have been our last time to do this together; I don’t know how old I was by then. But I was even more boy crazy. I was pleasantly surprised that one of the bands that particular evening had a young singer and guitar player. I believe the band was called “The Pell Brothers,” or “The Pell Family.” And I believe his name was “Darrin Pell.” He was blonde and cute and talented on the guitar. And I flocked to the front of the stage like a full-fledged groupie. He caught my eye; I caught his, and after they’d put their guitars in their cases, I followed him behind the stage and struck up a conversation with him. He was just as sweet and wholesome as that part he played on the stage, and he gave me an autographed picture of the band, which indeed made me feel like just another groupie.

Things We Like: Biltmore Reds

During a recent visit with my folks, we trekked out to Asheville, NC and toured the Biltmore Estate (more on that another time). Post tour, we checked out the Estate's winery, and enjoyed a free tasting of most--but not all--of their reds and whites.

Sparkling and premium wines cost extra. We tried some of those, too.

My favorites out of the bunch:

• Biltmore Sangiovese


• Biltmore Limited Release Tempranilla


• Biltmore Estate Chateau Reserve Methode Champenoise Blanc de Blancs, 2006 North Carolina, Brut

Highly recommended!

http://www.biltmore.com/our_wine/wines/red.asp

Confessions of a bad baker

Good for Sue Compton. She won the Pillsbury Bake-Off Contest and made a cool $1 million:
http://www.philly.com/inquirer/front_page/20100415__1_MILLION_DESSERT.html

I’m an exceptional cook, if I do say so myself. But baking has always eluded me. It’s too scientific and dependent on just the right measures and atmospheric conditions. I appreciate science and math, but I’ve never had the acumen for either.

So reading about Sue Compton and her little creation of scrumptiousness made me a.) bow down to her greatness; and b.) recall that I’ve got some atoning to do.

And so I make this public confession:

When I was a kid, my folks worked for Hewlett-Packard. HP had the BEST annual company picnics—food and drink, street performers, live music, skits performed by the company’s execs, and activities for the kids. I was never much for organized sports back them, so I often opted out of the potato-sack races and bobbing-for-apples contests, though I secretly coveted the prizes they’d dole out to the winners.

I was just about to begin the 10th grade—the new girl at a new school—and the summer leading up to it had caused me great angst. When the annual picnic rolled around, I was looking forward to blowing off some steam, maybe having some actual interaction with kids I recognized. And my mother was pleasantly surprised when I said that I might even break out of my comfort zone and participate in some of the contests that year.

She told me about the more physical ones they’d planned for the kids, and they bored me, but when she mentioned the “bake-off,” my ears perked up. Now THAT, I could do. I relished the idea of making something sweet. I’ve always had a sweet tooth.

So off to the market we went, my mother and I. We bought some pre-packaged cake mix, frosting and decorations to jazz it up. She offered to help me with the cooking and assembly, but I told her, “Thanks, but I should do this myself. It’s a contest. If you help, that’s like cheating.”

My Mom honored my request, and left me alone in the kitchen to prepare what I hoped would be the best chocolate cake ever. I envisioned those judges plunging their forks into its spongy greatness—sounds of ohs and ahs, as they saw how moist it was. I saw their eyes closing and their heads being tossed back in ecstasy, as the rich chocolate melted on their tastebuds.

I followed the directions as best I could. Call it Attention Deficit Disorder or whatever, but I hadn’t paid as close attention to the measurements as I should have. And when the cake came out of the oven, it was still liquidy in the center, and I made the mistake of trying to ice it when it was still warm. I tried valiantly to place the icing just so, as to hold the crumbling, melting cake together, but in the end, what sat before me was a plate of chocolate soup. I cursed myself for not having the wherewithal to buy two boxes of that cake mix. I’ve always appreciated formulating a Plan B.

I wanted to cry, but didn’t. I called my Mother into the kitchen and declared, “It’s ruined. I’m out of the contest,” which was then mere hours away.

My mother looked at me, looked at the cake, and back to me. “Get ready. We’re leaving early.”

I had no idea what she had in mind, as she disposed of the cake-soup and washed the Tupperware cake plate off in the sink.

On our way to the picnic, we pulled off into the parking lot of the grocery store.

“Come on,” she prodded me. Into the store we went, and headed straight to the bakery section. There were a few pre-made cakes in plastic domes. “Pick one,” she told me.

I rather liked the look of the coconut cake. Its flakes of coconut shavings reminded me of snow, and it was hot that day. I pointed to it, and she snatched it up and high-tailed it to the check out. Once in the car, she instructed me to removed that coconut cake from its plastic cage and place it in the Tupperware. Only then did I realize what she had in mind. She wanted me to pass that cake off as my own.

“We can’t do this,” I told her. I was old enough to know that it was dishonest and scandalous, and I remember thinking that if anyone should find out, it would reflect very poorly on my parents, who until then were well-liked at HP.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” my mother said. “It’s just a silly little contest. But I put your name down for it, so you have to do it. And I bet everyone else BOUGHT their desserts, too. Who has time to bake?”

I was mortified to learn that most of my competitors were little kids who had clearly belabored over their baked goods, judging from the lop-sided cakes and misshapen cookies. When “my” coconut cake took first prize, and I was called to the makeshift stage to collect my blue ribbon, I wanted to die—right there, on the spot. I thought God would surely strike me down.

I felt so guilty, I had a hard time enjoying the rest of the day. Though I had the chance to ride in a tethered hot-air balloon that day, and got to climb a ladder to mount a real, live Tennessee Walking Horse (those beasts are TALL), the experience left a bitter taste in my mouth.

When we got in the car at the end of the day, my mother and I turned to each other, wide-eyed, and burst out laughing. “I can’t believe that cake WON,” she marveled.

“I know! I was so embarrassed, and felt bad for the little kids,” I confessed.

“This is the kind of thing that would only happen to us,” we agreed. And we never spoke of it again.

Things we like

100% Recycled Reynolds Wrap

Nature's Path Organic Instant Oatmeal--especially the Cranberry-Ginger flavor

Organic Sweet Leaf tea with mint and honey

Who says "nothing in life is free?"

I'm going out of my way (literally) to take advantage of this next week:

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap_travel/20100413/ap_tr_ge/us_travel_brief_national_park_week

Maybe one of these bucolic, serene spots is within your reach:

http://www.cnn.com/2009/TRAVEL/getaways/07/17/visit.national.parks/index.html

Just beware of any yahoos who got lost on the way to the Tea Party protests or militia meetings:

http://www.aolnews.com/nation/article/gun-toting-visitors-heading-to-national-parks/19353107

Domestic tourism and revisionist history

Gail Collins beat me to the punch. In today's NY Times, she summed up what I'd been feeling--frustration over the rewriting of history, and the CELEBRATION of our nation's darkest period.

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/08/opinion/08collins.html?th&emc=th

She came to an interesting conclusion, as you see: That tourism is to blame. Do you agree?

It's important to study the Civil War and the reasons why it was waged. But to celebrate it? To capitalize upon it, to treat it like Black History Month or any of the other "months" in which we celebrate what is inherently American? That, I don't get. Am I missing something here?

I don't discount the value of our southern bretheren. I consider myself to be from the south (though marginally so, just south of the Mason-Dixon line). I have family scattered throughout the south--good, hard-working, loving, beautiful people that they are. But during this dark, troubled era, the Confederacy was on the wrong side of the right v. wrong. Perspective and time has assured us of this. Kind of hard to be proud of that, I'd think.