Smells like Teen Angst

On of the hazards of cleaning out closets is that you come across things that you have to decide whether they are sentimental enough to warrant keeping. And sometimes you have occasion to reexamine the things you have previously chose to retain.

I opened two boxes today; One was the box of things I packed away after Carl died with the thought that it was stuff that spoke most to who he was, the other was my box of random memory items that I have kept for years and years. The difference between the two was striking to me.....and yet there were some similarities.

Carl was not much of a sentimental sort of guy. When he died, going through his effects was nothing like a chick lit book or movie. No sappy beyond the grave letters, not even an old card that I had sent him. My husband wasn't for retaining or producing missives of love. Really the only things that spoke to his sentimentality was a small pile of get well soon cards sent to him in high school when he had Chicken pox, his grandfathers funeral announcement and a cut out wedding announcement for someone who had been a great friend in elementary school but hadn't been in touch for years. So I put those in the box, along with the stuff that spoke to his interests.......Star Trek memorabilia collected avidly, the title and dog-earred repair manual for his beloved Trans Am and the random chotchkies he loved enough to take up precious desk space.

My box is full of things of a different sort. Mostly letters, deflated balloons, cheap jewelry and bad teenage poetry. Sadly, the pressed blue daisies (my first flowers from a boy) have disintegrated. Somehow I have all the letters my high school boyfriends and I wrote back and forth filled with wonderful insights about skipping classes, and making out. When I was younger I always imagined it would be great fun to show my grandkids the letters that their grandfather and I exchanged when parted. (This may have had something to do with the fact that I was forever dating military men or guys who at least lived a bit away, making letters a necessary medium.) Funny thing is that I never married any of them, yet the letters are still there in the box. And the man I married never wrote me a single letter. Unless you count random post it notes asking me to stop at the store or call one of his clients about a past due bill. The cheap jewelry I will probably keep. It was exciting to get an ID bracelet from my first love....or a REAL necklace from the boy I was dating. While I won't wear them anymore they are full of the sentimental memories for me. Maybe I will eventually get around to throwing away some of my letters because they aren't really going to mean anything to anyone else, and lord knows they are embarrassing to read....but maybe I will wait and read them to myself when A gets to be a teen. Just to remind myself about what teenage love looks and feels like.

But what was the same for both boxes was the lack of things from our childhood before the teen years. I can't speak for Carl, but what I remember most about those years is just fun. The need to keep things as a way of narrating my existence didn't really begin until I realized I wasn't always going to be around to speak for myself.

I don't know if A will care about Carl's bobble head Reagan or my bad teenage poetry. I can't predict what will help her find a sense of connection to the people who brought her into the world or will foster a moment of understand between the two of us as she gets older....... but I know that just thinking about whether or not stuff is "box worthy" helps me focus on what is important in life.

Are there skeletons in there? I wouldn't even know.

I have taken a short leave of absence from Culinary school for this round of classes. My friend Maria did it to go home and I realized that it was possible and grabbed at the chance. Since I was only taking one class, I was commuting 3+ hours a day to be in class for 40 mins and that just didn't seem like an effective use of time. So instead I am steadily working my way through back seasons of several TV shows I didn't know I would like at an alarming rate (thanks Netflix for being a time vampire)......and working on getting my house under control.

The picture kind of shows what I am up against. That is the pile of books to be rid of from 1 of my 3 bookcases. So far I have dealt with A's room and the living room, the two cleanest rooms in my house, and I have made 3 trips to the Salvation army. I have always in the past tried to stay on top of being in control of my stuff. Since A came, it has been MUCH harder. There are several reasons I find it hard to get rid of things that should have gone... I have very little time to do things like this without "help" or someone whining that they want me to play. I never quite know if A doesn't play with those toys because she hasn't grown into it yet or if she just doesn't like it. I have been seriously conditioned by my genetic contributors to not waste things that could be used (which leads to me keeping things like unopened bars of Zest for 4 years because Carl used them and I don't but I can't possibly throw them away because that would be WASTING). And last but not least, I am constantly trying to convince myself that I could sell the stuff and make some money. Which might work if I wasn't totally lousy about posting things on Craigslist and then forgetting to check for responses, and holding a garage sale in the middle of winter with a 3 year old sounds like hell.

Don't get me wrong, my house doesn't look like it belongs in a Hoarders episode or anything. But I wouldn't recommend you look too closely at the closets or garage. In fact, if you open a closet in my house, I would highly recommend you take a step back or shield your head because often you can find yourself clobbered by something that was precariously stuffed in there the last time my in-laws visited.

Yesterday, I conquered the hall closet and my bedroom closet which lead to some questions/observations (some are not first time ponderings.)

1. I have got to stop buying candy for holidays and shoving the unused portion into closets. I have a huge stash of candy I don't like, that I don't want my kid to eat too much of taking up space because I can't waste it by throwing it away.
2. How is it that I manage to buy presents for people and then forget about them? I must have found at least 4 things that were meant to be given for some celebration and have gotten lost.
3. How did I marry a man that liked, without irony, the 80's TV show "Sledgehammer"? I mean seriously, "Sledgehammer"? WTF?
4. Which always leads into whether or not I should keep some of Carl's DVD collection for A when she gets older. And if not, can I really give/throw away 200+ DVDs without having a nervous breakdown about the waste/cost of it all.
5. How many candles, candle holders and vases does one chick need?
6. How many pairs of high heels does one stay at home mom need to own?
7. If I give away all my old office wear will I inevitably decide the next week to return to the work force? (Something I keep considering and rejecting.)

Chances are that I will stuff the hard stuff back in the closet to be considered at another date, because I can get rid of enough easy stuff to make the closets functional and look good without making those decisions. But, next week I have scheduled myself for garage duty.....so if you don't hear from me for a couple of days alert the authorities. I am not entirely sure that the stuff in there hasn't become sentient and may be liable to crush me under a mountain of unused toys and Costco sized packs of toilet paper to protect itself.

Where's my dad?

A. has been a little more vocal these days about wondering where her father is.

The other day she announced out of the blue, "My daddy DIED." As she is sometimes wont to do. But this time my assurances that this is in fact correct and factual were followed by, "I know my daddy DIED.... but where is he NOW." Huh. Apparently because dying is a past tense thing, he must be done with it now and what else is he doing? I am afraid I didn't do to well with this question. I hemmed and hawed a little. Mentioned that some people believe that he his in heaven watching over her. Skimmed over the part when some believe he won't rise until Christ returns, and some don't believe this at all. Which of course led to a round of "Where is heaven." It was all I could do not to lead with a distraction. "Hey, look at they big shiny object!" "Is that a cookie?"

Wanting to be more prepared I went back and consulted my handy- dandy (heavy on the sarcasm there) pamphlet on discussing death with children. So this morning when she brought it up again I led with a small discussion of what it means to die.

A: My daddy is dead

Me: He is. Do you know what it means to be dead?

A: *Blank look*

Me: Dying and Death mean that your body has stopped working. You can't do any of the things we do anymore.

A: Daddy's body stopped working?

Me: That's right. When you die you can't eat or sleep or hear or talk anymore.

A: But where is my daddy?

Me: Well, when your daddy's body stopped working we put it into a box, and we keep it so we can feel close to him.

A: So daddy's body is broken?

Me: Yeah kind of like that.

A: Oh, so we can get some batteries and fix daddy and then I can see him.

Me: Kiddo, I don't think that batteries are going to do it.

A: Yes they will mommy. We just need batteries.

This is all at once hysterical, heartbreaking and super frustrating to me. It is just one more thing on a long list of conversations I have to have over and over and over again. Such is her age.

Journal of the Damned

Day 3 of my quarantine -

The torture the short one is subjecting me to has me close to breaking. She is a demanding tyrant, waking me every hour during the night with complaints, hacking coughs and sounds that make me fear for my hygiene. I am tired and unable to do anything but acquiesce to her demands that I play dress up and feed her pasta even for breakfast.

I fear that she has threatened my fellow observers of her life with illness, since they have mysteriously vanished. My phone calls to them go directly to voicemail or are met with excuses like dental work as a reason they are unable to come to my rescue.

With the physical torture, she is also adding psychological torture. I ventured to the store today because we were completely out of some key supplies necessary for life as we know it, and she announced in her OUTSIDE voice that she was going to throw up. Which she wasn't, but it caused several other mothers to glare at me and steer their precious children away from me.

I fear without adult interaction and removal from this house, bad things might happen. For example, I am finding that I like the Disney Channel. Clearly, death is next.

Blog Me, Blog You, Blog Her

Hello, my name is Alicia and I am a food blog junkie.

So when my school was looking for a group of students to help cater a party for the BlogHer Food conference, of course I was in. They were looking for people from 10 am - 6 pm and 6 to 11 pm or for people to volunteer for the full day, which is a little too long for me to be away from Audrey, but I decided to work the later shift. Just in time to help plate and be there during the event.

I arrived and was immediately pulled into a team of 4 that were going to be shipped upstairs to the "bacon experience" room. Chef Weller who is our culinary department head gave us our marching orders, "make bacon popcorn and a pasta carbonara with rice noodles." Somewhere between the orders and the room on the fourth floor we lost one of our team members.

So we arrived in the room, and found no bacon. One of the two guys I was working with said that "they" were going to send it up with the Bacon Ice Cream and Chocolate dipped bacon later. So we set to work scrambling 50 eggs, mincing parsley and cooking rice noodles. I took the eggs and parsley while the boys worked on the rice noodles (since they had worked other catering gigs and had more industry experience).....taking 10 bags of noodles and dumping them into a humongous pot. Neither of them had cooked rice noodles before and managed to turn them into a very large gelatinous ball of overcooked starch. Several boxes of bacon and new rice noodles later, we were on target.

When the party started, I was happy to get stuck serving the Bacon Ice Cream. I got to (sort of) talk to the bloggers. ("Hi would you like to try some Bacon Ice Cream?") And work on spying the name of their blog that was listed on their name badge. I spotted a couple I had read before but none of my favorite bloggers. I had more pictures taken of my hand holding out a spoon full of ice cream than I cared to count. (I totally should have had a manicure and moisturized!) Only one blogger threw me for a loop when she asked me if I was going to change the culinary world when I graduated. To which I replied "Not likely." Which led to a brief discussion about why I was there if I didn't see a future in culinary arts. So, I just went ahead and blurted out that my husband died and I was working on fulfilling a dream. After which she recommended I start a blog about it. After all, I have a story to tell. Heh.

When the chef demo started (never heard of the chef, but that doesn't mean anything because I am actually not really tuned into famous chefs) I was shipped back down stairs to help clean the kitchen. Where it became clear that I would much rather be AT the party than catering the party. (Reason #987 why I don't really want to work in a restaurant.)

The party finally wrapped up about 10:15 and we dragged the dining room of the school's restaurant back into order, took the rented tables out to the loading dock and cleaned the kitchen spotless. At 11 the chef's gave a moderately moving speech about what great work we had done. Maybe it would have been more moving if we hadn't all wanted to just leave already..... And everyone still there at the bitter end got left over promo bags from the party with some pretty cool swag. (I particularly loved the huge coffee mug, espresso mug set and $25 gift cert from chefs.com).

All in all it was an interesting evening.....even if I will be paying for the change in my sleeping habit for well over a week.

Kitchen Tales

This week started another round of kitchen classes for me. Foundations III. This class consists of one day prepping for the kitchen followed by a kitchen day in which we have about 2 hours to produce two full plates.

It has been a revelation to me. But not necessarily in the cooking. I don't think that the chef instructor likes me much. I have never had a teacher/boss who didn't like me. Hell, teachers down-right LOVE me for crying out loud. (Well, except for my second grade teacher Mrs. Bachelor for whom I think it was less that she hated me and more that she hated her job and all children in general. In fact, I often imagined that she and Mrs. Trunchbull from Matilda would get along fabulously. Or maybe Ronald Dahl was one of her former students and based the character on her.) I am a great student. I like to learn, I pay attention and I am enthusiastic in class. I am a freaking teacher's wet dream.

Admittedly my week has not started off well. The second day of class I had to skip school due to Audrey's vomitting issue, and the next day I was late. (BTW, thank you to the 2 Jackasses who killed their cars on the Bay Bridge causing my delay and making me contemplate what it would be like to wet my pants as an adult!) But I have tried to redeem myself, cleaning tirelessly and adding copious amounts of salt to my food. To no avail. I continue to get B's on the plates I turn in.

I realize that basically I am being a whiny brat about not being liked by the teacher, but the teacher pet in me is dying to be recognized. And I hate it when the teacher leaves you hanging in the wind with your hand in the air to call on some idiot who isn't paying attention and is only half awake anyway.

The No Good Day

Yesterday afternoon kind of sucked. I would like to go ahead and just get my spleen vented here.

My air conditioning does not work. It is going to cost me more money than I would like to spend to get it fixed. And we are in the middle of a major heat wave. This has left me hating life.

After finding out that we were going to be hot and miserable for at least another day. Audrey decided to projectile vomit all over the back seat of the car. Leaving me to wonder why one can't outsource certain aspects of motherhood to distant lands, like vomit clean up or sick care. So I spent my hot and miserable afternoon hosing down the car seat and steam cleaning the upholstery while simultaneously praying she wasn't ralphing on my couch when I wasn't looking.

The vomit incident has also caused me to throw away a really great lunch box. (I gave it to her to throw up into, which she did and then threw it on to the floor board and puked again. YAY!) I also will have to miss my first kitchen day in my new class, which sucks. Normally I would just go ahead and make the same thing at home, but I am not roasting pork loin on a day when it is going to be 105. Thanks anyway.

I am trying to look on the positive side here and there are a few things.

1. My car really needed a steaming anyway.

2. The car seat SUPER needed to be cleaned even before the vomit incident.

3. ........ok, that's all I got.

Winning Wines

Wine class is drawing to an end. And I am sad. This class has really grown on me. In fact, I might even be tempted to say it has been the best class so far. While it isn't a cooking class, I feel like I have learned more than I have in my cooking classes to date. (The first cooking class actually had no cooking, and the second was mostly cooking many of the same things I cook at home already.) Plus, how can you dislike a class that requires you to taste wine for an hour? If you like wine, of course. And I like wine, a lot.

Not only has wine class become a lot of fun, the teacher has really relaxed and started to have a good time with our class. I think that there is still a smidge of wine snobiness in him, but I think that it is hard to find a wine guy who would appreciate, say, a boxed wine. He is only interested in discussing the established "fine" wines that have "culinary importance". Things that aren't established or widely regarded as "fine" wine are glossed over or ignored. (This gives Maria fits because she REALLY wants to discuss the newly discovered Carmenere grape and he refuses to engage in that discussion.) He has gone out of his way to bring in different wines for the class when a preference or aversion is mentioned. He is patient beyond what I can imagine with the loud mouthed girl in the back row to constantly refers to the wine as "pukey" and insists that it all smells like chemicals and cat food. (He is gracious when I want to pop her and tell her to shut up. If you don't have anything nice/constructive to say than SHUT yer yap for crying out loud.)

In fact, the one problem that I have had with my wine class is that I feel compelled to do some home research. And that is expensive my friends. I have gone from drinking a bottle or MAYBE two a week as a before bed glass to going through a bottle of wine with my dinner companions every night. Because the real goal of the class is food pairing, dinner is the time to do this. Due to this focus on pairing, my wine "cellar" mix has definitely changed quite a bit. When I am drinking after dinner, often with chocolate (don't judge me!), I tend toward cabs. So that is what I have on hand. Lots of Cabernet. My cellar is usually a case of Liberty School and a case of Montes Alpha with a handful of better cabs strewn in there for "special" occasions or dinners with friends. Now I am sporting a handful of Alsace whites, some Sauvignon Blancs, Zins, a few Pinot Noirs, Chiantis, Barberas, and a Carmenere. (What can I say, Maria talked me into it at the wine shop.)

Some of the wine pairings have been very good. There is a reason that Barbera wines go super well with tomato-ey Italian food. Last night we had a WONDERFUL (J Vineyards) Pinot Noir with Salmon. Some have been a little odd to me be received by others much better, Spatlese Reisling with Thai food for example. I don't think that we have had a particularly bad mix yet. The Alsace whites are not particularly good for sipping alone, but paired really well with a snapper dish. So I would call that a success.

The only thing I have not learned in this class is how to really appreciate a Chardonnay. I still don't relish the idea of taking that particular grape on to my palate. I have learned that good to great Chardonnays SMELL like heaven, even if the taste doesn't seem to match up for me.

I had fully intended to come in here and write about culinary school. Everyone likes to read about it they tell me. And why shouldn't you, food is fun. But then I read that someone I really like and admire has found out that their brother in law was diagnosed with Cancer and is waiting for information and more tests to determine a course of action. And that sucks. It particularly sucks because this week three different people I know are stepping up to say that Cancer is coming into their lives or may be making a reappearance.

I never know what to do or say to someone who is dealing cancer. I am always sure that my mere existence is a constant reminder to them that their loved one may not make it. And who really wants to subject themselves to that when your brain is already shouting, "DANGER Will Robinson, DANGER." On the other hand I am probably someone who KNOWS what you are going through. I have been there and done that and come out the other side. So I offer up some things I found to be truths in my dealings with the big C. (Although your mileage may vary.)

1. You are never more together as a couple as you are when you are fighting cancer. Coming together to work toward a common goal will focus you on your family and what is important to you in a way that nothing else will.
2. You are never further apart than you are when you disagree about what must be done in a life and death situation. It is hard to watch someone you love struggle and feel that they are not brave enough to take the next step.
3. Cancer can stop the world. Like I said in #1, Cancer can push things to the back. This can be a good thing but it can be a double edged sword. It is easy to not worry about anything but this moment and then find that a year or more has gone by and you haven't spent more than a trivial amount of time thinking about anything but Cancer. This is particularly true because there are people who live with Cancer for years. I can only imagine that it begins to feel like you are stuck in a never-ending session of mental torture. Think about something else for a bit. Seriously, try thinking about yourself and what you enjoy.
4. The patient will spend most of their time worrying about his/her family, everyone else will spend their time worrying about him/her. Don't dismiss either concern. You may think that no one needs to worry about you, but that doesn't mean that they are going to stop or that the worry isn't valid.
5. Stop talking about cancer all the time. Try it just for a day. Declare one day a week CANCER FREE day and just take a day that you don't discuss the same thing over and over again.
6. Take a moment to realize that people are flawed and you are stressed. They will annoy you. Possibly even infuriate you. Try to look for the meaning behind the actions/words that are driving you up a wall. You may find that they mean well but don't know how to show it. Or you may find that they deserve to have the air let out of their tires in the middle of the night. If the later is the case, call me and we will plot.
7. For those who know someone who is struggling with the cancer of a loved one, realize that people handle stress and grief differently. Some people are calm and make light, that doesn't mean they don't care. Some people are filled with rage and fury and rail at the world, that doesn't mean you should avoid them. Compassion is key.

I think that is all I got right now.

If you are what you eat....

Today I attended a parent's meeting at Audrey's school in which they spelled out a lot of new policies for this school year. To say that I am not happy about some of them is an understatement. I have spent the afternoon trying to obtain some perspective on the one that has me frothing at the mouth, and it has eluded me so far.

Her school is banning any homemade items from being shared with the class. All class parties or celebrations must be done with food that is prepackaged with a complete ingredient list attached. As a chef-in -training this is truly abhorrent to my way of thinking. No Noah's bagels dropped off for the class, no homemade cookies or cupcakes for the birthday celebrations. Only Sara Lee bagels from a bag and Hostess Cupcakes. Please do not bring in fresh cut fruit, instead grab some canned peaches in heavy syrup. And they are going to schedule a classroom celebration once a month full of this type of food.

On one hand I get it. Kids have allergies, it is hard to keep track of them and monitor that the class treats don't have something that the kid is allergic to. A complete ingredient list helps that.

On the other hand, I am saddened and angry for several reasons. I am sad for myself because I enjoy making things for Audrey's class and the school teachers. I think that feeding other people is one of the clearest ways of showing you appreciate them, care for them, or are interested in knowing them and I will be no longer able to convey that message in that manner. I don't cook for people I don't like, and I like the people who make me and my kid happy. I am sad for Audrey because SHE likes that I cook for the class sometimes and asks me to. I am angry because in a time when we should ALL be teaching our children that processed food is not the best choice, it is being mandated by the school as a CYA method to deal with the extremely small percentage of allergies that would make this necessary. I am frustrated that they are not dealing with this on an individual basis, perhaps working with the parents in each class that have allergies to educate them on what can and can not work for the class as a whole. (For what it is worth, I have brought in egg free and gluten free treats to Audrey's class when the roster makes it necessary and have never harbored even a second thought about it.) I am angry that this puts me in a position where I have to be either a really mean mom and ban my kid from participating in the class parties, or have have to suck it up and allow her to eat things that I don't want in her diet more often than I would like. I am frankly just kind of pissed that someone would think that the solution to any food issue is to feed our kids more chemical-laden, preservative-riddled crap. I find it exceptionally infuriating that they are making an exception for things brought in for the teachers to eat. Because THEY want food that tastes good delivered for their teacher appreciation week. And guess what? The food that tastes the best isn't the stuff that comes pre-wrapped.

I keep telling myself that really it is minor in the long run. This is about class parties, Audrey will probably just learn to stop asking if we can make things for the class. The dose of massive sugar, pesticides and red dye #40 that she gets once a month at school probably won't cause major damage to anything but her mother's psyche and frankly I do feed her some of that on my own at home so she is not entirely a stranger to it anyway. But I still just seethe about it. I would love for my daughter to be able to learn about her classmates cultures by eating curry on her Indian friend's birthday or try a Cantonese dish made by one of her classmate's parent's but she won't get that option and the list of ways to share a culture and learn about each other is diminished. And that makes me saddest of all.

More School Stuff

I thought I should put it out on the internets that wine class is definitely getting better. As we have moved into tasting I have been finding that I have grown to like my instructor a lot and my first impressions were either flawed, or are overcome by his passion and excitement about a mutually interesting subject. It also helps that when he found out that I am particularly fond of Rhone wines he brought in some really spectacular bottles for the class. It is hard to be ambivalent about someone who goes out of their way to be nice to you.

I like wine. I like to drink it a lot, but I don't usually stray too far from my preferred choices of Syrah or Cabernet Sauvignon. I have found that I enjoy several other kinds as well through the class. But, I have also found that my dislike of Chardonnay also rings true. Whether it is done in a light breezy Chablis style or a deep complex Cote D'or, I simply don't like it. There is something about the grape that just doesn't work for me. I may have to experiment and see if I can find a food I like it with, but you won't catch me savoring a second glass after my meal is done.

Burning down the house

Let us take a brief moment to examine the drama that is housework for single mothers. (Maybe for all mothers, but since I have only ever been a single mother, that is all I can speak to.)

I used to have a clean house. I have pictures that prove it. When it was just Carl and I, I would spend one day a quarter cleaning out and organizing. Pick the room for that round and pull everything out donate, recycle and toss. Even when Carl was gone, I did it. I know that some people thought it was weird and/or heartless to rid myself of his things so quickly but I am less than sentimental about things that aren't functional or heartwarming. Then I had A. And my house has gotten progressively less clean over the last three years.

When A was little, I could occasionally hire a babysitter and get some minor cleaning done, but major decluttering takes hours and there is only so long a babysitter can keep a 18 month old at the park. When you add the need to periodically buy new stuff for a kid, and then inability to effectively clean, you have a recipe for disaster.

I spend many a day wondering if there is a way I can burn my house down and start fresh without either going bankrupt or going to jail for insurance fraud. Let's take today as an example. My house looks like hell. I go to get something out of a closet and the door won't even open because there is SO much stuff crammed into it. So I decide to clean it out. The first ten minutes are spent repeated moving A out of my way and answering "what is that?" 47 thousand times. But then, blessedly, she retreats to the living room to play. I thank God and smile that I am so glad that she is finally getting to an age when she can self entertain. Finish cleaning the floor and go into the living room to be greeted by a naked 3 year old covered in Vaseline. Crap.

Now I remember why my house never gets clean. Where are my matches?

When the Moon Hits Your Eye

Pizza.

I love pizza. I make pizza a lot. We have homemade pizza about once a week. Usually on Thursdays.

So when a pizza competition for some scholarship money was announced I was excited. There was just one glitch. It was a mystery basket challenge and we wouldn't find out our ingredients until it was time to cook. The concept kind of freaked me out. But I signed up and waited to hear if I had been selected to participate. (There was a random drawing to determine who would participate because of limited space.)

When I heard I was selected I was doubly freaked. What if I opened the basket and it was something strange, like duck confit or a live lobster? What if my mind went completely blank and I couldn't think of anything to make? I started checking out pizza recipes for strange ingredients. I enlisted my friend Maria to come for moral support. I got a babysitter and packed my tool kit and headed back into the city for the nighttime competition.

Entering the school at night was a totally different experience. The hallways seem dim and a bit grungier than they do in the morning. The students, a little more boisterous. I made my way to the sign in for the competition and received a time slot for firing the pizza. Maria, who had come only to provide support was roped into participating because some of the selected students canceled at the last minute.

When the room was open, there was a table piled with ingredients. For some reason it took me a little while to register that this was what we were going to cook with. I must watch too many reality TV shows because I was sure that everyone was going to get at least one common ingredient and that table was the remainder of the "pantry" that we would supplement our box from. When I finally grasped the reality of the situation, my mind did go blank.

I was so focused on not pinning myself into one idea because I didn't know what was going to be around to use, that having a lot of choices swamped me. But, while my mind was spinning, the rest of the contestants swarmed the table. When they pulled away, the pickings were slim and my mind was still a jumbled mass of half-baked ideas. I finally spotted some potatoes and decided to go with a potato pizza inspired by a recipe I had seen in my research.

My pizza ended up being a ricotta base mixed with some vinegar to try to give it a little more sour cream taste. (Afterward, I realized that there was actually a refrigerator that had dairy products in it that I didn't notice. I may have been able to have sour cream instead of trying to fake it.) I boiled and sliced the potatoes and then tossed them in melted butter, garlic and thyme. When the pizza come out of the oven I topped it with fresh chives. It was not bad.

At some point between walking into the classroom and starting to cook, I had forgotten that we needed to make 2 pizzas. So when it came to actually put the things on the dough, I had to leave the dough a bit thick, spread the toppings a little thin and leave about 2 inches around the edges as crust. Also, when the potatoes took a little longer to boil, so I didn't get them into the butter/herb mixture while it was hot enough to give it a little crisp. There was no time to reheat it, so into the oven it went that way.

As I was pulling the pizza out of the oven, I knew it was slightly under baked. But I was freaked out it was going to burn and pulled it out anyway. (This remains a great flaw in my cooking. I am always a little timid about cranking the heat and then end up not cooking something quite enough. Things don't usually end up raw, but they never take on that great caramelized feature.) I debated back and forth whether or not to add cheese, and made the wrong decision and left it off.

Someone else in the room made a pizza that was essentially the same pizza, only MUCH better executed. The crust was crisp, the cheese was melty, and the potatoes were sauteed instead of boiled and had better flavor (if a little salty to my taste). That pizza took 2nd place. First place went to a pizza with sausage and duck that I didn't get to taste. The 3rd place was a wonderful green curry chicken pizza that I would love to recreate if I didn't routinely cook for people who can't eat curry due to heartburn issues. Maria made a really interesting pizza with beets, caramelized onions and brie that was almost universally labeled as having potential but was missing something to make it really shine.

All in all, it was a good time and I would do it again. I definitely found it fun to meet students from other classes and see how the competitions go. I found that when it comes to pizza, too thick and undercooked dough was the most prevalent problem and really killed the pizza. The pizzas that won all had a great thin crust cooked to the perfect crispness. And not to toot my own horn (and my friend's) Maria and I had pizzas that IMHO fell into the top third of the competition. While they each had their flaws, they were round, creative and didn't degrade into a watery mass on top of a soggy undercooked bread.

Wine Whine

Wine class has begun. I was SO excited for this class because I freaking LOVE wine. I enjoy a good glass of wine several nights a week usually. I am always on the look out for good wine at a good price. Heck, I have even taken an wine appreciation class or two in the past and had a BLAST doing it.

This class......not so much.

First, the class is taught by a guy who looks like Doc Brown from Back to the Future. It is hard to take someone seriously when you are waiting for them to break out with a conversation about flux capacitors.

Secondly, the guy spends forever and a day telling us all what we don't know. Except, I know a lot of the stuff he is talking about. So it really kind of grates and makes me feel like he is an arrogant jerk.

Thirdly, TOTAL name dropper and wine snob. He has detailed the winery owners that he knows and likes to discuss how 99% of the "important" wine in the world comes from just France and Napa. The school requires we discuss all the wine regions and do tastings from them, but they are really second class wines, donchaknow.

Yesterday was better than the first couple of days, and I hold out hope that once we move on to actually tasting wine and discussing the various wine regions the class will get more interesting. In the meantime, it feels like I have been in this class for an eternity, but it is only the first week. So, I will be in the corner playing Suduko, someone tap me if the chef says anything interesting.

That's Bon-Bon Cougar to you

A cooking station shared by 4 students

A final dish Veal marsala, hash browns and green beans.

The assistant Chef Sean (It's ok to admire the hotness, most of the straight ladies and the bent boys do)

Chef Dan being goofy

It has come to my attention that I haven't really written about school recently. So here we go with a probably VERY long entry.

After finishing the first round of classes we were off to Food Science and Hospitality Math. Frankly they didn't really lend themselves to much writing. Food Science was neat (and as a bonus, I have a 2 year old who can use syneresis in a sentence) but taught by Chef Steve who seems perpetually grumpy. Hospitality Math was a chore to sit through and taught by a Chef who actually uttered the phrase, "There are no right and wrong answers in this class." Too painful to voluntarily relive it by blogging about it.

Then we were on to Foundations II, taught by Chef Dan and his assistant Chef Sean. WAY too busy to type then. Six weeks to start at Stocks and Sauces, make our way through soups, grains, starches, vegetables, eggs, salads and wind up learning how to cook 4-5 proteins.

Along the way I have managed to get to know some of my classmates better. Maria, the lawyer from Venezuela is indeed very interesting. She has some family roots in the Louisiana area and has been in and out of the south a lot. Richard is a fellow refugee of the financial world, but he is decidedly anti-corporations these days. He is possibly the most unconventional of the group (as far as I can tell so far), since he spends some of his nights and weekends with the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence doing some charity work and some partying. We have some overindulged 20 year old kids who are disrespectful to the chefs and slack off at the class clean up chores. One of them is often referred to as "Rick the Dick" by the older students. Mostly people want to smack them. Another 20 year old, Jordan, is definitely the class clown. Always quick with a joke and friendly to everyone he cracks me up because he is always running around singing songs that he only knows 2-10 words of. The same 5 words over and over again. Luckily for him this is a bit endearing instead of annoying like it should be. I have started to think of him kind of like a little brother or a former babysitting charge. That is that I like to help him when I can, which has a couple of the idiot boys thinking that I am interested in him. (Can you imagine me as a cougar....HA!)

The class has been filled with some good and bad moments for me. The day we did our soup test I burned my chowder, over boiled my consomme and cut myself pretty well. When the chef came over to offer a word of encouragement, he said "It's not like it is the worst day in your life." I teared up, he looked paniced and was searching for an escape, everyone at the table started to ask if they could help....all in all I wanted to hide under the table for being so thin skinned. But the hard days have been offset by some serious wins. I got a perfect score on Egg Day which is reportedly one of the hardest tests and my belief that I am generally a pretty darn good cook as been proven out.....even if I need to add more salt to everything according to the chef.

Which brings us to some lessons learned so far in culinary school.....

1. You really don't want to know how much fat and salt is in that restaurant food you are eating. I routinely add 1/2 a cup or more of salt to my food and I am told it is "lacking some seasoning." And even the vegetables are cooked in bacon fat or butter.

2. Dishes come and dishes go, it is no use bitching and whining about it when it is your turn to do them.

3. Everyone overestimates how much they clean up after themselves. (Even me) Don't fool yourself, and try to realize that you really did contribute to it. SO get moving to help clean it up.

4. If you don't help clean, everyone who is helping will notice, and hate you. (They may even make jokes about you sitting around eating bon-bons.)

5. There is no use crying over spilled milk, or burnt soup. Take a deep breath, clear your board and start over again.

6. It's just food after all!

Try it, you might like it

It is amazing to me how as an adult we often see things colored in our past and allow that perspective to lull us into habits.

I remember as a kid hating to color. I never seemed to be able to find the right color. The crayons were always broken. And more importantly, my fine motor skills never allowed me to quite execute my vision. So I opted out. When I was asked to color, I would kind of scribble something up and call it a day. When I got to middle school, I choose to take an elective art class. My brothers could do better at what I was doing even without a class. After six months of attempting to draw a barn and never making any better than a C, my belief that I was smart rather than artistic or creative was cemented.

Fast forward 15-20 years and I really needed some artwork for Audrey's bedroom. Looking at the artwork in little kids books had me convinced that I could maybe make a passable attempt at making it myself. So I painted up the walls. And came out of the experience thinking that maybe I wasn't completely shorted in the artistic gene. Making cakes has also helped me find a more artistic side of myself. I still find myself struggling with thinking that I am not particularly creative, since I don't generally come up with designs or ideas myself, but instead search for inspiration or ideas in others. I also have found that since I don't think of what I do as artistic, when I am asked to put a price on what I do I am likely to seriously undersell myself.

The same thing has happened with me when it comes to running. I remember racing as a kid and always coming in last. I would NEVER win a foot race. So I didn't like to do them. Then when I hit puberty I REALLY hated to run. My chest was too big to be comfortable on the track. Add a dose of middle school self consciousness and I didn't want to get all red in the face and sweaty while I was running so much slower than my classmates. So I decided I don't run. Ever.

That edict changed when Carl died. I realize that I need to work on making my lifestyle as healthy as I can reasonable live with if I want to be around for Audrey in the long haul. She has already lost one parent, I don't want her to lose another sooner than is absolutely necessary. So I took up jogging. Strap the baby in the jogger and just go. At first it sucked. I won't lie, I hated it. But after a couple of weeks I started to realize that it didn't suck quite so much. In fact it was kind of cool to be able to breathe a little easier while running than I had the week before. Unfortunately, life happened and I had to stop my running program for a while. But this week I restarted it (indoors on the treadmill). And it sucks again. But not as bad as the first time I took it up, and I look forward to finding the day when it doesn't suck again. Maybe I will even do something monumentous for me and sign up for a race. I may come in last, or close to it, but I will be able to do it. And that's pretty cool.

Since I have tried these two things I have hated since childhood and found that they are actually not too bad, I have been looking around at other things I have written off as not for me and wondering what I should try next. And I wonder if anyone else has had the same kind of realization that something is pretty cool even though you remember it as a totally sucky thing. So tell me, what have you tried and found you liked?

I was talking about age with some of my classmates the other day and mentioned that going to culinary school makes me feel old. Ancient even. They all poo pooed the idea of me being old and went on their merry ways for the afternoon. But I still thought about it. Why do I feel SO old some days. Then the answer hit me.

I am the only parent in the class. I don't even think any of the other students are married.

So, I think I feel so old because even though I am not the oldest, the people who are near my age or older are still not responsible for/to another person. (And it doesn't help that most of the classmates are a full decade younger than me) If they want to go get a drink after class they don't have to worry about who is going to pick up the small child from daycare. If they want to take a job that pays $10 and hour for the experience and fun atmosphere and work until 2 am they can and only they will have to deal with the results of that decision. Now that I am a mother I have to take my kid's needs and desires into account. And I have to do it doubly so, because I know I am the only one who will.

Normally this doesn't even register. Especially when I am around other mothers. It is what a parent does. But when you are surrounded by twenty-somethings who don't have the same frame of reference, and do silly early twenties things, it makes you feel old.

But I wouldn't change it. Mostly.

It's My Party

I am planning A's party for September in my mind already. (Shut up. I totally love kids birthday parties. This in no way makes me a crazy cheerleadery like person.) And I am running into the same problem I have with every party I throw.......the guest list.

I love to throw a party. I love to invite everyone, anyone, possibly the random person I met on the street. And as Audrey gets older I can get back to throwing SUPER! COOL! parties with games and themes and such. (Kids under 3-4 just don't get games, which uber sucks for parents who love board games, and lawn games and, well, just about any game. Not that I am competitive or anything.) So this year there will be GAMES (albeit very small child oriented games) and who couldn't love my cooking and then there will be the CAKE. (Which, I make pretty cool ones if I do say so myself.) So I want to invite, like, EVERY single kid I know. And their parents. Because I want everyone to revel in the coolness that will be this party. (And you thought A's birthday party was about her, HA!)

But I know in reality that the party probably won't be as cool as it is in my head. I will run out of time, money, and end up frustrated because A will want to "help" me by destroying 1/2 of what I make to prepare. Plus, it is hard to herd that many children. So I am trying to convince myself that I should maybe not invite EVERYONE I have ever known. We will see how that goes.

S is the letter of the day

As in, "Shit I forgot that I need to write a paper for tomorrow."

As in, "Suck it MOM I don't need a nap!"

As in, "Son of a GUN that hurt." - When you step on some random toy.

As in, "Sunday would be SUPER for a multi-family dinner get together."

I am feeling a little cranky today. My to do list is looking about as long as it ever has. My kid didn't take a nap. And I have to write a paper for school tomorrow. FRICK!

A paper on the origins of butternut squash, complete with reference citations and a title page and all that wonderful crappola. Don't get me wrong, I am all for literacy and the ability to write a properly cited paper. And I could have, about 12 years ago when I last took an English class. But writing a paper for a cooking class seems a bit ridiculous. Also, when you ask a librarian to help you get started and she looks at you with pity and contempt after all of her database searches come up empty and refers you to some random website, you are pretty sure she is just trying to get rid of you. So I am working on citations......and figuring out just how much Wikipedia can be trusted.

Notes on Remodeling

Dear Self,

I know that you are feeling pretty good about your newly "completed" kitchen. I would like to take this opportunity to remind you of a few lessons learned during this project.

1. You are NOT actually done. Please attempt to complete the remaining parts of this project in a timely manner. (Six months is NOT timely and should not even be considered as a goal, ya lazy bum.) Include the curtains since they are the whole reason you started this insane project in the first place.
2. House paint and two year olds DO NOT MIX. No, you won't be able to manage it. No, your daughter will not be content to paint a random board. No you can't, whatever your other crazy scheme is. JUST NO!
3. Please remember #2 and dress your daughter accordingly if you are stupid enough to have a can of paint open in the house while she is conscious.
4. While you are at it, please dress yourself appropriately. You can't eat without spilling stuff on yourself. What the hell made you think that you can paint in your one pair of decent shorts without getting paint on them? And WHY would you change out of your "good" shorts into another non-grubby outfit when you knew you weren't done. Why, self, WHY?
5. Additionally, pay attention to the prep work. The paint is on you, the paint is on the floor and the paint is on the counter. I know that by the time you taped stuff off and put plastic over the cabinets you were anxious to start the "real" work. Guess what? The prep work is "real" work. Plus it saves you from spending what seems like an eternity scraping paint off of shit with a razor blade.
6. Please for the LOVE OF GOD think about a project like this for more than 15 mins. I know you had the paint in the garage, and you were feeling a little crappy about flaking out on something you committed to, but remodeling is probably NOT the most practical mood lifter in this instance. Because really the mood doesn't get lifted until you finish the darn thing. Plus, a week of trying to figure out how to feed your kid breakfast and lunch when you have disconnected the oven is difficult without preplanning.
7. If you don't heed #6, please at least CLEAN THE DAMN KITCHEN before you start tearing apart the cabinets.

That is all for now.

Love you lots,

Yourself

First loves

A facebook acquaintance of mine is busy dealing with her daughter's first broken heart. It got me thinking about my long ago romances, and how it will probably be tomorrow that I am going through the same thing with Audrey.

I was very lucky in my first love. He was sweet. (And he had a Raider's jacket he let me wear SQUEE!!! Funny, I didn't care about the team, but it was black, matched all my clothes and looked cool.) We did schloopy teen things together. I did things that, as a parent, make me consider putting bars on my kid's windows. (Not really dad, I was a perfect child! I swear!) When we broke up it was because we had drifted apart and there really didn't seem to be much of a broken heart on either side. All in all, it was a perfect intro to teen dating.

My first broken heart probably didn't come until later when my long time boyfriend joined the Air Force. I remember being pretty heart broken when he left. Walking around listening to the Counting Crows and just generally being down. (I still can't hear August and Everything After without thinking about that time.) I don't think that my parents could have offered me much comfort at that time. It was just something I needed to work out myself.

My latest broken heart is a little different, but I already am starting to feel the mend. It is amazing how you never forget the one's you have loved, regardless of the end. How every time you open yourself up to that you make a new person.....usually a better one. So that is what I told my friend to tell her daughter.

Relay

Last weekend was Relay for Life. Audrey and I spent the morning hanging out and then came back for dinner and my walking time. I was supposed to come back in the morning and do another round of walking, but for once my daughter slept in and we woke up about 10 mins before I was supposed to be there. I had such a good time just hanging out with the other Livermore Moms and talking to people on the track. Audrey had a BLAST hanging out with the lovely Miss Emma and that is ALL she can talk about now. I got to feed a crowd which always makes me happy.

Saturday would have been Carl's birthday, which was one of the motivating factors for my signing up for the walk in the first place. It really wasn't too bad of a day for me. I am always a little sad/jealous when surrounded by a lot of cancer survivors because I wonder why WE couldn't have been one of those families that made it to the other side. But that feeling was more of a background low level thing than it has been in the past.

It is amazing to me how differently people deal with a blow like cancer. There are some people who were newly diagnosed, who were still going through the fight there. These are people whose first instinct in a personal test is to get out. They immediately seek out ways to help others and support themselves in the process. They need to feel like they are doing something. My in-laws came, but really I am not sure they wanted to be there. I think people like them are more prone to pulling inward in a test. Seeking a way to deal with it themselves and not wanting to be reminded that others have been more fortunate, or even less fortunate. I think I am somewhere in the middle. I need some time to lick my wounds, then I want to do something to get out and meet people and help....but it is hard to overcome my own inertia.

I am always amazed at the boundless energy and dedication that my team captain Kathleen has shown, not just in this endeavor but in others as well. I wonder if she is secretly Wonder Woman, because she is always up for a volunteer post/ taking on city hall/ working for something she believes in. I never see her tired or cranky. She never seems to regret being in the action and secretly wishing to be watching bad reality TV with a glass of wine and chocolate, as I am prone to do. I may want to be her when I grow up.

Over all the whole thing was a blast, I would like to make it a tradition for Audrey and I to go every year together. I wish that I had gotten it together to get a babysitter so that I could see the luminaria ceremony. I had hoped Audrey could hold out, but with the heat and the hard play all day, she just was pooping out. Maybe next year we will get to see the luminaria for Carl get lit and shine in the dark.

Food 'tudes

I like food. A lot according to the numbers on my scale.

Being a culinary student, an avid eater and major reader means that in the last couple of years I have spent a lot of time thinking about, reading about, or discussing food. When you think about it, food is a completely fascinating subject. Where it comes from, what different cultures do with different ingredients, what is added too it, etc.

Because I spend a lot of time reading about food and the food supply (and possibly because of Carl's death) I am a little subject to THE FEAR. Because once you realize how little the food you know resembles the food your grandmother knew, and the amount of Monsanto brand antibiotics and hormones are out there, you start to wonder if that could really be good for anyone.

It started out pretty simply. Before Carl died, I made most of our meals at home. I would sometimes buy organic things but not with a huge frequency and always with a risk that my husband would roll his eyes at me and laugh at me for buying into the belief that it is better. When Carl was diagnosed with cancer, he halfheartedly joked that it was all the Diet Pepsi's that killed him. Or maybe McDonald's. I think he was only half joking as they were pretty big staples of his diet from childhood until the day he was diagnosed. (While I don't eat fast food much, Carl had it for lunch almost every day.) In fact several of his work colleagues all gave up diet sodas cold turkey when he died because they were convinced.

So I gave up sodas. And bought more organics. I was not sure that it was really necessary, but what does it hurt? If the only thing I waste is money, well you can always earn more of that. The more I started to research what was worth spending more money on for organic, the more I realized that buying organic produce is low(er) on the list of things that are important. The more that I read about dairy and meat raising practices the more I became convinced that those are what I needed to buy organic......especially if Audrey was going to be eating them. But Whole Paycheck has it's name for a reason.....organic meat can be in the $15-20 range which is COMPLETELY insane. So I looked around and found that I could buy organic beef and pork directly from the farmer at a steep discount. Though it is still more than conventional products.

So now I have a big chest freezer and if an earthquake comes and knocks out power for longer than a day I will be throwing the biggest damn block party you can imagine. But that is not enough.....I start looking at bread and crackers and condiments and think "What is that crap on the ingredient list?" And I start making the stuff myself. Who knew ranch dressing is hella easy to make? And bread is like heaven when it is direct from the oven. Except when you really need a piece of damn bread and you don't have the time to bake and you are walking around in the kitchen wondering why the F didn't you just buy the stupid chemical laden crap when you were at the grocery store. And you start to wonder if this has stopped being an exercise in doing good things for yourself and the kid and the CRAZY has started to take over.

I look around at other people who are close to me in their attitudes toward food and I think they are possibly a little crazy, a little fearful. Maybe I am too. But then I wonder, who does it hurt really? The only time I am put out by it is when I am attempting to short cut, because let me tell you when you don't want to cook and you are weighing the greenness and organic nature of take out food, there ain't a lot out there. And really, as long as I can stop myself from getting into a tither about the fact that the only place that serves organic takeout is Z-Pizza and their sauce is made from plastic-lined cans so BPA is totally leeching into every bite. I can dial it back and agree that Chinese food or Baja Fresh is just fine once in a while, I think that my trip down the rabbit hole is not so out of control. But in the spirit of full disclosure I should tell you, I am making my own Barbecue Sauce this week. And canning my own tomatoes.

It's You in Four Letters

Every boss that I have had has always really loved the Myers-Briggs personality test. They all loved to have everyone take it and share their results as a "team building" exercise. When I started questioning what I wanted to do for a living, many many people recommended taking it again. Apparently, the culinary school's department chair is also a big fan. Every once in a while I wonder what it would be like if it became the next cocktail question. Instead of "what do you do for a living" you could ask, " And what is your personality type?" Maybe you would be better able to extract yourself from completely boring conversations.

So this week I took the Myers-Briggs personality assessment. It came out the way that it always does for me. I am a ESTJ (Extrovert, Sensing, Thinking and Judging) through and through it would seem. It always is comforting and also a little surprising to me that it is always the same.

It is funny because I am borderline in a couple of the categories, the first one is the extrovert/introvert category. It doesn't surprise me I am on the edge because I don't feel much like an extrovert. I like people and need to have them around, can and will talk to strangers in line or on the street, but I don't get revitalized by it. When pressed for the best way to spend the day after a hard week, chances are I am going to want to bond with my couch instead of hitting a club. Maybe I might invite someone to join me for dinner at Chez Boyd, but it will be someone who won't mind if I open the door in my PJs.

I have always been prone to picking up acquaintances pretty easily, but true friends are hard to come by. I have some that I don't even consider friends any more, they are more like family. People who could tell you they did something SO ridiculous that if they were anyone else you probably would be uncomfortable and not hang out much longer, but instead you just shake your head and say "Geez Jillian, that's the stupidest thing I have heard in a while." (really just an example, not true) I love them because they are defacto sisters in my life. To maybe put it more succinctly, I have lots of people I would have dinner with and not too many I would ask to help me move.

The other category I am always on the border for is the Thinking/Feeling. That shit cracks me up. If you are a Thinker, you are rules/outcome oriented. You don't think too much about how that effects the feelings of everyone involved, even including yourself. For example, if you wanted to do a teacher appreciation and stopped a teacher's class to deliver a cup of coffee, the feeler would be happy to have been recognized while the thinker would be irritated because you interrupted the class, he has already had his coffee this morning, and it's not like he can drink it while he is lecturing.

I always end up on the border of these, even though I know I am TOTALLY a Thinker. I think because the way the questions are asked, they always ask about whether or not you follow rules. But it is really all about logic. Well, I follow all rules that make sense. I am not into stupid rules just for rules sake.

So there you have it......it's me in 4 letters.

Good Samaritans, Bad Apples

Today, my rusty first aid skills got a chance to be brushed off and put into action. And then I got to direct traffic in an attempt to prevent idiots who were driving too fast from running over a fellow member of mankind who was lying prone in the middle of the street.

All I can say is that there are some really good people out there.....and some serious shit heels.

When I was leaving school I had the misfortune of watching a bicyclist flip himself off his bike head first and into traffic. Two pedestrians reached him while I stopped and some guy driving a BMW and yapping on his phone barely missed running him over. A couple of quick inquires revealed that the biker (Lee) was alert and oriented, but was in serious pain and didn't feel like he could move. The pedestrians (Mike and Joe) asked the BMWer dude (DB) to call 911. DB hemmed and hawed, not wanting to get off his current phone call. Just when I was about to stop taking Lee's pulse and go fetch my phone out of the car, DB finally relented and called 911. Mike and Joe moved to direct traffic around me and Lee, while DB kept answering the dispatcher's questions poorly. When asked a question he didn't know the answer to he kept telling them he didn't know, despite being less than 10 feet away from 2 different people who could answer the question. He also kept telling the dispatcher that he was just calling it in as a "favor" but he really needed to leave already. And within a few moments, he did.

While Mike, Joe and I spent the time waiting for the police to arrive I was impressed by the number of people who stopped and asked if we needed any help, was surprised that one person went around the block again to come back and get another look, and was SHOCKED that more than one person (who didn't stop) rolled down their window to take a picture of Lee laying on the ground with their iPhone. But I guess that is the good, the bad and the ugly of humanity there.

I am happy to report that Lee seemed to be doing as well as can be expected as he was being loaded into the ambulance. He seemed to think that he broke his collar bone, but was able to focus on being concerned about whether or not they would bring his bike (they would) and if he could direct them to a specific hospital (he could).

So the moral of the story here is, wear your helmet for cripes sake. And watch it when you fly around a corner.

Following that excitement I headed off to the DMV, but that is another rant about the state of the world and the government that will have to wait for another day.

Why I Relay

I have got a few questions about why I am doing the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life this year. Some who want to know why I would leave up the stupid generic message on my contribution site (mostly from people who haven't sent me a contribution, heh) and some just curious soles. I have really not had a good answer for people, so I thought I would try to work it out here.....and what more appropriate time to work it out than the anniversary of my husband's death.

Why do I Relay?

I am doing Relay because 3 years ago at this time, I sat pretty closely to where I am now and waited for my husband to die. Occasionally, I would will myself into the bedroom to sit next to him, but that was excruciating. Frankly, if I could have done it without being the worst wife/person in the world, I would have bolted. Left the house, got a coffee, seen a movie. (He wouldn't have been alone, I am pretty sure you couldn't blast my MIL out of her chair with dynamite.) Sure the other people in the movie theater might have wondered why the crazy woman in the back was totally loosing her shit, but I was pregnant, I doubt they would have bothered me. After all, cooking and escapism is my therapy. But I stayed. And I prayed. I spent several hours praying my husband would die. We were beyond the possibility of correction and past communication and cherished time together. He had dropped into unconsciousness, had started to stop and restart breathing every couple of minutes, was moaning, and all I wanted was for it to be OVER. For both of us. For everyone in the room.

And that in a nutshell is why I Relay. Because NO ONE should have to pray that their husband/child/father/mother dies to escape the clutches of their disease. And I Relay because those of us who have gone through that need to meet other people who have too. We also need to meet people who haven't, people who have survived. Meeting the survivor's gives us hope for when we hear someone else we know or love is diagnosed. Also, people who have been touched by cancer are less likely to hear that I am a widow and shut down. It is easier for them to see that it is only a piece of who I am these days. I Relay because it is the only event that fights ALL cancers big and small and doesn't spend a lot of money sending people to Hawaii to run a marathon or other places on vacation. But mostly I go so that hopefully the next person I love who has cancer will be able to say that they beat it.

So if you haven't already supported me and you have even a dollar you would like to give, please head over to the ACS page at http://main.acsevents.org/site/tr/relayforlife/rflfy10ca?px=13788785&pg=personal&fr_id=20441 . And if you have lost someone to cancer consider buying a luminara with your loved one's name on it.

Suck it, Nielsen!

I shouldn't watch TV in May.

This time of year is itchy for me. Sometime in April I start to feel a little more high-strung. I find myself crying at lame as commercials or a song that catches me and reminds me of some emotional time in my life. (Hello, bad 80's song, I haven't cried to you since I was 12.) I quite put my finger on what my problem is. I know that I am just a little off. More prone to needing reassurance, more prone to beat myself up about anything that goes wrong, just more .......something.

And then I wake up and slap my forehead.......It's about the time of year that Carl started getting really sick. So of course I am a little itchy. And it's the time of year for TV deaths.

Before Carl died, TV watching was easy. Sure it sucked if some actress moved on and they offered her in the season finale, but I never really thought twice about it. Now, sweeps season is fraught with difficulty. I know that I am not alone. My mom has a friend who's son was murdered, afterward she couldn't watch a lot of the shows that she liked before then. All the CSI, Law & Order shows where someone's murder was the beginning plot point were too hard for her. While I still have my murder/mayhem shows intact, I am left with a problem with shows killing off people naturally.

The first year it caught me off guard, a minor character in a show dies of some random thing. Of course she knows she is dying an gets to say good-bye. Queue a touching scene followed by her getting "tired" and she dies within a few moments. I cried for two hours and then spent half the night composing emails (that I never sent) in which I called the TV writers every name in my (used to date soldiers and sailors) potty mouth vocabulary. I accused them of duping the citizens by perpetuating the belief that death comes easy for people and that this is the reason that people won't move forward to allow people who are terminal to die with dignity, because Hollywood tells them that their death will be easy anyway. But, I petered out and went to bed.

Since then I have been a little more cautious around May. But today I got gobsmacked by a character who dies after his wife died a couple of months ago, leaving his daughter an orphan. And all I can think about is that one of the worst things about widowhood is the random unexpected blows from out of the blue that leave your reeling for no good reason. I shouldn't be impacted by the lazy plot device trotted out in some crappy TV show, but I am. Tomorrow I will be better, but for tonight..... Nielsen can suck it.

My first round of classes are coming to an end at culinary school. And I have been reflecting on what I have been learning. First, in classic french cuisine you can use a SHOCKING amount of butter and cream. Second, my knife skills are definitely improving and I am getting better and better at the useless 7 sided tourne. Third, there is nothing like hanging out with a bunch of 19-22 year olds a couple hours a week to make you feel VERY VERY old.

I was standing in the library of the school on Friday listening to a student who is further in her students vent about the teachers. Chef P (one of my current teachers) is a wonderful man and is super kind and she loves him. Chef M (the other current teacher) is a creep who can't cook and hits on his students. It was an interesting because I would think that a lot of the students in my class would switch these characteristics around. (Except the hitting on students.)

Chef P is a task master. He wants these kids to be professional, clean, focused. He has very little tolerance for people who don't utilize their time well and don't clean up after themselves. In some ways he is also a bit apologetic about enforcing his rules though. When the students don't live up to his expectations, instead of just telling them to get back to it, he tends toward long rambling lectures trying to explain why they should do this. Some of the students don't appreciate being held to the school's uniform and attendance standards and therefore find him to be a bit annoying in his inflexibility. His food always turns out tasty, but I have heard him advocate some cooking techniques that I have read are super no-nos. (Mashing potatoes with a mixer for example.)

Chef M is a talker. He tells the same stories over and over again. When he cooks it looks like a little explosion over the kitchen. (Although it is always cleaned well when he is finished. In Le Cordon Bleu cleanliness is next to godliness.) He has turned a blind eye to some of the side conversations and goofing off in class. He has simply shook his head and walked away when some of the students were discussing the "hot" girl in the hallway. He is always fun for a discussion on something not food related and will pontificate for quite some time about ecological awareness (very important) and animal treatment (They are not pets!).

For most of the last 5 weeks there has been very low amounts of hands on work in our class room. We are allowed to cut up potatoes and carrots, and make mayonnaise. (Oh, the arm cramps!) We have watched the chef make stock, sauces and soups. The next 6 weeks will be nothing but desk classes for our class. Then we will be let loose in a kitchen where we will be required to replicate what we have seen demonstrated. My six weeks will be spent doing a lot of practicing these in advance in whatever open lab I can find since I am required to take only 1 of the 3 classes that the rest of my class is taking. (I have been allowed a pass on the math and software course based on my other college experience.) I probably could fight to get out of the other class (food science) but it sounds too interesting.

Characters of all sorts

Another week of culinary school has begun, and it is much of the same. Learning to cut things into weird shapes and impossibly small sizes. Even something as easy as dicing a tomato has to be complicated by boiling, ice shocking, peeling, deseeding and DRYING the tomato before you start cutting (called a concasse, because "diced tomato" just ain't good enough) . We are getting used to tourned vegetables in our dinners around here as I try to use the product of my practicing. This is alternated with mixed vegetable latkes and lots of mashed potatoes to use the scraps. For those who don't know, a tourned vegetable is a seven sided football cut. (Why seven and not six or eight? Well, it was thought of by the French and as I am sure I have mentioned before, it is probably just to fuck with your head.)

Culinary school is a bit of a trip for me. I am, more often than not, the person in the room with the strongest opinions about food. Not so much at culinary school. Listening to some of the Chef's talk about food is both amazing and highly amusing. Listening to some of my 18-22 year old classmates talk about just about anything is both amazing and amusing.

My first class is taught by a foriegn (french? I am sure he told us and I was too tired to remember on the first day.) teacher who is sometimes hard to understand but runs his class like a boot camp. The first week was a little lax, but now we are beginning to see the irritation when someone does not remember to put on a part of their uniform, or comes in late. The cuts must be perfect and everything must remain SPOTLESS while you are working. No dirtying up your cutting board by leaving scraps on it lest you be called a "Porky Pig".

My second class is safety and sanitation. Which, while being important, is a bit boring to both attend and (I would guess) to teach. So the Chef instructor (who reminds me of Pavarotti) ends up repeating himself a lot. But, he is a wealth of comments that I find hysterical some times......

- When asked if veal is mistreated his response was "well it's not a pet you know."

- When discussing meats, "Well SOME people believe that sodium nitrate is carcinogenic"

Then there are my fellow students. I haven't had a chance to talk to them much, beyond evesdropping on a lot of conversations that start with the phrases, "Well, we were at the bar..." and "Man, I was so trashed". But there are some stand outs. There is the 39 year old who has spent the last 6 years on a crabbing boat and is mysteriously silent about the time before that. He totally reminds me of the character Drew on the new Scrubs season, so I keep wondering if he was in jail too. Or the 22 year old with a 6 year old son in his hometown who just moved here with his boyfriend who has a blond mohawk and reminds me of Billy Idol. He cracked me up yesterday by getting all bent out of shape that he was rude to someone on public transportation and they had the NERVE to be rude back! There are the three 20 year olds who all know each other and spent yesterday talking about hooking up with their various boyfriends/girlfriends in the back rooms of their jobs. One of the students was a lawyer in Venezuela and decided to leave to come to culinary school. I haven't had a chance to talk to her, but I bet she will be interesting. In fact, this school could just be amusing as hell because the people are all just a little bit crazy.

Drinking the water

“Yes, Chef. No, Chef. Thank you Chef, may I have another.” This week I started the Le Cordon Bleu culinary school if you didn’t know it already. What you probably don’t know, because I certainly didn’t before Monday, is how closely it seems to resemble joining the armed forces, or maybe a cult.

As they handed out our (butt ugly, except for the jackets) uniforms there was much talk about the reputation associated with them and the need to maintain discipline while you are wearing them and not bring shame on the institution. All uniforms must be impeccably clean and white. (Quite a feat with all white gear) All uniforms must be hemmed and pressed at all times. Your neckerchief must be tied in a proper Windsor knot and GOD HELP YOU if you show up to class without a part of your gear. In class the only answer is “Yes, Chef.” Unless of course the answer is “No, Chef.” Any deviation from this pattern is not appreciated.

There seems to be less verbal abuse so far than I would expect from the military, but I understand it comes when you get into the higher cooking courses. After all WE are paying THEM for this opportunity not the other way around, so it simply wouldn’t be economically advisable for them to scare us away in the first week. I image it works a little like domestic violence, they have to make us think that we want them and need them badly enough to tolerate any bad behavior before it begins.

I am sure that there are very practical reasons for both the uniforms and the conduct requirements, not the least of all being to show respect. (Which I whole-heartedly support) But mostly I think it is probably because it is a French founded school and the French just love to fuck with people.

So far there has been a lot of lecture and a little cutting. Pretty boring fare really. How to succeed. (Show up.) How to show respect and handle yourself in the kitchens. (Yes Chef!) How to cut carrots into itty bitty teeny tiny squares that I can’t for the life of me figure out what they could be used for.

So, if you are looking for some julienned vegetables (or the aforementioned teeny tiny squares called a fine brunoise) I am your girl. At least until we move on to boiling chicken carcasses. (Otherwise known making stock.)

Da, Dada, Daddy, Dad, Father

Audrey has been talking a lot lately about daddies. Everyone is a mommy and daddy to her. When we go to other people's houses they have a mommy and a daddy. Animals have a mommy and a daddy in her little world. So I know the talk is going to come. Maybe sooner than I want, or than she will be able to understand.

Yesterday, she told me "we are going to go to Emma's house and see Emma and her mommy and daddy" and when I agreed, she further told me "and my mommy and daddy are going to be there." And I didn't have words.

When she calls someone else daddy (because that must be their name since someone else is calling them that) or talks about daddies, it is a little stab stab stab to my heart. I want to avoid the day when she realizes our family isn't like the others she sees. In a lot of ways this is because I don't know what I am going to say to her. My mother in law has already broke out the "Daddy is in heaven watching over you" once. But I can't bring myself to walk that party line for two reasons.

First: My husband was a good man in his heart, but he wasn't a religious man and sometimes he was deeply flawed in his actions. I am not sure even if there was a heaven he would be in it.

Second: The bible says that the dead will only rise when Jesus returns and calls them home, so even if there is a heaven, and he got in , he wouldn't be there yet. (At least that is what I was raised to believe. )

But, I can't really weigh down a small child with religious hairsplitting, and/or disparage her father (whom I very much loved). So I am at a loss. I know I need to figure out what I am going to say so I don't get caught flat-footed about it with a 3-4 year old looking at me expectantly, but anytime I try to think about it I just cry and can't come up with a good solution.

Random thoughts

I haven't managed to put together a proper post, but here are some random thoughts for the weekend. They are most likely just a rant that I am too nervous about posting the full on diatribe on the internet where someone might tell my mother what I said.

• Sharing a bedroom with a daughter and a mother that both snore and one of them is trying to sleep on top of you is NOT restful.
• I really must figure out how to change my interactions with both my mother and my daughter, because the irritation at them is eating me up. (Possibly related to the first point?)
• Is it normal to enjoy 75% of your extended family 90% of the time you are with them? And the other 25% somewhere in the 40-65% range?
• I hate feeling like I can't win. If something bothers me and I speak up everyone gets super defensive and chastises me for making them feel bad. If I don't speak up and feel irritated about it, I am admonished for being "unpleasant" since my answers are short and a bit terse. I suppose the only option is to never be upset by anything. If you figure out how to do that please be sure to drop me a line.
• Blow up mattresses are mighty freaking cold to sleep on unless you spread a heavy blanket or sleeping bag on top of them.
• I have got to stop complaining about people my daughter loves in front of her. Which really means I have got to get out more without her so that I have some room to vent without doing it around her.
• It is unlikely that I will ever become vegetarian even if raising cows organically and grass finished produces a ton of methane gas.
• Engaging your aunt who looks rather gaunt while you are overweight in a discussion about food and eating habits will not lead to a happy place.