Tag Archives: Wisconsin

Ode to Jonathan on His 30th Birthday

Oh, my beloved Jonathan, you’re one of my favorite people and when you turn 30 it’s a really big deal; but what can I do to honor you and accurately portray how I feel?

I wish I could have hopped on a plane to see you in Atlanta for the real celebration; but, sadly, I’m broke and we live in entirely different parts of this great nation.

So, stuck in Brooklyn, I pondered, “What’s a girl to do?”; and that’s when I realized my only choice was to compose an ode to you…:

We didn’t have much time together in high school before we graduated in 1998; but we kept in touch — even though we went to college far, far apart — which surely must have been FATE.

I have fond memories of the 69 Boyz blaring from Javy, which is what you named your car; and you said it hurt your heart when pictures of me surfaced at a Florida Gators bar.

(I swear I didn’t know they were playing UGA that day!; I had a homesick friend from Florida, but felt like a traitor and wouldn’t have otherwise been compelled to stay!)

You were mesmerized by the Wall of Lisa in Auntie Leslie’s hall; and a waiter called me “jailbait” when I was dining at Chevy’s with y’all. (…that’s you and Katie…)

You listened to me freak out in a parking lot when a teetotaler caught me with a bottle of wine; and you helped me unearth a pink bikini in Miami that — shockingly — looked fine.

You were my date to a wedding when there wasn’t a straight boy in sight; and then I bowled barefoot and passed out on you in the car home that night.

My own father joked (to you!) that I’d have to be tackled and sedated on *my* wedding day; and, if anybody understands what that truly means, it’s you, my friend who’s gay. (I’m sorry! Bad rhyme!)

Bring it On always makes me think of you; and one of my favorite text messages of all time was when you wrote, “Wisconsin smells like poo.”

You’ll always be my buddy Jenelope; even though (or directly because?) you’ve never big-worded me.

So here’s to another decade I know will see you in good stead; Love — one of your biggest fans! — LaFred.

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Filed under baseball, birthdays, Javy

My Final Julie/Julia Reference of 2009…

There are times I feel all alone in this world and there are times I feel really loved. Christmas this year was one of the latter.

And…it wasn’t actually just being with family in any sort of traditional sense (with the drinking of eggnog by the fire and/or staring deep into each others’ eyes near the fir). In fact — and this doesn’t mean in any way that I haven’t had the time of my life baking sugar cookies and wrapping presents and learning that “niece” also means “illegitimate daughter of an ecclesiastic,” and signing a card for my cousin by calling him “Uncley Dick,” and making plans for the Dead Squirrel Museum in Madison (you get my point?) – but…it was also very much because of people I didn’t actually spend Christmas with at all. And you can’t blame me completely for feeling gooey now because I watched “Julie & Julia” last night (one of my gifts!) and that movie always warms my heart and makes me happy.

But…my sister got a copy of Julie & Julia SIGNED for me. As in, Julie Powell actually *wrote* *out* *my* *full* *name* — first and last! — and told me to keep writing. I can’t believe it. It’s one of the – if not the – best gifts I’ve ever gotten. Her story just means so much to me – as I’ve written countless times before, so I won’t beat a dead horse, but…it just reminds me that each of us has the power to change our lives in positive ways…and while it may be hard to figure out how to do that exactly (and it may in fact be quite discouraging!)…the point is that we all can.

And, you know, the movie *also* reminds me that it would be nice to have a sweet man by my side in the vein of an Eric or a Paul…who would hold my hand during my meltdowns — and we all know there are plenty to choose from… — but, after reading Cleaving, I guess I also have to acknowledge that relationships are tough and, like my mother says, if everyone threw their problems into a room, we’d all run back in and grab our own. So maybe I’m better off on my own two feet for now. (I am, after all, trying to be more zen and trust the universe…) In the grand scheme of things, I’m doing fine. And, as noted above, there were plenty of reminders this Christmas that I’m not actually alone in this world at all.

And I’m realizing this reflects just how clingy and needy I am if I require constant confirmations that people in my life do, in fact, care about me…which can’t help but remind me of an ill-advised and overly long (no, wait – “overly long,” doesn’t even begin to describe it — it was verbose to the point of insanity…[but, then again, when I have ever *not* written long? Which is exactly what I told myself as I clicked, “send…”]) email I sent not too long ago to a friend with whom I have always had a weird relationship. I wanted to pry some proof out of him…but he ignored it. And, in hindsight, I guess I can see that it was a scary message…but…I sent it with the best intentions and all I really wanted to hear was that he cared about me, too…and it’s the kind of message I would have been thrilled to receive from pretty much anyone. But…what a punch in the gut to pretend like I had never even sent it…and I think this means he and I aren’t really friends anymore. Which is kind of sad…but also kind of not…because he’s sucked a lot out of me…and I never really got much in return. Which, you know, begs the question of what one wants from a relationship with another human being…and shouldn’t it be enough to just exude love and not expect anything back? Which is actually something I’ve told myself repeatedly before…but now I’m sort of realizing that if you do that you become the Sad Sally who exudes love for people who don’t really care about you…and that’s not ideal either. So I guess I’m learning sometimes you have to stop exuding and save affection for the people who really want to stick around. And, heck, I guess if I’m going to cut out dead weight, this is the time of year to do it…with new beginnings in the new year and whatnot. One less proverbial mouth to feed, I guess…

And this may also be a good time to talk resolutions as I’m not sure I’ll really have a chance to blog again in 2009 (…aww…). And, really, I mean, instead of listing eating healthy and exercising regularly and becoming fluent in Spanish and all those things I know I (probably) won’t actually do, I think I’m going to point to those post-Bartender resolutions and continue to concentrate on the things that helped me end 2009 on a positive note: Be happy with me. Get an agent. Travel. Be patient.

My last Julie & Julia reference of 2009: I made chocolate cream pie for Christmas. And, admittedly, I did not measure the Oreos (I just used a whole package)…which I’m not sure was such a good idea as it yielded a *pretty* thick crust. And it wasn’t like a complete unit. It was like pudding whacked on crushed Oreos. But! Then again…Julia said to never apologize. So. There we are. (Plus, the kids loved it. [I think.])

My aunt contributed a mystery pecan pie and a sugar plum cake…both of which I have heard my mother rave about but have never actually tried myself. The mystery pecan pie has a cream cheese layer and a pecan layer and a pecan-pie-ish layer that magically shift during baking. And, well, no one makes a crust like my aunt, so it was really, really beautiful. And…I wouldn’t say I’m a *huge* spiced cake fan, BUT…the sugar plum cake was really, really good – there’s a butter sauce you pour over it (and I guess *that* is actually my final Julie/Julia reference of 2009) that totally makes it. Good stuff all around. (When faced with three desserts, I cannot choose just one. A little bit of all of them. Which may mean I really *should* concentrate on some of those other resolutions that would make for a Less Fat 2010, but…for now, I’m going to let visions of that cake dance in my head…and we’ll see how long that sustains me.)

All the best for 2010!

Your faithful blogging pal,

LL

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Filed under books, chocolate, holidays, pie

Good Eats: Or, New York with Bobby, Junior, Florence, Mario and Tina.

So…my mother was here last week, which means I got to indulge in a New York lifestyle drastically different from the norm. To wit: I got up and dressed every single day and didn’t once look for a job or do any copywriting or tinker with my book proposal. Instead, I went to restaurants under the purview of celebrity chefs and saw shows on Broadway. I would imagine I would eventually run out of shows and/or get bored if this was my regular life, but…from here, the grass looks pretty green.

Our first stop was Bobby Flay’s Mesa Grill. I’ve probably walked by this place a million times, but I’ve never been inside. However, I’ve been meaning to ever since I was at work (or in a class) once and my mom was exploring the city on her own and stumbled upon it and was super-excited and ended up doing a big, brave thing and eating there on her own. So…after six years, I finally ate there. I was really happy with my chile relleno — stuffed with eggplant and rolled in cornmeal! — but my mom was a little disappointed with her sweet potato ravioli…which was a shame as it is the one dish that jumped out on the menu to me, too. I’ve sort of had a complex about chile rellenos since eating at a Mexican restaurant in Wisconsin that served an extremely eggy one. As we all know, I HATE EGGS. So…it freaked me out and sort of put me off chile rellenos for a while. But my mother quoted somebody — possibly Bobby Flay — who said that you really shouldn’t be able to taste the egg in a good chile relleno…and she/he was right. (I also really enjoyed the barbed-wire tiles in the bathroom. Nice touch, BF.)

That night we went to the Grand Central Oyster House…which is another one of those places I have heard about for ages but have never actually tried. I don’t honestly remember where all of the oysters came from — although I’m pretty sure two were from the East coast and two were from the West. Either way, it came with mignonette…which is my favorite part about oysters. I had it for the first time at Elliott’s Oyster House in Seattle years ago…and that was it. I was sold. I also had scallops (which I am told my father liked…which is worth mentioning solely because the whole reason my mom came out to NY was to walk with me in the Light the Night Walk in his memory/honor and so I could perhaps exorcise a demon or two) and my mom got a white fish that came with chunks of bacon on top. Both, again, were very, very good…and we were early because we had tickets to Jersey Boys (still hadn’t seen it!) and I imagine it gets pretty cozy in there as the night goes on, but it seems like it would be fun to meet up there for drinks and oysters after work someday. (Also? There is a red lip-shaped couch in the bathroom.) After the show, we hit up Junior’s for cheesecake…and my mom was very excited to see an autographed photo from Bobby Flay. So…it was like the whole day came full circle.

The next day we got lunch at Bagels by the Park and headed out for the God of Carnage matinee. (Loved it! So good! And so funny! Despite the sort of Heart-of-Darkness point of it all…) We had some time to kill afterward, so we hit up the Ripley’s Believe it or Not Museum in Times Square (it was either that or Madame Tussaud’s…and the guy at the door gave us $5 off each ticket)…and I guess we should have known better as it was pretty much a huge letdown. Or, rather, there was a lot of uncomfortable stuff: people with really unfortunate physical abnormalities; a room that traps you inside; torture devices; and weird medical situations. There was one breast implant display with a pair of boobs that inflated at the push of a button…otherwise, a big miss. Then I tried to take Ma to the Rainbow Room, but it’s apparently closed for awhile? (Kind of ironic that the Web site says, “Then. Now. Forever,” eh?) And so we opted instead for the revolving lounge atop the Marriott Marquis…and wouldn’t you know it? Florence Henderson was there. Small world. So…we had a drink there and tried to determine which building was which and whether Florence did anything besides the Brady Bunch and Wesson Oil (I have a “Christmas Carols” refrigerator magnet that includes Ms. Henderson, Carol Burnett, Carol Channing and Carroll O’Connor).

THEN we went to Mario Batali’s Spotted Pig as my mom really, really, REALLY likes Mario Batali. We had to wait at the bar for a bit, but it wasn’t a big deal as two seats opened up right away…almost like fate! We had oysters *again* and my mom was thinking about getting pork belly, but our server told us it was pretty fatty…so she ended up with a fish again and I got chorizo-stuffed quail with goat cheese pudding. Pretty amazing. Although the kitchen was churning out burger/fries like they were going out of style. And the guy at the table next to us could not have been any more smarmy and sort of reminded me why I’ve vowed to be the Lone Wolf for awhile. (We also finished things off with a stop by Magnolia Bakery so my mother could have one of the cupcakes made famous by you-know-what.)

On our last full day, we had a late lunch at Chevy’s and dinner after the walk (So cold! But Tina Fey was there!) at an Italian restaurant in my neighborhood that Guilia Melucci wrote about in “I Loved, I Lost, I Made Spaghetti.” We had tried to get in to Buttermilk Channel, which used to be a place called Cafe Scaramouche where I had brunch sort of on a regular basis with my friend Bob and ordered pancakes with caramelized orange peel that he called “pancakes in drag.” But it’s apparently quite a hot spot as the wait was an hour and we were cold, starving walkers, so we sought out the quiet Italian joint.

And then that was it. Mom went back to Tucson and I went back to reality. Still have a little linguine left over…but then it really is back to my own cookin’. Good thing I’m still really excited about my Trader-Joe’s-in-the-middle-of-the-day epiphany…

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Filed under books, Brooklyn, cheesecake, cupcake, eggs, fish, Food Network, pork

Bad Boyfriends and The Lone Wolf: Or, What I’ve Learned from Amy Adams, Sandra Bullock, Jennifer Aniston, Drew Barrymore, Whitney Houston, Theodore Roosevelt and the Wizard of Oz.

I’ve already more or less shared my Bad Boyfriend Theory of Freelancing…but since some time has passed, it may be worth revisiting (…at least briefly)…

Let’s say for the sake of argument that I got a call a few weeks back from a publication I’ve been working with for several months…and it is allegedly looking to hire a full-time writer. Let’s also say I’ve been freelancing in the interim — and getting paid to do so — so it’s a fairly okay arrangement…but, for one reason or another, the actual hire keeps getting put off. And then — when I get a call out of the blue, asking if I can fill in on some breaking news — it hits me: This publication is a Bad Boyfriend. The people there know they can call me with very little notice and I will drop everything I’m doing because I’m looking for something serious and long-term…and they will continue to lead me to believe an actual relationship is possible…but, in reality, they’re perfectly content with the arrangement we have because they’re getting *exactly* what they want with very little commitment and they have no intention of ever making things official. And, I mean, it’s not like the analogy carries far enough that I can actually break up with them…because Lord knows I need all the sources of income I can get…but this realization *did* at least help to temper my expectations…and then it got me thinking about the other Bad Boyfriends in my life.

(Warning: This is where it gets *really* self-indulgent.)

I’ve had a lot of Bad Boyfriends in my day. Or, rather, not even full-fledged boyfriends — just men who are content to exist on the fringes of my life…and who never have any intention of taking on a more meaningful role. And it’s my fault — I’m not a helpless victim. (In fact, I’m an enabler…) Time after time, I could have saved myself SO MUCH heartbreak by directly addressing their unwillingness to be a constant presence from the very beginning…but I get so easily attached and then I have this crazy fear of losing them and all of a sudden I’m willing to sacrifice my own happiness in these crazy over-the-top attempts to convince my so-called Mr. Wonderful that he really wants to be a part of my life. And he never does! It never works! And I have literally wasted YEARS — That’s right! Years! — trying to force these men into my life when they really don’t want to be there in the first place. And I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately…and I don’t know why I’ve done it over and over again.

(So…maybe the buck stops here? [Not my only (quasi-)presidential quote. Just wait and see.])

I guess it was the impending birthday, but I’ve had a lot of epiphanies in the past week or so. This is #1: I’m going to try to be happy with me. Just me. And I’m going to be happy with me before I ever again consider being happy with anybody else. (When I am upset about someone, I have a friend who says, “Protect the heart!” And she’s right! For too long I’ve tried to give the ol’ ticker away to people who don’t really want it. So…I’m going to try holding on to it for awhile now…and to be really, really cautious about who gets it next time.)

When K was here, I was joking that instead of constantly referring to myself as “Lisa Lacy: Tragic Spinster,” I was going to try “Lisa Lacy: Lone Wolf” on for size…even going as far as saying I’d get “LONE WOLF” tattooed on my knuckles (or at least try it out in pen). (I’m not sure if I’m, you know, Tuff Enuff to pull it off. It *would* be kind of fun to see looks on faces if I could find a pen that was realistic enough…but only if I could keep a straight face…like, “Yes, I *do* have tattooed knuckles. What of it?” Sort of like the horrifying sequined top I found at a shop in Cedarburg, Wisconsin once that said, “Dear Santa, I want it all!” Oh, how I wished I could wear it to work and act nonchalant…like, “YES. I am wearing this ON PURPOSE.”)

Because, despite my best efforts to find a special someone, I always end up alone…and I’m always fine. But it always requires this, like, brute force for me to let go of someone…even when that person is a bona fide jerkface. I got really choked up in Sunshine Cleaning in the scene in which Amy Adams tells the guy who has sort of been in her life but sort of not that she can’t do it anymore because he’ll never be a legitimate presence and she genuinely cares about him and she deserves someone who feels the same way…because I know how hard that is to do — I’ve never actually *been* strong enough to let go of someone like that of my own volition. I always wait for the moment when I get hit over the head with a mallet — like, say, that roommate he’s been talking about? *Actually* his girlfriend… — and then I have no choice but to move on.

I just had to go to a wedding by myself…and I felt like such a loser because I was there without a date. And I never have dates to events like that. I always feel like I’m Lisa Who Puts on a Brave Face and Goes Alone. And, in theory, that shouldn’t even be an issue — I should just be Lisa and that should be fine. And here’s where the first of many embarrassing quotes comes in…(I should probably remind you that flying scares me [although not so much lately because I’ve done so much of it] and so my deal with myself is that I can buy trashy celebrity magazines to read on the plane)…and I was reading an US Weekly that quoted Sandra Bullock saying, “I complete me. I’m just lucky that after I completed myself, I met someone who could tolerate me.”

And say what you will about her acting skills or whatever, but I think she hits the nail on the head there. That’s it. *I* should be enough. Whatever comes next is just gravy.

And yet when I think about myself and my life, I’m not sure if I’ve ever felt that way.

And so I guess that’s what New Lisa is focusing on. I’m not sure how you end up with Sandra Bullock Clarity, but perhaps that’s what we’ll call Goal #1.

In the meantime…when my parents first moved to Alaska, I got a call from my mother after they’d purchased snow machines (they call ‘em “mobiles” down here) and snow shoes and the like, saying, “We’re spending money like drunken sailors!” And the same has sort of been true of me lately. I got a haircut…and (overshare) some fancy drawers and some (sorely needed) new bedding. And now not only is my bed super-comfy, but I feel like I’ve exorcised some bad juju.

I had a small lapse last weekend that sort of sent me spiraling and worrying that all of this is horse pucky because I’ve been telling everyone who will listen about my mission to be happy with me…but then I saw the Bartender, who — as if it wasn’t painfully clear before — REALLY doesn’t want to be with me…and I ended up sobbing so loudly trying to get in my front door that one of my neighbors came downstairs to rescue me because he thought I was in mortal danger. But I guess when you’re trying to make positive life changes, you’re allowed to stumble a few steps back every now and again? The whole point is that you ultimately move forward?

Because this is where the second of my embarrassing quotes comes in. When I was getting my hair cut, I was flipping through an old People Magazine and saw a blurb about Jennifer Aniston…which was actually about a spread in *another* magazine in which she “embraced her Lonely Girl image.” But…what really got me was that she said, “[I’m fully supportive of] anybody who is in a place that’s not their strongest [but] is ready to push forward.”

It was like Jennifer was talking directly to me! Because…the past couple of months have been rough. Between the job market and the Bartender, I’ve been struggling…and any sort of strong woman-y thing has really resonated with me. I saw Whitney Houston on Oprah and got all emotional when she sang, “I Didn’t Know My Own Strength.” That sort of kicked off this whole Whitney phase in which I revisited “Saving All My Love For You” from 1985 (which I don’t actually think sets forth a very good example with its “My friends try and tell me, find a man of my own / But each time I try, I just break down and cry / Cause I’d rather be home feeling blue…)…although she redeems herself a year later with “The Greatest Love of All” (as if I even need to say it – “Learning to love yourself / It is the greatest love of all…”). (I also joked about pulling a “Say Anything” move and standing in front of the Bartender’s bar with a stereo above my head playing, “Didn’t We Almost Have it All?” It would almost be worth it to see the look on his face. If, you know, last weekend hadn’t happened.)

And I sort of thought I had slipped back into the abyss after the latest incident, but I spent a day feeling sad and embarrassed and stupid…and, yes, I’m back to bowing my head in shame when I walk by that damn bar…but, for the most part, I have accepted that things are the way that they are for a reason (I saw a woman-y Web site with a link to Oprah.com and Steve Harvey’s 5 Questions to Ask a Man Before You Get Attached…and realized that, yes, if I had asked the Bartender Question #1, I would have saved myself a lot of trouble)…and now I’m trying to just focus on things that make me happy.

I don’t have my dream job, but I support myself with words…and that’s gotta be something, right? I have my own apartment in a great neighborhood…and I have a landlady who calls me “sweetie” and a neighbor who will come downstairs in the middle of the night in the rain to beat up someone who makes me cry. I have an incredible circle of girlfriends. (Maybe it’s a good thing I haven’t gotten married yet because I really don’t know how I’d ever choose bridesmaids…or, you know, I’d have them all up there with me and absolutely no one in the audience.) And I’m basically happy. I’ve done stuff. I’ve lived in England and Alaska. I’ve driven across the country with my mother in a giant trailer. And when I was really unhappy with my job and a career path that I felt led me nowhere I wanted to go, I quit and went to grad school to try to find something that would make me happier…and, no, it didn’t work out quite the way I expected…but, on the bright side, I’m not stuck in a job that I hate…and I *do* have a lot of freedom.

So…Epiphany #2 is to sort of embrace the freedom this lifestyle affords. I’ve spent a year shaking my fist at the universe, determined to force it to give me a job…and I’ve lost this battle of wills every time. So…instead of fighting it, I’m trying to just go with it and say, “Okay…I have a steady stream of income. And I can write this stuff anytime and anywhere…” and I’m going to try to use that freedom to travel more. I was thinking Bogota would be first for my friend’s dad’s birthday…but, in the end, I don’t think it’s logistically possible. But! My oldest childhood friend is finishing her Master’s in speech therapy soon…and so I think we’re going to Costa Rica in November. And then another friend’s family is renting an apartment in Madrid in January…so I can totally pop over there to stay with them and then get a train to London. (How about that?)

And…I’ve also used this I-don’t-have-a-full-time-job period to work on a book and have 70,000 words now. And it’s a giant mess and I really need to find an editor who can help me shape it in a coherent form…and I’ve been kind of reluctant to actually finish my proposal because it’s so scary that one document makes or breaks all the work you’ve done…but, you know, I also read Sloane Crosley and Augusten Burroughs and  David Sedaris and think, “I could totally write that.” And, heck, I may never get published…but…I’ve tried really, really hard to make it happen. And – don’t get me wrong – I’m not giving up. I’m incredibly stubborn. But – a little rally cry for myself here — I’m trying to acknowledge it’s kind of a big deal I’ve gotten this far. I wrote a damn book! It’s a mess! But it’s a *book.* (And I’m still not likely to show up at any Columbia Alumni events until I can definitively say, “Why, yes, Harper Collins *is* publishing my novel in the fall…,” but, nevertheless…at this point, I at least know that when I show up at the Pearly Gates I won’t have “But I never wrote a book!” on my conscience.)

One of my classmates just sent me an email quoting Theodore Roosevelt, actually (I told you there’d be another president)…and I think it does a good job of summing up my book feelings: “Far better is it to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to take rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much, because they live in the gray twilight that knows not victory nor defeat.”

So…Epiphany #3 is that my life is okay. But, more than that, is Epiphany #4: I’m okay.

I know, I know…I’m OK, You’re OK…it’s so fluffy…but…it’s something I’ve never really officially declared before. I’ve told the world I’m a boob countless times — and, let’s face it — I am…but…I am also nice. And I am good at remembering birthdays. And I can bake the hell out of things. And there are plenty of people out there who I love and who actually love me back and who, unlike the Bad Boyfriends, I don’t have to force to stick around…so why waste so much time with those who don’t want to be there? More baked goods for everybody else, right?

And, you know, when K was here, we happened to catch the Wizard of Oz on TV…which we have both seen at least 1000 times…but there was a line at the end that really caught my attention this time. I *believe* it’s when the Wizard gives the Tin Man his heart. He says, “A heart is not judged by how much you love, but by how much you are loved by others.” And all I could think was, “Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” I mean, seriously – shouldn’t it be about how much love you put out into the universe regardless of how much you get back? That’s the way I feel, anyway.

Or, on the Monday after Whip It’s release, there’s Drew Barrymore…who my mother saw on a talk show saying, “Happiness is a choice.” So…I guess my whole point (if anyone has actually stuck with me this long) is that I’m trying. I’m trying to be happy with me and my life and to just be more zen about things and to take them as they come and to not worry about my life not going according to plan…and once I get to a point where I don’t have to remind myself about what Sandra Bullock said in Us Weekly (or I don’t, you know, tell bartenders that I miss them and screw up a month’s worth of progress), then we’ll know I’m ready for a Good Boyfriend.

(Although – oops – I thought I had come up with a nice little ending…but if my ultimate goal is to just be happy with myself, the Good Boyfriend comment may be out of line. But, truth be told, it *would* be nice to meet someone eventually. Just after I’ve worked on myself a little bit more. But, by that point, let me tell you this: He’d better be one hell of a boyfriend.)

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Filed under Alaska, birthdays, books, Brooklyn

July’s Most Memorable Food…

Well, here we are: August and I haven’t posted nothin’ in a real long time.

I have another good excuse though!

I mean, partially it’s because I feel no one in the universe reads this except for my mother (which is a scene right out of Julie & Julia! Except that in the Nora Ephron/Julie Powell version, people actually *do* start reading eventually)…

But it’s also because I’ve been on the road. With my mother. In a giant trailer. (You know, like you do…)

And I certainly can’t sum up the whole trip in a measly blog post…but I can hit some highlights.

First? Nick’s Bar-B-Q & Catfish in Carlisle, Arkansas. Whoa. SO good. I felt like I was back at Penn’s in Brandon, Miss. A welcome change from all the McDonald’s (remember, kiddos, we were 52 feet long and needed big parking lots that were easy-on, easy-off…), but also one of the best meals I’ve had in a long time. Everything was fried though — fried catfish, fried pickles, fried okra and fried pies. Well worth the splurge…though it’s probably a good thing I don’t actually live there. It was so memorable, in fact, that I brought my catsitter a bottle of Nick’s barbecue sauce. (Even though I didn’t try the barbecue…)

Next? Chocolate-covered bacon at the Wisconsin State Fair. They also had TONS of fried goodies…from s’mores to cheese to green beans. In fact, I tried my first fried Snickers bar at this fair (which my mother kept calling “frickers” and “frandy bars”)…and I had part of the traditional cream puff. I was really excited about the chocolate-covered bacon though — totally intrigued. It seemed like one of those things I had to try so I could report back to everyone who was sending me links to news stories about it…but, alas, the chocolate-covered bacon stand did not immediately make itself known to us…and after a long day at the fair, most people in my party were ready to head home. And since, like Nick’s, I’d probably already consumed well over my standard daily caloric intake, I opted to head home without complaint, too. Maybe next year.

And…finally, there’s boeuf bourguignon, which I feel I have to make after seeing the aforementioned film. (Although I’m not totally a fair-weather Julia fan! I’ve read both of the books and liked them a lot!) I’m a little nervous about it — the first step, for instance, is to cut bacon into lardons. Yikes! And I’m not sure I have a 9- to 10-inch fireproof casserole dish that is 3 inches deep. But I think I can handle drying 3 pounds of lean stewing beef. And, you know, perhaps this act will help me commune with Julia and Julie and find some sort of meaning and purpose in my life, too. (For the record, I’m still searching. And, to that end, it’s been a little tough being back in NYC…)

(Ooh — I also really enjoyed it when we were at a restaurant in Norton, Virginia and the waiter described a salmon special with haricot vert…but I’d need sound effects to truly make you appreciate it…)

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Filed under Brooklyn, candy, cheese, chocolate, fish, food on a stick, frying, Mississippi, pickles, pie, weight loss, wine