June 2007 Archives

There ain’t nothin’ wrong with eatin’

June 30, 2007

I’ve seen this restaurant meme going around all over the place and I kind of filed it away as something I might do at some point, but I’ve been so busy, what with all the fish death and cake baking, that I forgot about it. But then, Tracey at More than a Minivan Mom actually tagged me, so here it is. I go back and forth on whether or not I like doing memes, but today? I like them.

Let me also state that I’m breaking all the rules and changing the meme to suit my own purposes, because I can’t be confined by the man and his rules. Since I live in a city that has, at last count 852 Mexican food restaurants, we eat a lot of Mexican food, and if I were to write about my 5 favorite local restaurants, it would look like this.

1. Taco Taco Cafe
2. Taco Garage
3. Patty’s Taco House
4. Taco Taco Cafe #2
5. Taco Taco Cafe #3

That would just be boring and, in spite of what y’all may think, I try to not be boring.

So, with apologies to Julio Iglesias, this is a post to all the restaurants I’ve loved before.

1. Casa Ole’ – There was a time in my life when my idea of great Mexican food was Casa Ole’. Back in high school, when I was in posession of a 16 year old metabolism, I would eat here at least three times a week. I always ordered the Dinner El Paso, which consisted of two cheese enchiladas covered in queso with a crispy beef taco on the side.

And they had green sauce. Love the green sauce. Pledge my undying love to the green sauce.

Throughout high school and college, Casa Ole’ was my answer to any of life’s events; heartaches, hangovers, girls’ night out. But sadly, now that I’ve experienced real Mexican food, the love affair is over.

2. The Grapevine – My sophomore year at Texas A&M, I discovered The Grapevine. College Station had about three restaurants at the time, Lubys, The Blackeyed Pea, and Fajita Ritas. Grapevine was an oasis in the desert of restaurants.

Gulley, Jen, Tiff and I ate at Grapevine multiple times a week. They made the best twice baked potatoes EVER and their salads were the best. They had these perfect cubes of cheese and tomato and served it with Parmesan Pepper dressing. And because I was so healthy, I would ask for a whole bottle of Parmesan Pepper dressing and dip Club Crackers in it.

My arteries are still feeling the effects.

Sadly, The Grapevine is no longer with us. It closed down sometime after I left A&M and this saddens me to no end. In fact, when the restaurant went up for sale, we talked about buying it but since the price was like $3 million dollars, it seemed like an excessive amount to spend just so I could keep eating Parmesan Pepper dressing. I still dream about the Parmesan Pepper dressing.

When Gulley and I were in College Station last month, we drove by in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, someone had resurrected Grapevine. But in an ironic twist, the property is now home to Lighthouse Christian Church, which makes sense given the religious experience that was Parmesan Pepper dressing.

3. Carrabbas – Once upon a time, Carrabbas was a family owned restaurant on Kirby Drive in Houston. Now, it’s a chain and that makes me sad. It’s not that chain restaurants can’t be good, but the chain factor sucks the soul out of a place.

Gulley and I used to drive to Houston to visit our dads during college and one of the big events was getting to go to Carrabbas. I always ordered the Pollo Rosa Maria with a side of fettucine alfredo, otherwise known as Heart Disease On A Plate.

And I don’t know why I feel the need to tell y’all this, but I once ate so much there one night that I had to change my pajama bottoms during the night because the elastic was too tight.

That’s just shameful.

Anyway, now Carrabbas is a chain and it’s lost its charm and appeal, but on the bright side, I don’t have to worry about my pajama bottoms anymore.

4. The Gristmill – We don’t eat here too often because it’s in Gruene, Texas, which is about 45 minutes away, but I love it. It’s right on the Guadalupe River and next to Gruene Hall, the oldest dancehall in Texas.

There is nothing better than spending a day floating on the river and then heading to The Gristmill to eat a chicken fried steak while listening to the sounds of Texas music coming from the dancehall. I haven’t done it in years, about 4 1/2 to be exact, but it’s a great way to spend the day.

Not to mention, eating chicken fried steak while wearing a swimsuit? Awesome.

5. Rosarios – It’s hard name just one favorite Mexican restaurant, so I’ll pick Rosarios. It’s located downtown and has some of the best Mexican food in the city, which is saying something in a city of 852 Mexican restaurants. It’s more upscale than your average taco house and the guacamole is unbelievably good.

P took me to Rosarios for our first night out after Caroline was born and when I took a sip of my first margarita in a year, I started crying. Granted, there could have been some hormones responsible for the tears along with “Raising Arizona” declarations of “I just looove that baby”, but I like to believe it was just the pure, top shelf goodness of the perfect margarita accompanied with chips and guacamole.

And there it is, the restaurants that have meant the most to me over the years. I have eaten at nicer places. I’ve eaten at gourmet restaurants where the food is perfectly presented and oh-so-arty and trendy, but these are the places that are close to my heart. When it comes down to it, I will always take a good chicken fried steak or chili con queso over slow roasted wild salmon on dilled cucumbers and avocado served with hydroponic baby lettuces.

I’m just sophisticated like that, not to mention, I think it’s cruel to eat the baby lettuces.

An update on the newly bereaved…and also, cake

June 29, 2007

Last night in our panic to dispose of Nemo’s body, P provided a moment of distraction by taking Caroline out to look at “something” on the front porch, while I frantically ran, fish bowl in hand, towards our master bathroom to flush away the evidence. I was in a state of panic over the need to hide the dead body so, clearly, if my Sicilian ancestry includes any ties to the Mafia, I didn’t get those genes.

Don Corleone would never sweat over having to dispose of a beta fish.

It’s not so much that I thought Caroline would lose her mind due to the excessive grief, but it was close to bedtime, she was tired and that tends to turn everything into drama worthy of a very special episode of Diff’rent Strokes. Plus, she looks for any excuse to put off bedtime, so a fish funeral would have been a fine angle to work.

Anyway, I was sloppy in my work. I left Nemo’s empty fish bowl sitting on the dresser in our bedroom and when Caroline woke up this morning (yes, she ended up in our bed around 5 a.m., but it’s totally worth it because she’ll sleep until 8 a.m. if she’s in bed with me. I figure she’ll sleep in her own bed by high school. In the meantime, I am enjoying mornings that start after the sun is actually up)…okay, where was I?

Oh, Caroline woke up and immediately noticed the bowl sitting on the dresser. She said, “Mama, Nemo slept in your room last night!…Oh, where’s Nemo?”. And with that observation, she caught me completely offguard at the time of day when I’m the slowest on my feet. So, I eloquently stated, “Nemo died.” Like ripping off a band-aid. Her lip started to quiver and she said, “Why did he die Mama? I took such good care of him.”

That’s debatable.

I told her that fish don’t live very long and of course she took good care of him, but he just got sick and died. She then hypothesized that perhaps a coyote had come in to our house and speared Nemo during the night which, had I been thinking clearly, would have been a much better answer to her question. And with that, she moved on to wanting waffles for breakfast. Obviously, she was all broken up about it.

Now, let me tell y’all about the rain. It rained cats and dogs and, perhaps, even beta fish today. I dropped Caroline off at school this morning right as the rain started and by the time I picked her up 3 hours later, the streets were flooded. In fact, on our way home, one of the main streets to our house was barricaded and I wasn’t sure how we were going to get home. Fortunately, I am a navigating genius and realized I just needed to go over one more block to higher ground. We had planned to go play at Gulley’s to get through the rainy afternoon but, alas, there was no way we could make it over there without a canoe.

So, we baked a cake. And I thought y’all might like the recipe and a step-by-step pictorial.

Yellow Cake with Chocolate Frosting

Open box. Dump cake mix in bowl. Now, normally I prefer Duncan Hines Butter Recipe Golden cake mix, but this was all we had and did I mention the torrential flooding?

Next, add in water, butter and eggs. Eggshell is optional, but highly probable if you let a 3 year old crack your eggs.

Note to self, do not turn your back on child with Kitchenaid. Mess. Big Mess. Photo does not do justice to mess. Also, not pictured are the bits of my head that exploded shortly after this happened.

Clean cake mix, egg, butter residue from the walls. And the floor. And the Kitchenaid. And the child. And the entire side of the refrigerator.

Pour batter in cake pans and bake at 350 for 25 minutes.

Relax while enjoying a little cake batter and wonder why Mama is so freaked out. It’s just a little cake batter spewed all over the kitchen. It will come off the ceiling in its own good time.

Have internal debate as to whether or not to make homemade chocolate frosting to compensate for boxed cake mix. Decide to fully commit to Lazy Cake Baking 101.

Tell husband to step away from the canned frosting. He can have whatever is leftover.

Realize you’re writing the longest blog post in history. Oh wait, wrong tutorial.

Find it ironic that you’re frosting a boxed cake mix with canned frosting while looking down at your new issue of this.

Wonder if anyone is still reading to see the results of this labor of love.

Pass can of frosting to P. He really had no idea before he married me the full extent of my baking skills. It was just pure luck on his part.

Prepare a light dinner of chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes with cream gravy so that you’ll have plenty of room for cake.

Wonder how this post started with our fish grief and ended up with chocolate cake. Also, hope that was only an eggshell I just bit into.

Have a lovely weekend, y’all.

Nemo sleeps with the fishes

June 28, 2007

Nemo is dead.

No, not that Nemo. Not the little clownfish from the reef. I’m talking about our Nemo, the betta fish that Santa brought for Caroline this past Christmas.

I noticed yesterday that he was, literally, looking a little green around the gills. Who knew that was a real thing and not just something people say? He was also swimming upside down and frequently laying on his side. P and I kept exchanging looks across the kitchen because we knew Nemo’s time was limited.

And honestly, I’m amazed he lasted as long as he did. I thought for sure Caroline was going to love him to death within his first 48 hours in our family, but he made it a whole 6 months, mainly because she often forgot that he existed.

I’m not sure what went wrong, but as his primary caretaker, I blame myself.

Not to mention the guilt I feel because, really, I’m glad he’s gone. When Santa brought him down from the North Pole, the intention was that Nemo would reside in Caroline’s room, but due to her constant need to pet him, he was transferred to my kitchen island. Which wouldn’t have been so bad since Santa had the forethought to buy a pretty bowl with pretty pale blue stones in the bottom, but Caroline wanted Nemo to have some sort of fish structure and she picked out a dragon at the pet store.

So, for the last 6 months I have had a fish bowl with a dragon in it adorning my kitchen island. It’s not really something you see in Southern Living. It’s not even something you see in Redneck Digest.

I was also completely grossed out every time I had to change his water. It just all seemed so unsanitary. And true confessions, more than once I thought about just setting him free in our plumbing system and calling it a day. But I endured for the love of my child. A child who, by the way, hasn’t noticed yet that Nemo is no longer with us.

And he is, in fact, no longer with us. As soon as I saw his dead, bloated fish carcass floating next to his dragon, I immediately flushed him down the toilet and in hindsight, I guess I should have let Caroline say her final goodbyes. So now I’m wondering how to handle the situation so that one day Caroline’s not in therapy saying, “It all started when Nemo died and I didn’t get to say goodbye…”

So what now? Do I wait until she notices he’s gone or do I just tell her what parents everywhere have said for years?

Honey, Nemo went to live on a fish ranch with lots of other fish. It’s the best thing for him. He’ll be so much happier living where he can swim free in the wide open spaces.

Oh I would, but I just don’t want to

June 27, 2007

I’m so glad that y’all got as big of a kick as I did over my fab new blouse. But for the record, if y’all think I’m going to put that thing on and take a picture of myself in it and post it on the World Wide Web for God and whoever, or whomever, or whatever to see, then might I suggest that you lay off the alcohol.

Between the braces on my teeth and that blouse, it would really be more metallic sheen than anyone needs to see on one person.

I don’t want y’all to think the reason I never post any pictures of myself is because I am vain and not thrilled with how I look wearing braces because, honestly, the truth is, I am vain and not thrilled with how I look wearing braces.

So, don’t blame me for the lack of photos, blame my orthodontist.

And really, the two pictures I have posted of myself where I am looking down are really some of the best photos I have ever taken, because the camera?

She doesn’t love me, my friends.

And on a similar note relating to unphotogenic-ness (yes, it’s a word), I made a mistake about 3 weeks ago that I am just now ready to own up to. I’ve been suffering in silence because I didn’t want to admit that I made a mistake, and oh, what a mistake it was.

Did y’all see Reese Witherspoon at the Academy Awards or Golden Globes and she had done the revenge weight loss, look-fab-plan-to-get-back-at-your-man type thing? And she had that cute, long hair with those cute bangs and she just looked the best she’s looked in forever. I decided I needed to get myself some of those bangs.

It was a bad call.

I went to my hairdresser and showed him the picture of cutey-cute Reese Witherspoon and her precious bangs and asked him his thoughts. He said it would work for me (total lie), but perhaps we shouldn’t cut the bangs as thick as Reese’s, especially since I have a cowlick just off the center of my forehead.

And here’s the thing. Here’s the part where I just lost all sense.

I know I have a cowlick in the off center part of my forehead. It was the bane of my existence back in the days of teasing my bangs until they cried out for mercy and I silenced them by hosing them down with Flex Net Super Hold, but time and side swept long bangs had caused me to forget about angry cowlick with constant PMS. The bangs work for Reese, why shouldn’t they work for me?

Well, for starters, the cowlick. And to make matters worse, my hairdresser was delicately trimming my new bangs and I was waiting to behold my Reese-ness (except that I’m not blonde, my hair wouldn’t stay that straight if I ironed it, and I don’t have an adorable heart-shaped face) when he said, “Wow. It looks like your bangs have quite a bit of wave in them.”

Well that’s not good.

What he meant by “quite a bit of wave” was that my new bangs were pretty straight until right at the end where they do this weird, flip out, crease-type thing like, perhaps, they got caught in a door. I feel certain that the change in my hormones after pregnancy is responsible for this treachery.

To make the bangs work at all requires me to hold them flat against my head while I blow them dry and then, flatten them into oblivion with my straightening iron while cursing the day I ever saw Reese Witherspoon glide across the stage with her fancy bangs.

Needless to say, I am growing them out, and bobby pins and headbands have become my new best friends. And if y’all think there is anything more attractive than a woman in her mid-30′s with braces on her teeth and bobby pins holding back her bangs, well you just don’t know the half of it. I have even had mornings where I’ll throw on a baseball cap to just block the whole thing out, because there is nothing more frustrating than straight ironing your bangs until they sizzle, only to walk outside and have the humidity turn you into the girl with frizzy bangs that split just off center of her forehead due to a bad cowlick.

I totally blame Reese Witherspoon.

And my orthodontist.

I didn’t know the meaning of embarrassment until I was a mama

June 26, 2007

This morning, while it was still just the heat equivalent of being baked in an oven as opposed to being dropped in a Fry Daddy filled with boiling oil, Caroline and I went to the park.

She went down the slides and played on the various playscapes and then said, “Come on, Mama! Let’s go swing!”

I put her on one swing and I sat down on the swing next to her, even though I noticed it had a little dried bird poop on it. No big deal. I’m a gamer like that.

After a few minutes, she said, “Let’s switch swings, Mama!” So, we got off our respective swings and when she walked over to mine, she looked down and yelled, “OH MAMA! DID YOU POOP IN YOUR SWING?”

As if I’m her incontinent mother who makes a habit of pooping on playground equipment.