Omnivore Meme

I'm sure that I'll take some heat from Hulio for the number of times I've said that I'll never try something on this list. In general, though, you should note that those things follow a theme-- they are mostly innards. I don't do innards. Also, there are some things that I haven't tried because I have a food allergy that prevents me from trying them. Otherwise, I think I've at least tried a respectable number of these things.

As usual, bold means I've eaten it, things I would not ever eat are crossed out, and commentary is included.


1. Venison - this is a semi-regular food in our household, thanks to my father and his hunting buddy.
2. Nettle tea
3. Huevos rancheros
4. Steak tartare - only a single bite, once, when Finbar ordered it for some unknown reason. I found it slimy and disgusting. Certainly not something I would try again.
5. Crocodile - I've had alligator, though.
6. Black pudding - No way, no how.
7. Cheese fondue - Eep used to have fondue parties. Those were fun. I miss that, and I also miss Eep a great deal.
8. Carp
9. Borscht - Ash made some once. He gets very mad if I pronounce it with the "t".
10. Baba ghanoush - there's a place around the corner that makes a fantastic version of this. They roast the eggplants fresh every morning and it gives it the most amazing smoky overtone.
11. Calamari - A dish which I used to hate, but tried again at Ash's urging and now I love it.
12. Pho - this is on the "foods that will kill Katze" list, so no.
13. PB&J sandwich - The only time that I will eat grape jelly is in a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I also like strawberry jelly with peanut butter. Everything else is sacrilege.
14. Aloo gobi - This was one of the dishes I made for the Bollywood party
15. Hot dog from a street cart
16. Epoisses - Given how much I love cheese, I would totally try this.
17. Black truffle - I hope to try this one day when we have some money to throw around.
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes - One of my host fathers made a cherry wine at home. It was very potent and very sweet.
19. Steamed pork buns
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes
22. Fresh wild berries - Most recently, right off of a tree in Rockville, Maryland.
23. Foie gras - I dislike the taste, texture, and idea of liver in general, so foie gras would be wasted on me
24. Rice and beans - Also on the "foods that will kill Katze" list
25. Brawn, or head cheese - yet another host father was a huge fan. I tried it to be adventurous. It made me want to vomit. He laughed at me (good naturedly), and I have never had another chance to try it. I might, if it came to that. I might not.
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper - I don't really do heat for the sake of heat.
27. Dulce de leche - Is it just me, or is this EVERYWHERE all of a sudden?
28. Oysters - I'm not sure if I could do this. Clams gross me out, and oysters seem to be even worse. It's a texture thing, mostly. Maybe I'd try one, just to be adventurous. Can't be worse than head cheese, right?
29. Baklava - A girl in my class in elementary school was greek, and she used to bring it in for her birthday treat everywhere. That was probably my first exposure to "ethnic" food, and you probably couldn't pick something better. So wonderfully crunchy and sweet and nutty. It's like a little slice of heaven. Even though it has now joined the "foods that will kill Katze" list.
30. Bagna cauda - Not sure if I would eat this. I'd probably try it, but anchovies are not a favorite of mine.
31. Wasabi peas - I love these, but they are hard to find without rice flour.
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl - No. Well, I guess I'd try it again sometime. I just can't get past the texture of clams. But I'm growing fonder and fonder of seafood tastes, so maybe...
33. Salted lassi - I'll probably try this one day. It's kind of surprising that I've never tried it yet.
34. Sauerkraut - I have loved loved loved sauerkraut since I was a little girl. We used to have sauerkraut and spareribs on New Year's Day every year, and I would look forward to it with gusto. I love several variations on sauerkraut, except for the very sweet kind. I very rarely ate this when I lived in Germany, but I eat it fairly frequently in the US.
35. Root beer float - I loved these when I was a little girl.
36. Cognac with a fat cigar - Cognac, yes. I love cognac. Fat cigar, never. Disgusting habit.
37. Clotted cream tea - Something I've wanted to try for a while now.
38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O - Strangely enough, I've never had a jell-o shot. I've served them, but never had one. I think I may be past that age now.
39. Gumbo - I'd totally eat this if it wouldn't kill me.
40. Oxtail - I'd try it though. In related thoughts, any time I think about eating animal tails, I think about Little House in the Big Woods, and the chapter about butchering time, when Laura and Mary get all excited about the pig's tail.
41. Curried goat
42. Whole insects - I just can't get past the vermin factor.
43. Phaal - probably not on my list of things to try, as I'm not a huge fan of excess heat. I bet Ash would eat it, though.
44. Goat’s milk - Yum. The goat is a wonderful animal, indeed.
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more - One day, one day...
46. Fugu - If it is ever possible to try this without the taint of rice, I would probably try this.
47. Chicken tikka masala - This is a semi-regular dish in our household. We've made it in the crockpot a couple of times, but honestly, the more often I make it, the less of a true tikka masala it becomes, since I tend to add whatever is languishing in the fridge/ freezer.
48. Eel - Another texture issue here. I'd try it in a different preparation, though. Maybe it's better as a fresh dish.
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut - Don't get me wrong: these are good. They are not, however, worth the hype, not even fresh off the belt. Once, I did a walkathon for the American Diabetes Association, and the major sponsor was Krispy Kreme. The irony of this was far more delicious than any donut I've ever eaten.
50. Sea urchin
51. Prickly pear
52. Umeboshi
53. Abalone

I would absolutely try any of the previous four should the opportunity present itself.

54. Paneer- Oh, my, do we love paneer in this house. I wish it wasn't so freaking expensive.
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal - In more than one country, sadly.
56. Spaetzle - Um, hello? Exchange student to Germany? Actually, I've only had this once in Germany. It was fan-freaking-tastic. A friend's mother made it for me just to make sure that I had it once before I went back to America. I've had this several times in the US, notably in Amish country. I love this type of thing, by the way. I would happily eat them plain.
57. Dirty gin martini - No, but I've had a dirty vodka martini. It was okay. Nothing I'd break a door down for or anything.
58. Beer above 8% ABV - Given my affinity for belgian beers, this is one I've done many a time.
59. Poutine - Once, in Niagara Falls, and never again. I don't know, I'm not a fan of mixed up food topped with gravy. I was never a kid who couldn't have foods touch any of the other foods on the plate, but I certainly could not abide the whole "mix it all up in to a big goopy pile" thing that my sister did.
60. Carob chips
61. S’mores - Also, do you know what is delicious? Caribou Coffee's Campfire Mocha.
62. Sweetbreads - I don't do innards.
63. Kaolin - Um, this isn't a food. Why is it on the list?
64. Currywurst - So bad for you, so delicious. I have to eat this at least once in the first week I'm back in Germany, every time. I ate it a LOT when I lived in Hamburg with the second host family, where the host mother was super nice and a terrible cook.
65. Durian
66. Frogs’ legs
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake - A fair isn't a fair if you can't get a funnel cake. I wish the people around here would get that through their heads.
68. Haggis
69. Fried plantain - They serve this at the brazilian churrascaria we love (otherwise known as "Meattastic"). It is so delicious I can barely stand it. I have considered making these at home, and may yet do so.
70. Chitterlings, or andouillette - Listen, Wikipedia describes andouillette like this: "The taste is an acquired one - as it is with all offal - and can be compared to strong, decaying pork sausages. The texture is somewhat rougher than sausages, as the content is roughly cut." I don't want to eat something that is described using the phrase "strong, decaying pork sausages".
71. Gazpacho - The place I waitressed at in college made this fresh, from scratch in the summer, and it was amazing. I've had it at other places, and when it's bad, it's like eating a big bowl of watery salsa. When it's good, it's like a little slice of tomato heaven.
72. Caviar and blini - yes, to both, but not at the same time.
73. Louche absinthe - I'd try it, I guess. Luneray and I had some swedish liqueur that was heavily flavored with wormwood, and it was unbelievably bitter, so I don't know that I'd rush out to try it. And I don't really need to brag to people that I've tried absinthe (not nearly goth enough, I guess).
74. Gjetost, or brunost - Yum. Super yum.
75. Roadkill - um, Hello? Diseases?
76. Baijiu
77. Hostess Fruit Pie - I was always partial to the blueberry ones as a child.
78. Snail - I'd try it if I had the chance.
79. Lapsang souchong
80. Bellini
81. Tom yum
82. Eggs Benedict
83. Pocky - And the cat likes it, too.
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant.
85. Kobe beef
86. Hare - We have rabbit in the freezer right now (Thanks, Dad!), but that's not exactly the same, I guess.
87. Goulash - This was a semi-regular dish last year. In fact, we made this when we had the mormon missionaries over to dinner. I haven't made it in a long time. Maybe it will make a new appearance on our menu soon.
88. Flowers - Just last week, in fact, at a work luncheon.
89. Horse - I don't know if I ever told this story on the blog before. When I was in Sweden, and had been there less than a week, and was therefore still filling in the gaps in my vocabulary, I went grocery shopping. One thing I bought was lunchmeat. This was pre-packaged stuff, much like you might buy Oscar Meyer Bologna. On the front of the package, it said "Hamburgerkött". Okay, I thought, Hamburger Meat. It sort of looked like pastrami. So I bought it. At home, I opened up the package and made myself a little smörgås for middag. I took a bite, and immediately gagged and spit it out. My immediate thought was "What the hell part of a cow could taste so awful?". So I got the package out of the fridge and turned it over to read the fine print, thinking it would either say that it was "Cow Butt" or detail some special preparation that could account for the nastiness. And sure enough, there it was: "Häst". I double-checked it in my dictionary just to make sure that I hadn't lost my mind, and that is the story of how I ate horse meat. I am not likely to try it again.
90. Criollo chocolate -If I ever did try it, I didn't know that I had something special in my mouth. Now that I've learned about it, I'll keep my eyes open for it.
91. Spam - So very nasty. And yet every ten years or so, I decide that I need to try it again, just to make sure. I'm due in another four or five years.
92. Soft shell crab - This grosses me out for some reason, even though I'm sort of favorably neutral on crab in general. Ash really likes it, but the idea of eating all the crunchy bits freaks me out. I have texture issues, if you didn't already guess that.
93. Rose harissa - It sounds pretty good. I'd give it a try if I had the chance.
94. Catfish
95. Mole poblano
96. Bagel and lox - Lox is another thing that I don't like, but I keep trying it because I think that this time will be different.
97. Lobster Thermidor - Lobster is something that I don't like enough to pay for, but I'd probably try this if I had the chance.
98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee
100. Snake

However, My Beef Stew with Noodle Was Excellent

It's a lovely warm evening, and I've been pent up for several days with a nasty cold that finally seems to be abating. I can tell that I'm getting better because I'm hungry and I'm antsy. Ash has been agitating for Chinese carryout for ages, and I've been resisting because for some reason, thinking of the taste has been making me feel vaguely ill. I go through these phases every so often where I either can't get enough of something or can't stand the thought of something, and they're not always related. For instance, although I will sometimes go on a kick-- say, with salt and vinegar chips-- I won't eat them until the thought makes me sick, just until I feel no particular craving for them anymore. Then I won't eat them for a long time, but not because I can't stand the thought of them. I just don't really want them for a while.

Anyway, in a flash of wifely inspiration, I suggested a trip over to our old neck of the woods to visit a favorite taiwanese restaurant of ours. Sort of like Chinese, but different! Brilliant!

In addition to the regular menu, this place offers an ever-changing list of "Chef Specials". Ash, who has no dietary restrictions to take into account, has ordered off this menu many times, and the food he gets is almost always better than the noodle soups I tend to order. Tonight, the first item on the list was called "Home Style Smelled Bean Curd", aka "Stinky Tofu". I've long heard about the extreme awesomeness of this dish from the mouth of a certain taiwanese woman I know whose name starts with P and ends with g, and sounds like "ay-lin" in between, and I've even been present when she ordered said delicacy from the very same restaurant. Ash points to the menu and says "Is this the stuff that Pei likes?", and then proceeds to order it.

The waiter says "Oh, that pig intestine."

Ash and I look at each other, then back at the menu. Thinking that this is just a little misunderstanding, Ash repeats the order, "No, I want the Homestyle Smelled Bean Curd", and for good measure, he points to the words on the menu. The waiter looks at it, then repeats, "Yes, that pig intestine". Ash and I look at each other again, and then back at the waiter, who says "It have bean curd and pig intestine". Ash says "Oh, okay. That's fine. I'll still have it." The waiter eyes him dubiously, but I assure you not half as dubiously as I. As the waiter turns away, I hiss at Ash, "Really??", and he confidently retorts, "Yes, really." This leads into a long discussion on how his grandfather grew up in the Great Depression and didn't waste food, and I kept coming back to the point that, yes, people all over the world and throughout time have eaten various bits of innards and offal, but that, in our culture at least, people usually leave them behind once they can afford to do so (which is, of course, a vast oversimplification, but I was trying to have an argument), and then our food comes out.

Ash's Homestyle Smelled Bean Curd with Pig Intestine came in a little metal dish over a lit sterno burner, bubbling and foul smelling (hence, the name "Stinky Tofu"). Each of us took a bite.

Pei, why do you hate us??? Was it all just a big trick to get us to eat something disgusting? I mean, if that's the case, you should have made a bigger effort back when you were still living here. I'm sure you could have talked Ash into it at some point! And I love tofu, so I would have followed right along! Seriously, all this "it smells horrible, but tastes fantastic" crap? HA. It was like licking a farm animal of some sort. You know it's bad when Ash's comment on the dish was "The pig intestines aren't bad".

After this, how will I ever be able to try durian, should the opportunity present itself?

Yum City

Ash, in a recent fit of domesticity, bought a crockpot, and it seems that we have a new tradition in the making: Monday Crockpot Dinner. In its inaugural run, Ash concocted a delicious pork... thing. I can't remember now what cut of meat it actually was, but the important thing is that it simmered for hours with onions and potatoes and mushrooms and was incredibly savory and flavorful, despite the fact that there was no seasoning other than salt and pepper involved. Ash is of the opinion that teriyaki sauce would have improved the end result, but I feel strongly that it was exactly right as it was.

Tonight, we had corned beef and cabbage with potatoes and mushrooms, and MAN was it good. My dear friend, Lasoe, came for dinner, which made it all the more delicious. We all had seconds of everything-- and I don't even like potatoes. We capped it off with coffee made in the coffee maker bought in the same fit of domesticity (no more using my Melitta pour over coffee maker to slowly brew cups of coffee for us!) and some Japanese cookies/cakes that I bought to celebrate Lasoe's birthday, which was yesterday (생일축하합니다!).

I don't know what we're going to do next. Ash solicited crockpot recipes on his own blog, and got back a suggestion for clam chowder. Y'all, I hate clams and I really hate clam chowder. It's up to you to save me from having to give in to Ash's vague intention to make clam chowder in the crockpot. Gimme recipes!

OK, So I Lied About The Not Blogging Thing

It's just that I'm ready to puke and I need a break, and suddenly I have lots of stuff to say because, well, I'm a master at the art of avoidance.

Plus it's lunchtime and this looks really yummy, even though it would kill me.

Treat Yourself

I made a very, very good cobbler last night and it was so easy that anyone can make it. I am going to tell you how to make it so that you can all make one for yourselves and have the same kind of small joy that I had with every bite of my yummy cobbler.

First, you need a can of pear halves and some port. Put the pears in a colander and rinse them well to get rid of the remnants of the syrup they package them in. Then, put the pears in a narrow tupperware container. You want all of the pears hollow side up in one layer with not much room around them. Pour a small amount of port over the pears. Most of it will run off and collect in the bottom of the tupperware, which is cool. A small amount should pool in the hollow of the pears. Put the lid on and store the whole thing in your refrigerator for a couple of days to let the pears soak up the port.

After the pears are ready, go to your cabinets or to the grocery store. You will need about 4 or 5 cups of fruit. For my cobbler, I used a bag of three berry blend that I bought at Aldi. Apples will work as well, or whatever fruit you have on hand or can get cheap at the farmer's market or in the produce aisle. If you're using something like apples, chop them up into cubes. Try to get the cubes about the same size so that they'll cook evenly, but don't be obsessive about it.

Put the fruit-- except for the pears-- in a smallish sauce pan. It shouldn't be overflowing, but neither should it be rattling around in a big ol' pot. Over low heat, thaw your fruit if it's frozen, or cook fresh fruits just enough to soften them a little. Then add about a cup of sugar and about a cup of water and stir everything well, but do it slowly to keep from mushing the fruit too much. Once the fruit mixture starts to simmer, add your spices. I used a small pinch of allspice, two large pinches of nutmeg, one small pinch of cardamom, and a bunch of cinnamon. For those who don't like to eye measurements, I suppose it was the equivalent of 3 or 4 tablespoons. Stir everything and let it simmer for a while on low heat. The low heat is key here, because if you let it singe, you'll have to throw it away. Nothing tastes worse than burnt sugar. For that same reason, you have to keep stirring the mixture while it simmers. Not constantly or anything, but pretty often. Your kitchen will be smelling sooo good by now, you may be tempted to eat some of the fruit. If you value your tongue, you will resist that temptation because that stuff is HOT.

While your other fruit is simmering, take your port soaked pears out and cut them into cubes of roughly the same size as the other fruit. Again, it's not an exact science, so don't fuss too much. Add them to the mixture, give it a good stir, and remove the whole thing from the heat. Now you have a decision to make. You can continue this process in the oven, which takes much longer but does not require your constant attention, allowing you to go back to studying (or, in my case, hanging out with Ash and reading the Sunday paper-- if I fail the bar, you can blame it on that.). OR you can continue it in the saucepan, which means you'll have to stand over the stove and pay attention to the process.

If you chose the oven route, pour the mix into a small casserole dish or a small pie pan, as long as it's glass and deep enough to hold all of your fruit mixture with maybe 1/2" or so to spare. Place it in the oven at about 400. You'll have to check on it every 15 minutes or so and give it a little stir.

If you go with the stovetop method, turn the burner back on and put the pot back over the heat. Sorry to confuse you, but I wanted you to have a moment to think about your options. Continue simmering the mixture, stirring it frequently to prevent burning.

Either way, your mixture is ready when it gets kind of thick. It won't be solid, or even close to it, but it should have the consistency of pancake syrup that's just a little colder than room temperature. Remove it from the heat if you're using the stovetop, then pour it into a casserole or pie dish. If you're using the oven, turn the heat down to 325. You can leave the fruit in or take it out, whatever suits you.

Now you need a can of buttermilk biscuits. I know you can also do this with Bisquick, but this is another way, and I happen to prefer it. You can use any brand, but they can't be the "flaky" kind OR the kind with little grains of a buttery substance in the dough. Take a damp paper towel and wipe down the countertop. Then place a length of plastic wrap along the counter. The dampness will keep it in place. Use a dry paper towel to smooth it out and remove the residual dampness. Take a handful of four and dust the plastic wrapped counter. Then, rub your hands together just a little to get some of the flour on them. Now, take all of the biscuits and smoosh them together to make one ball of dough. Then, take a rolling pin, dust it with flour, sprinkle a little on the ball of dough, and start rolling it flat.

Roll back and forth, quickly and firmly. After a handful of strokes, pick the dough up, and flip it over so that the part you were just rolling is on the far edge and roll again. The next time you flip it, rotate the dough a quarter turn. The next time you turn it, flip it over. In this way, you should roll each of the four quarters of the dough evenly. You'll want it to be vaguely circular. The dough will keep springing back as you roll it out, but if you just keep at it, it will start to hold the flattened shape. If it starts to stick to the counter or to the rolling pin or to your hands, sprinkle a little more flour on it. When it's just slightly larger than your casserole dish and maybe 1/4" thick, pick it up and carefully lay it into the casserole dish. Note that I said "into", not "over". You can kind of wrinkle it up as you lay it into the dish, kind of like a messy bedspread, to make it fit. It should not touch all the edges, but it should come close. If it's very floury on top, don't worry about it.

Place the dish into the oven and bake it for about 10 or 15 minutes at 325. It's done when the top of the crust is just a little browned. Take it out and let it cool. When it's mostly cool, take a pastry brush and very lightly brush the excess flour off.

Now comes the part that really makes this cobbler come together: vanilla sauce. I make mine from either the Dr. Oetker packets or from the IKEA mix. If you mix this up after the cobbler is baked but before it is cooled, you can stick it in the fridge to chill faster, or even in the freezer, but don't let it actually freeze.

We ate a bit of this loveliness last night, still warm, and it was amazing. At lunch today, I had some cold, straight out of the fridge, and it was even better. In fact, it was so good that I spent the entire day studying property and didn't freak out once. Perhaps I should eat a little cobbler every day between now and the bar exam...

Two Years In a Row??

One of my fellow officers came into the office yesterday holding a box of Tagalongs. I missed the Girl Scout Cookie sale again! Why do I never get hit up for cookie orders by Girl Scouts? I'm all about the cookies! I spend more money that I ought to on them whenever I get the chance! I won one of the top seller awards in our council twice when I was a girl scout. One year, I was the VERY top seller, and the award included not just a badge, but also a trip to Sea World, which was pretty cool. Plus which, I have all too many memories of hawking overpriced crap for one extracurricular activity or another, so I'm a huge sucker for any kid selling for a fundraiser.

I need some Thin Mints! I need some Trefoils! Hook me up, people! Someone here has to know a Girl Scout...

Prediction

I imagine there will be a lot of indian food on the menu chez moi over the next few weeks,as I start the preparations for the Bollywood bash. Anyone have any suggestions for tasty, yet cheap recipes for indian food that can be adapted to serve large-ish numbers of people?

Jelly Belly Flavors I'd Like to See

Fresh baked bread

Birthday cake

Chocolate Martini

Mohnschnecken

Pumpkin pie

Grießbrei

Lingonberry

Marechal Foch

Pulla


I would NOT, however, like to see any of these flavors until the stomach ache I have from eating at least a half pound of the currently available flavors of Jelly Bellys in the past two hours goes away.

The Most Important Meal of the Day

I am looking forward with great relish to a breakfast at First Watch when I visit my family over Winter Break. In particular, I am looking forward to a Turkey Dill Crepegg. One of the few things I truly dislike about Our Fair City is the lack of good breakfast/ (not-just-on-Sunday) brunch places. There are a handful of local diners that are... not bad, even good. But for a girl who spent a large chunk of her college years meeting friends for brunch at any of a long list of places (since a Tuesday morning might be the only time that all of us were neither working nor in class), it’s like being an avid skier, then moving to Kansas. Sure, you can learn to enjoy cross-country skiing, but there are times when all you want is to hit the slopes, just like old times. That’s how I feel about my breakfast/ brunch options here. And those of you who know me know how important breakfast is to me.

I would love to try and hit the place I waitressed at, but they only serve brunch on Sunday morning, and this time, it just so happens that the only Sunday I’ll be there is Christmas Day—which is also one of only two days that they are not open at all, the other being New Year’s Day. I remember when I first heard that we were open on Thanksgiving, I was of the opinion that it was a) criminal and b) stupid, because I figured no one would come in. Boy, was I wrong. It turned out to be not so criminal, since we didn’t open until 8 pm, and only the bar was open. And wow, were we busy! Mostly regulars—i.e., the people we actually liked and enjoyed waiting on-- and they all wanted to get away from their families for a while after a full day of togetherness. No matter how much you love your family, I think you’ve all felt that way at some point or another. The same thing happened when I was scheduled to work Christmas Eve (a shift I actually volunteered for so that other people who maybe lived a little further away or had kids could have the evening off): it was probably our second-busiest night of the year (second only to the day before Thanksgiving). People were in high spirits, the kitchen wasn’t open except for pub grub (wings, nachos, etc), and everyone felt sorry for us that we had to work (which translates into sympathy tips). I had more fun working that night than almost any other night in all the time I worked there.

But I digress.

Everyone hated working Sunday brunch. Except me. I LOVED working Sunday brunch, and it had nothing to do with proximity to brunch food. I especially loved being one of the two openers. You had to be there at the ungodly hour of 8 a.m. (made ungodly not so much by its innate nature as by the fact that anyone high enough on the seniority ladder to get one of these shifts instead of the dreaded Sunday mid was also high enough to be working the bar on Saturday night, meaning that you probably got home between 3:30 and 4:30 in the morning and had to get up three hours later to make it in for the opening shift), but your side work was to get the dining room ready and slice the English Muffins. That was quick and easy, and if you got finished with it efficiently, there was enough time to eat your own made-to-order breakfast with the guys from the kitchen. And if you were senior enough to be working this shift, you were already friends with the guys in the kitchen, so they would make all kinds of fantastic stuff for you. The added bonus was that when your shift was done, it was over—no crappy side work to keep you there when you’re bone tired and just want to get out of there. The other great thing about working Sunday brunch was that the shifts were short and sweet. Unlike a Friday or Saturday night shift that might go for eleven or twelve hours and was certainly never less than eight (without a break!), Sunday brunch shift were maybe five hours long. Six and a half on a bad day. The downsides of brunch were the cranky staff (because half of them were hungover and the other half was just plain tired), the incredibly fast pace, and the lower than average tips. If I took home an average of 18% or 20% on any given Saturday, I would take home only 14% or 15% on Sunday. The high table turnover on brunch shifts compensated for that somewhat, so it wasn’t a total wash.

Sundays were also the only days that staff was allowed to drink at the bar. On other days, the rule was that if you were scheduled to work a shift that day, you could not drink at the bar either before or after that shift. You were welcome to come in on your day off, but if the owners (who were actively involved in running the place and great people to work for) caught you at the bar on a day you were on the schedule, you were fired. You still had to wait until your shift was over on Sunday, but if you worked Sunday brunch, that was no problem. You could sit at the bar with the rest of the staff and the regulars, drink bloody marys, talking and joking. If you’ve ever worked in a restaurant, you know how the line between work and social life often gets blurred. The people you work with are often the people you go out with and maybe even the people you date and/or sleep with. This restaurant was especially tight knit. Many of the waitstaff had been there for years and the turnover rate was remarkably low. There was remarkably little backstabbing and infighting. People were generally good about covering each others’ asses and helping out when you needed someone to take a shift from you and someone with a dead section would run drinks or trays to a busier server’s station, or do someone else’s side work while waiting for the next wave of customers, knowing that they would do the same for you the next time the situations were reversed—and don’t think that it didn’t get around pretty fast if you didn’t. I remember a meltdown one girl had the night that two of us had done everyone’s side work but hers and the entire staff except the manager and bartender walked out the front door before she’d even had the chance to cash out. None of us felt the least bit sorry for her, given that she not only didn’t volunteer to help, but would refuse to help if asked. Not a great attitude to take when your success at your job depends on the cooperation of the kitchen, the bar, the bussers, and the hostesses. Be nice and help out, even if the job is technically “below” you-- bus your own tables if the bussers are busting their asses and can’t get to you right that second, help the hostess put up the chairs at night, haul bottles of wine up front from the cooler so the bartender doesn’t have to leave her post—and you’ll find that the bussers notice your table first, the hostess seats the rude people in someone else’s section, and the bartender gets your drink orders in record time. It was great preparation for a “real job” in that way.

Of course, any Sunday that you weren’t assigned to work a Sunday brunch was also a good Sunday. They didn’t come very often, especially not if you expected to get good shifts the rest of the time because the manager who did the scheduling didn’t take too kindly to too many requests for Sundays off. When they did come around, it was common practice for groups of us to get together and eat brunch at another restaurant before heading in to drink bloody marys at the bar. Years later, I’m still in contact with a girl who was almost always scheduled to work the same sets of shifts as I. We’ve both moved to different states and work in other fields (or, in my case, ended up back in school), but we still write and email a couple of times each year. I remember sitting on the patio of a restaurant just around the corner from our place of employment one morning in May, just a couple of months before I packed my bags for the City of Light. We were both graduating and neither of us had found a job in our field by that point, so we were tossing around ideas of what to do. She mentioned in passing that she thought it would be cool to work at a resort for awhile, or maybe on a cruise ship. Not the kind of thing you’d really want to do forever, but a few years when you’re young and unattached would be great: a little adventure, a little fun, a little money while you figure out what the next thing to do is. I think she thought I’d laugh, but truthfully, I’d been getting more and more serious about the idea of just tossing it all and moving to the City of Light to be with Finbar while I puzzled out what I was supposed to do with my life. I mean, I was going to be waitressing if I stayed where I was, so why not waitress in a new place until I got some direction? Somewhere in between the laughter and wild ideas, we started to see these as valid plans for the interim. I’m not sure how much we really needed it by that point, but the two of us gave each other the boost we needed to take action.

It’s that kind of chance relationship that can change your life in the most unexpected ways. You sort of expect the important people in your life to have an impact on you: your parents, your best friend, your siblings, your spouse. But sometimes the impetus to action comes from someone that you don’t even know their last name. Maybe that’s because they still have enough distance to see things as they are, not as they’d like things to be for us, or because their own hopes and fears don’t get in the way. Or maybe it’s because the fact that someone who doesn’t love and care about us in a meaningful way is willing to get involved in our lives or to let us get involved in theirs, however limited that involvement might be, is a statement in and of itself.

Some of my fondest memories my college years happened across the breakfast table from someone. Claudia asking me for the twentieth time how to say “Wasserhahn” in English when we met for our weekly muffin and coffee after she moved in with friends of a friend as an au pair. Emily and I stuffing ourselves with cherry crepes and cheese blintzes and chatting with the waitstaff at a diner more than half an hour away from our restaurant on a slow weekday morning, only to discover that a regular customer known as “Creepy Greg” at our place was known as “Creepy Norm” there. Stopping at Cracker Barrel on the way out of town with Finbar. Granny omlettes at midnight with Hulio—who knew that Perkins back home isn’t open 24 hours any more? Waffles at Alice’s apartment while we quizzed each other on the list of mixed drinks for the “bar exam” at work and we tried to get her cute neighbor to come over and join us. Studying for the final in our Survey of 19th and 20th century German Literature class with Jens and Therese and that strange girl from Romania, and every time I said “Brecht”, Jens would snicker at my Bavarian Rs and growl “Say it again!”, like Puumba in the Lion King until I could hardly write the exam because I would get the giggles every time I thought about Brecht. Stopping at IHOP in Indianapolis just to prove to Finbar that a) they did SO exist and b) Country Griddle Cakes are far superior to the stuff served at the Original Pancake House. Eating greasy egg sandwiches in the basement of the student union with Jen between German classes, then groaning the whole way through Professor Böhmert’s class with bloated stomachs.

It seems to me that there’s something so quintessentially young about meeting for breakfast. The older we get, the more obligations we have, the less able we are to carve out that time, especially once the demands of working life set in. Going out to the bars on the weekend is still feasible for most of us, at least until we start having children, but it’s not the same. The breakfast table has a nearly magical power to loosen tongues and open minds. The conversation comes easily, whether it’s superficial talk about the people in the booth across the way or deep conversation about whether to stay in your hometown. The pressure is off, and everyone feels better with a cup of hot coffee at hand. Unlike a night at the bar, breakfast has an easy end—when the server brings your check and the hostess keeps looking over to see if you’ve gotten up so that she can seat the next group, it’s time to get up and go. If you want to and have time to continue things, you can always go somewhere else, but otherwise you’ve got a graceful way to exit. And who doesn’t like crispy bacon and hot buttered toast? That’s a tip for Jelly Belly. Mmmmm, bacon jellybeans...

The Entire City Must Be Communist

I have spent the entire afternoon trying to find butternut squash. What kind of a city is this that they don't have butternut squash at the grocery store so close to Thanksgiving? And it's not like they're just out of stock. There weren't even any empty spaces where the butternut squash would go, if it had been in stock. Spaghetti squash, yes. Acorn squash, also yes-- but damn, it was expensive. Well, for squash, anyway.

I bought 6 medium sized acorn squash in the end, completely guessing on the quantity needed for fourteen or so people. I've never made acorn squash before, so I'm a little squeamish about this. But really, once you roast it and mash it up with a whole ton of butter, how can you go wrong? Right?

New Addiction

I am officially in love with Corsendonk. That is all.

Weird Craving

Everyone who has ever been out to eat with me knows that I do not like french fries. If there are any reasonable substitutes, I will always go with one of them. Sweet potato fries are exempt from this general rule.

So why is it that I am totally jonesing a big salty plate of french fries with regular tomato ketchup (as opposed to the curry ketchup I usually prefer)?