The Return

So the other week marked the two year anniversary of my return to the States. We had a surprisingly quick move back with what seems like less than 30 days to get our shit together and get the hell out of dodge. The week of the move was going to be absolutely insane. Or at least it should have been for me except that I got sick enough to warrant a hospital stay that released me with less than 24 hours to get on my plane home.

While in the hospital I managed to acquire a notepad which which I staved off boredom by writing up notes and thoughts during my stay. Long time readers, have probably already seen 10 Things I learned... which I posted during my recovery back at a hotel that I was calling home. In truth, I never posted further on the matter because I was just too sick to sit at the computer and actually decipher my own handwriting. Before taking on the task of writing down. Beyond that, I can't tell you how many times I've misplaced this damn thing – yes, it's right here on my desk right now...which is oddly clean for once.

Anyhow, as my anniversary approached once again, I managed to find it and look over my old scribblings. I thought in honour of two years back where I belong, I could share one of the so called “lost texts” and then, of course, I got super busy, the world ended...whatever excuse makes you happy. I'm here, ready to share!

You all know what I learned while staying there. I also had this sort of letter to all my friends in family that I wrote all weepishly while missing them and just not feeling well. I think I'll spare you the details of that one. There's also the documentation of all the bruises I got ...so..no, eww, nobody wants to read that. Not even me. What I am going to share is about.....yes, include an extended drum-roll please...

Hospital Food!!

I've finally gotten it typed up with minimal deviation from my original writings which, I came to discover, were scattered ALL through this damn notebook rather pell mell. That being said, please forgive if the writing seems a bit disjointed – I was pretty sick at the time. Oh, and since typing it?  I feel like it's all kinds of long so I'm going to split it in two and should post the second part either later today or tomorrow...provided I survive work.

This is not a Foodie's Idea of a Dream Come True

But it could be their hell. Ok, so I'll admit it, I'm not a foodie. At least I don't think I am. Hell, I'm not even sure what that means. However, I do appreciate local custom and locally grown food without being so damn picky that I'll turn my nose up at things that aren't. I love caviar AND a fresh fishy mac (actually, an overnight one will do too but that's for another day) ***Note: Two years later it's taken me quite a while to figure out what the hell I was saying here. It just dawned on me that McD's in Germany calls the Filet o'Fish a Fish Mac...and me, being well....me....I called it a Fishy Mac...go figure... I don't discriminate against wine because of price though I'm much more selective about beer. And let me tell you, I don't drink it much.

Does that make me a foodie?

Fudge if I know!

Mmm.....fudginess....damn, should have bought that Bounty that looked oh so tempty

So now that I've been allowed to eat, I'm kinda bewildered. I'm SICK! Why oh why do the cooks here want to make me sicker??

Brekkie was innocent enough, if not a bit spartan. Two slices of bread, butter, jam and quark. Herb tea and fruit joghurt. oh...and a random, empty glass. I've discovered that I don't like quark. Quarkini is one thing cause there's all that lovely sugar, zitrone and yeasty dough. On its own? Blech...maybe with salt and pepper which is apparently frowned upon.

Lunch is apparently our only hot meal. Today's offering was...cream of barf soup. Ok, I think it was spargle...maybe... I asked my roomie since I figured she'd actually ordered this crap (at the time I'd not had a visit with the nutritionist) and she cast a dubious look and questioningly responded with, “Milk...I think.”

On the hot plate we had tricolour pasta, broccoli and....warmed over dog food? The one that comes to find is that kind you could mix with water to make “gravy”. Tentative tastes and I've found I was eating broccoli and chicken that was cooked to death. The pasta was perfect though, so go figure.

Dessert was a total mystery. Roomie took the first, brave bite and thoughtfully declared it, “caramel”. I went the sniffing route and kinda agreed, adding the “cake mix” (which yes, they have that here). Taste for me, initially, was citrusy but I couldn't put my finger on just what...then it hit me. Peach. Effing peach pud. I think by then I was just too squicked out to bother...that and my appetite isn't all that anyhow.

Dinner...as mentioned before, lunch is our hot meal. Dinner's really sad if you ask me. Sliced bread (nice bread, mind you), slices of mystery cold cut (seriously, it's multi-shades of pink) and butter. Oh, and parsley. I also got a bowl of what appears to farina...kinda odd but homey tasting. I've set it aside to try with the girls when they come to visit.

The farina, it turned out, was great fun to try and feed the girls. I'm sure the Elfling recalls sharing a slice of choco cake with me when the Diva was born so her dismay at this was understandable. I think she took a quick taste – to be polite. The Diva dove in with giggles on how weird it was (and quite frankly, at dinner, I would have too if not for having been in the company of another adult) before quickly abandoning it.  

The Tweaker and the Help

Have I mentioned how Sunday has really become one of my least favourite days of the week? Wisely, my supervisor has put me down for Sunday's because she wants the best on duty and that happens to be be...frighteningly enough. While I don't begrudge working a weekend day – over the summer, I was quite lucky to ONLY have to work a Saturday or Sunday because all the other housekeeping staff had to do BOTH days which sucks cause as you can imagine, those are the busiest, most work heavy days.

For me that means it's literally a feeding frenzy as people take to the first meal of the day as if it were their last, consuming enough coffee to choke....well....something really large, like whale. Oh and the juice they consume...and eggs...my god...who wants to travel with someone who's had five hard boiled eggs for brekkie? Not me! As if the feeding weren't enough, there's not only a lot of them, but they like to linger. Which really only stretches the feeding but otherwise, I don't care if they linger while i'm breaking down and cleaning up. Just don't get snippy with me when I politely inform you that the vacuum is loud.

Even in the off season, the weekends can prove to be busy – not balls to the wall like in the summer but just enough to irritate the soul. Mine started off quiet. Too quiet. Nobody was waiting for fresh coffee...which was weird. With breakfast all set up, I found myself with very little action going on and plenty of time to go between getting other things done and bs'ing with the morning clerk. I wondered if I'd hallucinated seeing a full parking lot and then it happened. They came, they saw, they started to feed. Luckily on the breakfast put out rather than on me.

I was wandering the room, tidying up when he came in like a sort of jovial super star, greeting people with a raucous “How ya'll doin'?” which was odd considering he walked around proclaiming to be a West Coaster....at least ten times that I could hear. Seems that was like pushing start and there was no pausing or shutting this guy up. He went nuts over the spread and pounced upon the waffles...well..more like, pounced the general area, talking nonstop about how he couldn't figure it out and just blabbing away, almost nonsensically over the person who was talking him through how to fill a cup with batter while in constant motion, kinda hopping on the balls of his feet at this point. I was by his side, directing how to pour it into the iron and flip it after closing. I thought I rather clearly stated that in a few minutes, it would beep to let him know it was ready. Disappearing into the kitchen, I heard his continued greetings, talking about the Raider's being on this afternoon, when's his waffle going to be done....the man would NOT shut up.

And then...he peeked into my kitchen and came bounding in, happily chattering away about how he's from the West Coast, the Raider's are on this afternoon, oh, and when's his waffle going to be ready...oh, and he's just peeking around to see what I have to offer. Honestly, I could feel that one last nerve I have on reserve just fraying right before my very eyes. (ok, we'll ignore the fact that it's disturbing and kinda gross that this nerve is where *I* can see it.) Peering into the freezer, he noticed the eggs and sausage and went all nuts with like....maniacal glee, “Hey, yo, are those biscuits? Can you fix me one of those egg things on a english muffin like at McD's?” came the question as he hopped around looking through my fridge before studying the coffee maker. Why I have these things is beyond the scope of this post but nonetheless, I politely explained I wasn't setup to do that kind of prep...not to mention...if I hand make one brekkie sandwich for someone, I’d suddenly have 20+ more people wanting one too.

So finally, his waffle machine goes off and he's bouncing around trying to pluck it free with his bare fingers before I point out the fork, which helps. A last round about the Raiders, where's the syrup, how about some butter and then....bliss! It was suddenly very quiet.

I saw this gentleman several more times over the morning – always cheery and bouncy...and vaguely greeting as if he'd never seen me before. And while I like cheery, in this industry – a cheery guest is generally a good thing. You know, so long as they're not happy cause the place is set to blow or they've taken a tv home. The hyperactive bouncing? It was a bit much for me.

So yes, while he was pretty nice and all kinds of cheerful – that boy was either tweaking big time or had a majorly undiagnosed Adult ADHD.

It kinda made my day.

AND inspired this post.

Boosh!

Holy Shit, Our Security is Atrocious

I meant to write type this up back in July when it happened but never managed to do. since I'm here in a waiting room, I should play a lil catch up...so go on and pretend a lil with mebthat this recently happened. As sort of addendum to the whole waiting room thing...I at least started there...and you know...days later....

Originally this post was going to be titled, "The Boys Are Back In Town" in homage to the girls homecoming. However Im feeling in a bit of a ranty mood and this new title is more appropriate.

I'd like to start by saying that I do think that we need to take precautions in regards to airport security. On the whole, TSA staff I've encountered have been professional and courteous and given the times when things have looked utterly chaotic (to me at least) they have preservered and appeared hard working. That being said, in regards to security checks, some things they do or require are absolutely crazy.

The other day E and I went to pick up the girls from the airport. Surprisingly, the AirTran counter was practically deserted...no line waiting!! The original plan was that E would find a comfy place down in baggage claims to chill and wait while I went to the gate to meet the girls. Turned out that we both could go and meet them instead. While I certainly can't complain about that, I do wonder why only ONE of us was allowed to go when accompanying the girls to the gate for their departure.

Seriously, have you ever been at a departure gate having to pry a crying girl off each one of your legs so you can shove them onto a plane and send them off to Grandma's? No?!? Me neither, thank god!!

Anyhow we get in line for security screening and you all know the drill - all metal, electronics, coins (mmm..does that even count as metal?  I guess it might) get stuffed in a bin along with any bags, entrails and of course...shoes.  This is all going to go through x-ray so everybody can freak out when the horse statuettes you packed in your carry on look more like guns than the well...tchatchkes they are.  My issue, of course, is the whole shoe thing.  While it squicks me out to no end to see all these people barefoot wandering around, it at least is not my problem if they contract some sort of foot funk from not having worn socks to the airport. *shudders*  Eww...I don't even want to think about it!

Those of you who know E, know that he gets around with a leg brace and cane. I just don't get why concessions cant't be made to those with certain medical devices cause like the rest of us, he had to doff his shoes (and thus brace) and exchange his metal cane for a provided wooden one.  I just think it's a little crazy to make a person with obvious mobility issues deal with even more issues by having them shuffle about on tile floors in their socks.

Am I being a special snowflake over this?  Maybe but it does go beyond the whole E experience. The woman behind us was in a WHEELCHAIR!  She not only was without shoes, but they made her walk through on stockinged feet...on what can feel like rather slippery tile!  Oy vey, I don't know i took a breath till she was back in her chair and E was on a bench waiting for his shoes.  I know it's not like it's a very far walk but I guess I believe that an ounce of prevention keeps us from a ton of shit and it really was worrisome for me witness this.

The situation really reminded me of when we moved overseas.  Of course we got pulled over for the "extra" screening they like to do.  What killed me back then was that the Diva was a baby - we were loaded down with her stroller and car seat for the plane.  It's a fact of life, yeah, I know. But why the hell did I have to coax my child to CRAWL through the x-ray thingie (You know, the part we walk through, not that i got to put her on a belt or anything *grins*) on a FILTHY floor to the waiting personnel on the other side? I mean Jesus fucking Saint Bart...what do they do for infants???

Anyhow...back to my lil tale here...We made it to the gate in good time AND their flight was 20 minutes early on its arrival.  Something I never considered till I actually experienced it was that in a post 9/11 airport, they no longer announce arrivals.  Of course, why bother - how many people are hanging around anymore waiting to pounce on loved ones and strangers as they exit the plane?  Not many, let me tell you.  It was seriously eerie...in a Hotel California sort of way.  You can leave but nobody ever shows up...I know...they do...just unannounced.  After all, I did - just a couple gates ahead from where the girls did.  Two years ago this month.

The Worth of an Early Morning Sultry Comment

For the longest time I've been half-assedly looking for a job. Just a little part time thing to help fund my Krispy Kreme addiction and pay for the summer AC. Ok, obviously other things come into play but saying that I have a KK addiction is just too funny sounding. My biggest disadvantage is that I've been out of the job market for years and years without any real schooling to back it up. And to be honest, I really didn't want to work a place like Walmart again (lower pits of hell, as I recall and it took years to break the habit of just surrendering my cart to other shoppers) and fast food was out.

Job searching here is a bit of the suck – the local paper's idea of job ads is Yahoo! Hot Jobs which appears to be be riddled with more scam job offerings than legit ones. That being said, consider me a slight spokesperson for the moments of legitimacy with Craigslist. Yup, that's right, I got my job looking through that. So now I work at “the Hotel” as a breakfast attendant whose job duties also include taking care of the downstairs public areas to help bump up the hours. It's not a bad job save for my feet screaming that I should have held out for front desk or night auditor. But I figure I can always move up...I hope.

As you can imagine, my job means for an early start to the day. On a weekday morning, I'm up at 4am to be at work at 530 because I like to have quiet time to prepare for the day before rushing off to work. In my first days of working, I was doing my thing when two gents came in together for brekkie and were a bit early. They hung out, had some coffee while I continued setting things up – ready to pounce as soon as the waffle irons were hot enough to use. I came out of the kitchen with something to put up for the breakfast while one was finishing up and the following exchange took place....or thereabouts. It's been a while and I've likely forgotten bits here and there:

G2: (G1 at this point is eating) I'm not making a mess here, am I?

df: (Giving a cursory glance at the station) Nope, everything here looks good.

G2: Oh good, cause any mess is cause of him. (Indicating friend who gives a protesting look) You have to keep an eye on the quiet ones.

Df: (nodding in agreement) Oh I know. You have to watch out for them. It's the always the quiet ones that are bad.

(Insert me fleeing from the surprised laughter)

Yeah...that last line totally came out sounding bad. I about died of embarrassment and was so glad I had other things to take care of in the privacy of the kitchen. By the time I came out, they were gone and I had my answer to the title above:

What is an early morning sultry comment worth? One dolla.   

Baby Bird Metaphor

I can't say I really noticed there was a nest under Gambit's tree till this evening, when I needed to find it.  See, it's spring and part of the course of nature is baby birds.  Baby birds who soon start to learn to fly and sometimes, it seems, they fall.  Right into the clutches of my dog who's doing her thing – in this case taking advantage of easy prey.  Other birds, bigger and more experienced, can fly away.  I'm not sure how it came to be but the girls informed me of a bird, a baby bird, twitching in our yard and to be honest, I'm just not brave enough to face something like that.  Figuring since E was a former boy scout, he'd be able to figure something out beyond leaving the poor thing as puppy snack and he actually brought it into the house and it kinda freaked me out.  I don't know what to do for a bird, I have dinner I'm trying cook and then the truth hits me.  I'm scared of the bird and what it represents.

The baby bird metaphor.  This isn't my first run in with one since back when E was in the military the Elfling and I once came across the queerest sight of a form with a beak and nearly transparent skin.  I honestly don't remember much in the way of feathers but it was a very recently hatched bird that somehow found its way to my parking spot.  I managed to scoop it up and put it in a small container and in our area, we had a local bird sanctuary that said they'd take it.  It was such a relief to put the bird into hands that knew far more than me as to what to do and my report when I left was that it was had actually eaten some.  I don't know whatever became of that bird but I do like to think that it went on be fine.

This bird today reminded me how fragile it was.  How fragile life is and in the end, it seems, how fragile I can be.  The nest, as I said, was in Gambit's tree where we buried him when he died about a year ago.  To be honest, I still have a lot of guilt about not seeing sooner how sick he was, that I was too late to get him well.  I don't know how this plays in the grand scope of this post but a year later and I still miss him dearly.

I think this bird represents just how thin, how frayed the rope of my nerves can be.  You would think having a blog would be an outlet for what goes on but I've found the more depressed I am, the closer I hold it in.  It only took one thing – one more worry and responsibility for me to snap for the night.  I cried because it scared me, the thought of having this creature die in my backyard, to know it was vulnerable to my dog which is like me withering under the blanket I try to smother my feelings in.  I think, even now, if I could exchange my life so that it could go on, I would.  At least then I'd not failed at it.  At something.

What Happened to the Polenta...

“They look like grits, “ was the reply I got to my outraged exclamation when E asked about dinner the other night.  Of course we both know they're pretty much one in the same – with apologies to any Italian friends who may beg to differ.  Nonetheless in THIS household, there's a difference and for my beautiful polenta to have fallen apart into grits was something of a disappointment...even if they did still taste marvelous.

This isn't to knock grits but for someone who pretty much grew up in the South, I actually had very little experience with the stuff.  Looking back I can laugh at my first reactions to the stuff and remember quite clearly being about 9 or so years old.  We'd just moved to North Carolina and I belive were either still looking for a place to call home or in the process of moving into a house when my Mom took us (being younger siblings and me) to brekkie at a local diner.  The special included grits with no other option and so, upon my plate, intruding on my scrambled eggs was this white, almost gelatinous...stuff.  Oh, with a pat of butter dying on top.  Mom and I shared a look before finally she took the first taste and likely saying it tasted fine.

I remember taking a taste and forgetting the whole incident until I had the Elfling and was left face to face with a bowl of the stuff the day after giving birth.  Admittedly, I completely ignored it which left the nurses baffled and offering me, with most dubious looks, oatmeal.  I politely declined and quietly starved till lunch.  Fortunately, E's Mom taught me the fine art of making grits, including to add important things like salt and pepper.  And cheese.

I think a big difference for me, in regards to polenta, is that it's fancier.  It gets started with sauteed aromaticish things and cooked in broth as opposed to milk or water.  It's always a savoury dish with garlic or herbs...or hell, both!  Almost exclusively, I use parm cheese with it and maybe that's why it seems thicker than grits.  Typing this I wonder too, if a difference between packaged grits and cornmeal affects that.  Who knows?

Anyhow – what did happen to my polenta?  I'll tell you what – kids did.  The rule around here is that you need to be in by dark and I'd plotted for dinner to be ready around that time.  My polenta was thick, creamy and just...all that is good.  I had this fab veggie and tomato sauce to serve on top for those who wanted to try.  Darkness fell across the yard and....my kids were nowhere to be seen.  Not wanting my dish to dry out while keeping warm, I added a little milk and personally stewed before the Diva came in full of apologies.  I can accept being late because of a house rule to help pick up after playing so she got a pass for that but reminded that clean up needs to start a little sooner next time.

In the wait for my eldest it seems polenta integrity collapsed.  It turned looser, no longer thick and rich.  Maybe too much heat?  Too long a wait.  It collapsed.  Into grits. The Elfling...oooh....let's just say she thought she was being clever getting her little sister to summon me to the door, as if that would save her from being in the trouble she got.  Heh....no such luck that night.

She found my keys in the forest the next day.  The polenta?  Delish...despite the collapse.

For the Love of Risotto

I'm not sure where the idea came from or perhaps it was inspired by all the dreadful looking risotto that's been shown on Kitchen Nightmares (alas, the US version) but wherever it came from, it's had E wanting to try some for quite sometime.  While perusing the rice selection at the grocery store a couple of weeks ago he brought it up again and so it came to pass a) While I knew it was a short grain rice, I couldn't think of a proper term for it and b) rice selection at this particular store sucks monkey balls as I'd say 90% of it is long grain.  Not wanting to disappoint a sick person...or at least I think he had a cold at the time, I decided to attempt improvising with medium grain rice which isn't short but it's not long either.  Duh...ahem.

Anyhow....as is customary for me when I embark on a culinary journey of newness, I checked my sources.  Usually my go-to bible is my Betty Crocker cookbook.  I think I skipped that this time and went straight for the internet, comparing random risotto to the lessons of Alton Brown. Ultimately, I think I pretty much followed his teachings...maybe.  Kinda sorta.

I was very happy with the end result – despite not being the right rice, the risotto was creamy and all the goodness of someone's comfort food.  A little light on the shrooms but only cause I didn't fee like having two kids fling theirs onto my plate as if they were carcasses of some rogue fleet of well..slice shroom bug creature...thingies.  Would I do it again?  Absolutely!  Committing to memory the type of rice I need (arborio ftw!), I've since wept at the fact that a 5lb bag of it costs as much as like...a 50lb bag or long grain.  How can that be???  Back in Germany I exclusively cooked with short grain rice and it never cost that much!  *le sigh*

Oh well – another day, another attempt at something new!

Wait...were actually wanting to know technique?  I'm going to go about as free from with this recipe as my actual cooking was, so here we go!

darque faerie's semi-deluded risotto recipeish attempt

Start off with a pot of about 5 or 6 cups of chicken broth heating up and in truth for this entire exercise, you might want to keep it nice and piping warmish hot.  Grab up a saute pan and heat up a lil evoo before tossing in piles of sliced up shrooms.  Season with s&p, add a lil beat up garlic and let it cook away happily.

In a heavy saucepan, heat up a lil evoo before tossing in very finely, attempting a point of microscopic minced onion.  Live with people who like onions?  No need to attempt such extremes.  Let it sweat....gain a lovely translucent quality with a lil s&p.  I think I ooh'ed and ahh'ed over it for 5 or 10 min while stirring up my shrooms.  After that, add a pile of minced up garlic and two cups of rice – stir it up and let the rice itself be all nice and glossy and get a lil translucent as well – your tummy will thank you!

When you get to that point or are tired of worrying if you'll get to a point where translucent turn browning or blackened, add about a cup of wine.  I took a sip of an open bottle of vihno verde that was in my fridge, found it yum and added a tiny bit to the caramalizedish shrooms before being just shy of the actual cup that went into risotto.  Marvel at the hissing and protesting noise it makes before stirring it in and letting it absorb some.


At this point, I just used ladle to add broth a bit at a time – usually just above covering the rice.  I think you're supposed to be chained to the oven, constantly stirring but with lowered heat and diligence of being in the kitchen – I stirred a great deal and listened.

They say your risotto talks to you – to listen to it when deciding when to add more broth to it.  I found that my risotto is unlike the coffee pot at IHOP.  Instead of pleasantly chattering about, it mostly grumbles so you really do need to stir and keep an eye for it getting a little too dry.  As it absorbs liquids, add more to it.  Lovingly stir it, rejoice in how creamy it looks despite the medium grain.

This really should go on till you run out of broth to add – a surreptitious taste should indicate that the rice is at least not crunchy hard...mine was perhaps firm but yielding and omg so tasty!  I for the life of me can't recall if I went on dumping some butter in but I did toss in some grated parm along with my cooledish shrooms.  If I didn't mention it above, after deglazing the shrooms and letting the wine reduce, turn off the heat! Anyhow....stir and serve!

Despite the relative vagueness of my technique, as I said earlier, it was delish!

I'd like to end this post with a lil shout out to my friend, Ads – hey Ads!  I was going to talk about my polenta but I'm kinda tired tonight so look forward to it tomorrow.  No...it won't be titled “For the Love of Polenta” - I promise!