Food

Ice Ice Baby

Celebrating a friend’s birthday a couple of weeks ago she mentioned that she preferred a certain location for getting her fountain drinks, “because they have cubed ice.”

One of the women in our group who only heard the periphery of that discussion replied, “they have cute guys?”

“Yeah,” says my friend, assuming she’d been heard correctly. “That keeps things cold longer.”

“How do cute guys keep things cold?” the out of hearing range friend replied.

Cute guys? What the heck are you talking about? I said CUBED ICE!!”

“Phew! I’m glad that’s what you meant. You’re a married woman, you shouldn’t be checking out cute guys! Everyone laughed. “I like Sonic Ice,” the woman with questionable hearing added as an afterthought.

And so began a discussion about the best kind of ice, which is not a rare thing in these parts, any time of the year.

English: Ice cubes

Obsess about your ice much? Arizonans surely make a hobby of it. I suppose anyone would who endures endless hundred-plus days and nights. Driving down the road with the windows down because the air conditioner has thrown up the white flag again makes ice a thing to be fantasized about to excess.

Crushed, cubed, full cubed, half cubed, round, tube, air blown, pearl, fluffy, clear, half-moon, flat, flavored, flake, Sonic, Hawaiian and shaved. One of the latest I heard of? Ice shots, a piece of ice in exactly the same shape and size as a shot glass. Drinkable, disposable, cheaper than glass. What a concept. Not sure it’ll fly here in the desert.

A key criteria for MSH in picking out a home to live is whether or not the refrigerator has an automatic ice maker. Seriously, I know! This is a man who wants some water with his ice. No sappy blue plastic ice trays for him. No aggravation from someone leaving two ice cubes in the tray and not refilling them. If you think water takes forever to boil when it’s being watched, you should try waiting for ice to freeze.

Ice cubes in a tray

Ice is important in these here parts of the southwest deserts. Don’t be disrespecting someone’s ice of choice. You’d better be ready to defend your snide remarks or your backside if you do fall into such a miscalculation.

Different ice serves different purposes. Do you want the drink to stay cold a long time without watering things down? Larger cubes are your answer. Or do you prefer to get through the drink so you can crunch your ice? Pearl or tubes might be your ice of choice in that case. Maybe you simply want the stuff in the ice chest to make it to the picnic and back without become so much flotsam in a sloshing square pail of lukewarm salmonella. Better go with a block for that one.

Is there a difference between a snow cone and a shaved ice besides the shape of the container it’s in? Apparently, Yes! Made by crushing ice, a snow cone tends to let the flavors filter through to the bottom of the cup or cone very quickly.  Shaved ice scraped from a block of ice provides a softer surface for the flavors to adhere to. Add some cream on top of either and you’ve got gourmet flavor.

Personally, I find tube ice an entertainment as well as a cooling luxury. Have you ever tried to keep a tube-shaped piece of ice tube-shaped as it melts? Not an easy feat. Getting it to slip on to your tongue like a little ice sleeve is an odd sensation.

English: Coca-Cola in a glass with ice Deutsch...

I couldn’t tell you where to buy that kind of ice around here though. I should work on that. Right after I figure out how to time my driving between stop lights so I can keep a nice hot breeze blowing through the car instead of having to stop at each one and cook while waiting.

When I do get stuck at a stoplight, windows down, diesel wafting through the interior, heat from the pavement creating mirages of sweating glasses of diet cherry cokes, I tend to imagine myself sitting in one of those ice castles you see in the winter time in some exotic location like Siberia. Ah, that’s the life. Forget drinks on ice. Put me on ice! Temporarily, anyway.

Categories: Food, Humor, phoenix | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Comfort Food Nirvana

Macaroni cheese with leek & bacon

Macaroni and cheese (Photo credit: Great British Chefs)

When life throws a boatload of happy your way, you can be sure that somewhere in the distant background there’s some sad music playing. Not sure why that is. Perhaps the yin and yang have to happen. Maybe balance is a necessary element for the world not to implode. Could be that that’s just the way it is.

Whatever the weirdness of it is, I find a need for comfort food, at fairly regular intervals.

I could probably compile a list of fifty or more foods that are bad for you but that make you feel good mentally. I’m gonna stick with ten to keep it short. Ranking is completely random.

10. Homemade Macaroni and Cheese OR Fettucine Alfredo which is really just a fancier mac and cheese. We call either of these “heart attack on a plate” at our house. Mmmmmm. At least we’d die happy.

French Fries

French Fries (Photo credit: camknows)

9. French fries with fry sauce. If you have to ask what fry sauce is you haven’t experienced the full glory of french fries yet. A little mayonnaise, a little ketchup, a pinch of sugar. Mix. Dip your fries in this concoction for the perfect potato, salt, oil combo. You’re taste buds will thank you.

8. Bacon! You have to say it with excitement in your voice like you’d say your best friends name after having not seen them for the entire summer. BACON!!!!! Yes! It’s a luxury item, not meant for just any old day.

7. Donuts. I used to ride my bike ten miles to get to a Winchell’s donut shop. Then I’d eat one, ride home ten miles, then eat the other one. It was worth it! Jelly filled used to be my fav. Now I crave coconut covered.

6. Cherry Coke with real maraschino cherries. 44 oz is a bit much. I can settle for 32 oz of this fizzy, cold drink. Bad for you in every possible way except mentally, well probably bad for you that way, too.

Cherry Coke Holland 1999

Cherry Coke  (Photo credit: roitberg)

5. Toasted Cheese Sandwich. That’s a slice of bread piled with cheese, melted under the broiler. Add a tiny pat of butter for good measure. Warm and salty and gooey, great combo.

4. Frozen custard with hot fudge, caramel, pecans and optional whipped cream. A rare but delightsome concoction designed for maximum palatable pleasure.

3. Brownie. Warm or cold. Frosting is preferrable but not necessary. Glass of milk required.

2. Toasted tuna fish sandwich. Pickle on the side. Sweet pickle relish is also a delectable option. Cold chocolate milk made by mixing that powdery chocolate stuff with milk. Says, “Mom loves me,” like nothing else.

1. Fresh out of the oven cookies. Any kind. Chocolate Chip, Snickerdoodle, Peanut Butter, Macadamia Nut with White Chocolate Chunks.

Other foods that could/should be on the list: Pot Roast, Meatloaf, Shepherd Pie, Spaghetti, Garlic Bread, Cinnamon Toast, Milk Shakes, Hummus (yes, hummus with Pita) Chicken Fried Steak, Homemade Noodles with Chicken, Corn on the Cob,bisquits and gravy, a fresh cucumber with salt. Oh, and pancakes, and of course, Hot Chocolate. (I guess I’ve hit twenty-five items now.)

I’ve always been curious about other cultures’ comfort foods. Even other regions of the U.S. What are YOUR comfort foods? Probably even more interesting is the question: Why are they your comfort foods?

Categories: Food | Tags: , , , , , | 4 Comments

Food! Glorious Food!

It’s Gratituesday! Today I am thankful for the ability, resources and desire for cooking. There’s something so satisfying about taking a few ingredients, measuring, mixing, tasting and baking. I especially love working with fresh ingredients, having scents and sensations mingling into something tantalizing and new.

When I chop up tomatoes and onions, cilantro and peppers, then add a few spices, to make a lovely concoction called salsa, my favorite part is slicing a lime in half and squeezing it over the bowl. That’s the finishing touch, the little something that puts the perfect tortilla chip companion over the edge into something not simply good, but crave-worthy.

Bread

Bread, the food of love!! (Photo credit: Moyan_Brenn)

Mixing the most basic ingredients known to man, flour, water, salt and yeast is the magic formula for putting love into the air. Seriously, can you think of anything else on the planet that says comfort, love, security, safety and welcome as well as the smell of bread baking? I can’t. A fresh loaf of bread can make the most mundane meal into a feast.  Add some strawberry or raspberry freezer jam, handmade by me when berries are on sale, and it’s a perfect pairing. Satisfaction seeps into every pore.

Not enough time for a loaf of bread, some rolls, biscuits, muffins, banana bread, scones, bread sticks or even toast will do. Done with love as the main ingredient, you can’t go wrong with breads.

Don’t even get me started on deserts.

Cooking is my love language. If you show up at my house feeling blue, I’ll try to put a plate or bowl of something in front of you.

Everyone needs a few good comfort foods. I was lucky to grow up with bread baking, homemade cookies, home canned peaches, a backyard garden and a mom who taught me the basics of cooking. Joy is found almost every day as I frolic in my kitchen or sit at the table with family and friends.

Categories: Food, Gratitude, Gratituesday | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Where is the Grinch When He’s Really Needed?

I’m not a fan of Valentine’s Day. Never have been. Not as a kid, not as a teen, not as an adult. Not even as a married person.

Nope. Not a fan.

It’s one of the areas in my life I’ve decided I’m just going to be cranky and annoyed about.

Sorry to burst your shiny red heart-shaped mylar balloon.

Those valentine mailboxes we decorated in elementary school with such high expectations? Always a letdown. While it seemed every other girl ended up with at least one or two surprises from a secret admirer or best friend, I only got the obligatory stack of valentines.

English: A glass of milk (left) and a glass of...

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In fact, there were a couple of years the creepazoid boys that made my school life at recess miserable, took the Valentine’s day opportunity to make certain that I felt despised and pathetic. Boys that age have a talent for rude, mean, despicable behavior. (It might warm your heart to know that by high school I was on friendly terms with most of them. They became slightly human by then somehow.)

There was one year, fifth grade I think, that we had a contest for the best valentine mailbox. My dad helped me with this project and it turned out awesome! He found a tall three or four-foot box about the circumference of a shoebox. We turned it into a clown with a wide-open mouth for the mailbox opening. The crowning glory was a squishy red bulbous squeeze horn. Honk, honk! We took first place of course. The grand prize was a supersized Hershey’s chocolate bar. Sixteen ounces of pure heaven I kept hidden in a drawer in my bedroom and nibbled on for weeks.

That memory right there is the highlight of decades of Valentine’s Day celebrations.

As a married couple we attempted a few Valentine’s dates. We quickly discovered that night of all nights is the worst possible one for a date. Restaurants are overrun and rushed. Movies are packed and noisy. Traffic is silly. Dances are ridiculous. Flowers cost twice as much as normal. Leftover Christmas chocolates are stingily arranged in overpriced heart-shaped boxes. We don’t do Valentine’s. We choose to abstain from all celebrating of this silly holiday. Okay, we might exchange cards. But that’s it.

Sorry, I am the Valentine Grinch. Where is Dr. Seuss when you really need him?

CreativeTools.se - PackshotCreator - 3D printe...

(Photo credit: Creative Tools)

The perfect Valentine’s Day for me is in my own hands. It’s a product of my own making. I bake up a huge batch of buttery heart-shaped sugar cookies. Then I slather them with pink butter cream frosting, showering each one with multicolored sprinkles.  Easy. None of that magazine cover overachieving piped lacy design nonsense.

Pop a few of these cookies into your mouth and life just doesn’t get any better than that. The kids love them, MSH loves them. My friends, if I choose to share, love them.

At this very moment there’s plenty of ice-cold milk in the fridge. Butter and yogurt is out on the counter waiting for me to start mixing up the magic cookie dough.

Cookie heart

Cookie heart (Photo credit: summerbl4ck)

My Grincy valentine heart will soften as I mix and roll and cut and bake. All those old resentments will fade as the butter and powdered sugar and red dye whip together into a frothy cloud of pink deliciousness.

Love is in the air, and it smells like sugar cookies.

Happy Valentine’s Day if you’re a believer. Otherwise, enjoy something freshly baked and revel in every bite.

Categories: Food, Love, Relationships | Tags: , , , , , , , | 20 Comments

Looking for a Recipe?

“A good cook is like a sorceress who dispenses happiness.” — Elsa Schiaparelli

Is it an unwritten rule that blogs need to post recipes? Seems even the most scholarly, artistic or unconventional blogs end up posting a recipe once in a while.

All my recipes come from other people. If I posted a recipe it would be like plagiarizing, which I really don’t want to do.

How about instead of a recipe I just post some really yummy looking food pictures.

Finished cinnamon roll with glaze.

Cinnamon roll. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Italian Creme cake. #holidays #christmas #ipho...

Italian Creme cake. (Photo credit: pindarninja)

Hot Chocolate

Hot Chocolate (Photo credit: Jo Anslow)

Caramel Corn

Caramel Corn (Photo credit: Jenn Durfey)

Pot Roast

Pot Roast (Photo credit: Offbeat Photography)

It’s a blustery day. Makes me want to fill the house with the smell of bread baking, throw together a bubbling pot of chowder and curl up with a good book.

What I get to do instead is run errands.

Sigh.

Maybe later I can bake, simmer and chill out.

Happy Saturday!

Categories: Food | Tags: , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Merry Conversation and Happy New Connections

There’s a Peanuts cartoon that shows Charlie Brown writing a letter that reads:

“Dear Santa Claus, Well, it’s that time of year again, isn’t it? There are so many things I would like to say to you, but I find it hard to put them in writing. It would be so much easier if I could talk to you in person.  Do you think maybe we could have lunch together sometime?”

English: Santa Claus with a little girl Espera...

Some things are just better in person. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Seems to me there are some things better said face to face, in a conversation.  Letters are a bit one-sided, as are emails.  Texts can be sort of like a conversation, but threads can get tangled, inflections are missing and smiley faces don’t really convey intent that well. Texting is a kind of shorthand we lean on that enhances the efficiency of communication without really advancing the quality of it.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m a total fan of texting. It’s saved me hours on the phone, gotten me unlost, given me a forum for all sorts of things I want to say to people.  I think some relationships are better because of texting.

But, I know there’s nothing like a real conversation.  The rambling, wandering discussions that leap from topic to topic in a convoluted but totally natural flow of give and take. That’s why I look forward to a daughter’s visit over the holidays, and why my sister coming into town will be fun. We’ll be able to talk and ask questions and see the response in a facial expression or in a gesture, before the brain sends words to the mouth.  So much gets said by what we see.

I feel almost giddy with excitement at the prospect of all the pending conversations with family and friends.

Having a meal together isn’t about the food, not entirely. It’s about the talking that happens over and around the food.  It gives us a reason to be face to face, to read the eyes, the mouth twitch, the sighs. There’s a solid human interaction that I absolutely cherish.

Phone conversations are good too, but still, there’s that up close and personal thing that happens when you’re in the room together. A hand reaches out, a hug can happen, a fist bump connects, a strong handshake can pull someone in close.

And then there’s whispering.  There’s simply no other communication like a whisper.  Think about it. Private, quiet, stealthy, intimate, personal, direct, breathy, warm, ticklish.

I wish I had time to do lunch with every single relative, every individual friend, every happy acquaintance, every person that has meaning in my life. I’d love for all that one on one time to happen.  It’d be some ride ,wouldn’t it?

Alas, I am but one person, with a limited budget, and limited time.  And so I write, saying the things I think, talking about the things I’d share in a conversation. Hopefully I’m connecting a little with someone. It’s a good feeling.

In another letter to Santa, the words of Peppermint Patty say it well:

“Dear Santa, Just a last note before you take off. I hope you have a nice trip. Don’t forget to fasten your seat belt.”

I hope you get to have some great conversations over the next few days. I hope you go for a walk and chat a bit. Or sit on the couch, or the porch swing, or around a puzzle at the table and share some words between each other. I hope you eat something delicious and talk of real things together. I hope you make some great connections. I plan to do just that. It’s the best part of the holidays I can think of.

Categories: Family, Food, Joy, Relationships | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Oh, Delicious Indecision!

Pumpkin pie, from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki...

Every  year as the Thanksgiving holiday approaches, I have to ask my family this crucial question.  What kind of pie are we going to have this year?  Seems like a simple question, with a simple answer.  But, no.  Not for our family.  My husband says “Pecan” and my son says, “Pecan.”  Then my middle daughter says “Apple and Pecan.”  My youngest daughter says, “Chocolate… and Apple, and I get to help make the Cherry pie this year.”

Then the short debate happens wherein daughter 2 and daughter 3 both claim the other one made the cherry pie last year.  Weaving the lattice top crust is a lot of fun and it looks pretty cool.  Not to mention the filling is the easiest pie we do, open can, dump into unbaked pie crust.

Photo of a slice of coconut cream pie. Taken a...

Coconut cream pie. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“Doesn’t anyone want Coconut Cream or Banana Cream?” I ask imploringly.  Silly me.  I’m the only one who likes either of those kinds. If I want to, I can make a cream pie.  A bit of whipped cream and a sprinkle of coconut or some slices banana. Nice.

Then someone always says, you should probably make a Pumpkin pie, since it is Thanksgiving.  “But no one likes Pumpkin!” I counter.  “I’ll eat some, says my husband, “And I’ll have some too,” says middle daughter.  “I might,” says my son with little commitment in his voice. A few years ago we acquired a son-in-law who loves Pumpkin Pie.  So if he’s in town, that debate settles itself.  A pumpkin pie goes on the “yes” list.

What about Daughter 1, what kind of pie does she want? Someone invariably asks. That’s my oldest daughter who doesn’t live at home anymore.  Sometimes, I actually call and ask her what kind she wants, but she says, “oh whatever you make, Mom, will be great!”  When she did live at home, she liked to eat some of the apple pie filling before it got baked.  We don’t get to see her for Thanksgiving this year.  Dang.

So I count the votes, “Okay, so that’s one Apple, one Pecan, one Cherry, one Chocolate and one Cream pie.”

“Can’t we have cheater cheesecake too?” My husband asks.  “That’s not really pie,” I say, “it’s cake.”

American cultural icons, apple pie, baseball, ...

Then he reminds me that we always run out of Pecan.  And Apple.  So I add another one of each of those to the list. And, he reminds me that the chocolate sits forlorn in the fridge, untouched.  Chocolate being ignored is a strange phenomenon.  I’ll have to investigate that some time.   So maybe I won’t do the chocolate pie this year either.

I like to fantasize about other flavors; Lemon Merengue, Strawberry, Peanut Butter, Key Lime, Blueberry, Peach. Mmmmm.  But those are for another day.  Maybe a Sunday treat sometime during the year.  I should make a list and magnet it to the fridge so I don’t forget.

The final pie count? 2 Apple, 2 Pecan, 1 Cherry, 1 Cream and 1 Pumpkin.

I like to think of pie as the topping on the whole Thanksgiving day.  A symbol of the richness, the sweetness, and the abundance of my life.  We don’t have everything, but we have all that we need.  Family, friends, freedom, work, meaning, hope.  Life is stuffed full of goodness even when it feels otherwise.  Especially on this singular day of  giving thanks, I celebrate all that is right and good and delicious about my life.

Categories: Food, Joy | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Why My Cupboards Are Haunted

Not long ago I trekked to my favorite grocery store, this time without a curler in my hair. (That’s another story.) I had put it off for a while, because I don’t really like the task.  I do like to eat, however, and my family seems determined to have food on a regular basis, so it’s unavoidable.

I went the first thing in the morning, so I could avoid crowds, get the groceries put away and get to work on time.

Because I had put off going shopping, my list was long.  You know those odd items you run out of, the condiments, spices, a certain kind of bottled pepper for that one recipe?  This list was full of stuff like that.  Up one aisle and down the next I went, slowly filling the cart with my procrastinated needs.  I stuck to the list too, none of those impulse purchases.  Pencil in hand, I crossed off all those items.  Focused and determined to get done and get back home, I didn’t dawdle.

Finally I crossed off the last item.  I chose the self-checkout line. I’d gotten hooked on these a few years back.  I know, it’s slower if you have more than ten items, but I like the sense of independence, of being able to fill the grocery bags the way I want.  I like that I have some of the produce codes memorized. Pretty sure I secretly dreamed of  cashiering when I was a kid.

I scanned all my items, efficiently and quickly.  I was a shopper in the zone.  No coupons. I put in my frequent buyer number to get the store discounts.  Swiped my payment card.

Credit Card

Rejected.

What?

Hmmm.  I reswiped the card.  Entered my pin number.  Not approved.

I looked at the card to make sure I’m using the correct pin number with the correct card.  Yes.  I swiped the card again, selecting the credit option.  Still rejected.

I reached for my other debit card, the one from the bank, not the credit union.  Not there.  Must have given it to one of the kids to put gas in the car.  I have a twenty.  The machine asks for a cartload of money.  Dang.

Now what?

MSH was asleep after working late, so a call to his turned off cell phone wouldn’t have helped. By the time I could drive home and drive back I’d have eaten into my small window of time before work. I wouldn’t  have time to put things away. I’d be late for everything the rest of the day.

The clerk who oversees the self-checkout menagerie came over to help.  I explained my dilemma, apologized, stood there feeling stupid.  She says, no worries, they have people who can put it all back.

Defeated.

I walk out of the store empty-handed.  Not a single bag of groceries. What an odd feeling.

Resisting the temptation to give into tears in the car, I tried to think through the day ahead, put the embarrassment and frustration behind me.

I never made it back to the grocery store that week.  Sent hubby on a milk run.  Had my son pick up a couple of items once or twice.

It’d be nice to carry enough “just in case” cash, but that kind of money doesn’t float around my house too much.  And I’d be tempted to spend it somewhere else, here and there.  Does anyone even take checks anymore?  I just want efficient and easy. And reliable.

Turns out a bank error occurred while processing a direct deposit.  Who’d have known?  I guess I would have if I checked my account online before heading out to spend money.  Lesson learned, sort of.

Technology is great, except when it isn’t.

Here’s the weirdest outcome.  All those crossed off items from my failed grocery acquisition got crossed off in my head too.  I’d go to the pantry to pull out the spice I had put in my cart and it wouldn’t be there.  Oh yeah, I’d remember, not paid for.  I’d reach into the fridge for cilantro I’d just almost bought, and nothing.  That balsamic vinegar I had planned to use later in the week?  Missing, no wait, never purchased.  Salt to refill the shaker?  Nada.  Oh yeah, debit card downer.

For weeks afterwards my cupboards and pantry and fridge felt haunted.

Even to this day, months afterwards, I still find myself reaching for an item my head tells me I bought.  It went in the cart, it went through the scanner, it went into the grocery bag, and it went into my brain.  It just never went into my cupboards.

Wish I could tap into that “rememberability” with things that are really important.

Categories: Food, Humor | Tags: , , , , | 3 Comments

Why the People at the Grocery Store Were So Friendly, and Other Answers

Following the wise saying that says, “When you can’t sleep, write,” (which I just made up three minutes ago) I am now writing at 1:15 a.m.  If you’ve read my “Night Owl, Early Bird” post you’d remember that I’m definitely a morning person.  My brain engages and starts humming just before the last stars wink out.  That’s about five hours from now.  Fair warning, with middle of the night posts, no telling what will happen. (Three posts in one, perhaps?)

THE GROCERY STORE FRIENDLIES

Shopping Carts

Shopping Carts (Photo credit: Universal Pops)

Despising grocery shopping, I try to get the task done when the fewest number of people will be clogging the aisles and slowing down the process. That would be, you guessed it, early in the morning.  I try to show up presentable, not in PJ’s, not in sweaty gym clothes, not in my dirt encrusted grass stained gardening garb.  I clean up, I put on some lip gloss, I brush my hair.  I even bring a list. In, out, done. No debating over the produce. no loitering near the dairy.

Most people pretend extreme interest in some label, and avoid eye contact, especially in the morning.(Probably because they are wearing PJ’s or sweaty gym clothes or haven’t combed their hair.) Just sayin’.

One morning in particular I noticed that the few people I did see in the nearly deserted grocery store appeared very cheery. They smiled at me. Smiles all around.  A store full of morning people?!? What are the odds, I thought.  Maybe I had a glow about me.  Maybe the stars aligned just right.  Maybe the music playing over the intercom struck a happy chord in the lot of them.

Even the usually surly cashier, whose line I tried to avoid, was friendly and smiled at me. Weird and weirder.  I was going to get on the internet and figure out what cosmic occurrence might be in play to explain such unexpected pleasantness.

Putting my bags into the back seat of the car I bumped my head on the top of the door opening.  Not my head exactly.  The blow felt cushioned by something.

Hair rollers

Hair rollers (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I reached up to console my noggin.  What did I find but a hair roller still tucked in on top of my head.  The very same velcro hair roller my own hands had rolled in to poof up the flat spot in my otherwise nicely coiffed hair. I had told myself not to forget to take it out before I left, then went off to find my keys.  And forgot about it.

All those friendly smiles?  Restrained laughter.

Glad I could bring some cheer into someone’s day.  In this case, many someones.

ON YOUR LEFT

My cousin reintroduced me to bicycling in Denver a couple of years back.  It was my first time on a road bike in a few years. She taught me some basic ideas, like how to shift, how to brake, basic biking etiquette.  We even discussed ahead of time who takes the lead and which of us drops behind  into single file when other bikers are on the path coming towards us or passing us from behind.  I learned the term “on the left” meant that another biker was coming up from behind and was going to pass on the left.  On hearing “on the left” the correct thing to do is to move to the right so they have room pass on the left.

We had a great ride that day. (I think I just found another blog post topic for the near future.) But I digress.

The point I meant to make was that I learned a bit of biking jargon and etiquette and gained some confidence in the sport of bicycling. On returning home I started riding my clunky mountain bike on our flat desert trails. I started using the term “on the left” and felt like a real biker.  When I didn’t ride, but went walking instead, I quickly moved over when a biker chirped, “on your left!”  I felt I had learned to share the trail, or the sidewalk, quite amicably.  I hardly had to hear more than the word “on” from behind and I’d start moving to the right to make room.

Biker

Not the actual biker…

Imagine my surprise (is that a cliché? note to self, find out!)  Sorry.  Imagine my surprise when, this very morning, I mean yesterday morning, since it’s now almost 2 a.m. the day after. Sorry again.

Imagine my surprise, as I’m out for my morning walk, when I hear a biker holler, “on your right” and I automatically move to the right but then, mid step, realize that I just moved into the biker’s path.  I was certain I’d be mowed over, or at the very least see a biker go flying past as he rocketed over the front of his handlebars.   I actually started to curl up and brace myself for impact.  Luckily the biker swerved or braked or had guardian angels, or all three.  No one was worse for the experience.

I’m sure the bicyclist swore under his breath as he rode off down the path.  Maybe his life had flashed before his eyes.  I hope it was a happy one if it did.  His adrenaline was probably ramped up a bit, don’t you think?  Mine was.

Anyway, if you talk to anyone who tells you about this dumb woman out for a walk who jumped into his path when he gave fair warning, you’ve now heard my side of the story.

Fireworks

Spicy Zingers (or Fireworks)

CHINESE-MEXICAN FUSION

Dinner out with friends tonight  (last night? whatever) at a new place was mind-blowing.  Confusion ruled my taste buds but what happy taste buds!

Who thinks of these things?  A quesadilla with a ginger-sauced chicken and real cheese?  Oh my sweet Susanna!!  Dip it in the salsa/hoisin, or was it plum sauce/mole, and the neural pathways don’t know what to make of it all.  Refried black beans? A work and a wonder of magnificence!!  Finished off the meal with a crispy-edged, soft-middled, cinnamon snicker doodle cookie and the evening was taste bud nirvana.

That might explain the tiny taste of insomnia going on here.  Too many competing spicy sensations zinging around in my head.  Oh, but it was worth it.

I hope you’re smiling!  I am.

Categories: Exercise, Food, Humor | Tags: , , , | 14 Comments

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