Food Friday Returns!

After a few weeks on hiatus, Food Friday is making a return.  And it’s a day early!  Actually, it’s four days late because I had this particular dish on Sunday night. 

When I was grocery shopping this past Sunday morning, I ran into my friends/neighbors/future HOA insiders.  They invited me over for dinner - chicken and corn on the cob grilled on their fancy new grill.  When I got there, Scruffy put out a cucumber and tomato (and, oh yeah, onions) salad.  Have you ever been at somebody’s house and they’ve made something that you’re not really sure you’re gonna like but you don’t wanna hurt their feelings because they invited you over after all and it would be really impolite to not eat what they made?  That’s kinda what happened to me on Sunday night. 

This is pretty much the internal monologue that was going on in my head as we ate dinner: 

Oh great, a cucumber and tomato salad.   Cucumbers?  Ewww.  I can totally handle the tomatoes…it’s kinda like bruschetta.  I like bruschetta.  I’ll just pretend.  How come that cat doesn’t like me?  Maybe I can pick out the cucumbers.  What kind of dressing?  Huh?  I really can’t tell those two cats apart…Lucy and, wait, what’s the other one’s name?  Is it awful that I can’t remember the other cat’s name?  How big was that cucumber?  There are so many cucumber slices in my bowl.  I can’t believe it’s pouring out.  No more tomatoes?  Their counters really look nice…I gotta decide what to do with my kitchen counters.  Actually, this salad isn’t half bad.  It’s kinda tasty.  And the cucumbers in Italian dressing…hmm, pretty good.  Oh wow, this grilled corn on the cob is out of this world.  You know what?  This salad wasn’t bad at all!  Hopefully, they don’t notice how many cucumber slices are left in my bowl…there were a lot.  Gosh, I’m stuffed!  Huh?!  They have chocolate cake?! 

So, despite my initial misgivings, I ended up really liking the cucumber and tomato salad.  And it served as a good reminder of my original intent for Food Friday…being open to trying new things,  whether it’s something wild and crazy like kangaroo or something as simple as a summer salad made by a friend. 

Here’s where the story gets really crazy.  I liked that salad so much that tonight I went to the store, bought a cucumber and some tomatoes, and made it myself!  It was delicious!  But I changed it up a little and made it a tomato and cucumber salad...with no onions. 

I guess I'll have to add tomatoes and
cucumbers to the shopping list now!

Confessions of the New Kid on the Block

I got some advice when I transferred from Old Unit to New Unit at work.  Just be yourself and you’ll be fine.  That’s not exactly sage advice for a dorky goofball who likes to have a healthy freak out every few days and enjoys random acts of dancing just for the heck of it.  I’m trying to make a good impression here, not frighten people away! 

The fact of the matter is, I’m still the new kid on the block and I don't exactly want people to think I'm a complete Looney Toon in my first month on the job.  As much of a dorky goofball as I am, I do take work seriously and I'm working hard on getting my responsibilites down.  There’s a lot to learn and it’s very different from what I’m used to.  But I’m learning and I’m adjusting.  So, that's fine.  The bigger adjustment I've had to make is to the culture of the New Unit.  It is so different from Old Unit that some days I feel like I wandered to the wrong side, a side where dorky goofballs don't work.   

The most striking difference between Old Unit and New Unit is the quietness.  Even the hallways are quiet.  Sometimes, when I go to the ladies room, I feel like I’m out of class without a hall pass.  On the other side of the building, where Old Unit is, the hallways bustle with life.  There was always someone on their way to some place, usually a stack to pull or process records.  There was always someone to wave to and say, hey, nice Crocs!  Office suites were the scenes of lively discourse about archival theory (original order is for hacks), lack of supplies (no legal folders again?!), or actual New Kid on the Block Jonathan Knight’s homosexuality (okay, that was just me…I was clueless!)  I don’t know where the discoursing is happening in New Unit.  Do they discourse?  Do they disco?  I don’t know!  No one’s in the hallway to ask!

Another huge difference is that many colleagues in New Unit have children.  In Old Unit, you were the exception if you had kids (I can count the number of parents on one hand).  In New Unit, it seems like you’re the exception if you don’t have kids.  I was kinda half-worried that I’d transfer units and all of a sudden a kid would pop out.  So far, so good…but I’ll let you know in about nine months.  Now, my colleagues aren’t talking about their kids all the time but they do occasionally, and well, it’s hard to relate.  I guess I could share stories about my cat.  Because everyone wants to hear cat stories.  Actually, maybe it’s not that hard to relate.  Yesterday, someone was talking about their kid being cranky if she doesn’t take a nap.  I know EXACTLY how that little girl feels!  I need my naps too.  For the record, I’m not adverse to children, I’m just not comfortable around them - I’m always worried that I’ll drop one.  My aunt dropped me when I was a baby; well, that actually explains a lot.          

A difference that I really like is that New Unit has parties!  In the three weeks that I’ve been there, they’ve had two!  That never happened in my old unit!  At yesterday’s party (for two graduating coworkers), they had Georgetown Cupcakes.  How awesome is that?  And there’s gonna be another party later in the month for people with birthdays in May.  Fun, right?!

While I enjoyed the party yesterday, my feelings of new kid on the blockness made me sad.  Not because I was feeling left out or anything.  No, it was because something was said that made me want to dance.  "Krazy Kabob."  Doesn’t that just make you giggly and happy and dancey?  And it’s alliteration which just makes you need to dance more!  So, there I was, listening to a conversation about Krazy Kabob and all my nerve endings were tingling with the desire to jump up and do a little jig or at least to wave some Sassy Hands.  In Old Unit, if someone like TopChef said that within my earshot, I would’ve, for sure, done a little two-step, maybe a hip thrust, or even a little shimmy swivel if I was feeling daring.  People would’ve looked at me like I was a dorky goofball (or a goofy dork) and it would’ve been okay because well, that’s who I am.

Yesterday, I suppressed the urge to dance because I'm the new kid on the block and I didn't want people to think I was a dorky goofball.  And that's not who I really am.     

I can’t wait for the new kid on the block feeling to go away.  Because I really like to dance like a dorky goofball. 

Shopping for One

I don’t go grocery shopping; at least, not like my mom used to when she went on her weekly shopping excursion to the local ACME.  My method’s a little different and fits my single lifestyle just fine.  Every evening, on the way home, I stop at the Safeway, bolt in, grab JELL-O pudding (for dessert), applesauce (for breakfast), and some sort of food for the main course which can range from tilapia on a good night to Sloppy Joes on a better night.  I’m in and out in twenty minutes top, and always go through the “15 Items or Fewer” line.  If there’s more than three people in line when I go in, I chuck it all and go out to dinner (hello, Jersey Mike’s!)  Shopping for one just isn’t all that fun.   

When people talk about having a “well-stocked pantry,” I fear that I give them a blank stare.  I don’t have (many) canned goods or boxes of prepared foods on hand.  I don’t have a spice rack.  Heck, I don’t even have ice cubes.  The cat has more food in the pantry than I do.  If there’s ever another blizzard that keeps me snowbound for a week, I guess I’ll just start eating her food.

Recently my mom gave me (another) cookbook and we decided to have a competition.  We’ll make the same thing on the same night and then discuss it.  After hearing that a few of my friends have Sunday morning grocery rituals, I decided what the heck?  This Sunday, I’d go to the grocery store and buy food for the week.  I rolled out of bed, didn’t take a shower, pulled my hair back in a messy ponytail, and changed into sweats and an old tee-shirt, because really, who’s at the grocery store on a Sunday morning at 10 AM? 

Turns out, my friends were.  That was only awkward for a second before they directed me to the soup aisle.  By the time I got to the condiment aisle, I figured, ah, what the heck, they’re my friends, they don’t care what I look like.  We bumped into each other again and they helped me look for Liquid Smoke (why the heck I wanted Liquid Smoke, I don’t know but it was on THE LIST).  Then my pals invited me to dinner - see, why’s a girl have to shop when she gets dinner invites?!

I didn’t exactly plan my route around the store so I ended up having to do a little backtracking.  Like, I got all my produce, chugged on over to the Deli Counter, remembered that I needed cauliflower, so I had to go all the way back to Produce but then I forgot my hamburger buns so then I had to go back to the other side of the store to the Bread Section.  Next time, I gotta plot it out better because I wasted valuable time.  Maybe I can catch some old episodes of Supermarket Sweep. 

When I got to the Meat Section, I saw these tiny Cornish hens!  How can you resist tiny Cornish hens?  You can’t.  I had to have them!

Two Cornish hens crossed the road...

And look at these cool premeasured packages of spices!  Who needs a spice rack when you can just buy a couple hundred of these things every once in a while! 

I picked up spices for fajitas?!  Fail on my part!

OMG!  Corn on the cob holders!  I need those! 

Corn skewers for my two ears...of corn!

I loaded up on meats and fresh vegetables…not a frozen veggie in sight!  My cart was filled up so much, I wasn’t eligible for the “15 Items or Fewer” line.  So, I had to get in regular line.  That’s where I met Luther, the world’s slowest cashier.  I used to do that job and was damn good at it.  Luther, well, I’m going to be nice.  Suffice it to say, I spent more time with Luther than I really wanted to. 

An hour and fifteen minutes after I went in, I emerged with a cart full of groceries and the satisfaction of knowing that my fridge was going to be filled with really good food for the week.   Then I remembered that I was gonna have to cook it.

And if there’s one thing that’s less fun that shopping for one, it’s cooking for one.  It’s a vicious, vicious circle, I tell ya!   

The Run Around

7 AM on Saturday:  Getting ready to run.
The feet weren't happy about it either.

I love to sleep.  I look forward to the weekends when I can sleep late, or wake up early just to go back to sleep, or take sleep breaks throughout the day (nap, anyone?)  My weekends are virtual rest-fests.  Work a lot during the week, rest a lot during the weekends.  That’s the way I like it. 

So, what the heck was I doing awake at 7 AM on a Saturday morning standing in the parking lot of the local community college?  Oh geez, I was getting ready to run.  Voluntarily.  Like, it was a choice…and I chose to be there.  Who slipped something in my Kool-aid?! 

My running club is offering “dry runs” on our graduation course for the next several Saturdays.  (Did I mention that they’re at 7 freaking AM in the morning?)  Since I know I need to run slightly more often than once a week to even have a shot at completing the 5K, I figured I should go out for the extra run.  So, at 6:25 this morning, I forced myself out of bed, donned my running gear, stopped at the local Weis for some bottled water, and headed off to our designated meeting spot.  The sky was gray and it was a little misty.  I prayed for thunder and lightening the whole way there.  Unfortunately, the weather gods ignored me.  Dumb weather gods.    

We split up into two groups.  The Runners (all pretty much from that mythical Run Group A) ran the entire course while the Runwalkers (that’s me!) ran a “modified course” – that’s code for a mile-long (??) straight, level street between two major roads.*  It was a quiet street that ran through a lovely residential neighborhood with nice houses.  Houses occupied by people who were probably doing what I wanted to be doing at that hour in the morning – sleeping. 

After our stretches, we started running.  Technically, our “homework” was to run six minutes, walk two; but many of us ran the entire way.  Which was great and all except for the teensy little fact that I forgot:  once you got to the end of the street, you had to run back.  About halfway back, I totally lost all my steam and this Runwalker became an out and out Walker (but I didn’t need a walker…so that’s a positive!)

I was totally fine with walking.  Until the Runners suddenly appeared out of nowhere and lapped us.  The Runners were like a finely tuned machine; a pack of Females in Training running in perfect harmony (I kid you not, they were running in unison…perfectly).  They even made drinking their water (in unison) look graceful.  I decided to suck it up and just go.  I was going to finish as a Runner.  So what if it felt like my lungs were being ripped to shreds, who needs lungs anyway?  I managed to cross the “finish line” without dying, which I think is a great accomplishment.

We’re meeting again next Saturday.  I’ll probably be there. 

But tomorrow?  Tomorrow is Sunday.  And Sunday is the day of rest. 

Guess what I’ll be doing. 
---------
* - Just got an email from the coach, the modified course was 2.4 miles!  That explains a lot.

Schellhardts' Cafe

“My parents owned a bar at the corner of 30^th and Girard.”  This biographical factoid was oft-repeated by my mother, the youngest daughter of the aforementioned bar owners, while I was growing up.  To me, 30^th and Girard was just an intersection in North Philadelphia’s Brewerytown neighborhood, a section of the city that is finally seeing better days after years of urban blight.  To my mom though, it was where she spent the first 11 years of her life, in a home above a bar at the corner of 30^th and Girard.

I don’t know too much about the bar.  I like to imagine that it was a place where everybody knew your name or where you could keep a tab and pay up when you got the chance.  I know my grandfather, a carpenter, build the actual bar with his own hands, some of my uncles were bartenders, and my mom used to tap-dance on the bar (in a totally innocent five year old way).

It wasn’t until recently that I found out that the bar actually had a name – Schellhardts’ Café.  They didn’t serve food except on Fridays when my grandmother would make her homemade crab cakes.  Aside from a few things, my mom doesn’t have much from her childhood…but she does have her mother’s recipe for crab cakes.  She’s rather famous for making them, especially during Lent.  Every Good Friday, she would make a batch for our family so we could fulfill our Lenten obligation of fish-eating.  I always screwed up my nose and wouldn’t eat them except for one bite a long time ago. 

My mom loves to cook for people.   When she was working, she’d make up meals for her coworkers; for family parties, she loves making loads of food; and when she visits me she likes to make my favorite meals.  That makes her happy.  (That last one makes me pretty happy too!)  On Saturday night, to inaugurate my new patio set (that my dad kindly put together), some friends joined me and my parents for dinner.  My mom, of course, made enough food to feed an army.  The main course though was her crab cakes.  I’m counting the half of a crab cake that I ate as my Food Friday for the week.  Unlike my reaction when I was younger, I have to say that the crab cake was actually pretty delicious.  I guess there’s something to be said for a family recipe that’s been handed down through the years.    

I like to think that whenever my mom makes her crab cakes, she’s keeping the memory of Schellhardts’ Café…that bar on the corner of 30^th and Girard...alive for yet another generation. 

*My new job has me increasingly concerned/obsessed/batty about correct punctuation so I have to admit, I don't know if it was Schellhardt's Cafe or Schellhardts' Cafe.  I chose the plural possessive because there are multiple Schellhardts but perhaps it should be a singular possessive because it could have referred to just my grandfather, the owner of the bar.  If I'm wrong, I'm fairly certain my mom will let me know!

When History Happens

When I was little I used to ask my mom when history would start happening.  She grew up during a time when lots of history was happening…the invention of television (or maybe that was just color television), Camelot, the race to space, assassinations, Woodstock, the Vietnam War, disco.    

I was born in 1979, the most boring year in history.  Oh, sure, there was the disaster at 3 Mile Island but other than that, nothing else exciting happened.  I was a baby when Ronald Reagan was shot; six when the Challenger exploded; in middle school when the first Gulf War began and ended; and in high school when the Branch Davidian compound in Waco was seized, OJ was acquitted, and the Alfred P. Murrah Building in Oklahoma City was bombed.  I wasn’t paying much attention to all that.  I had other things on my mind, like Barbies and Trapper Keepers and Friday night football games and Homecomings.  History was happening...I just didn't realize it.   

The first time I really felt like history was happening was when Princess Diana died.  I remember my mom saying to me, you’ll always remember where you were when you heard that she died.  And I do.  It was the night before I left for my first year of college and I was visiting the Whites’ house for one last visit.  It astounds me that 14 years ago, I watched Princess Diana’s funeral and three days ago, I watched her son’s wedding.  So much history has happened since that last day of August in 1997.

September 11, 2001.  When history happened that day, we all knew it, felt it, witnessed it.  Ten years passed and more history happened. 

Last night, another event that will go down in history happened.  It was a long time coming.  

Bravo to the brave men and women in our military and intel communities who continue to protect our freedom, protect our country, and protect us.  Even when history's "not" happening.

Somethings New

Who else got their Royal Geek on this past Friday and watched the royal nuptials?!  I caught about an hour of it in real time and then watched two repeats (thank God for Maryland Public television…now just start airing East Enders and I’ll be a happy gal!)  I thought it was all quite lovely and elegant.  I heard the bride’s “something new” were the earrings her parents gave her; they certainly looked nice.  I got a few somethings new this week too!

The New Job

While Kate Middleton ended her week as the new Duchess of Cambridge, I began my week as the new girl in the office.  I have to say, the transition has been quite smooth.  Everyone has been very welcoming, nice, and helpful. The only frustrating part was when my wall hangings kept falling down (I stopped counting when the tally reached 9).  Even that, however, was a short-lived frustration because after I vented on Facebook, clips were kindly delivered to my cubicle the next morning.  Ahh, the power of social media.  My cubicle is smaller than my old one (which is just punishment for all the whining I did last year!) and while I don’t have my own window, I can see the outside…so now I’ll be able to monitor the weather!  I got compliments on two different pairs of shoes and I haven’t even broken out my fashion sneakers or my Crocs yet!  I only forgot twice that my office is on the third floor but lucky for me I was able to jump right back on the elevator without anyone noticing.  My pal Trix and I discovered that it’s not hard at all to meet in the middle to go out to lunch…although we practiced for three days in a row just to make sure we got it right.  Oh, and I’m getting a hang of the actual work too!  By the end of the week, I didn’t feel like the new girl at all!

The New Running Shoes

I had a great runwalk session on Thursday night but I was still wearing my old Nike shoes that weren’t appropriate for 5K training.  Yesterday, I went to Feet First, a running store that sells…running stuff.  They had me stand on a mat while a computer figured out what kind of shoes would be best for me.  In case you’re interested, I have really great arches.  If you wanna see them some time, just ask.  I didn’t just try three pairs of shoes on…I tried them out.  I was allowed to walk and run around the store and then walk and run around outside the store (apparently, this is a sign of an excellent running store).  Ultimately, I chose the Brooks and I can’t wait to start putting some miles (or yards) on them!

The New Patio Set

On Friday night, I went to Home Depot and ordered my new patio set which is supposed to be delivered sometime today.  I can’t wait to set it up and, hopefully, start a new routine of sipping, depending on my mood, margaritas or chocolate milk while I sit on my deck on summer evenings.   

That’s a lot of somethings new, isn’t it?  And look, it’s already time to start a new week!