Trippin’

March 7, 2011

Welcome to Friends of Fordeville Week.  Also known as Project Sunny & Slightly Tipsy Vacation.  Is it snowing in New Jersey while I’m gone?  That would make me a little happy.  And a little evil.

I promised you some fabulous guest bloggers while I take the week off.  I’m a woman of my word.  And to prove it, I’m kicking the festivities off with my favorite new blogger, The 21st Century Mrs — I’m so happy that has agreed to post for me.  If you aren’t reading her blog already, you are completely missing out.  Next you’ll tell me you haven’t eaten any chocolate today.  Get with the program, people.

Why should you love The Mrs?  Simply put, she’s funny as hell.  That’s not enough, you say?  OK, fine.  Check out her wacky, borderline-disturbing (in a good way) illustrations that prove her kick-ass wit beyond the shadow of a doubt. 

When she’s not confessing her fear of pregnant women or plotting her revenge against Jake Ryan, she’s tweeting — take note and follow her @21stcenturymrs.

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When I think about all of the things I learned when I was a kid, I feel like some critical details were unfortunately omitted, bits of advice I could have made good use of in the future. Things like: No one will ever care if you can’t write in cursive or don’t ever let your college roommate cut your hair. 

And here’s a big one: Being a kid on vacation is the sweetest experience you will ever have in your life. 

Think about it for a second.  When you were a kid and your parents took you on vacation, all you did was show up and have the best time of your life.

When you were a kid on vacation, there was no threat of school or homework, and all you did was play outside. In my case, most of this playtime took place on a beach somewhere, so my biggest worry as a kid on vacation was getting a sunburn. But I wasn’t even that concerned with a little red skin, because I didn’t even know what cancer was yet.

The thrill of traveling to a new place for relaxation or adventure is so intoxicating that, after years of vacationing with my parents, I have become addicted to vacations. 

And if I go too long without one, I start to look all bedraggled and sad.

But vacationing as an adult is just a shadow of the non-stop, fun-tacular time it was when you were a kid.

It might even be more trouble that it’s worth, but it’s better than sitting in your office or folding laundry at home—oh, and you’re probably ADDICTED to vacations, too. So you have to go or you could start to shake a little. (Because this is what the movies told me happens to addicts. And it looks pretty terrible.) 

Suddenly, you have to worry about paying for the vacation, finding a place to sleep that won’t give you bedbugs, dieting to avoid frightening others on the beach, booking and confirming rooms, and packing everything you own into small, airplane friendly luggage. I could go on with the “to dos,” but I might cry just thinking about the sharp contrast of childhood vacations to adult vacations.

The universe must know that it has robbed us of something magnificent, though, because it has created a silver lining to vacationing as an adult: cocktails.

Isn’t it strange how the virgin strawberry daiquiri you once begged your parents for as a child on vacation has become your adult-on-vacation refuge? 

My must-have vacation cocktail? Copious amounts of anything. I’m not picky. Although, I am partial to the kind of drinks that are available in fish bowls or margarita glasses the size of my head. But I really don’t care what you put in that glass, so long as it is strong. I’m trying to at once numb the memories of carefree vacations past and the knowledge of credit card bills with hotel charges to come in the future. 

As for what the lady of The Fordeville Diaries must record while she is vacationing? Originally, I was going to recommend Glee, because Gwyneth Paltrow is back for another appearance, and I love to hate Gwynnie. However, I might have to change my DVR recommendation to CNN—just record that shit all day—because given Charlie Sheen’s recent antics, it’s starting to feel like a foregone conclusion that he’ll wind up on a bell tower pretty soon. And none of us are going to want to miss that.

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Filed Under: Entertainment, Food & Drink, Places Near and Far 10 Comments

Sand, Meet Toes

March 4, 2011

It’s finally here.  Vacation.

And while my kind relatives stay at our house to hang with the pug, we will be out in the sun.  Well, covered in hats, sensible sleeves and SPF 5,000 (residents of Fordeville tend to burn under a 50-watt bulb, so I take no chances — the look is sort of Beekeeper Chic). 

Anyway, the point is this:  We’re outta here, people.

I have no doubt that there will be many an entertaining nugget to share from vacationland, but I’ll do so afterwards.  Because I’m taking a week off from life.  That means from work.  From laundry and household upkeep.  From home renovation and decorating projects.  From everything but my family.  Oh, and not from cocktails.  OK, and probably not from The Twitter, because, well, I just can’t.  And it’s too much cruel fun to tweet real-time photos of my adventures (cue mass exodus of followers).  

So, where does this leave my six loyal readers?  Lest we fear the Earth will stand still on its axis without any new content (as if), I have lined up some fabulous guest bloggers to entertain you in my absence.  Friends of Fordeville, if you will.

My intention was to really span different types of writers here.  But they have two things in common:  Great writing and wit extraordinaire.  They consist of a newbie to the blogosphere, a broadcast journalist, a beer brewing aficionado and a seasoned parenting/mom blogger.  It’s a little like an updated line-up of this familiar crew. 

One of them even took me to a prom in 1989.  I won’t tell you which one — yet.  But it wasn’t the mom blogger. 

These fabulous folks have agreed to address some very critical issues in my absence.  Not Egypt.  Or malaria.  Or temporary custody of Charlie Sheen.  Or even the mastery of IKEA assembly instructions.

No, I’ve asked them to give serious thought to two questions — one meant to optimize my vacation, and the other meant to ease my transition back into real life when I come home. Because it’s all about me. Well, at least in this domain that I pay for.    

1)  What is your must-have vacation cocktail?   

2)  What show *must* I record on the DVR while I’m away?  

I told you, it’s heavy duty stuff. Because my life is, for better or worse, often reduced to a nice drink and some TV at the end of a long day. So I may as well operate in style and expand my horizons beyond a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and Keeping Up With the Kardashians PBS. 

So please welcome my bloggy friends while I’m gone. And wish me luck on the flight with The Two Toddlers Who Never Sit Still.

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Filed Under: Blogging Cluelessness, Entertainment, Food & Drink, Friends, Places Near and Far 9 Comments

Buongiorno, Trenta

January 19, 2011

There are many things I don’t really need but would happily accept. For example, another excuse to not join a gym. Large wheels of European cheese. A bigger cup of Starbucks.

Hold the phone. There’s a bigger cup of Starbucks available, you say?

Oh, yes. It’s new.  Because, sometimes — just sometimes — a 24 oz Venti is simply not enough.

Usually, a grande (16 oz, or medium in real life) is just fine for me — but there have been days, and I remember (or rue) them well, when even the Venti looked and felt like it was the size of a mere espresso shot.  Like Amateur Hour for Caffeine Addicts.  And for days like those, when they rear their ugly heads again, I’ll be able to stroll (or crawl) in and order the Trenta.  All 31 ounces of it.

Clearly, the Venti was the gateway drug to the Trenta.  And here I am, all ready to go and see my dealer for a fix of the next big thing. 

Say it with me:  I’ll have a Trenta skim, no-foam — nevermind.  Yeah, I am one of those.  It’s true.  My husband won’t order my coffee for me out of sheer humiliation, and I can hardly blame him.

Ever so quick (and not so wrong) to jump on mocking the Trenta and its symbolism of American Super-Sized culture, this graphic popped up in some publications written by Our Neighbors to the North. 

{Photo courtesy http://news.nationalpost.com}

They do have a point with the whole human stomach capacity comparison.  (I do wonder if that’s a Canadian stomach or an American stomach, the latter I imagine being vastly larger on average).  But how about this for justification?  Think about the hole that will be formed by the ulcer after consuming too much Starbucks, and that should just about free up enough room in the stomach’s capacity to handle the Trenta.  In my scientific opinion, of course.

So while I can’t pledge a daily purchase (not without a second job to support the habit), I am happy to say Benvenuti to the Trenta as a trustworthy back up.  It’s a nice caffeinated safety net — and good to know it will be there in my times of need.  For about $5 a cup, I assume.

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Filed Under: Food & Drink 7 Comments

Irrational Fear: Crock Pots

January 11, 2011

I have several irrational fears, some more embarrassing than others.  One that I’m willing to publicly admit is my fear of a crock pot burning my house down. 

The whole premise of this appliance goes against basic logic:  Plug it in.  Let it get really hot.  Add liquids, spices, etc.  Then ignore, and even leave unattended — for hours. 

What? 

Didn’t you people ever attend Fire Safety Week assemblies in elementary school?  Next you’ll tell me you didn’t learn the Duck & Cover method with a healthy fear of Soviet nuclear weapons being aimed at your hometown.

My crock pot fire fear may also stem from this recurring conversation in my teens, always after getting in the car with my mother.

  • Mom:  Did you turn off the curling iron?
  • Me:  Uh.  I think so.  Can I get the new Duran Duran cassette?
  • Mom:  Is the curling iron on or off?
  • Me:  Uh.  I might have left it on, right next to that can of Aqua Net. 
  • Mom:  Turn the car around.  You’re going to burn the house down.
  • Me:  But I’m going to be late to the roller skating party…

{Yes, I used a curling iron *and* Aqua Net.  It was the 80s.  In New Jersey.  Snooki had nothing on us.}

Anyway.  Back to the crock pot.  I just can’t get my head around it.

But people swear by it, and I’m completely in favor of something that simultaneously makes my life easier and cooks good meals.  So let’s just say, for argument’s sake, that I tried crock potting.  If I were to do this on a day when I can remain at home, within extinguishable reach of the countertop, what should I make?  If you crock and it makes dinnertime less stressful, I’m all ears.  Please share.

Or, if you’ve had a crock-related fire mishap, tell me about that too.  Remember, I was the girl who may or may not have left the hot curling iron next to the Aqua Net (I think the spiral perm chemicals went to my brain).  I need all the safety tips I can get.

I have to go upstairs and check on the iron now.

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Filed Under: Borderline Neuroses, Food & Drink 25 Comments

Kicking the Bottle Habit

January 10, 2011

Goodbye, Old Friend

I said I would be greener in 2011.  I’ve got plenty of room for improvement but one thing I know I must do right now is kick my bottle habit. 

It’s time.

It’s never easy to say goodbye to an old friend who has been through so much with you.  The 1.5 liter Poland Spring bottle has been by my side every day for several years — a move that now seems short-sighted, irresponsible and, well, selfish. 

PS 1.5L was a constant companion.  She was with me for my daily commute and hung out with me in my office every day.  She joined us for every car ride we’ve taken as a family, right there in her dedicated drink holder.  She had a special place on my nightstand,  was there for every outdoor walk I took these last few years, and even attended the births of my children. 

Excessive?  Sure.  Uneducated of me?  I’ll own it.  Environmentally hostile?  Gulp (no pun intended).  OK.  

(But damnit, I was well-hydrated — you have to give me that.)   

We’ve all had friends who were not good for us — friends that our parents, our spouses and our other friends have gently told us to reconsider, to even abandon.  But it’s hard.  You don’t want to believe that this friend is not really a friend.  I knew, deep down, this day would come, but I wasn’t ready until now.

PS 1.5L, I did some reading up on your contributions to society and, as I suspected, I didn’t like what I saw.   The Daily Green and Ecosalon have told me this much about you and your kind:

  • 1.5 million barrels of oil are used every year to manufacture disposable plastic water bottles for the U.S. market. That’s enough to fuel 100,000 cars for a year according to an article in the New York Times.
  • The bottling process itself wastes two gallons of water for every gallon of water that it actually packages.
  • Americans buy an estimated 28 billion plastic water bottles every year, nearly 80% of which will end up in a landfill. One bottle can take thousands of years to decompose.

I knew, in generalities, what the facts would point out — but the specifics are staggering.  There’s no two ways about it.

And then there’s the cost.  If I do the math, I might weep over what I’ve spent on this friend (you’re welcome, Poland Spring headquarters).  So let’s not do that — let’s just silently agree that this has been an unnecessary and steep expense.  Thanks.

If I may put up one last morsel of protest, I just plain like PS 1.5L better than my (free) tap water.  My husband laughs at me and often challenges me to a blind taste test.  (I know I would prevail, by the way.  You drink as much water as I have and tell me you wouldn’t know the difference.)  But, still.  It’s not enough – not nearly enough — of a reason to keep my old friend around any longer. 

{Photo courtesy: hifibri.blogspot.com}

So, PS 1.5L, I guess that’s it.  I wish I could say, “It’s not you, it’s me,” but that won’t work here.  It’s definitely you.  It’s better to just walk away then to drag this out by slowly diminishing our friendship.  I’m not proud of how long it has taken me to get to this point but maybe my parting letter here can convince other holdouts to leave the likes of you behind as well.  Then I would feel like some good could come out of our destructive friendship.

Oh, and by the way, tell your evil cousin, the plastic bag, that she’s next.

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Filed Under: Food & Drink, To-Do Lists Extraordinaire 4 Comments

The Next Big Thing

January 4, 2011

After an almost two-week break from work and school, we are back to real life over in Fordeville.  And it sucks.

I don’t think I have Seasonal Mood Disorder or anything that severe, but this first week back to work after the holidays is really a downer.

No more grazing in the kitchen at all hours for Christmas treats and that occasional mid-afternoon glass of wine.  No more pajamas until 10:00 (or later).  No more disregarding my Blackberry, as its red light now blinks with increasing frequency and impatience (“Stop eating Christmas leftovers and answer me!”).  No more bad daytime TV (and, wow, is it bad).  No more Starbucks holiday cups (sniff).

But, on the bright side:  No more holiday madness.  No more blizzard, yet.  And no more leftover ham.  I’m hammed out, big time.  Ham, be gone.

I always have my eye on the next big (or even medium) thing to look forward to.  For us, it’s a warm weather getaway — our first vacation with all four of us.  We are getting our planning finalized and hope to hit that “Book it” button this week.  So, if all goes well, I will be blogging from a beach in early March.  You know, because one always has a free hand or two when supervising toddlers near bodies of water.  While they throw sand and spill my beachy, umbrella-laden vacation cocktails.

Perhaps I’ll call in a guest blogger while I handle the water-side supervision.

Hm.  All this beach talk is making me think about buying a bathing suit and now I’m feeling slightly traumatized (see “ham leftovers,” “wine” and “holiday grazing”).  But, other than that, let’s get it booked.

What about you guys?  What’s your next big (or medium) thing?

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Filed Under: Food & Drink, Holidays, Places Near and Far 10 Comments

Off to a Good Start

January 1, 2011

For the first Fordeville breakfast of 2011, we done good.  Two words: Monkey Bread. 

(For foodie blogs and multi-course New Year’s Day brunch ideas, see Google.) 

Anyway, this is Year Two in what I am determined to make an ongoing and gooey New Year’s Day tradition (you know, for the kids…).  I don’t normally bake up a diabetic trigger cake for breakfast, so we’ll put this under the special and rare occasion category.  It’s also not bad for a hangover. I don’t happen to have one this year but, you know, it’s always good to be prepared for such a predicament on New Year’s Day.

Monkey bread is super easy. And super good for you (I’m absolutely lying). If you’ve never participated in the corruption of crescent rolls like this, you’re missing out (no lie).

Even if it does look kind of like a human brain. 

And, yeah, that’s a rubber wine stopper left over from last night in the back of the photo.  And an Elmo book.  Add in the monkey bread and we’ve got the trifecta of domesticated bliss.

So, if you haven’t gone on a diet for 2011, here’s the recipe.

  • Pre-heat oven to 350.
  • Spray a bundt pan with Pam (Am I the only one who has that Big Fat Greek Wedding moment whenever a bundt pan is introduced into conversation?).
  • Mix in a large ziploc bag:  1 cup sugar, 1 teaspoon cinnamon.
  • In a small saucepan, stir together over low flame:  1 stick butter (told you it was good for you),  1 cup brown sugar, 1 teaspoon vanilla.
  • Cut in quarters:  Four cans of refrigerated biscuits.
  • Place the cut biscuit pieces in the ziploc bag and shake with sugar and cinnamon until fully blended.  This is the part the kids love.  Just make sure that bag is sealed.  (Aside: I’m told that raisins or nuts can be added to the bag but it’s not my thing.  I try to sneak in semi-sweet chocolate chips sometimes for that extra non-healthy punch, but P protests.  Just saying, worth thinking about.)
  • Arrange cut biscuits in the bundt pan.
  • Heat butter, sugar and vanilla until just bubbling.  Pour over biscuits.  Bake 30 minutes.  When done invert immediately onto raised sided dish.
  • Go jogging.  Far and fast.
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Filed Under: Family, Food & Drink, Holidays 4 Comments

Raise a Glass

December 31, 2010

As you all prepare for your fun New Year’s Eve festivities, I thought I might share the recipe for our favorite house drink, the espresso martini — a Fordeville specialty and party staple. 

Skeptical?  Yes, we’ve heard the protests and snickering before.  I’ll cut to the chase and tell you why you should try one:

  • You don’t have to be a martini person to enjoy it (but you do have to like coffee).
  • No, it’s not a chick drink.  We don’t make them all froufy with Baileys.  Keep reading.
  • It mixes two of my favorite vices:  very potent caffeine and very potent alcohol.
  • You don’t get all sleepy after a few cocktails.  Au contraire.  Way contraire.
  • No, it’s still not a chick drink.  Have one and then come back to me.

Back in 2004, while on vacation in St. Martin, we had a bartender serve these up and they were sublime. Since then, we’ve been on a quest to replicate his exact blend.  It’s easy to screw up — trust me, we’ve seen it done plenty of bad ways. P, ever the perfectionist, has spent a fair amount of time over the years tweaking the recipe to get it just right, during which time he has converted many family members and friends into believers (I’m looking at you, Markus).  So, in the spirit of holiday sharing, here you go.

Fordeville Espresso Martinis

First, wet your martini glass and put it in the freezer for a few minutes to chill it.  Then, combine in a shaker:

  • 2 oz very strong coffee or espresso
  • 1 oz espresso vodka
  • 1/2 oz Kahlua
  • 1 oz vanilla vodka

Shake with ice.  Serve very cold.  Yield:  1 drink.  Don’t operate any heavy machinery.

OK, now I want one, but I’ll wait a few hours.  Enjoy, and Happy 2011!

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Filed Under: Food & Drink, Holidays 5 Comments

Santa’s Sandwich

December 16, 2010

{Photo courtesy NYC Food Guy}

I was thinking about Christmas traditions.  This, of course, brings my mind to cookies (it’s easy for me to bridge quickly from any given topic to baked goods). Did you all leave milk and cookies for Santa as a kid?

We didn’t.  In our house, we were raised to leave Santa an Italian hero on Christmas Eve.  Seriously.

If you’ve never had a real Italian hero, well — that’s a whole other discussion for another day (and you have my sympathy, by the way).  But my mom used to make them a lot when we were kids, mainly because my father loved them.  She piled up the meats, the cheese, some shredded lettuce, oil and vinegar.  Amazing.

So how stupid were my sisters and I not to put the pieces together?  It’s like a basic 2nd grade workbook problem:

  • Dad loves Italian heroes. 
  • Santa loves Italian heroes. 
  • Dad and Santa were under the same roof Christmas Eve. 
  • Therefore, Santa must be…
  • (Come on, girls, you can figure this out)

Nope, we were clueless.

Maybe my parents billed it that Santa couldn’t run on cookies all night and needed a real meal (or sandwich) at some point in his travels.  Maybe it was about food for the reindeer.  But, if I’m really honest with myself, I don’t think they had to sell it at all.  I think we just believed them because leaving that Italian hero on Christmas Eve was what we always did.

 And that’s what I like about tradition — you don’t question it because it’s just the way it’s done your family.  It’s not until we’re older that we compare notes with the real world and realize that our way might have been wonderfully different, a little quirky, pretty naive or — in some cases — just a bit off kilter (see Competitive Post-Thanksgiving Gaming).

But I like the story of Santa’s sandwich and, as my kids grow up, I wonder what variations we’ll bring into our own Christmas traditions — and whether I should buy some sopressata, cheese and a 6-foot roll this week.

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Filed Under: Family, Food & Drink, Holidays 9 Comments

Short Circuits

December 6, 2010

My brain is short-circuiting today. Not one full and coherent thought has been produced. So, I’m sorry, but all I’ve got right now are a bunch of disjointed and not terribly important nuggets. Or maybe more like morsels, since I keep thinking about baking.  You know, holidays and all.  Or just Mondays in general.

I’ll stick with food for a minute (well, forever).   You may remember my quest to visit Eataly.  Well, I went and it was fantastically odd. 

Would I do my grocery shopping there?  No, not at $32/bottle for olive oil.  But I’ll gladly return to consume their wine and eat delicious cheese.  In fact, I’m going back next week — after all, it wouldn’t be a fair assessment without hitting the gelato.

Moving on to religion, naturally (shouldn’t it always follow cheese, wine and ice cream?).  My in-laws informed us over the weekend that the church where we were married in Manhattan has been bestowed the distinct and apparently rare-ish honor of Basilica status. What this means will take a better Catholic than me to explain but I do love Old St Patrick’s — lots of history there, both for New York City and for Fordeville. Plus I think our marriage might be more binding now. I told P now he’s really stuck with me. You don’t mess with Basilica vows.

Back on the fury ranch, my commentary on AT&T’s inability to carry a decent signal was apparently not an anomaly.  Today, Consumer Reports came out with the results of their survey on wireless carriers, where AT&T came in dead last.  The PR gal in me felt pretty bad for my flack counterparts in their shop — those are surely not fun questions to field from the press — but not without some Schadenfreude.

OK, we’ve covered food, church and phones — I think we’re good for now.  Sorry you had to be on the receiving end of my randomness. Let’s hope full brain functionality and thought connectivity is restored tomorrow.  Maybe I need a baked good to get me back on track.

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Filed Under: Entertainment, Food & Drink, Places Near and Far, Tech Bits 1 Comment
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