Food Meme

Taken from running42k.

1. How do you like your eggs?
Scrambled, but cooked over-easy.

2. How do you take your coffee/tea?
Lots of milk, lots of sugar.

3. Favorite breakfast food?
Lemon Sour Cream Pancakes

4. Peanut butter - smooth or crunchy?
Smooth.

5. What kind of dressing on your salad?
My mother’s ginger dressing

6. Coke or Pepsi?
Coke.

7. You’re feeling lazy, what do you make?
Alan Alda’s Baked Pasta

8. You’re feeling really lazy. What kind of pizza do you order?
Plain, I’m a purist.

9. You feel like cooking. What do you make?
Roasted Tomato Soup (it takes a bazillion hours and is too delicious for words)

10. Do any foods bring back good memories?
My mother makes the best curries. They’re so delicious, especially on a cold winter’s day like today. When I was younger, I would ask her to make it every day and she said, “If I made it every day, you’d get tired of it.” This has never happened.

11. Do any foods bring back bad memories?
Raw tomatoes. My grandmother used to make us all eat raw tomatoes, whole. The local farmer in the small Japanese village would bring us fresh tomatoes all the time, so we always had a bunch on hand. She gave them to us because she was a lazy cook. I just hated, hated, hated, the glop, the mushy texture, the yucky peel. Now I can only eat cooked tomatoes or very VERY thinly sliced tomatoes with NO GLOP. Once, my grandmother said that if I didn’t eat the morning tomato, I would have to hold it all day. Sometime in the afternoon, my cousin Tanya said to me, “You know, I feel bad. I’d eat it for you, but now it just looks rotten.”

12. Do any foods remind you of someone?
Raw Tomatoes- grandmother
Raw Eggplant – grandmother (my father, to this day, refuses to believe that his mother fed us raw eggplants – even though my cousins and I were all there to witness this.)


13. Is there a food you refuse to eat?
Stinky tofu, chocolate-covered ants, pigeon feet, chicken feet, beans, duck blood, cow tongue, pig intestines, basically anything my father says is “chicken.”

14. What was your favorite food as a child?
Curries!

15. Is there a food that you hated as a child but now like?
Chickpeas. I’ve discovered that if you grind anything up, fry it, and pour delicious sauce on it, it will taste GOOD.

16. Is there a food that you liked as a child but now hate? My likes and hates change day by day.

17. Favorite fruit and vegetable:
Japanese momo (peach) – at 4 for $100, they better be delicious (and they are).
Spinach – great cooked and raw, and of course, makes you strong.

18. Favorite junk food:
Doritos! Last year, I had a conversation with a vegan, and I told him that I could never turn vegan because of Doritos. I thought he would think I was gross, but he looked right at me and said, “Doritos. Yeah. They’re GOOD.”

19. Favorite between meal snack:
Nutella Marshmallow Panini with Italian Bread

20. Do you have any weird food habits?
I eat all the chunks in chunky ice creams (like Americone Dream) first. This drives Peter CR-A-ZY.

21. You’re on a diet. What food(s) do you fill up on?
I’d drink lots of water and I’d eat the Trader Joe’s Multi-Grain Cereal.

22. You’re off your diet. Now what would you like?
Macaroni and Cheese with Cougar Gold Cheese.

23. How spicy do you order Indian/Thai?
Medium.

24. Can I get you a drink?
Passion-Fruit Margarita please.

25. Red wine or white?
I know red is better for you, but I like cold beverages, so white. But sometimes my dad refrigerates red wine for me. Is that bad?

26. Favorite dessert?
My mother’s cheesecake is the best…EVER.

Yes to One More

Peter and I had the $8.95 lunch buffet yesterday at The Jackson Diner. We were already in Queens for a business meeting.

I really miss living so close to excellent food. I used to be able to walk to The Jackson Diner. Now it's about an hour's drive, but VERY worth it.

Afterwards, Peter and I went to the local dessert place to pick up what we call "honeyballs." Its Indian name starts with a G, but I can't ever remember it. They are little brown balls of heavenly deliciousness.

We walk in and Peter asks for 6 pieces. The man behind the counter puts six in a box, and it's about .84 pounds, so he says:

"Do you want one more to make 1 pound?"

Peter says yes, then later, as we walk away from the store, he says to me:

"If he had said, 'Do you want ten more to make 2 pounds?' I would have said yes."

I Did That Already

My sister calls my house about five times while I was TAKING A NAP. She called my cell, then my house phone. I heard the rings, but didn't bother to answer it. Finally, my very concerned husband gets the phone and brings it to the room.

"She might be lonely," he said. "Or she might want to talk to you about something."

"I know her. She just wants to tell me about some product she saw online."

Of course I didn't know that she was actually on the line so in order to call her, I press the "talk" button, which hangs up the phone. This happens to me every other time I grab the phone.

When I finally reach her, she says:

"I have the most BRILLIANT idea for a present for Mommy and Daddy!!!! We just went to a lecture and this person talked to us about FAIR TRADE COFFEE! Don't you think they'll LOVE THAT?!!"

"I tried that a few years ago and Mommy didn't like it."

"Oh...That figures. Once again, my brilliant idea is something that you've already thought of and executed."

That's right, this is the only perk to having a fourteen-year head start.

Merry Christmas?

While shopping at Whole Foods, I was bombarded with Christmas carols. This means that they are going to be playing Christmas songs at Whole Foods for ONE WHOLE MONTH. I can't take this.

The speakers blared out that they wished me a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. I still have more than a month left of THIS YEAR. I mean, isn't that jumping the gun a little? Why don't you wish me a Happy Rest of the Year?

I wonder why we start the Christmas holiday a month beforehand. We don't do this with any other holiday. On January 15, we don't go around saying, "Happy Valentine's Day!"

I'm sure Whole Foods doesn't start playing the Star Spangled Banner and God Bless America on June 5th.

We don't start preparing a month in advance for birthdays or anniversaries.

I'm not ready for the holiday season yet! I just got through Thanksgiving. Can't we have a lull after Thanksgiving?

Westchester Tells Monday to GO SCREW!

More than once Peter and I have decided to go out to lunch on a Monday afternoon. Just because Monday is that day when I don't feel like making something because, quite frankly, I go shopping on Tuesday, so we've run low on almost everyhing except tortilla chips and that really sad banana Peter's mother put in the refrigerator. (By the way, DON'T PUT BANANAS IN THE REFRIGERATOR! They turn brown, then black, and I will pretend that they do not exist.)

Today we got into a parking space, put our two quarters in, and went to the Bollywood Bistro.

We get out of the car, and the restaurant has two doors - one is obviously a door and juts out onto the street, so the immediate instinct is to try to get in that door. There is a note on that door that says "PLEASE USE THE DOOR ON YOUR LEFT."

Unfortunately, we don't see the door on the left because it's kind of smushed into the building and it looks just like the other glass windows surrounding it. So, we're hunting around, and this guy says to us:

"The door's right here, but the restaurant is closed on Mondays."

Without thinking, I yell, "WESTCHESTER SUCKS!"

Then I look at the guy sheepishly, because the people who live here? They LOVE IT HERE and defend its honor the way a mother bear protects its cubs -- so if you say anything to the contrary, they will try to pull apart your appendages, one limb at a time.

When I get back in the car, I say, "Why didn't we call ahead of time? I mean, we called two other places before we left, other places which are closed on Mondays. Why did we think THIS PLACE wouldn't be closed?"

Peter said, "This is the LAST STRAW. First of all, the food was just okay, Secondly, their waiters cannot pour water into your glass without spilling it ALL OVER THE TABLE, and NOW THIS!! We are NEVER COMING BACK HERE AGAIN!"

Our list of Westchester restaurants we are never going back to? Growing by the minute.

NaBloPoMoWha?

Generally, I am the last person to come across anything. I became a Nirvana fan right around the time Kurt Cobain committed suicide, I started listening to The Police when Sting already started Stinging, and I was the last person to get a Cabbage Patch Doll at the tail end -- and, oh yes, don't forget the real estate craze - we bought our house right at the height of the market.

I just heard about NaBloPoMo - a bit too late, being as there is only a handful of days left in November. Apparently, many bloggers had been posting every day this month, taking on the challenge, and I, once again, have missed the boat.

Why is the world conspiring against me?

Paranormal Girl

Peter's nephew brought his new girlfriend over Thanksgiving dinner - and she was a very nice girl. One of the first things she talked about was her interest in the paranormal, which, OF COURSE, made her very interesting to me.

She told us that she had just gone to this haunted prison (i don't remember where - but I think somewhere in MA) where they lock you in for the night and you get to hang out with some ghosts.

I'm just not sure why she would tell people she had just met three minutes before about this -- I don't tell people right off the bat that I had a crazy aunt locked in her room.

Is this weird? Or is an interest in the paranormal quite normal?

I Heart Calzones

Peter just made the most beautiful and delicious calzones in the world. I will definitely tell my children to choose spouses who know how to make mouth-watering calzones.

I mean, without them, life would be completely meaningless.

Love the Freak in Your Family

We went to see the movie, Lars and the Real Girl, on Tuesday and it was so terrific. The premise of the story is that Lars comes home one day with a girlfriend...a girlfriend that is a sex doll...a girlfriend Lars believes is a real person.

I could relate to this movie because for a few years after college, I lived in the same apartment as my crazy aunt. My father was kind enough to allow his sister to live in one of our apartments in Queens, NY -- so when I returned to New York City, I took over one of the other bedrooms in the apartment. At this point, she had lived in the apartment for years, not paying any rent, hardly ever coming out of her room. She would sit in her room and watch television and she made her money on the stock market. As a child (she talked more to the children in our family than the adults - and once I became an adult...well, you get the picture.), I asked her why she was so interested in the stockmarket, and she actually said:

"I wanted to make money doing something where I didn't have to leave the house...something I could continue doing even into old age."

Too bad for her, there was no INTERNET at the time. Perhaps she could have started an interesting blog, such as, "My Stock Pick of The Day," or "How Many Days Can I Go Without Coming Out of My Room."

It was very strange, living in the same apartment as her and...not interacting with her. Sometimes I tried to talk to her (let's say, when she walked into the kitchen to get a glass of orange juice) but she politely ignored me. After a while, I got used to it, and it just because a part of my everyday existence.

Occasionally,I had friends over, and she would hide in her room the entire time. My friend Gus used to come over a lot, and stay pretty late, too. And one time he said, "You know, I don't believe that you live with anyone. I think you flick that light on in that room so that I can see it under the door, and you've been pretending this whole time."

Once I had a wild party, where we ended up staying up all night and going for breakfast in the morning...a breakfast of beef noodles from the Chinese restaurant down the street -- and not one peep from her. I think everyone was excited about the possibility of her making an appearance.

The movie made me feel that you should just love and accept the freak in your family, because you never know...One day, the freak may be you.

Happy Birthday Rocky!

Today Rocky turned 6 years old -- in dog years, that's 37. When we decided to get Scout, I really wanted a dog and researched a few dozen breeds. We went to several breeders of different dogs, when I finally came to the conclusion that I really, really, really, wanted a yellow Lab.

I had the books, I bought the chew toys, I got the organic dog food, I was PREPARED.

Two years later, Peter and I were walking through the Garden State Plaza mall and I told him I wanted to look at the puppies.

BIG MISTAKE.

DO NOT EVER STOP BY THE PUPPY STORE JUST TO LOOK AT PUPPIES.

Peter saw Rocky, a teeny all-white Siberian Husky, turn around in his little kennel, put his head down and sigh. Peter turned to me and said, "I want that dog."

I asked the girl at the pet store to bring Rocky out. He was so squirmy, he wouldn't stay in my arms for two seconds. The girl came back around to see how we were doing, and Rocky was so excited to see her, he was almost bouncing. He was such a happy dog, and I turned to Peter and said, "I love him sooooooooooooo much!"

Scout was kind of like that planned child, the one that has the name all picked out. The one that gets the freshly painted room even before they're even created. Rocky was like that mistake, the one that happens with an "Ooops! Too much wine!" moment.

As soon as we brought him home, Scout HATED him. She couldn't stand to look at him. She looked at us like we betrayed her. Sort of like, "Why would you DO THIS TO ME! I'm going to my room, and I'm not coming back out until you GET RID of THIS!"

Then we brought him to the dog park, and our friends there were HORRIFIED we got him at a pet store.

"But they told us he was from a breeder," I said, defending myself. And, of course, they all shook their heads at me and told me that it was a lie, and that all good dog-loving people should know this information because, didn't you know? It came in THE HANDBOOK. One of those dog-park-people even told me to return him to the store, and continued to tell me to do this, every time I saw her.

Because Scout hated him, and the dog-park-people hated him, it was a bit difficult for me to bond with him at first. And he kept climbing out of his dog area in the kitchen, so on Valentine's Day, he climbed over this obstacle course in the kitchen I made out of Peter's guitar amps and I had it. I yelled at him, picked him up, and slammed him back down into his puppy area.

Alarmed, Peter grabbed his keys and the dog and said that he was returning him. I ran after him and during the whole ride to the store, I held Rocky in my arms, where he calmly sat, not knowing that a human drama was unfolding.

We sat in the car outside the store for two hours, and every time we thought about bringing him back, it hurt so much inside that we cried (Okay, I cried, wailed and sobbed. Peter kind of had 1.8 tears well up in his eyes). And to top it all off, it was Valentine's Day. I knew that if I returned this dog, I could never celebrate another Valentine's Day ever again.

Finally, we decided to go home and we've been a family ever since.

And Rocky never again tried to escape from his puppy area.

I Was Following You!

I've been taking a belly dancing class on Tuesday nights, and it's been so much fun. Yesterday was election day, so the gym was overtaken by poll machines and our class was held in a different room.

I saw my teacher and we started walking together and chatting. We walk all the way down the hall and she turns to me and says, "Are you sure this is the right way?"

I look at her and say, "I've been following you! I don't know where the class is."



This reminds me of the time I took my sisters and two cousins to the movies. They were all about seven and eight-years-old. After the movie let out, I asked them:

"So, do any of you remember where we parked?"

James, the smallest one, turns to me and he looks like I just told him I ripped up all his beloved Pokemon cards and ran over his best friend. He says:

"I don't know! YOU'RE the ADULT! YOU'RE RESPONSIBLE!!"


I mean, SHE's the TEACHER. She's RESPONSIBLE.

You: Reading This Blog

I went to Borders yesterday, and was struck by how many You books there were:

You: The Owners Manual
You: Staying Young
You: On a Diet
You: On a Walk

Pretty soon those guys are going to run out of ideas, so I have several:

You: At Borders
You: Walking to Your Car
You: Programming Tivo

Now I Hope They Will Stop Cursing at Us

Last year, Peter and I went to Boston, a city we adore. Some of my favorite places are in Boston - I love walking on Newbury Street, The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, the Esplanade, The Elephant Walk restaurant, I could go on and on for days.

However, the one thing I hate about Boston is that ridiculous way Bostonians act about the stupid Red Sox.

Peter ALWAYS wears a Yankee hat in the summertime, and someone in every freaking place we walk into has to make the, "Nice hat," comment - as in "Nice hat, you stupid Yankee fan, now I'm going to spit into your soup."

Once we were sitting on a bench at the Museum of Fine Arts and an old guy was mumbling something under his breath. We were sitting there for about five whole minutes before I realized that the guy was saying, "Fucking Yankees...mumble mumble mumble...Yankees."

It's so ridiculous. And the funny thing is that Peter actually likes the Red Sox.

Now that they've won another World Series, I hope that they'll start feeling a bit better about New Yorkers when we visit.

Fabulous Fun

Last week, Peter and I took a ride on the Circle Line. It was a great day, 83 degrees in October!

When we first sat down, Peter turned to me and said, "Wait, this is going all around Manhattan? I've SEEN ALL THIS."

Immediately, a shower of grumpness rained down on me.

Luckily, this only lasted until the boat started to move and we both moved to the bow. The wind was blowing and we were THIS CLOSE to the Statue of Liberty. A ridiculous technicolor rainbow appeared right above Miss Liberty. And then the animated birds came out...

An hour later, Peter called the boat ride, "Fabulous Fun."

I am the Fabulous Fun to his Grumpy Grumperson.

Jake Gyllenhaal = Sam The Eagle

Don't Mess With Our Food

About once a week Peter and I get into a fight about food. Usually someone ate something that had been sitting innocently in the refrigerator for a few days without either one of us thinking that it was a potential time bomb of arguments and pouting.

Today, it was Ben and Jerry's Pistachio Pistachio ice cream.

I had been at Trader Joe's eyeing the ice cream aisle, but since we had a pint of Pistachio Pistachio ice cream in the freezer, I decided to pass and was looking forward to having some of the ice cream we ALREADY HAD IN THE HOUSE instead of buying more ice cream.

Of course, I get home and Peter takes the carton to his office. That's fine, because I saw how much was in there, and I figured I would have some later. A few minutes later, he plops on the chair and says, "Whew! I can't believe I finished it."

"Finished WHAT?" I asked.

When he told me he finished the ice cream, I was SO ANGRY. Which didn't even make sense to Peter because, you know what? I DON'T LIKE PISTACHIOS.

Peter pointed this out to me, but that made me EVEN ANGRIER. I felt that he should have asked me whether I wanted something I had never shown interest in before - at least before he finished it. Is that TOO MUCH to ask?

Why Do We Keep Doing This to Ourselves?

When my sister Judy was little, she used to beg me for peppermint candies I used to keep in my bag. I never really understood this, because she ALWAYS spit them out and said: "I don't LIKE this!"

And of course, I would get annoyed because, you know, one more wasted peppermint candy.

Once, she said: "I don't LIKE this again!"

That pretty much sums up how Peter and I feel about Food in Westchester. I don't know why we keep trying new places. I read an article in the local weekly paper about a restaurant called Lyla's.

We wanted to give it a chance, since the article declared it the best thing EVER.

Suffice it to say, it was terrible. My sandwich was NOT GOOD. How can you mess up a sandwich? Peter's food wasn't very good either. Not only was the food not good, but the place was empty and the counter boy decides he's got to Windex the next table WHILE WE ARE EATING. This ALWAYS pisses me off. I mean, does your mother spray Windex at you while you are eating dinner at home, counter boy? What is WRONG with you?

When we got back in the car, Peter turns to me and says: "Why do we keep doing this?"

And I said: "What? Oh, you mean, why do we keep bashing our heads against the wall, look at another wall, and decide to do the same thing?

Hey, That Would Be Great On a Blog

For the first time in about a year, I had dinner with my friend, Marisol. I thought she was an ex-friend until this exact week, because ever since we moved to Mt. Kisco, she has literally dropped off the face of this earth.

Every time I call her or email her, I get these excuses, like:

"I had to oversee the TimeWarner merger and flew to Dulles, here is the Associated Press article telling you all about it."

"My father had stents put into his heart, so I had to go to California for two weeks."

"The car got crushed by a garbage truck, so I'm having it fixed."

"My nephew had knee surgery and I have to go take care of him."

Forwarding me an article from the Associated Press? I mean, come on. Why don't you just tell me you don't want to be friends anymore?

Anyway, she finally did call me, and we had a really nice dinner. Halfway through the meal, I tell her that I've made a concerted effort to enjoy my time in Northern Westchester, and will no longer complain about the fact that it is not Park Slope, Brooklyn.

"After all," I said. "I want to enjoy the time we're living there, and really explore the positive things."

"That's good," she said. "It's like a blog, 'My Year in Mount Kisco.'"

For a second I almost stopped breathing, because I haven't told her about my blog - in fact, I've only told one friend and my sister about it. I guess I want to see if I can actually keep this up. I don't want to tell someone about my blog and it's only three entries long. That's happened with some of my other friends, and it's difficult to take them seriously after that.

I checked myself and tried to remember if I actually did have a conversation about this blog, but I know I hadn't. So my conclusion?

This must be a great blog idea!

It's a Wonder I'm Still Here

I went home last week to visit my grandmother. She's my mother's mother, the kind woman who left her native homeland half a world away to come take care of me when I was eight-years-old. She was sent here because of a conversation I had with my dad while I was at my babysitter's house.

Dad: Where's Alba?

Me: She went with her son to walk the dog.

Dad: She left you all alone? With your one-year-old sister?

Me: She does this all the time.

Dad: Take Judy and go get her. Tell her I want to talk to her.

Me: I can't.

Dad: What do you mean, you can't?

Me: I can't open the door from the inside, she locked it from the outside.

To his credit, my father remained calm, but later that night, he tore Alba a new one. What if there had been a fire? Do you know HOW DANGEROUS THAT IS?

We never went back.

It was kind of strange, because I used to see Alba's son at the playground all the time, and he would pretend that he didn't know who I was. I would say, "Remember? Your mom used to babysit me and we used to play Atari games in your living room."

He always shook his head and said, "That was someone else. I don't know you."

It really used to mess me up, to a point where I thought, "Maybe I DID make it all up!"

Anyway, when I saw my grandmother, she told me a funny story about me when I was about seven months old.

"I put you on the bed, surrounded you with a comforter, and told you not to climb over it. I made gestures, I hit my head with my hand to show you what would happen if you did, and you nodded at me. And you were so good! You understood and didn't climb over. When my sister came to visit, she said, 'I don't think that's a safe place for her.' And I told her not to worry, because you were so smart!"

The Parking Spot Controversy

Ever since we moved into this condo complex, we've noticed how small the parking spots are and we're constantly getting dinked on the left side, since it's a guest parking spot and there's no specific person to blame for dinks.

The thing is, Peter and I are ultra-sensitive about dinking other cars. Sometimes, I literally have to hold open the door so it doesn't swing open because, of course, the parking lot is on a little bit of a hill, so it's easy for the door to just careen out and dink the next car.

I'm super-nervous about this because our neighbor is CRAZY. Okay, she may not be crazy, but she hates us, and by us, I mean me. I'm a friendly person, so whenever I see her outside, I say, (in a super-cheerful voice), "HI!" She pretends she didn't hear me and continues on her way.

This may have something to do with the fact that right before we moved in, we had painters and carpenters and floor installers fixing up this place. Oh, and our mover's truck whacked into her car bumper trying to get into our parking spot. And yes, one last thing, we have two dogs, and they sometimes decide that 2 a.m. is the ideal time to start wrestling. But I feel that none of these things are reasons to hate your new neighbor.

The other day, Peter said, "I think our spot is smaller than other people's."

Of course, this is exactly the sort of injustice that I WILL get worked up about, so yesterday, I got out the tape measure. Here is the finding:

Parking Spot # -- Width of Parking Spot in inches

13 -- 151
12 -- 103
11 -- 102
10 -- 103
9 -- 102
8 -- 102
7 -- 102
6 -- 102
Guest Spot -- 102
Guest Spot -- 105
Guest Spot -- 94
5 (OUR Spot) -- 93.5
4 -- 115

As you can see, our spot, and the guest spot next to ours is teeny-tiny. Why? Did the parking spot line painters just decide that the people in Apartment #2 just didn't deserve to have a decent sized spot?

We wouldn't have made a stink about it, but there is a substantial difference. Why should spot 13 get a huge palatial parking spot? Their spot is practically double ours. So we've written the management company. Peter doesn't think that they're going to do anything about it, but I'm optimistic that they will.

I guess the problem is that Peter's a realist (I call him a pessimist, but he says it's realist) and I'm an optimist. I always think that people will do the right thing, and then when they don't, I get angry about it. So we'll see. If the management company doesn't do the right thing, I'll probably buy a cheap-o motorcycle and park it in the guest spot next to ours. Permanently.

Is that really spiteful? Will that send me to Parking Karma Hell?