Tag Archives: dinner

It Hasta be Pasta!

I haven’t written much about my growing old and the illnesses I’ve encountered in the past couple of years. Suffice it to say it’s been challenging, as well as revealing. Facing one’s mortality head on is both fascinating and, at times, frightening. Not that I’m afraid of death, just a little apprehensive about the process of dying. Truth to tell, I have lots of reasons to stay alive, not the least of which is my desire to see my girls (who are currently 25 and 22) grow into the confident women I have long hoped I was helping them become.

A couple of months ago I was reasonably certain my time was running out and I was facing the end – sooner than I had hoped for. My stage 4 CKD-caused anemia, my COPD, the onset of Afib, and the possibility I had had (or soon would have) a stroke was making the future look fairly grim. About a month ago, my cardiologist and my nephrologist agreed that giving me a blood transfusion of two units would be safe and would also be likely to help me feel stronger and more comfortable. They were right and ever since I received those two units of O+ I have felt much better than I have for well over a year.

As a result, I’ve been challenging myself physically in an effort to gain back some of the strength, as well as the muscle tone I’ve lost over the past couple of years. I used to enjoy shopping for groceries and cooking for the family. Also, I’ve been going out for dinner for years on Fridays with two of my former colleagues from Rocketdyne, as well as my younger daughter and the son of one of those friends. Occasionally, I would have them over and I would cook something for our dinner. I hadn’t cooked for them in quite some time.

So, last week I got a bug up my butt and decided to cook a special meal for us. Actually, it was precipitated by my wife anticipating my love of a good spaghetti sauce and asking me if I had a favorite recipe. Not having anything I could point to, I asked ChatGPT to find me a recipe for a bold, rustic meat sauce. It provided several and I picked on, after which Linda made a shopping list. Fortunately, Smart & Final was having a promotion offering free delivery with a minimum purchase of $35.00. I was able to order just about everything I needed and had it delivered. I then asked ChatGPT for a recipe for garlic bread. We had some Texas Toast in the freezer, but I wanted something a little more authentic.

Nothing like homemade spaghetti sauce

As a result, I had to do something I was a bit loathe to do; get into the car and head over to Trader Joe’s to purchase a Ciabatta baguette and, since I had also asked for a vegetable suggestion that would go well with the meal, I also picked up some fresh asparagus. The reason this was a big jump for me is that my walking is somewhat off-balance and halting. I have to be more aware of where I am and what I’m doing in order to avoid a misstep or a fall. I’ve had a couple of them in the past year or so. As of that Friday I had gathered all the ingredients I would need for the dinner, including a second baguette because my oldest’s cat, Lacy, had managed to break into the one I’d purchased and ate some of it.

When Friday had rolled around, I’d already put a couple of hours into the meal, what with planning, reading, and shopping. Now came the real test, not merely of the recipes I was using, but also of my stamina and ability to get done what needed to be done. I was, after all, making everything essentially from scratch. I didn’t bake the bread, nor did I grow the tomatoes of butcher the meat and make the sausage. However, I didn’t use a pre-made sauce or garlic bread. I had to finely dice a couple of carrots, an large onion, a couple stalks of celery, and about 14 cloves of garlic. I also had to slice up 8 ounces of mushrooms and finely chop up fresh Italian parsley and fresh basil. I had to measure out several herbs/spices, including oregano, thyme, basil, and fennel seeds. Normally, none of this would have been taxing, but with my weakness and instability, it was a bit of a chore. Imagine finely dicing carrots without cutting yourself when you have essential tremors. I was proud of that accomplishment.

So, Friday evening came around, my friends showed up (including my daughter and Steve’s son mentioned earlier) and the meal commenced. ChatGPT had even provided me with a timeline to follow, which was helpful, even though I have a long history of project planning and Gantt charting. Everything came out on time and I was pleased to be able to serve everyone, eventually including myself. Now I need to share the results with ChatGPT, since it’s asked for my feedback.


Thanksgiving: Passover For Indigenous People

Passover is a very meaningful holiday for Jews. During the seder, the ritual dinner that’s served that evening, the story of bondage by the Egyptians is recounted and thanks are given for their release after a series of plagues are visited upon the slaveholders, culminating in the slaughter of first-born Egyptians and the successful escape via Moses’s parting of the Red Sea.

Turkey Unfriended

Oops!

Thanksgiving has been a meaningful holiday for we “Americans”, first celebrated in 1621 but not officially until 1863, when President Lincoln declared it a national holiday. It was meant to celebrate the good fortune of the original Pilgrims, as well as that of all of us who came to live in this land.

Much as we have learned Christopher Columbus’s “discovery” of America wasn’t exactly as benign and wonderful as we were led to believe (certainly when I was growing up in the 50s and 60s), we now know the generosity of those indigenous people who provided for that first Thanksgiving we now celebrate, was rewarded with hatred and genocide.

I can’t speak for everyone but, as far as I’m concerned, Thanksgiving is now a holiday in which we celebrate the love of family and friendship, as well as remember how deeply racism, nationalism, and white supremacy are rooted in our national identity. In this time of deep despair over the backward direction our nation is heading, it’s more important than ever to pay attention to a history that includes everyone, regardless of ethnicity, national origin, or any other distinguishing characteristic, as well as seek what objective truth there is, absent favoritism, nationalism, and whataboutism.

I hope everyone has – or had – a wonderful holiday, filled with love and generosity of spirit. I also hope everyone remembered – and remembers – we are far from blameless and sometimes we have – and do – stumble on our journey toward a “more perfect union.”


OK – So I Gave Up On The Twist

This is the fourth post I’m bringing over from The Cranky Curmudgeon. When I’ve moved everything, I suppose I’ll shut that puppy down. No reason to have both my blogs up when I’m only updating this one. This post kind of proves even old farts can change. I’m not sure when it happened, but I finally just gave up on enjoying the little cocktail addition I’m lamenting about in this particular rant. I still, of course, enjoy Scotch, but I’ve taken to drinking it neat a lot more and when I do have it with water, I’m content to just have the two without the . . . see below.


Originally Posted 26 February 2006

TWIST AND SHOUT

“Hello! My name’s {enter favorite name here} and I’ll be your server tonight. May I get you something to drink?”

How many meals start off with these two innocuous lines? For me they are usually the prelude to the antithesis of what getting that drink is supposed to be, a short, appetite-stimulating moment of anticipatory relaxation prior to enjoying a calm, stress-free meal. I don’t know about you, but my week is normally far too hectic for most meals to be truly relaxing. I do the bulk of the cooking in our house, and I have no use (for the most part) for things like shake-and-bake. That means there’s prep work prior to, and cleaning during and after, the actual act of eating. Sometimes I eat half my meal while I’m cooking it.

Lemon Twist

Gone but not forgotten.

I am also a Scotch drinker; have been for a long time. Scotch is the only type of alcohol with which I can attain the proverbial “three sheets to the wind”, yet awaken the next day with no hangover. I have always attributed this to the fact that Scotch is usually (in my case always) imbibed either “neat” (all by its little lonesome) or with water in one form (on-the-rocks) or another (with, what else, water). There is nothing froo-froo about drinking Scotch. Nevertheless, while not necessary, adding a twist (for those of you who do not drink, a twist is a sliver of lemon peel, the twisting of which releases a spritz of essential oils; it is not a wedge of lemon or lime from which the juice gets squeezed into a drink) adds just the right amount of subtle citrus flavoring which, to my palate, goes well with the smoky earthiness of Scotch.

So, here’s the problem. Why is it April, or Jonathon, or Heather, or William can never, ever remember I asked for that little twist of lemon? Why am I always put in the position of accusing my server of not being able to do their job as well as I think I have the right to anticipate? Mind you, I’m a good tipper and I’m not really all that demanding. I grew up in and around the food business and have spent a fair amount of time putting up with demanding patrons at eating establishments. I know how difficult it can be and I appreciate someone who does it well. I frequently tip 20% of the total (including drinks and sales tax), even if they forget my twist.

But . . . why can’t servers remember this one simple, little thing? Why? Why must I frequently forego it just because it’s not really, really that important? Although I’m not usually at a loss for why I think things happen, I don’t have a good answer for this one. I’m stumped. I’m coming to accept it as a universal law, like – Hubble’s Constant. It’s a corollary to another law I’ve noticed in restaurants; servers will never notice, despite ample opportunity to do so, that I’m left-handed and will invariably place a new drink on my right side. But that’s another story.

P.S. – I realize this isn’t really that terrible a rant and probably not worthy of a true (and cranky) curmudgeon, but I have too much respect for working people, especially those at the bottom of the heap, to ever get too pissed at them. Call me a softie, but there’s plenty enough crap out there to get worked up about. This ain’t one of ’em.