My idea of a good time is dragging my sorry ass up the stairs after a long day, plopping down on the bed, snuggling with my husband and watching re-runs of Law and Order or, if God REALLY loves me, a NEW episode of Real Time With Bill Maher. This 4 star vacation is earned after a day of schlepping kids, policing homework and of course the dance of death known as feeding everyone.
I’ve lost the will to live at that point, so preparing food for myself is out of the question. I hastily eat something over the sink or bring things up to the bed that can be dipped or combined such as pesto with bread and diet coke, or Cheezits and Cranberry Juice. Oy.
Food, Family and Memory
Food, Family, and Memory
After the Mojito
So what's the first thing to order in the Florida Keys, after the
mojito and conch fritters? Key lime pie, of course. So we did. We
ordered a slice just about everywhere we ate, and the hands-down best
came not from a fancy waterfront restaurant or anywhere on Duval
Street, but from the Key West Key Lime Pie Co.
We went to the store on Big Pine Key at mile marker 30, next to Pizza Works in the scenic Winn-Dixie plaza. The company sells pies out of about twenty other locations.
Pot Luck
In the thirty years I lived in Los Angeles, I experienced a wide
array of social gatherings including a séance, a cocktail party in a
cancer ward and an evening of Pictionary at the home of the late Don
Knotts. But, I never went to a pot-luck dinner.
That all changed when my wife and I moved to Vermont. As another transplanted Californian put it, pot-lucks are, “the coin of the realm,” here in the Green Mountain State. Drive through any village around dusk and you’re bound to see people crossing lawns with casseroles in hand as they head for gatherings of book groups, political clubs and contra dancing societies.
My Mother's Guacamole
My mother made guacamole. Its key ingredients were avocadoes, diced onion, sour cream, and worcestshire sauce, (at least it didn't have mayonnaise like her famous cottage cheese dip, which also had worcestshire sauce) but it wasn't really like the guacamole that we make or serve today.
It was fabulous, though, because it was elegant - at least, we thought it was fabulous then. It was smooth. Absolutely mashed to a pulp with a fork and blended with sour cream, almost pistachio green.
What's in Your Basement?
Peter John is my favorite cousin. He has a knack for saying, in a hilarious manner, what everyone else is thinking. At a family dinner he once joked that in the event of World War III, after the nuclear fall out, he would somehow manage to make it to my dad’s house, because it would be the only place left in Rhode Island that wouldn't run out of food.
It's true. My dad has a large basement whose food contents could rival that of any Super Stop n’ Shop or Costco. I am not sure if this is an Italian thing, or a 1950's bomb shelter thing, or because he grew up in a large family where money was not plentiful but manual labor was. I could write several posts about his canning tomatoes, pickling peppers, and stuffing sausages his whole life. I suspect there is a part of him hard-wired to always have ample amounts of food stored. Trust me, he does.
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