Parisian Street food

My dad was stationed in France when he served in the military. He doesn't tell many stories from then, but he always talks about the time he ate snails. The story always ends with a sour face, tongue sticking out, and that sound, "Bleah-eh-eh-eh-eh" followed by a body shake.

Because of this story, I think every one in my family has tried snails, just to tell my dad we ate one.

So, to my dad on his 81st birthday, I give you this photo taken at the Christmas market on the Champs-Elysees. Look dad, look what the French are eating on the street!

Oops, I missed something...

Ever have those months (or years) where things go by so quickly you don't even have time to wash your clothes in between, let alone blog about it? Yeah, that's been my December and January. Today I am washing shirts that came home in the luggage from Vegas. I think this means I haven't done the shirt laundry for a month. Socks, underwear and jeans I am not so picky about so they got done a few times in between. On the bright side, this tells me I have plenty of clothes. On the down side, I was missing my favorite shirts as they were at the very bottom of the laundry pile.

So, where were we? Oh yeah, I missed a couple of big deals on this blog. I was too busy out living them to sit down and write about them. Technically, I didn't miss them.

My dad celebrated his 80th birthday on December 21st! I was very lucky to be able to fly to where my parents live and celebrate with the rest of my family in person. The way I see it, my dad will only turn 80 once (I on the other hand, plan on turning 42 a number of times).My father's family. Rosie, Alice, his father Christ, his mother Katherine, and in the front row, his twin brother Ed (on the left) and my dad Ted (on the right). Ted & Ed are around 8 years old.

Slow forward 72 years and here are Ed & Ted on their birthday:
The day started off with breakfast with the extended family of aunts, uncles and great aunts, and peaked with an open house at the senior center where more relatives and friends dropped in for cake and coffee. You know, one of those days where it all becomes a blur of faces and hugs and impossible to remember all that went on. I got so busy, I forgot to get my camera out. Luckily my brother Scott took many photos.

Then everyone left. It was a Monday. People had jobs to return to and Christmas was just around the corner. Since I had flown in, I made the plan to stay until the next day. That night my parents took me on a driving tour of the county to see all the Christmas lights. (You'd never know it from this blog, but I kinda enjoy Christmas decorations.) We toured our way to a small town called Everson and went for German food to celebrate my dad's birthday.
With the word "schnitzel" in the title of the restaurant, I knew I'd have to have some. Though I come from hearty German heritage, somehow I had NEVER had schnitzel before in my life. I only know about it from the song in the Sound of Music, "Raindrops on roses, and schnitzel with noodles..." I ordered the schnitzel with noodles.

It's pork. It's covered in sauce. It's delicious.
I know, the photos doesn't look all that appetizing, but trust me, I would eat some RIGHT NOW. (and you know what a food snob I am.) The portions are huge, I took half home.

Since it was my dad's special day, we HAD to get dessert. Apple strudel with ice cream and a sparkler.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY (again) DAD!

I flew home the next day, and suddenly, it was Christmas.
Our friend Erica and the Buche de Noël from our favorite neighborhood French Bakery Maison du Pain. I'm sure you can tell from her expression, why she and I get along so famously.

Christmas nibbles for a casual cocktail party.

Nutcracker, candy, cookies and assorted delightful decor displayed on the bar in the dining room.

That's some of what "got away" from me in December. Oh sure there was that trip to Puerto Rico, New Year's with friends, decorations, undecorating... oh my head... stop, stop, STOP! I can't remember anymore. It's all going blurry...

Parental Visitation

My parents came to town for a week. It's been three years since they were here last. My mom always says it's easier for me to come see them, then I counter with they're old and have nothing better to do than travel. We then sit down with a calendar and start to go over the year available.

January: I'm busy with work
February: It's gross here and it rains too much
March: We usually travel
April: Perhaps we'll travel twice this year?
May: Mother's Day and my mom's birthday
June: Too hot here for my parents
July: Too hot here for my parents
August: Too hot here for my parents
September: Too hot here for my parents
October: Work is very busy for us.
November: Thanksgiving
December: Christmas

So you see, there aren't a lot of times that work. Happily, October worked this year, and my parents took the train from Seattle to Los Angeles. a glorious, glamorous 36 hour ride on a train. I think they are crazy.

They arrived on a Tuesday night and on Wednesday we went to the Getty Center.

My dad got stuck in an artsy shot by me.

I showed them the panoramic view (that was hemmed in by fog at the outer reaches) and we did a small tour of the more modern paintings the Getty has.

Vincent van Gogh, View from the wheatfields.

After two hours, my dad said, "I'm done." That's about my endurance looking quietly at art as well. Looks like I come by that honestly. So we stopped and had a snack and some water (it's important to keep the parents fueled up).

On the tram that takes us back down to the parking area, we saw the vineyard on the hill of Bel-Air, The Moraga Vineyards.
It seems so surprising to find "farming" right there in the middle of the city, between the freeway and million dollar mansions.

When I asked my parents what they wanted "to do" while in town, they told me, "Just sit and visit. We don't have to go anywhere." Of course my response was, "No, we have to go somewhere, I can't talk to you both for 7 days with no break."

We took a driving tour out to Fillmore to buy pumpkins for Halloween. We drove out to Pasadena to see if we could see where the Station Fire had been in September (couldn't really see anything). We drove through downtown and Chinatown and around the Staples center. My parents enjoyed "tour by car" and only walked when I forced them out and into stores. We ate at Gladstone's on the beach in Malibu. We went out for dinner for our anniversary. We left them at home and went out for dinner another night for our anniversary. We ate a lot.

I watched the baseball playoffs with my dad.

Did you read that? I couldn't believe it either. But I did get smart and recorded it on Tivo so I could fast forward over all the commercials. Man, there are a LOT of commercials in baseball!

We had a Tupperware party.

My mom has been selling Tupperware longer than I have been alive. She is the Tupperware Queen. In an effort to give people a reason to come over and see/meet my parents, we had a Tupperware party.

My mom sent Tupperware down to my house in advance, and then supplemented her display from what I have in my cupboards. I have a lot. After the party, people went into my kitchen and looked in the cupboards and accused me of just putting everything away in Tupperware because my mom was here. I had to confess, no, I live like that every day.

Tupperware Prizes!

On our last day, the weather was gorgeous and I took my parents down to Venice.
That's quite a range for the outside temp, 68-84. I guess you're bound to be right at some point.

Dad was not amused that I kept shouting, "Don't jump! Don't jump!"

Baywatch Barb(ie).

We drove back through the canals of Venice. Something I had not down before. I want to go back. It was pretty.

You knew there were canals in Venice, CALIFORNIA... right?

Late last night I caught my mother doing something I NEVER thought I'd see. Seriously. As long as I've been alive. I NEVER THOUGHT I'D SEE THIS:

My mother with a Ziplock bag!

Is it weird that I'm saying I'm happy to be sad today? My parents left this morning and I wish they had stayed longer. I'm glad it wasn't the other option. My parents left this morning and I was wondering why they stayed so long.

So before you know it, I was back at the train station in downtown Los Angeles and my parents were being whisked away for another 36 hour ride home.

They never moved so fast all week!

Wedding Belle Blues

Today I am feeling very "unprotected" in my own home. If anything happens to either Lyle or me we have no recourse, no connection, no bond, no safety net according to the law of the land. Don't give me any bullshit about legal papers or contracts between individuals. Time and time the system has shown that there are people who will ignore those and you are left to fend for yourself.

Since I can't put all I have in my head down on paper, I will share these photos with you.

Lyle's parents wedding.

Jim's parents wedding.

My sisters wedding.

My brother's wedding.

Our wedding.

I started saying this last November, I define my life. I am married. I have a husband. You can legislate against me and deny me my rights, but I define my life and will continue to do so.

Drinking again.

When I was a child (and not just childish like I am now) we spent every Christmas Eve at my grandpa Don and Grandma Mable's house. It was a massive undertaking. EVERYONE was there. The main family of my mother's siblings and all their families would all be at Christmas dinner the next day, but Christmas Eve brought out all the aunts, great aunts, uncles, great uncles, great grandparents, cousins, cousins twice removed and everyone else we only saw at potlucks at the lake during the summer. If you're old enough to remember the reference, we looked like the King Family Singers.
It has colored my impression of what a holiday should look like for the rest of my life.

As the family would gather at my grandparents, everyone got a "Snowball". If you were a kid, you could have a snowball without the vodka. My grandpa Don would stand off in the corner of the kitchen with all his supplies ready. Ice. Ice crasher (not a crusher - this was a long handle with a ball bearing at the end surrounded by a rubber ring that he would use to "Whack" the ice cubes into his hand and smash them into smaller pieces). Whipping cream in a carton. 7-Up. Alcohol. Snowball glasses.

I can still picture it exactly in my head. Right over there in the corner by the fridge, in front of the cupboard that held my favorite glasses that had antique cars on them and of course the "farm glass" that had a drawing of barn and barnyard animals that I would "drown" when I filled the glass with grape juice up to the weather vane.

After my grandfather passed away, Christmas Eve moved to my family's house. Less extended family came by and more friends dropped in. My dad took over The Snowball Business.

Can I help? I'd chirp next to his elbow.
"Nope."
Why not?
"Because."
Because why?
"Because I said so."
Why'd you say so?
"Because you don't get to touch booze."
Can I make one without?
"Nope."
But I won't touch the booze.
"You don't know what you're doing."
Can I watch?
"Nope."
Why not?
"GO HELP YOUR MOTHER!"

And then I would take a step back and spy on him anyway. We all did. The Snowball was shrouded in mystery as to how it works. Once we were older and closer to college age we would sneak into The Snowball zone on Christmas Eve while my dad was talking in the living room and try to make them ourselves. My dad would come back and shoo us away, "You don't know what your doing. You're just wasting all the ingredients. Here, I'll make you one. JUST ONE."

And then we got brave enough to try them on our own. I remember it exactly. My brother and sister were going to have a Christmas party that would start at my brother's apartment and finish at my sisters. They lived about two blocks apart and we could all walk between them. My sister would be doing all the food at her house and my brother announced he would be making The Snowball. I think my response was "Can we just do that?"

By this time we had all had a turn making snowballs on Christmas Eve behind my dad's back. When friend's would arrive and we didn't want to drag dad back to the kitchen, or tell him we had friends who drank alcohol.

The snowballs at my brother's house were amazing. They tasted just like the kind dad made at home with a hint of something illicit. We were officially adults now and we were still in our 20's!

I've carried this recipe with me in my head all these years and recently a cousin asked my mother about "the drink of our people" and my mom said "ask Jim." So I tried to write it down as best as I can. I think it's a visual. Impossible to write down. And yet I will try.

Be warned, this is a difficult recipe... Not because of the ingredients, but the technique it seems to require. I have a theory that you you must experience a “master” maker and an “apprentice” maker before you should attempt. For instance, in my group of friends who have learned from me (an apprentice level) they have all seen my dad make them (the master level). And I watched my dad when he was at an apprentice level and learned it all from my grandpa Don who was the master of the recipe (for all I know, he invented it!).

That being said, I am trying to share it anyway! This recipe has never been given away and I may even take it back later. My friend Gina McGowan is the one who coined the term "The drink of your people" in reference to this amazing cocktail and as such I feel very proprietary over it.

Not one ingredient or direction can be altered. (and trust me I have tried and failed)

Start with a tall straight glass glass.

In the bottom of the glass add three or four crushed ice cubes (or buy your ice crushed and add a handful) about three fingers measure from the bottom of the glass when you wrap your hand around the tumbler.

Then you pour one shot of Vodka over the ice.

Then one shot of whipping cream over the ice.

Now the tricky part!

Get a spoon (longer is better) and with one hand you start to jiggle the ice. With the other hand you slowly pour in 7-Up. DO NOT USE SPRITE. DO NOT USE DIET. (I don’t know why, but they don’t work!)

So, as you are pouring, and jiggling, the ice will start to free up from it’s place in the bottom of the glass. Jiggle a little more, then begin swirling the mixture. Still pouring the 7-Up slowly. The mixture will froth and foam... It will expand towards the top of the glass. SLOW DOWN! DON’T POUR TO THE TOP. Pause and give it all a good swirling and wait for the reaction to catch up and see where the foam is headed. If it stops just below the rim of the glass, pour a little hit of 7-Up through the foam to give it a bump up. If it has overflowed (like a root beer float will), wipe down the glass and serve it with a cocktail napkin.

Or perhaps you have stopped just right and... VOILA!

Two perfect Snowballs.

Updated: My brother wrote in to add these fine points on The Snowball.

1. The colder the ice is, the better it works. A little water on the surface of the ice, makes the drink fizz a little less. (so you should always rinse out the glass for a new drink)

2. The key to the drink, is the aroma of the vodka suspended in the foam at the top of the glass, therefore, better top equals better drink.

3. Don't use expensive vodka. It's best if you use whatever Dad brings. It's even better if he wins the bottle at the Elks club.

Updated 2:

Use a metal spoon.

The Snowball season is strict. Snowballs may only be consumed from after Thanksgiving dinner through the end of New Year's Day.

I showed this little "blooper reel" to my family this weekend.

I'm sure I'm in big trouble for showing it here.

But I posted it anyway, didn't I?

Just part of what makes me fascinating...

Vote No on Prop 8, November 4th!

I am in Bellingham celebrating my parent's 50th Wedding Anniversary!

I once voiced to my mother, some unhappiness I was having in a relationship. I said I was so angry that I could just pack it all up and walk out the door.

"Don't go just because your angry," said my mother.

What? I should wait until I'm deliriously happy and then leave? I replied sarcastically, Who would leave then?

"Uh-huh..." hummed my mother.

But if you can't leave just because your pissed off, and you'd be a fool to leave because things are making you happy... then what? You can just NEVER leave?

"Ah-ha..." said my mother.

Well that's not fair. There must be some reason that would allow you to leave, I spluttered. I was, after all, pretty unhappy and looking for any excuse.

"Leave because you don't feel anything at all." came my mother's advice, "if you're mad, that means you still care, if you're happy then things are working. But if you feel nothing, then it's done. And that is the only time you should leave."

I'm still with him past 19 years now. My parents are celebrating their 50th anniversary.

She's kind of a smart lady, that mother of mine.




Vote No on Prop 8, November 4th!

Happy Father's Day!

It's not easy living with me, just ask Lyle... no wait. Don't. But my parents suffered first and earliest (and to my siblings reading this, shut up). I have great love of making those around me suffer for my own enjoyment. I like to think they are enjoying themselves as well but I really do amuse myself more than anyone else I know. My mom seemed to get this and suffer willingly. My dad on the other hand has taken his own sweet time getting used to me. I love making him have his picture taken. And you know what they say about a tough audience? Well once you can get my dad to smile and play along you know you've made it.

VIKINGS!

When I was growing up (not done yet) every year we would take a family vacation for two weeks. Twice we drove to Disneyland in Southern California. On both trips we stopped at the Andersen Pea Soup factory/restaurant along I-5. On the way there. On the way back. That's four trips to Andersen Pea Soup land. We'd stop there for lunch and no matter what you ordered you also got as a starter a large bowl of split pea soup. YUCK.

But my dad loved pea soup and ate his happily. Then he ate my sisters bowl. Then he ate my brother's bowl. Having survived cafeteria rules that wouldn't let you go out to recess unless you ate all your lunch, I begged him to eat mine as well which he did. Then the waitress came back and picked up the empty bowls in front of each child.

"Wow, you really cleaned your bowl! Would you like some more?"
No, thank you.
"Would you like some more?"
No, thank you.
"Would you like some more?"
No, thank you.

And then she came to my dad with his fourth bowl of soup in front of him only half finished.
"Aw, you didn't like the soup? Looks like someone could take a lesson from his children."

This picture was taken a few years later at the Andersen Pea Soup restaurant/factory along Highway 101. It's nice to have a friend to play with!

I kid you not

Since I've been working on some photos for my mother's party I thought I would just air some of my dirty laundry right now. I was once a child. There I said it. And now here is the proof.

That's me in the middle. I love Christmas.

Here I am working the deep-V and clearly some lip and cheek stain. Either that or it was very cold outside and no one thought enough about me to bundle me up.

Our finest moment. Jesus gazes upon us and weeps for the future. That is all my sister's own hair. I threw a fit moments before this picture because when I was told I was going to be in the wedding I was promised a "monkey suit" and clearly this jacket had no tail like the monkeys had in the "Wizard of Oz." THEY BROUGHT ME THE WRONG SUIT!!!

Same church a few years later. Now we know why Jesus was crying all those years before.

I'll be there if The Price Is Right

Have I mentioned my extensive television work? I've just compiled my "reel" and wanted to post it here so everyone can see how the camera truly loves me. I'm not a featured player. But I do play an integral part. I'm wearing the bright blue shirt.

Next to me in the plaid shirt is my dad and just behind me in the floral is my mother.