Travels with The Rayman

Hello dear readers. I’ve been gone from the blogging business as stated earlier to work on my book which is progressing nicely, I might add.

Today, it has become clear to me that my blogging must begin anew because of my dear friend, Patricia. Patricia is a friend that would probably give me the shirt off her back if I needed it. We have a rich a varied history which included a stint with a gourmet dinner group and a trip to London many years ago. She spent lots of time on East Coast, attending the Univ. of Maine as well as living in New Jersey for a time. And that is why I bring her up today.

We are getting ready to embark on our trip to Turkey and this will take us to New York. In an effort to say money, we decided to break up our trip to Turkey on the way over by flying a redeye and staying all night in New York City (NYC) one night and then boarded our Turkish Air flight to Istanbul the next day thereby avoiding a long torturous flight in the back of the plane. And then on our way home we decided to fly back to NYC from Istanbul and visit the place for a few days before taking the final leg of the trip home by flying out of Newark to San Francisco.

And then we looked for places to stay and I don’t recall how we did it, but we ended up booking an hotel in Brooklyn. The price was right. Now I have to state here and now that neither the Rayman nor myself are that familiar with NYC….and that’s why we’re going there…to get familiar.

Anyway, it occurred to me that I should call my friend, Patricia, and ask her where we should go, what we should see. Which is precisely what I did a few weeks ago. She said she would get a list together and call me back. And she did only I wasn’t home and she left me a message and I forgot to return her call until a couple of days ago. And then she called me back and this went on for a few days and we finally connected a few minutes ago. And I must say I haven’t been laughed at with such zeal in a long time. When we found out we were staying in Brooklyn, she said, “WHY?”. I said, “Price.”. Then she proceeded to ask where in Brooklyn and so I told her and she laughed, perhaps uncontrollably. She then told me that Brooklyn is on Long Island, a good ways from Manhattan. We will need to take a subway there and it will be at least 30-40 minutes each way. And we won’t be able to go back to our room during the day. She said Park Slope, the neighborhood, had been a slum but in recent years it has improved. OMG. More laughter. Uhm, uhm.

She then hung up to talk to her good friend, Nancy, who lives in NYC to see about Brooklyn. She called back and said, “I’m not going to tell you what Nancy said about Brooklyn.” Oh, dear. However, there was some mention spuddering on the NYC end of the line. And Nancy, may have asked, “Are they poor?” Patricia likened our staying in Brooklyn to visiting San Francisco and staying in Woodside. Or Palo Alto. Oh, no. That wouldn’t make too much sense. But in our defense, oh, heck. We have no defense.

All of this occurred at the same time that Patricia wishes we would have called her back because she was set to buy a ticket and take us around. OMG. I was embarrassed and annoyed with myself. Having Patricia as a guide would have been fabulous. But I digress.

She then told me to contact the hotel and find out how far away the subway was and that her friend, Nancy, had a friend that rented an apartment out for 5 days at a time in Manhattan and really, really, we should email him about and that she would call her friend, Nancy, and have Nancy email the info. A aside. Patricia can’t email me because her computer is down, hasn’t been working for months, perhaps years…and her telephone is listed under someone else’s name completely…I know this because of caller I.D.

And this is the same Patricia that met me in London, she having arrived several days ahead of me and my mom (my mom stayed with a friend of hers and I stayed in an hotel with Patricia) and then getting me at the crack of dawn the next day (what jet lag?) and dragging me all around the city walking here, walking there never returning until after the theatre let out (midnight) and then doing the stay routine for several days in a row before then boarding a bus to Wales with my mom and her friend, Peggy, and debarking at an hotel that sported red furry wallpaper in the lobby and where the elevators stopped at mid-floor landings thereby giving you the opportunity to schlep your bags up or down a half flight to a green fuzzy wallpapered room where I woke up the next morning with Patricia pounding on my door at 10:00 a.m. and wondering why I had missed breakfast. My god, she just wore me out.

And this is the very same Patricia that decided to make a nectarine mousse cake for dessert for one of our gourmet dinner parties and she “underestimated” the time required and showed up for dinner a respectable 2 1/2 hours past the start time. The mousse cake was fabulous though. My prime rib was overcooked, a disaster. Yes, we held dinner for her and while waiting, we all got tipsy on too much wine on an empty stomach.

And this is the very same Patricia that had a party for the 4th of July and made papadzules (a Mexican egg dish, Sand pronounced papa dew ees) and didn’t serve dinner until 11:30 at night…about the same time that guests just asked for doggy bags as they were leaving. It was late, for heaven’s sake. Also, the ice cream never got hard in the hand cranked machine that Glenda, another friend, brought and so Glenda refused to be further involved because the whole vanilla bean disappeared into the slosh of cream and egg yolks…a bad mistake by someone, apparently. In Glenda’s defense, it was late.

I could go on and on but you, dear reader, must surely have other things to do today.

As it turns out, our reservation is unchangeable and of the non cancel variety so we’re stuck in Brooklyn, Patricia declines to be involved in the debacle but she was kind enough to say that there were things to be done in Brooklyn that are quite interesting including theatre. So…not all is lost.

The day we left home, we received from Patricia a AAA Guide Book along with many handwritten pages of what we should see with the sights at the bottom of Manhattan listed at the bottom of the first page and as you work up the page, you also work yourself up Manhattan. Fabulous friend, that Patricia.

What a hoot. You can’t make it up and I’m sure this is just the beginning of a fascinating trip that begins in a week or so from today. Stay tuned.

Howdy to all Hope all is going good for you (or in southern, y’all)

What’s been going on around here? Nothing and everything. The big news is that I have started writing my book so that’s taking time away from my blog. There are only so many smarty-pants stories for me tell!! The book will be non-fiction…of course…and I will have to publish under a pen name or anonymous since I write about my friends…a constant source of silliness.

Let’s start with yesterday just for the sake of catching up. I played golf in a fund raiser for Cal Poly, SLO, Women’s basketball team. Someone asked me to play for free and I jumped at the opportunity. Playing free in a fund raiser is a bit of a contradiction but, alas, I ended up buy a uniform for a player at the cost of $180 so I tried to make it right. Anyway…I played with three men. One was a audiologist from Paso, one a sewage treatment guy from Pismo, and one from Cal Poly who is in charge of logistics for men’s team. Fun was had by me, Cathy Chatty. I don’t know what came over me but I just talked and talked and talked. In between breaths, I hit some great shots and made some clench putts and, boy, was that fun. We called the sewage guy, the Hawaiian Hammer. He drove one ball so far on a par 5, we only had 120 to the green. I took a picture. Here it is.

 

 
So, now, Rayman (an alumni of Cal Poly himself as he got his Masters there) and moi are going to become fans. These women are so impressive…and tall. The average GPA of the team is 3.9 and one of women sat at our table and she is majoring in mechanical engineering, no fluff here. I was so impressed by the entire organization. Go Mustangs!! We plan to go to games and have a lot of fun with the team…a new thing to do to keep things fresh and interesting.

So, what else? House is not selling. We continue to list it. Either it will or it won’t. We’re okay with it because what other choice so we have? The house next to Uncle Ralph is vacant…and it’s just like his. He brought this up to us yesterday. Uhm.

Day before yesterday we hiked to the top of the hill behind the house. Fabulous day. Met Adam, the wind rider, at the top. He was waiting for just the right wind conditions and had a remote control airplane to test the currents. Nice guy. And Beau loved the walk. He continues to delight. Here’s some more pictures.

 

 

 

Last Thursday we had friends of old over for dinner and barbecued pork shoulder. Yummy along with the orange cilantro salsa, the braised fennel and kale. Homemade ice cream AND cookies to top it all off.

 

 

 

Wine tastings, dinner parties, golf. What more could you ask for? Oh, I know, money but I don’t know anyone that would go along with that!!

So, now is the time to return to my book writing. It’s really fun albeit time consuming and when the sun is shining, it is hard to stay inside the compose.

Oh, next week we go to Sunnyvale and San Francisco to meet my cousin’s new grand baby which we hope to spoil as much as possible. Layla was born April 15 (gee, how will they ever remember her birthday?). Layla will be going to Turkey in June. Actually, we will be accompanying her to Turkey. An exciting trip awaits and we are slowing beginning to make plans. One of the big exceptions on this trip is that we are going to take a tour, therefore, we will not be getting very lost which is a shame because it always makes for interesting stories. We will visit the caves of Cappadocia (where Stars War bar scene was filmed) and see the fairy chimneys. Will try to sail to a Greek island just to say we went to a Greek island and will be in Istanbul for a week. Istanbul is Constantinople renamed and is the only city that is located on two continents…asia and europe. It promises to delight. We are so excited. So, stay tuned for more travels with the Rayman.

News on the home front…when wine tasting wear something red and white as I did the day I spilled a whole glass of red wine and my jacket and tank top. To the cleaners they went and all was forgiven. The stains disappeared much to my relief. The problem was created by me when I dove into the cheese and crackers too enthusiastically and hit the glass. Of course, the glass could have fallen the other way…but, oh, no. It came right at me.

Ray dropped out of his poker group when the guy that did the hosting said he had a gun in the bedroom and wouldn’t mind using it on him (Ray won a big pot). Ray decided the guy just didn’t like him that much…you think? The man has moved so maybe the group will reform (in more ways than one). Additionally, the Rayman has lost 3 more pounds mainly because of walking the dog…a very good weight-loss aid it turns out.

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Okay. So this is my version. I decided to make a roasted potato salad for dinner tonight. Before I did that, I started a bread sponge to make foccacia tomorrow. And then I went to the kitchen (my favorite room in the house when it is clean) to start my salad.

Now, dear reader, you know that I have some reputation for being a good cook. And I suppose I am. Oh, I’m not good enough to ply my skills on TV, heaven’s sake. And I lack the self confidence to compete…say for the best this-or-that at the county fair. And for good reason, really.
The other thing to know is that there is a new cook in town…Larry aka Lorenzo who also just happens to have the best hair in town too. But I digress.

One night when having too much wine to drink with friends or maybe we were wine tasting with our wine club. Or maybe we were at martini Monday at the local joint. The point here being…a gantlet was thrown down as to who had the best cioppino. Now for you in the rest of the world, cioppino was reportedly discovered in CA. Do not fact check this because no matter what kind of evidence you present…I will not give up on the truism that cioppino is a California fish dish with Italian roots. I have heard it said that the Eye-talians came up with this stew to use whatever fish they had on hand (in San Francisco…quite possibly at Fisherman’s Wharf). Anyway…so I was saying that everyone present thought THEIR cioppino was superior to everyone else’s cioppino. A date was sent and the contest was on.

Now, I fancy myself as one of the best cioppino makers around. I use the freshest fish which usually includes clams, mussels(sometimes), halibut, Dungeness crab (particularly fresh, as in cooked that day), shrimp, bay shrimp (little tiny things that are pre-cooked. That’s a minimum. And my secret secret is that I use a recipe from Tadich’s Grill in San Francisco that i got from Saveau Magazine years ago. A real keeper, if you know what I mean. I mean, this was going to be a slam dunk.

So. Back to Larry. He was the new cook in town, a recent transplant from Texas which garners him extra credit for having the brains to get the hell out of that horrible state and join the west coast(completely European) California. Well. What the heck would a guy from Texas know about making good cioppino. But I humored him.

And so did his wife. She bought a trophy to bestow upon the winner. “Cioppino Cook-off Champion” was inscribed on the base of the trophy. Like, “where am I going to put that trophy, when I win?” was a thought I kept having.

The other competitor was a guy named Jeff. I know Jeff and he is a very good cook. Perhaps a hint of competition there. But he was from Wasington, D.C. and what would he know about cioppino?

So. Larry, the hair, won. What? How could that be? Well…not only was my plan for the trophy squashed, so was my ego. OMG. I may never be the same. So, I cannot complete at the fair, on TV, or quite possibly anywhere else. People don’t enjoy my food, my technique, my know-how. I’m toast.

 
But, I digress.

The fingerlings were cut in half lengthwise. They were thrown into a 425 oven to roast after they were tossed in some olive oil, chopped garlic, salt and pepper. And while they cooked, I started cooking the bacon. Not just any bacon. This bacon is from the eastern Sierra, Bishop, CA precisely. The bacon is smoked there and treated so tenderly that they can command $10/pound for the stuff. it is to die for. Rayman bought it when he went skiing at Mammoth. So, I sliced about 1/4 of pound and put it in the pan to render the fat and crisp up the meat. It smelled so good. When it looked done, I turned off the burner and checked it by tasting. Oh, perhaps a few minutes more of cooking.

As I am sure most cooks do, i let my mind wander. How it wandered to setting a friend of ours with men is not anything I can explain even if I cared to but that’s where I wandered. This lead me to wondering how I could find her. I had seen her at golf yesterday but hadn’t thought at the time to ask her for her email or tel number. So, at this moment of cooking bacon I decided I’d look up her number. She was listed in phone book but it was her old number. She had moved. So, I went into the computer room and googled “white pages”. This is when I discovered that you can’t get a phone number on the internet. For free and with just a name you can find the person, the address, relatives…but no phone number. So that got me to thinking…I’ll email someone who knows here and get her number. About the time that I was half through the email…that’s when i smelled it. The burning bacon. OMG.

I dashed out of the den and saw Ray in his chair on his iPad. “DIDN’T YOU SMELL THE BACON BURNING?”, I shouted. “What?”, he said. I wasn’t sure if he was even looking at me…the smoke was so thick he looked like an apparition. Dark smoke and deep burned bacon smell…OMG. Well, this necessitated opening all the window and doors, turning on the fan…and when I got to the pan…the $10 bacon was charred beyond all recognition. The pan was really looking hopeless. OMG. Not another pan?

So, what’s with that? A couple of learning moments. First, do not leave the kitchen without setting a timer. Secondly, stay off the damn computer when cooking unless looking up a recipe that you are CURRENTLY using.

It’s now 6:20 p.m. I burned the bacon at 10 a.m. The house still smells like burnt bacon. The pan is still soaking in the sink as we assessed the damage and think it will be okay. But my goodness. Where is my mind?

When I expressed my misgiving about my mind to Rayman, he scoffed. He says it happens to anyone…wandering into a closet and then wondering, “Why am I here?
I remain unconvinced.

However, the salad was superb. Served it with barbecued lamb chops and marinated roasted mini-peppers (yellow, orange, red baby bells). Yummy. Especially the newly cooked bacon that was not burnt because I chained myself to the stove until it was done. Oh, there was one other slight mishap which caused me to wonder aloud, “what’s it with me and this BACON?” The bacon, once cooked, needed to be “drained” on paper towels. So I put the bacon in a paper towel and scrunched up the towel and placed the bacon on the countertop.

Then I rinsed and chopped the capers, mixed up the mayo and mustard and vinegar. And I iced the sllced red onion to tone down the acid. As I was putting things away, the cooked bacon got thrown into the sink because I forgot that it was in the paper towel.. EEEEEEEKKKKKKK. (I recovered it and into the bowl it went.) But…again, what the heck is going on here?

There are other considerations for the cook in this regard. Why didn’t I just microwave that bacon? Duh. The bacon would be timed. it would be drained. It wouldn’t catch on fire, wouldl it? The pan wouldn’t be soaking. The house would only smell of bacon (yummy). What a duffis.

But that is the nature of cooking. It is never perfect, often riddled with risks, and nothing is guaranteed.

I’m just glad cioppino didn’t use bacon!!!

It occurred to me that I should write a book.  So, this is my beginning entry.  I’ll just write as I go and let my friends and fans follow me.  So, I decided after an absolutely silly day screwing up a dish…that i would write about cooking and life.  Hope you enjoy.

First things first. Happy Leap Year Day dear readers!! Hope you made the most of this odd calendar event. As we age, we need more, not less, leap year days, don’t we?

But I digress.
Today, I was leafing through the New York Magazine (not to be confused with The New Yorker mag). It is a very hip mag that I subscribed to when I heard that Frank Rich, a favorite columnist of mine, moved from the NYTimes to NY mag. Anyway, when I was looking at the pictures, I couldn’t help but notice the anorexic, smile- less (dour) models that were all outfitted in the latest couture outfits. Why in the world do those models look so dour? Unhappy? I think their unhappy look does nothing to help sell those clothes they are wearing. I would expect to see looks like that, say, if a person was standing in front of the judge just before sentencing. Or I might expect to see this pained looked on the face of a patient that was being told they have only a few months to live and they better get their affairs in order. In one of the ads, two women side-by-side have these really high heels on their feet and they are caught in the middle of a very wide stride (as opposed to a wide stance as the Senator from Minnesota testified to when accused of lurking in a stall in the men’s bathroom at the airport purported for the purpose of attracting another male for the purpose of…well, you know the story).

But I digress. So here is this ad with two women who together probably weigh about 78 pounds total, both looking as thought they are about 7 feet fall because of the high heels (can I even call them high heels? perhaps we should describe them as decorative platforms that are designed to contort the foot of young women). Really, toe shoes are probably less damaging to the foot because they are designed for, well, standing on ones’ toes. These decorative platforms are designed to elongate the leg so that the bottom half of the wearer’s body appears to make up about 2/3 of the total body mass. The other 1/3 is comprised of sticks for arms, knobby shoulders and a small head crowned off by overly chemical-treated long, stringy hair. And their toes are overhanging the front of the platform…what’s that all about? Probably gravity forcing the foot toward the floor…really, the toes have nowhere to be but over the edge. And the funniest thing about these models is that they both have one leg going forward in a pose that is reminiscent of Angelina Jolie at the Oscars flashing her skin and bones leg out of the slit of her dress. For what? Does anyone know why she would do that?

So, it occurred to me that those shoes are not made for walking. Balancing perhaps. Modeling perhaps. Walking, not so much. Then when discussing this with the Rayman who returned early from skiing at Mammoth because 60 mph winds were forecasted and with our friend, Nancy, at whose house we were staying in Ridgecrest…I decided that some shoes were only appropriate for sitting in…that is, when sitting these shoes could be safely strapped to one’s foot. And Nancy, up-to-the-minute Nancy, thought her Ed Hardy shoes would be fine for sitting in because it was hard to stand in them. With Rayman agreeing, we had a consensus. And that’s where Don Draper, and Penny too, come in. We had fallen into the most brilliant market strategy ever…sort of a Penny thing with Don, beautiful Don, selling the concept to the client (Armani perhaps, or Louis Vuitton). “We make shoes for fabulous sitting.” “Be the prettiest sitter at the party in your Armani shoes.” Or perhaps, “Our shoes never go out of style and they last forever.” (that’s because the owner of the shoes would carry the shoes to the party and slip them on when they sat down). And maybe they could devise a tie-in with a furniture manufacturer because more chairs would be needed for all these sitters and wearer of these extraordinary shoes.) And think of the snob appeal…not just anyone could afford a pair of shoes for sitting…truly only the most discerning and high-class women of this world. This could also lead to a special shoe carrying bag that could retail from $450 to $1800 and could be designed to hold your sitting shoes and your iPhone….perhaps a special pocket for fresh undies or whatnot. Really, I think we lit on something here in Ridgecrest. And the madmen of Madison Ave. would be proud.

POST SCRIPT

Rayman was sick last night. He was up every hour doing things no one wants to do. I had to sleep in another room. It wasn’t pretty. So, I had ample time to try to get back to sleep every time he got up. So…this lead me to wonder further about sitting shoes. And get this…I came up with more good ideas. For instance, shoes with those platforms have plenty of ‘wasted space’. So what if the designer of the shoe built in a wi-fi receiver and then an app designer developed code so that the owner of the iPhone could bring up the app and select a message that could flash onto the shoe ‘screen” that would be located between the sole and the bottom of the foot ‘bed’. Then thenshoe owner could choose messages to flash on her shoes…like, well, “Don’t even think about it”, or “Not interested”, of “For a hot time, call 555-5555” or whatever. The owner could also flash messages like, “I love my shoes!”, or “I just finished reading Pride and Prejudice”. I mean the sky is the limit. Or maybe the shoes could play music through the miracle of wi-fi. Think of the fun that could be had by the shoe owner while she sat at a cocktail party, in the restaurant, in the restroom while powdering her nose…the applications could offer enormous potential…as long as shoe wearer is seated because, really, walking and choosing apps for the shoes could be dangerous. Playing with your shoes while walking might become against the law because of the inherent danger. But, as a marketer, you should only dwell on the positives and the positives in this case are enormous…size 10 enormous!!