Category: Blog (Page 22 of 30)

I love a good bar!

Tavern, pub, lounge, or dive, however you want to call it; as long as the seats are comfortable, the music ain’t too loud and the pours are long and strong, I’m one happy camper. Aside from my kitchen, a good bar is one of the few places where my shoulders fall away from my ears, my heartbeat slows, and I am completely at ease.

Of course, not all bars work this magic. The winners are those with an air of welcome when you arrive and surroundings that say, “Come on in and relax. What’ll it be?”

Bars are living things as varied as the patrons who walk through the door. The first bars weren’t really bars at all but resting houses for weary travelers and pilgrims. Inns, public houses (pubs), and tabernaes began sprouting up as places for travelers to rest along ancient roads. This makes total sense to me.

As a weary traveler myself hoofin’ it around the globe, the local tavern was always one of my first stops in a new destination. I could find people of like mind sitting on stools or at a nearby table with a map spread out between them. There might be a backpack or two leaning up against the wall and a hearty soup on the menu with a basket of bread. Passports were proof of age and the stamps were proof of experience. It never took long to find a friend, get some advice on the local scene and share a story or two. The only common bond… the joint you were sitting in.

Many of my best and worst memories took place in bars. I got my first job cooking at the Yacht Haven Bar & Grill in St. Thomas. I broke my wrist at a mid-evil tavern in Palma de Majorca by falling off a bar stool. I discovered the extent of human kindness in a pub in South Haven in the UK. I had my first goat cheese tart and Pinot Noir at a Lounge in Antibes and listened to Gregorian Chants with my hubby while the skies opened up outside Napoleon House in New Orleans. I pulled beers and poured endless glasses of Claret for a WWI veteran in London, met a pack of wandering Aussies at the Club House in Lilongwe and bid tearful farewells to some of my most dear friends at the Raffle’s Writer’s Bar in Singapore.

Surprisingly enough, of all these places, my favorite watering hole is right here in Arizona… the Pub at Thunderbird, the School for Global Management. My husband spent 18 months getting his MBA at the school located on an old Air Force base, and I hung out at the bar.

Back in the day, the Pub was run by the students and boy did we have a good time with that set up! There was a juke-box with a great selection of tunes, two pool tables in the back where a rhinoceros head stuck out of the wall and all sorts of clothing hung from his horn. Not to mention that the students are from all over the world and conversed in every possible language. It was like every traveler’s bar, tavern or pub I have been to dropped into one singular place. We shared stories, showed off our passport stamps and talked about where in the world we might be next. The beauty of all of this is that we now have good friends all over this world – the ones we met right there at Thunderbird Pub. 

My husband and I ended up in Dallas then moved to Chicago and from there returned to Glendale and the Pub. Then we took off to Singapore for a few years, traveled throughout Asia and the Pacific, and ended up right back here near my favorite watering hole.

We stop in every now and again for a cold beer and a game of pool. The names are different but the faces are the same and the pictures on the wall bring our friends back in full color. The students look at us funny at first and try to strike up serious conversations, but after a few beers, we are right back in our groove.

That’s what a good bar can do. Did you ever think it could be all that?  Of course, you did.

Live Well, Eat Well

Heidi

Summer and the foods that accompany it are as varied as… um… well, as the places where summer occurs. I know, that was lame, but it really is true. I could come up with a zillion ideas for summer food and the many different locations where I’ve enjoyed them: corn on the cob, watermelon, fried chicken, peaches, burgers, dogs and strawberry ice cream, and I have thought on all of these items individually, but I didn’t find that little spark I needed to bring it all together. Then my weird little brain focused on one little memory that made a unified theory of summer food possible – worms.

We spent of lot of our summer days weeding the garden and harvesting worms. Worms are gross, slimy and amazing multiple celled creatures that turn the stuff that’s in the dirt into the soil that then, in turn, grows the stuff that ends up in the dirt. I’m not doing very well at this. A better writer may say:

“A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm.” – Hamlet

In the end, worms make great bait for perch, sunfish and bluegills.

My dad worked shift work for awhile, which often gave us the unusual treat of having him home during prime fishing time. You know that question, “Hey Mom, what’s for dinner?”  Often my dad would answer, “Load up the truck, we’re going fishin’!”  You’ve never seen 5 kids move their butts so fast than when they’re told they’re going to the lake.

One of my family’s favorite things to do in those early summer evenings was to head out to the lake and fish for our supper. Not only was this superb family time and an inexpensive way to feed a horde of seven, but memories were also made and life’s lessons were learned along the way.

Once we’d parked, five completely spazzed out kids fell out of the truck with poles, bobbers a tackle box and that ubiquitous can of worms. My folks had two rules:  1) don’t get in the water (you’ll scare the fish), and 2) if anyone asks, you’re under the age of 12.

Just in case you are not familiar with this species we sought, they weigh in at a max of about 12 – 16 ounces with a dining yield between two and five people; therefore, one meal for a family of seven required a “mess of fish.” 

Trust me, with suns, perch, and bluegill the mess is real, but so completely worth it for the taste and the time with loved ones.

If you hadn’t completed casting 101 in the back yard with the blue bucket, you could cop a squat on the dock, release the tension and wait. Matriculated casters spread themselves out evenly along the wooden dock, and we’d toss that line out, wriggling worm and all, and reel them in. 

If my memory serves me well, once caught it was released from the hook, gutted and cleaned right there and tossed in the cooler. Although, I never was a big fan of fabricating small fish, I did have my own pocket knife, and I’d get right down there with my brothers. 

Once home, my mom would dredge them in flour, salt & pepper and fry them in oil. Maybe we had a few ears of corn or some fresh tomatoes, cucumbers and onion and a stack of soft, white bread to wash those pesky little bones down.

I’ve fished a bit since I was a youth but never as often nor with as much complete abandon and joy as was experienced in those soft summer evenings of my childhood. That’s what summer food should bring to mind however you may recall it:  family, friends, ease, enjoyment and peace. That’s what summer is all about, after all.

 Live Well, Eat Well

Heidi

While not a fan of making this dish, I work enough, thanks; eggs benedict is the first item I look for on a Sunday morning menu or on the buffet table at brunch. This is my confession, or maybe, it is my (eggs) bene-addiction.

I love this dish so much, I had to know where it came from

There are, of course, competing tales of origin. One involves the desperate housewife of a wealthy businessman, Mr. Le Grand Benedict, who dined at Delmonico’s in New York every Saturday. After exhausting all the menu items, she requested a combination of an English muffin, poached eggs, ham, and hollandaise with a truffle on top.

There is also the position that it is an American take on a French dish called Oeufs Benedictine consisting of a puree of refreshed salt cod and potatoes spread on triangles of fried bread. This was topped with a poached egg and the ubiquitous hollandaise.

My favorite story is that of the New York stock broker, Lemuel Benedict, who stumbled down the stairs of the Waldorf Astoria one morning looking for the elusive cure for a five star hangover. He ordered buttered toast, poached eggs, bacon and a side of hollandaise. The chef changed it up a bit and voila, one of the most popular breakfast and brunch items in the universe! Well, at least to me (which is, by definition, the universe).

Are any of these true? Does it matter? What does matter is that it is such a lovely way to enjoy a good weekend or holiday brunch.

The versatility of this yummy concoction is endless. A little spinach (Florentine) is a colorful and healthy addition to this not so healthy meal. How about lox instead of canadian bacon? Perhaps, a lightly buttered and fried baguette is a nice change. And, if you ain’t into runny, get over-easy. 

Just one thing folks, you won’t get any points if you mess with the sauce! It has to be real. Don’t pass that fake stuff by me. I can smell it a mile away.

Live well, eat well;

Heidi

I posted this on Mother’s Day weekend. Here is a poem I wrote to my mom when I was 17:

Do you remember my first day of school

I was so scared when you left my side

And then I remembered the days at the fair

And taking a pony ride

Do you remember those smiles all a glow

On every Christmas day

The bright shining eyes when I think of you

Making sunny out of gray

Do you remember making soup

Whenever we were sick

Bedtime stories creating sleepy eyes

You knew every trick

Do you remember my very first date

And my senior dance

Do you remember all those little things

Every time you get a chance

Will you remember my wedding day

I’ll be so scared when you leave my side

Then I’ll remember those days at the fair

And taking a pony ride

The first time I had a pepper, I fed most of it to the dog under the table. My mom was experimenting with “ethnic food” and stuffed those green bells with hamburger and onions, poured a can of enchilada sauce over the top, and baked it in the oven for an hour.  I’m pretty sure there was some sour cream on the table and a bottle of La Victoria Hot Sauce.

That same bottle of La Victoria was center of the table when we had tacos, too. The tacos also had the same ground beef, but instead of onions in the meat mixture, they were served as a condiment along with tomatoes, lettuce, the ubiquitous sour cream, grated cheddar cheese and, sad to say, ketchup. 

I’m sure you won’t be surprised to learn that my first taste of real “Mexican” food shocked me silly! This of course, doesn’t include bottled salsas and jalapeno poppers with a side of Mr. Cuervo.

It took quite some time before I ever ate a pepper I liked. I was one of those people who scraped the jalapenos off the top of their nachos. A friend of mine tried to show off for some chick one Cinco de Mayo and ingested all of those jalapeno slices. He coughed, sputtered, drank everyone’s water and then went home. 

When I met my husband to be and his family, they frequented a Tex-Mex restaurant in Redmond, Washington called El Toreador, and I ventured into chips and pico de gallo. From there I graduated to pablanos and the always enticing chile relleno and then matriculated to hot and spicy everything. I truly did not know what I’d been missing.

Since then I’ve gone on to experiment with all sorts of chilis – serranos in salsa; pepperoncinis stuffed with salmon mousse (click for recipe); roasted pablano’s filled with braised pork shoulder and red pepper pumpkin sauce; and a new jalapeno bacon from my friend Angela. The list is endless and so are the flavors.

One may think a pepper is a pepper, but when we went soul searching for some home style southwestern comfort food while living in Asia, the chili’s were nothing like the chilis from the Southwest. They were Thai. Hint: Don’t eat Mexican food in Asia – trust me, it just doesn’t work. Thinka bout it. How would Thai food taste made with jalapenos?

With Cinco de Mayo right around the corner, there’s bound to be some great chow out there. But let’s face it, here in the Southwest, we don’t need a holiday to get great Mexican food. From the drive through late night to the six course taste sensation, it’s all good here in Arizona.

By the way, I took my mother’s stuffed pepper recipe and made it into a family favorite. The ketchup is gone, but I still put a little La Victoria on the table for old times’ sake.

Cheers,

Heidi

Pepperoncinis Stuffed with Salmon Mousse Recipe