Peloponnesian Food Fight

Dave has a good friend who I also really like--except for when he throws dinner parties and then I call him the Food Nazi and I await in panic for my food assignment. Let's be clear, I have the palate of a 3rd grader and think of all lettuce that isn't iceberg or Romaine as "lawn clippings." If I have to I can eat anything--I slurped down sea slug in China and no one but Dave knew I was having an internal freak out. The truth is I am embarrassed by my unsophisticated palate but what's a girl to do when raw tomatoes make her gag?

The first time we went to the Chef's house, Dave told me we were assigned "Fruit--no, wait, I think he wants pears." I brought a lovely fruit salad with pears and raspberries. WRONG! The Chef had intended them to be served with fancy cheese and did NOT hide his displeasure at my food faux pas.

A couple years later we were again invited. This time the Chef sent an email and our assignment simply said "Starch." I wanted to die. It's deceptively simple. I knew I'd get laughed at if I brought any kind of potato or pasta. In desperation I called Becca and said, "Becca One Kenobi, you are my only hope." Even though she had company in town, she volunteered to be my "ghost chef" and made an amazing rice that everyone oohed and ahhhed over. In fact, it was a little too good and several people asked for detailed instructions on how to make it. The Chef must have known I'd faked it because he really grilled me: What KIND of rice had a I used? Were the peas fresh? And was it cinnamon or cardamom that was in there....I fumbled my way thru it, like when people ask Grandma Jean how she makes her jam and she starts rambling on about sugar and berries and meanwhile Dave is whispering, "Take a jar of Smuckers. Remove label with steam from tea kettle..."

So this year when Dave said we'd be going to the Chef's I insta-freaked and wondered what on earth I'd have to bring this time. But I was NOT prepared for the food assignments. I guess the Chef has learned that he has to be more specific in doling out assignments lest the pear fiasco of 2003 repeat itself. Here they are (I have changed the names):

"After much consideration, the menu committee has decided we will have beef stew for dinner on Saturday. Herewith the assignments:

· Anderson--hors d’oeuvres

· Sundahl--vegetable side dish: (“stew” will be Provencal in character so something quite green and full of flavor could be ideal)

· Barker--starch: (papperdelle [wide noodles] would be ideal; couscous would be fine…even rice, to appease “rice aficionados” who’ve lived in China)

· Metropolis--salad: (consistent with the new regime, we’re looking for diversity; it can be Mediterranean heritage but not from the Peloponnesus)

· bread and cheese: just part of the deal

· the Chef--dessert: (something small but very chocolate, I suspect) Let’s gather about 6:30 pm. Please bring some of your beverage of choice. "

In case you skimmed, please go back and reread the salad one. WHAT on earth is a Peloponnesian salad?! I sent the email off to Becca and called her to discuss my "green and full of flavor options" (and what does that have to do with Provencal stew?!). Poor thing was stumped when I ruled out asparagus (yucky and bitter), brussel sprouts (asparagus balls), and artichokes (big pokey asparagus). If I bring it, I have to be able to eat it. Her first suggestion was broccoli which I actually like, but unless we cooked it at the Chef's how to you keep it from being flaccid by the time you serve it? Sensing my growing angst, Dave asked the Chef which green and flavorful veggie HE recommended. He, like Becca, said broccoli but added that of course we'd have to steam it at his place.

Good. Broccoli. But I suspected regular old Star Market broccoli would not do. On Saturday I went to Wilson Farm where foodies get orgasms just looking at the produce. I walked up to someone in a green apron and said, "I need you to help me find the snootiest, most stuck up, fancy pants, hoity toity broccoli that you sell." Without batting an eye he shows me two contenders, broccoli raab and broccolini. He was pushing the raab which he said had a wonderfully bitter taste (the only bitter I like is in my chocolate chips), but also praised the broccolini which seems like what you'd get if a broccoli floret and an asparagus spear hooked up and had children. He assured me it had a mild taste so I bought $12 worth and hoped for the best.

The party was lovely. The Provencal stew was yummy (beef cooked in tangy sauce). The Chef was fun and gracious. Except when the poor Barkers brought boxed noodles. The Chef was not pleased and made a few comments. I contemplated coming to their defense, making some Peloponessus crack but in the end I just shut my trap and thanked Wilson Farm that this time I was not the target of his culinary wrath. I lie to myself and say that if we are ever assigned hors d'oeuvre, I'll bring a can of Hormel and brick of Velveeta and make my famous white trash chip dip. I won't. But I'd love to see the Chef's face if I did.

Gorgeous George Turns 9

Last week Georgia turned 9 and I wanted to toss out there some of my favorite Georgia pictures and stories. Though Georgia's officially a US citizen, her true nationality is "Is-fraili." Not only does she suffer from migraines, she is also the most susceptible to any bugs going around. She woke up Sunday with a fever and at 10 am she jumped up from the couch saying, "I'm gonna barf!" but never made it past the kitchen. I threw the trash can under her as she puked her guts out. Bea was sitting at the counter eating cereal watching all this and when Georgia finished, Bea clapped her hands and said, "Do it again! Do it again!" That said, she's a model patient and I've had the time of my life lounging around with her watching fun movies. Today I showed her "Little Women" and we both cried when Beth died.
Here's "Zsa" with her favorite Uncle Mio.

When she was this age I'd ride around on my bike with her in the attached seat and she'd kick my behind and shout: "Faster! Faster!" She would also beg me for every purse she saw when we'd be out and tell me she hated me when I wouldn't buy them for her.

Georgia was the BEST baby: a great nurser, slept like Rip Van Winkle, easy going. My other 3 are dogs: always in my face, slobbering on me, needing constant attention and affection. Georgia is a cat. Very independent. She chooses when she'll curl into your lap and pur. We have to be mindful of how self sufficient lest she be lost in the shuffle. At 5 she made lunch for herself and 3 friends while I was doing laundry. I came upstairs and they each had a toasted cheese tortilla and a cup of milk. Here she is in front of our Beech Street house eating chysthanthemums.

She loves to collect things and put those things in other things (in a box in a bag in a box in a bag). Of course she adores snails because they come with their own little container. And that smile? My sister Angela's.

Georgia right before her first birthday between ear infections.

Millie's arrival brought out the bossy in Georgia. How thrilling to have someone to (literally) push around. When she screams "Mill-Lay!" in anger, it is pure profanity. She may pretend otherwise but Georgia is Millie's biggest fan. Becca S. has tons of funny stories about Georgia. My favorite is when Ellie did something that upset Georgia (probably read a book or something while George was still wrestling with the alphabet). Whatever it was, Ellie had NOT done it maliciously but Georgia knew just how to hurt a girl. She looked at the bunkbed and asked Ellie where she slept. Pause. "The bottom." "Well," Georgia replied, "I'm starting a top bunk bed club and fraidy cats like you can't be in it!" I have to say I like her fiestiness because it doesn't cross to cattiness and she is one loyal little buddy.

Whoever said girls were made of sugar and spice never met Georgia. She is made of snails and dead birds like the one she has here and kept for a while then wrote all sorts of stories about her "pet bird" Joey, whose carcass she carted around for days... She and her buddies currently play "Chipmunk Hotel" at recess. I've never asked too many questions because I'm afraid carrion may be involved.

One of these things is not like the other... What I love love love about my Georgia is she does not follow the pack. Here we have Pullen & Parry Princesses and what does Zsa do? Put herself in a burka. Miss Taliban 2007?

She eats snow. But won't eat ice cream. Her favorite foods are mac & cheese, brownies, carrots, apples and Cheezits. Without a weekly dose of McNuggets, she'd be a vegetarian.
For ages Jake & Aidan were her two best friends. One day while upstairs on the couch with Aidan, the two were waiting for Jake to arrive for playgroup. But when the door sounded, Georgia turned to Aidan and hissed, "Quick hide!!! It's my husband!" Dave loved that story and told it to everyone he worked with. To this day I'm sure they all think I must have been stepping out on Dave.

I love my Dodgie, my Zsa, Georgie One Kenobi, Zsazerbyjani, Gurj, Georgia Burnham Rose!!!