Mile Low Club

My screams can be heard throughout my body and soul. They sound terrified, like I just hurled back the shower curtain to reveal a giant spider whose legs are so long they touch all four corners of the bathtub, and is glaring at me from all 10 eyes. They sound horrific, like the screams from a thousand monkeys being chased by a thousand wailing house cats in heat. With fiery torches. Finally, my nightmarish screams are so ghastly, my body and soul retreat to the darkest corners of my mind and curl into a fetal position, rocking and drooling against the inside of my cranium.

But you don’t hear any of this. You see my screams manifested externally as withdrawn aggravation, difficulty concentrating, and white-knuckle anxiety. I remember pre flight-anxiety life. I’d happily slop all of my belongings into a suitcase, pick out just the right magazines and novels to read on the plane, refill my ipod with the latest and greatest hits. I thought the airport was an exciting hub of energy and intoxicating chi, and I never forgot to pack anything. 

On February 19th, I spent the morning of my mother’s birthday feeling unfocused and anxious. I put off packing all morning, hoping if I didn’t pack anything I wouldn’t have to fly, which is completely opposite of my usual organized, prepared, resourceful self who would have had everything packed the week before. Around 4 hours before take off time, I began gathering the things I would need for a five day vacation starting in Baltimore, then on to DC. I packed casually, as if the plane ride wasn’t happening: my favorite outfits, jewelry, Nook, laptop, several pairs of glasses/sunglasses, contact lenses, workout clothes and my new Brazil Butt Lift exercise CD, bathing suit, and walking clothes for the Zoo and Smithsonian days. I dressed and got myself ready for the ride to the airport and flight as if it were a certainty that the plane were crashing, and I wanted some of my personality in life to come through via my burned and bloodied corpse. Sure, it’s morbid but I choose a lacy red tank top under my favorite red shirt, a comfy but cute pair of Victorias Secret jeans, my favorite black boots which have just enough of a heel to be sassy but also allow me to walk longish distances in comfort and are so scuffed the left one has a hole somewhere that allows water to osmose in from even the slightest puddle or humidity level. I adorned myself with my Pandora bracelet, owl ring, zebra print ring, and bright blue glasses with red on the rim and interior. The perfect attire to underscore the twisted, horrified expression that will overwhelm my face on the downward spiral into the ocean, mountains, field in the middle of nowhere...or wherever the plane decides to malfunction and begin to fly vertically, instead of horizontally. 

I know what you’re thinking: Duh, why do you think bars are positioned suspiciously close to departing gates?! Indulge in an alcoholic refreshment to sedate some of these unnatural fears! I tried that. 2 Bloody Mary’s later, which was about 25 minutes before take off time and the loudspeaker at Gate 19 announced there would be a minor delay due to the incoming plane being late. 30 minutes later they announced a delay of unknown length due to a “leak in one of the lavatories.” Over an hour after departure time we finally boarded the plane. I sat down, buckled up, perused a Sky Mall, made jokes with my daughter, and people watched while the others boarded. I complained about the wretchedly oversized luggage people are allowed to bring as carry-ons. I wonder if all airlines allow this, or just the one I usually travel on? Then I scoffed while other passengers got physically assaulted by said wretched people trying to wedge their kitchen sink stuffed bags into the compact overhead bins. Even though it’s completely illogical because if they checked them, the bags would still be on the same plane, but whenever they cram those bins so abnormally full, I feel like it contributes to or will cause the inevitable infernal descent. When the engine went into gear for the shimmy to the runaway, my condescending sneering stopped abruptly and I remained in a seated position with my eyes clenched shut, every muscle in my body contracted, and an arm wrestling death grip on the seat arms. My respirations alternated between barely breathing and taking gasping deep gulps of no-oxygen-because-the-airplane-is-just-about-to-spiral-downwards-into-a-fiery-crash. I also tried to let myself be comforted by my sweet daughters kisses on the cheek, comforting hand holding and rubbing my arm. My husband mostly just stared, presumably wondering if he was going to have to perform CPR, or some other unnatural act in my airway to restart my breathing.

The flight was a mere hour in length, and besides an extended wait and then change of carousels at baggage, the rest of the flight went by without another hiccup. The flight went without problems, but my forgotten makeup bag that included all of my facial essentials, contact lenses, and eye moisturizer was a big prob. I spent the rest of the trip complaining about having to squint my eyes because I couldn’t wear sunglasses, wearing newly purchased but inferior make-up, and applying blush with my fingertips. As I write this and relive the horror 2 days later from a hotel room, I suspect flying anxiety is being channeled back into my existence. I noticed this when I got up to use the bathroom and had a little tickling session with my daughter on the way, during which she bit my leg (I overlooked that one as her justification for tickling torture).  When she kicked my ear so hard it turned red, throbbed, and invisible blood trickled out of it, is when I loudly vowed I would never tickle her again, ever. After lying supine on the floor looking bewildered and disoriented for a few minutes, she promptly locked herself in a small hotel room closet along with the ironing board, extra linens, and hangers that don’t come off the hanging rack. She didn’t come out until the pizza delivery guy knocked on the door, allowing me to finish writing this whole blog. Hmmm, on second thought, maybe I WILL tickle her again :)

Verbal Shavings of a Reformed Speed Meister:

I have a confession to make. And I’m making it privately, in this blog. I’m not proud of what I’ve done, or the people I’ve “passed away” to do it. 

*hangs her head in shame*

If you’re still reading, and not already repulsed by my loathsome behavior, I’m asking in advance for your understanding: Please don’t hate me and recoil at the very hint of my namesake.  And for the love of all that is speedy and swift, don’t tell anyone!

*deep, cleansing breath*

I used to speed all over town and country. I have an awesome vehicle that I love very much, and it goes fast. If you were in front of me only doing 75, I would inch right up to your hind end until you moved out of my way. I even became something of a law-breaking braggart: “Why don’t you let ME drive, we’ll get there faster,” I’d scoff. 

Drivers of mere “other vehicles,” be they fast or slow, who would attempt to pass me would be automatically entered into a game of vehicular “Cat and Meister.” This game would proceed thusly: You would try to pass me, I would speed up and prevent it then slow down enough to give you hope, and another chance. You would try to pass me, I would speed up and prevent it etc...ok, aggressive, arrogant, dangerous, and downright STUPID, I know. If it’s any consolation, I never did that with my daughter in the vehicle. 

One sunny afternoon found me in a dazzling hurry to drop my sister off at EMT school. A lazy, hazy stretch of pavement unfurled before me, and I was eager to burn some rubber all the way to Bridgewater. As I accelerated smoothly down Route 140 in the left hand lane, neither playing Cat and Meister, nor tailgating or trying to intimidate slower drivers, I soared right past a State Police vehicle nestled into the grass at a rest area. Apparently, his radar gun started smoking, then imploded as it registered my miles per hour. 

I saw him before he started moving and even though I knew he’d nab me, my foot reflexively cowered away from the gas pedal so I wasn’t certain how fast I was going. After I safely navigated the rumble strip and situated myself in the breakdown lane, a stern, thoroughly-lacking-even-a-molecule-of-a-sense-of-humor-even-in-life-outside-of-highway-patrol face hovered just above the bottom of my window opening. Hey it’s not my fault my SUV is a monstrously tall, mammoth Tank! “License and Registration, please,” he barked. I handed him the documents. He went back to his cruiser. The Travelocity Gnome in a Policeman’s uniform hobbled back to the bottom of my window and handed me a piece of paper and an envelope and muttered “You can appeal at so-and-so court.” 

I looked at the paper, with its fancy matching envelope. It was a TICKET! I JUST GOT A SPEEDING TICKET? 

WHAT? This can only be because he wasn’t tall enough to see over the door frame and into my cleavage! 

Nope. It was because I was doing 83 in a 65 and I DESERVE every dollar of that $220.00 ticket! I deserve to have my license taken away for that! I call myself a Paramedic, out there helping people? I could have been a fatality for some poor, happy Intubation seeking Paramedic student! I’m a disgusting human. 

So I reformed. I set my cruise control now, 99.9% of the time. I don’t try to use my Tank to intimidate safe, law-abiding fellow drivers. As for Cat and Meister...well I had to wean myself off of that one. However, I weaned in the slower speed lane, challenging the Left Hand Lane Speeders who were driving like my Old Self. I’m happy to report, at this juncture, my Old Self is a thing of the past!

Yep, I even backed Vehicular Unfamiliar
into my driveway :)

Karma visited me the other night. She reared her cause-and-effect inducing head during a pitch black, frightening, involuntary trek I made on the backroads from Fairhaven to Lakeville on Wednesday, February 8, 2012. I was forced into this situation by my loving and beautiful Aunt Cheryl aka “Dinga.” On a ride back from Boston that evening, Dinga verbally pledged her like new, Queen sized mattress to my sisters’ bed (my sister lives with me and was in desperate need of a mattress upgrade). By the time we neared Dinga’s home in Fairhaven, her plan had snowballed into this dismal, non-negotiable reality: I was going to help her load the mattress in her husbands truck (which I have never driven). I was going to navigate unfamiliar backroads all the way to my home in Lakeville, with NO GPS (which I had never navigated before). I was going to maintain a modest speed because she was NOT going to provide me with any means to secure the mattress in the open bed of the truck (I begged for a rope, a bungee cord, dental floss...ANYTHING to provide a measure of securing the mattress to the truck.) 

“Oh, Please,” she waved away my pleading concern with a well manicured, bejeweled hand and shot me a look worthy of a gaggle of maggots feasting on a bucket of rotting Kidneys. “That mattress is wicked heavy. It’s not going anywhere. You’ll be fine, it’s not even windy out. I have people coming over at 6:30, get going.” I am her favorite niece. No, really, I am!

I put my cat-tail between my legs and began the nerve wracking, 20 mile-35 minute drive to my Home. About 10 minutes into the drive, when I transitioned into a more rural area with lenient speed limits, I felt the headlights of the car (s) behind me assault my already anxious spirit. Clearly my foreign-vehicle, restrained-speed, mattress-transporting, terror-inducing situation was not going to be supported by anyone else traveling on these here roads. They flashed me. They tailgated me. They accumulated into a funeral procession of twinkling high beams in my rearview mirror. They tried to intimidate me by speeding up and slowing down, and coming to so close to my bumper I thought they would dislodge the mattress. Sound familiar?

Dear Dinga, thank you for the mattress!
Expect Bungee Cords for every gift
I get you for forever :)

Yes, I was a blubbering victim of my own game. My bad behavior was the cause, and the effect was 3 wrinkles, 12 grey hairs, and 72 hours of acid indigestion. Thanks, Karma, Dinga, and Law Enforcement. :)

I am a 100% completely reformed Speeder! 

Niki’s delicious Beef Stew, which also happens to be the BEST in the WORLD :)

Picture me, in a bowl! And you, with a spoon, eating me! :)

      What, you think my title is too pretentious? NEGATIVE. This is the best Beef Stew in the  world, which I will now extend to The Best Beef Stew in Existence, which I will further extend to The Best Beef Stew that Ever Has or Ever Will Exist, Ever. 

That being said, this is not a meal to make post haste, or with the clock ticking in tune to the hunger pangs in your stomach. This is a stew that requires, nay, demands finesse and the results are well worth it. Like almost all stews, it’s better the next day. Sometimes I even cook it the day before, just to get that Next Day Numminess.

Before I begin any recipe, I gather all of my ingredients, including cookware, and set up my working station. I usually plan on being in the kitchen awhile because I clean and organize as I go, and I just generally like traipsing about the kitchen! I love my kitchen, I love to cook, and I love Mise en Place. Mise en Place translated from French means “putting in place.” The Culinary Institute of America defines it as “everything in place.” Either way, it refers to the pre-measuring, washing, and chopping of ingredients that will be used in the construction of culinary delights. When I mention that I chopped this or diced that, and placed into a prep dish, I’m not kidding! I have a few sets of different sized bowls, condiment cups, and cutting boards/mats that I use for my Mise en Place.  And I always prep everything first. Hey, it’s my world...you’re just reading in it ! :)

They do kind of look like lemon slices, eh?

My least favorite part of the preparation of this Stew is searing the Beef cubes.  For starters, it contradicts my obsessive impulse to keep things clean. I’m not even close to being a messy cook but no matter how careful I am, searing splashes and drips greasy oil into crevices and onto surfaces I would prefer remain clean.  However, I never skip this step because it caramelizes and browns the sugars and proteins on the surface of the meat, resulting in a flavorful surface crust. Some theorize that it locks in the meats’ meaty juices as well, though it has been proven that searing actually de-juices meat. I’ll let you google that one on your own, to save myself 3 paragraphs :) Secondly, searing all those Beef Cubes, however hearty bite sized they may be, takes awhile. Thirdly, it’s a two handed job. Maybe even a three handed job with all the transferring of floured beef (another inevitable mess) to the skillet, turning to sear all sides, then transferring out of the skillet and starting again with another batch. And it’s hard to cook with one hand and drink a glass of wine with the other when you need all three hands for searing!

Whole Daikon

The ingredients list is mildly lengthy and you’ve probably thought: “Daikon? What the sam holy hill is Daikon?” Daikon is an Asian radish and is a staple of Macrobiotic Cooking (more to come on Macrobiotics in my next blog!) In this recipe, it not only adds nutritional value, it picks up the flavors of the stew quite remarkably, and adds to the overall heartiness. Due to the radish’s appearance and the way I had cut them, the first time I served it to a friend she said, “Did you put lemons in here?”  This was before she had her first bite and her eyes rolled back in her head, and men in loincloths had to be called to fan her back into consciousness. Yes, THAT good. The stew, not the men :)

Don’t skimp on or be nervous about the beer. There’s no alcohol content or taste, just a complex and delicious depth of flavor that cannot be achieved if you skip this step. The first few times I made this I used two cans, then because of the sheer quantity it makes I tried three and as my mother always says: “WOWZA!” It gives the stew an unidentifiable deliciousness that takes it over the top! For me, fresh herbs are a necessity but dried can always be substituted. The ratio is is 3:1 of fresh to dried. I always remember it as 1 tablespoon to one teaspoon.  Celery leaves are one of my favorite "secret ingredients." I use them in any and every recipe that calls for celery.  Mushrooms: Yummm! I love mushrooms. I’ve tried them in this recipe two different ways. I’ve sauteed them in the pan after searing the beef, reserved them, deglazed the pan and cooked the other veggies, then added them back at the end. This gives them a sear and a texture that is noticeable and absolutely divine. Alternately, I’ve just thrown them in with the other sautéing vegetables and called it a stew. I prefer the former but usually do the latter because its much easier! 

Stop stewing on it and make this stew! I’m 100% positive you will agree it’s the Bomb Dot Com! And for all of you who have been following Tony’s threatening purple and gold harassment of my front door I feel confident I have your vote: We’re going PINK! :)

Cook, Mise en Place, Cook!

I love Yew, Stew Recipe: 

2-4 lbs. Beef Brisket, or Top Round London Broil etc. cut into hearty bite size chunks

4 tablespoons Flour

1/4-1/2 cup Canola Oil

2-3 14.9 ounce cans Guinness Beer

3 cups Beef Broth

1 cup Red Wine OR 4 cups total Beef Broth

2 lbs. Portobello Mushrooms, sliced/diced as you prefer

2 Onions, diced

3 stalks Celery including leafy tops, diced

3 carrots (I leave skin on), sliced into half moons

1-2 cups Daikon (skin on), sliced into half moons. (may substitute turnip, radish, rutabaga, or other root vegetable)

5 cloves Garlic, minced

5 potatoes, cubed ( I lke to use red and leave the skin on)

3 tablespoons of Vinegar such as: Malt, Red Wine, Sherry or your preference. 

7-10 sprigs fresh Thyme, chopped to make 1.5-2 teaspoons

10-15 leaves fresh Sage, chopped to make 1.5-2 teaspoons

1 sprig or less fresh Rosemary, chopped to make 1/2 teaspoon

4-5 Bay leaves

1/2-1 teaspoon of Crushed Red Pepper, or to taste

1/2 teaspoon Salt and Freshly Ground Black Pepper, or to taste

1. Toss beef cubes in a bag with flour, salt, and pepper and shake until evenly coated. Heat oil in a cast iron skillet and sear meat on all sides. Transfer seared meat directly to heavy bottom or large stock pot/dutch oven. Set skillet aside.
2. When all meat is seared and in the pot pour in beer and bring to a boil. Boil until beer has reduced to about 1/3 of original volume. Add beef stock, cover, and simmer 45 minutes to an hour or until meant becomes tender. 
3. Gather a few small and large prep dishes. Chop and add the onion, carrot, celery, daikon/turnip to a large prep dish. Dice and add the potato to another and cover with cold water to prevent browning.  To a small prep dish add minced garlic. To three more add the rosemary, sage, and thyme or leave them in little piles on the cutting board. 
4. In the skillet used to sear beef cook mushrooms and set aside, if doing this as a separate step. If not, add onion, carrot, celery, mushroom, daikon or turnip and 1/2 teaspoon each of rosemary, sage, crushed red pepper, bay leaves, and thyme and cook until onions are lightly browned. Add garlic during last few minutes. By this time meat should be tender.
5. Add veggie mixture to meat/beer broth along with potatoes. Cover and simmer another hour or so. 15 minutes before serving add remaining herbs and vinegar and set to lowest simmer possible. Also, if you sauteed and reserved mushrooms separately, add them at this time as well. 
6. Enjoy your one pot , delicious, hearty meal! Ok, it does take more than one pot :( But, you have to time to clean all the other pots while it simmers for the last hour making it a one pot meal for at least an hour!