Things I have learned in the last 4 days.

1. Bridezilla is alive and well.

2. A person can really wear too many pearls in one afternoon. (Tiara, earrings, choker, bracelet, ankle bracelet and toe ring.)

3. If you agree to be Matron of Honor to Bridezilla at her wedding in a recently rained upon garden, chances are your big toe will be fatally attacked by an 8-inch earthworm. (My face shows the horror in some of the candid shots. Bridezilla was not happy.)

4. Bridezilla won't like it if the Parents Of The Groom like you better than her. (oops. my bad.)

5. If Bridezilla and Poor Sap of a Groom decide to dance and no one is paying attention, Bridezilla will make a fuss, causing her aforementioned tiara to slip off her head.

6. Bridezilla won't like it if The Aunt Of The Groom likes you better than her. (Can I help it if I am totally loveable?)

7. I can be an earthworm-attacked Matron of Honor and still rock a pork loin like nobody's business.

8. Bridezilla's Aunt loves Lemon Drops.

9. Bridezilla's Aunt is my new best friend.

10. If you're busy being The Matron of Honor AND The Food Whore and in all of the preparations forgot to make the glaze for the pork loin; orange marmalade, honey, sesame oil, sesame seeds, a dash of soy sauce and some garlic will be your new best friends.

11. When you're the Matron of Honor and you roll your eyes while Bridezilla and her Poor Sap of A Groom seredade one another, someone will see you.

12. That someone will be The Groom's Mother.

13. She will concur with the eye roll.

14. If Bridezilla warns you before the wedding about The Groom's Snippy Aunt and says, "She is a horrible woman", and you meet The Snippy Aunt and immediately become best friends, Bridezilla's resentment toward you will reach an all-time high.

15. If the best man is The Husband, and you spend a good part of the ceremony making googly eyes at one another, Bridezilla will be pissed off you did not pay more attention to her.

16. If a fly lands in the communion cup, don't snicker. Bridezilla will be pissed.

17. If Bridezilla and Her Poor Sap of a Groom decide to make a getaway for their honemoon and no one gives them any attention, they will pull back in the driveway and announce again that they are leaving.

18. No one will care.

19. If Bridezill and Her Poor Sap of a Groom aren't satisfied with the response, they will come back a second time because they "forgot something".

20. This time, someone will shout, "Aren't you gone, yet?". (I am not supposed to tell who said it, but let's just say this "person" "may" have "given" "birth" to The Poor Sap of a Groom.)
--------

The Husband's Jamaican Friend came over last night.

"That's a wierd looking cookie, what is that?"

"A biscotti."

"A bi-what-y?"

"Biscotti."

"Can I have one?"

"Sure!"

"Hey - this cookie is stale."

"No, it's supposed to be that way."

"Cookies are supposed to be soft and chewy."

"Not these. They are meant to dunk in your coffee."

"Who want's a stale cookie?"

"*sigh* It's not a stale cookie. It's a biscotti. You dunk them - they are fabulous."

"But I don't drink coffee."

"You can dunk them in your tea."

"No tea here."

"Well you can dunk them in sweet wine."

"Can I dunk them in rum?"

"Uh, I suppose."

"That seems dumb, though. Dunking a cookie in rum."

"Well, then you probably shouldn't eat biscotti."

"Well, yeah. It's just a stale cookie, anyway."
--------

Thwack!

Thwack!

Thwack!

Thwack!

Thwack!

Thwack!

So after the 6th Thwack!, I finally pulled my car off the road. It was about 9:00 last night and I was on my way to The Sister's house who lives outside of town. Now that the days are getting shorter again, it was nearly dark and I had a hard time getting a handle on what was happening.

Accept for the large the truck in front of me, I was the only car on the road. So when I pulled over, it was kind of creepy. I know the road like the back of my hand but when it's dark, there's bats and shit and I wasn't in the mood to go through the "screaming like a baby and flailing my arms about" thing I became all too familiar with last week.

With the beam of my headlights, I could see something all over the road but it was hard to make out. Whatever it was was now all over my car and I decided I just needed to be brave and get out and check it out.

As soon as my first foot hit the ground, I crunched down on something that was kind of squeaky. Due to my overactive and irrational imagination, I assumed I had stepped on a bat carcass as I was sure the end was near and bats were dropping from the sky.

(Now do you see why I drink?)

Just before the nervous breakdown set it, a truck started coming down the road and I quick got back in my car so I didn't end up on his windshield. And as I was rolling up my window, "THWACK!" righ in the forehead.

And do you know what fell on my lap?

A damn green bean.

Your basic garden variety green freaking bean.

And they were everywhere. All over my car, all over the road - hence the squeaking crunch.

There is a large field about a mile from The Sister's house and I completely forgot it had been planted in beans and apparently last night was harvest night. It finally dawned on me that those trucks I was encountering were hauling those beans.

I tell you - Food.

I cook it, I serve it, I eat it, I love it - and now I am attacked by it.

Damn beans.
--------

I am starting to wonder if the real reason I do this for a living is for my love of all things food - or if I just love all the things I get to bitch about.

I think I should change the title of this blog to "Diary Of The Food 'Ho-Bitch".

Anyway.

So the trick got moved to the barn. Which, if you were a person trying to find a reason to be greatful, the barn was something to be greatful for. It was shelter from the torrential downpour and enabled the show to go on.

The Bride & Groom were unfazed as the band had a nice place to play, the guests had plenty of room to mingle and all was well in their world.

In my world...not so much.

First off, do you know what that kind of rain and humidity does to my hair? Let's just say Erika Badhu, sans head wrap, has nothing on this Food Whore.

Now, the only available space for me to set up my staging area was off in the corner of the main room. And while we were, indeed, "off in the corner", we were basically the centerpiece of the room, which I hate. One of the best things about being the caterer is the ability to disappear into the kitchen when you need a break from it all. It's that hotbed of gossip and mockery that we so look forward to every time we turn a trick.

We didn't have that. We were bare and exposed for all to see. And if I was an actual Street Walking Whore, I would be all about the exposure. But I am not. I need my privacy.

So, basically, what all this exposure did was created major inconveniences. The greatest of them was the fact that people stood and stared at us.

A lot.

I sort of felt like the gorillas at the zoo and was tempted to scratch my armpits and pick at the head of the person standing next to me. But instead I smiled a lot and made little funny jokes like a guy selling Ginsu knives at the fair and hoped and prayed I didn't have something grotesque hanging out of my nose.

And speaking of the person standing next to me...

She's not a part of our regular staff. She's a hard worker and I appreciate her a lot.

However.

She does not listen. She acts like she's listening, she even nods her head like she's listening. But when push comes to shove, she hasn't heard a damn thing.

And she argued with me.

If I would tell her to check to make sure the flames in the Sterno pots weren't too high under the chafing dishes, she would go over and make sure the caparese salad appetizer was full. Which - I appreciate that she was concerned about the food, but that's not what I asked her to do. And when I told her to get one pot going for coffee and another going for tea, she questioned why.

"Because they are having tea as well as coffee."

"But you didn't even bring tea."

"I did, it's in the box over there marked 'Green Tea'."

"Well why do they want tea?"

"Because they do."

And do you know that she made all coffee and did not allow a pot for tea?

I battled this all night with her and all night I had to resist the temptation to run at her, drag her sorry ass across the barn floor, and slam her face into the mud. Which I know seems incredibly violent. It is incredibly violent. But had you been there and been dealing with her, I promise you would have felt the same.

And then, you know, when you're on display like we were, people just can resist coming over and checking you out.

At one point I was headed back to our little corral when I caught a man with his finger in the pasta sauce (It was an Italian menu) and he deemed it so good that he went to retrieve a piece of bread off the antipasto tray and was heading back to dip his bread in the sauce. Fortunately I got back to the table before he did, which saved me the embarassment of having to yell at him from across the room. I put the lid back on the sauce and covered it up.

"Oh, I was just going to have a little taste."

"Well sir, you already did, and we're not quite ready to serve dinner yet."

"Oh, I know, but it was so good and I just want a little taste."

And, you know, if this were a family party I would have let him swipe that bread right through that sauce. But this was a function where guests were milling around and trying to be ok with the fact that the were eating a barn. They certainly would not have appreciated Drunk Old Uncle Harold fingering their food.

So at this point he actually was trying to get at the lid. Now, short of slapping him silly, what was I supposed to do?? I just smiled and moved the sauce to the floor behind our workspace.

He wasn't happy with me. Which, yeah. Whatever. I was trying to serve 300 people food with the smell of manure lingering about the place. The least of my concerns was ticking off a man with no sense and no manners.

There is so much more but frankly, I am tired of hearing myself bitch. Enough already.

The end result was that The Client was beyond thrilled. People raved about the food and everyone was happy. And that is the most important thing.

Well, that and having things to bitch about.

--------

So you know that I have done nothing but whine incessently over the past few months about the heat. We have been suffering from draught-like conditions and it has caused a lot of concern of late. And it's also caused a lot of fires.

It's one thing to be The Food Whore. It's another thing entirely to be The Sweaty Whiney Crabby Bitch of a Food Whore.

So I am home to shower and get ready to go serve my trick tonight for 300 people.

The event, by the way, was planned for outside.

I saw "was" because it's raining.

And I don't mean it's a lovely little sprinkle to freshen the air and water the grass.

I mean it's pouring so hard you can't see when you drive.

It's coming down so heavy that there's a van parked out front and the sign on the door says, "Noah's Ark Builders".

And I just saw two dogs pass by my window and had to open my door so two spiders could make their way out.

So I went out to the even site to make sure things were still on, and they are. But they moved it to a barn (yes, barn) at the edge of the property. It's no longer a working barn, but it's a barn just the same. The Bride & Groom already got married last month at a beautiful overseas locale. So their spirits are good, though they both had a glass of wine in their hand so I have to think that helped a bit.

So I am off to get dressed and head out the door.

Now...where did I put those barn boots.
--------

So I have this trick tomorrow night - 300 people strong.

It just so happens The Partner's vacation coincided with this weekend.

As did our two main staff persons.

So it's just me heading this one. Which I can do - but it's taxing my already tired brain in ways that aren't healthy. It's only 20 minutes after Noon-0-Clock (I don't know where that came from) and I am waning.

I left my car window open again last night. And I left half of an eaten apple on my console.

Because apparently, I have an IQ equivalent to that of a large rock.

And as the golden rule that governs my life would have it, there was a honeybee flying around my little car like he was a dancer at Studio 54. I stood there for a minute sighing that heavy, "You are such a dumbshit" sigh and opened the doors and hoped he would fly out on his own.

But he wouldn't.

So I did what any other perfectly sane human being would do by swinging my arms wildly in side my car saying, "Get out! Go! Go on - fly away!" The kicker here are the words 'perfectly sane'. A 'perfectly sane' person would have looked around to make sure no one was watching.

But no - not me.

No less than 3 people stopped by my car to see what the kerfuffle was all about and I had to explain to them that I was not, in fact, totally bonkers, but that I had a bee in my car and he wasn't getting out.

Finally The Kind Gentleman approached me and said, "If you would take that apple out of your console, the bee would leave." Now why didn't I think of that.

So I grabbed the apple and damn if that bee didn't leave my car - and dive right for that apple. So I screamed like a little girl, dropped the apple, and started waiving my arms about in that now familiar crazy person fashion.

The Kind Gentleman smiled, patted me on the arm and went about his business.

The thing is, my fear of bees is not as irrational as it (ok, I) seem. I am not allergic or anything of that nature. But once a bee flew into my hair and stung me on the neck. So when I say The Hair is very curly - I mean it's really really curly.
And when I tell you that I scream like a little girl and flail my arms all about, I have good reason to do so.

Anyway.

I got the Great Friday Bee Situation taken care of and got in my car and headed to the bank. I had all this cash I needed to deposit so I went to the drive-thru and went about my business.

And I have a lot of business going on. Calls, plans, notes, schedules, etc.

Before long I realized that I was hungry and since I no longer had the apple in my car to snack on, I decided to check out the new sandwich place by the mall. But when I got to the counter I had a panic attack because I had no cash. Where was all my cash?

"My cash is gone - oh my gosh - my cash is gone."

I think counter girl thought I was going to cry because she gave me a really sympathetic look as if to say, "If you can't afford lunch, it's ok. We will pool our money together so you don't have to starve." Finally I just paid with my check card and was on my way.

I got back in my car and frantically searched for all that cash. I was sure I had lost it (the money, not the brain) and how stupid could I be and how...

...and there was the deposit slip sitting right on my passenger seat.

No more than 3 hours had passed and I had forgotten my damn trip to the bank to deposit that cash.

I realized that I needed to take a deep breath, gather my wits and focus. Acting like a hysterical ninny wasn't going to make my day get any better. So I took a few deep breaths, ate a couple bites of my sandwich (chicken breast, hummus, feta, olives, tomatoes, lettuce on naan) and gathered myself together.

And then I did what every other perfectly sane person does when they need to relax, I got myself a double shot espresso.

Yeah. That should help.

Pray for me today, pray for my clients, and mostly pray for The Husband. That poor man has to live with me.

P.S. Martha was framed.

--------

Things I have learned so far today.

If you're running late for an appointment and decide to touch up your lip liner while driving, chances are you're going to hit a pothole and shove that lip liner right up your nose.

And it will hurt.

Aforementioned pothole will also jiggle your freshly-purchased Breve' enough to spill caramel colored coffee all over your right khaki pant leg.

And it will burn.

If you forget to close your car window at night, changes are you will be driving down the road, trying to recover from the lip liner up the nose and the intense burning sensation from the spilled coffee, when out of your back window will fly a moth - and not a coordinated moth. And it will flutter around your hair - your massively curly hair - which will make you freak out and scream like a baby and force you to pull off the road and open all your car doors and try to shoo the moth out of your car.

But it won't budge.

Bastard.

And then when you arrive to your destination, frazzled and thinking you are running late, it will be a good lesson for you to double check your schedule.

Because chances are the appointment you thought you were running late for - is tomorrow.
--------

Let's see here...

I need a large package of paper towels.

3 seedless watermelon.

A case of pineapple.

3 gallons of cranberry juice.

A #10 can of black olives.

A case of toilet tissue.

A 3-pack of pork tenderloin.

1 large bottle of Yoshida's Gourmet Sauce.

And that should do it.

Oh, Wait.

I almost forgot.

Let's go ahead and get a casket for Great-Aunt Mildred.

--------

I received a challenge via e-mail this morning from The Friend in Texas.

It reminded me of our challenges of long (long) ago when the skanky bartender at a certain smoky watering hole didn't have the sense to cut us off, but instead offered up trays full of Duck Farts. (I know - so classy, right?)

"If you will, I will".


Us girls could hold our liquor. (Something every mother loves hear) It's the guys who had trouble and more than one night was spent ferrying The Guy Who Always Fell Off The Curb, The Weepy Guy Who Was Secretly Gay, and The Guy Who Spontaneously Stripped, all around town singing John Denver songs.

Ahhh good times.

Anyway.

The Friend in Texas sent the challenge that I should use Tuesday's "Word of the Day" which is : Foofaraw.

According to Webster:

foofaraw \FOO-fuh-raw\, noun:
1. Excessive or flashy ornamentation or decoration.
2. A fuss over a matter of little importance.

That's easy.

I posted a while back about my cousin who duped me into doing the food for her wedding. I am also, as life would have it, her Matron of Honor.

Since day 1 of this wedding I, I have lost count of how many times I have heard the words, "Simple garden wedding..." The Husband also has a part in the wedding and it was left to my decision as to what we would both be wearing as, "it's just a simple, very casual garden wedding. I want it to be relaxing and fun and understated."

So I am thinking - fabulous - we will wear linen. Linen is a casual, yet classic fabric. Perfect for the afternoon "simple garden wedding". Right?

So cut to last night when The Cousin decides to model her wedding attire to get my honest opinion.

I had in my head that she would be wearing a simple tea-length dress, or something of that nature.

Well, apparently when she said, "simple garden wedding", she meant the gardens just outside Buckingham Palace. Becuase she stepped out onto the patio and when I caught a glimpse of her, I had to squint from the sparkle of all the Bling.

She looked like Queen Freaking Elizabeth on coronation day.

I took an inventory of all the regalia and I counted no less than 4 strands of pearls; a cocktail ring, 2 sets of diamond and pearl earrings, a multi strand pearl bracelet, a broach clip, 2 pearl and diamond hair pins and - a diamond and pearl tiara.

A diamond and pearl tiara.


And that doesn't even touch the surface of the layers of lace.

Talk about foofaraw.

"So what do you think?"

"Well, I thought this was a simple garden wedding?"

"Oh it is - But I wanted to add some pretty things."

"Ok. Um. Well, you do remember that The Husband and I are wearing linen, right?"

"Yes, and I told you that would be perfect."

"But - there's so much sparkle - and ...."

"Isn't it fabulous?? We just found the tiara and it was 70% off!! SUCH a steal."

"That is a steal all right... but don't you think maybe it's contradictory to what you originally wanted?"

"Don't you think I am beautiful?"

"Oh, yes. Of course you are, that's not what I meant...I"

"Fabulous! I knew you would love it!"

I suppose I should not get into a foofaraw over all the foofaraw.

But - sheesh.

--------

The Husband - whom I love more than life itself - can't cook.

He's doing good to get milk on his cereal without help.

Now, His Mother swears he can cook, and is a very good cook, but now I have spoiled him and he's become helpless and lazy.

I like her.

So many time - so many times - I have heard, "What do we have to eat?" And I will say, "Well there's a few kinds of cheeses in there, we have great rolls, there's freshly shaved turkey breast in there..." And you would swear I am speaking to him in Swahili because his face contorts with confusion as he can't quite put together what I am trying to say.

I have often thought of inventing tags for the food, kind of like the Garanimals clothing of my youth. You remember those right? You could dress yourself by simply matching the animals. A shirt with a giraffe on the tag matched the pants with the giraffe on the tag. You would never, say, put something with a Lion tag with an elephant tag or it would send your mother into fits.

Anyway.

So today I get a phone call.

"Babe - I just called to tell you that I made myself a sandwich."

"Good for you, honey."

"No - I don't think you get it. I made a sandwich - with bread and meat and cheese and lettuce. I made a sandwich!"

"Mm Hm. That's great, sweetie."

"I don't think you're taking this serious enough."

"Would you like me to call The President? Or perhaps gather up the neighbors for a block party?"

"Sigh."

Ok, now. Here's the thing. The man once served as a United States Marine. A trained killer. A defender of freedom. He was fine and fierce. He used to belly crawl through the jungles and skip over land mines and ride on Zodiac boats in the Indian Ocean for the sheer thrill of it all. And all that time he made gourmet meals out of grey globs of food that came in brown plastic packets.

And now the man wants me to be excited because he finally got up the skills to make a damn sandwich.

Which, I do have to admit is huge. My pantry and refrigerator are full of morsels of goodness but he will stand for hours upon end opening and closing the refrigerator door, I think praying each time he opens the door a ready-made entree' will fall into his lap.

I said to him once, "There was a time when you saved a village from an evil dictator - why is it you can't make yourself a simple snack?"

He's an artist now and full of creativity and brilliance.

But I think I am going to have to booby trap the kitchen with barbed wire and hand grenades and dig his old flack jacket out of storage.

And then maybe his next phone call will be to inform me he's made quiche.

--------

Sugar Eating Demon Spawn

So we had a trick today.

We catered a small (80 people) surprise party for a darling man's 80th birthday.

Now, first of all. Am I the only one who doesn't think it's wise to surprise an 80-year old man?

Suuuuuurrrrppppprrriiiiiisssseee Grandpa Billy!!!


THUD.

Anyway.

So we're checking the food and picking up plates and this Little Boy was running all over Hell and back. He was dodging and weaving in between people, under tables, in and around the coffee pot. Which, yeah. This always thrills me. But what I caught Little Boy doing was downing spoonfulls of sugar when he thought no one was looking.

But I was.

Now, I didn't see Mary Poppins trailing this kid with a bottle of medicine so the sugar was strictly a "be naughty and get away with it" thing and we needed to figure out how to make it stop.

I tried the "raised eyebrow" stare.

Nothing.

The Partner tried her "raised eyebrow stare".

Nothing.

This kid was tough.

I tried the "arms folded, raised-eyebrow stare".

Nada.

The partner tried the "raised-eyebrow stare, shaking head no" thing.

Nope.

By this point, Little Kid was on an uncontrollable sugar high and was making airplane noises as he was running in and out of tables and people. On a couple rounds he got precariously close to grandpa Billy and nearly made him stumble to the ground.

Happy Birthday Grandpa Billy - We got you a gift certificate for hip replacement surgery!!

And then, Little Kid found a stray balloon and started tugging on the string so the balloon made bopping noises. It was at this point that I did the unforgivable Food Whore thing - I talked about someone without checking to see if anyone was listening.

"I am going to take that balloon string and tie it around that little shit's feet and hang him in the coat closet..."

And a guest of the party was standing behind me.

The Partner had been trying to give me signals but I missed that page in The Food Whore's Guide To Secret Mocking when we learned that staring cross-eyed and making "ahem" sounds meant that someone was behind me.

So I turned around and had that "fake smile/sick to my stomach look" on my face when The Pretty Lady in Citrus Green said, "Are you talking about Little Kid? - because he is my nephew and he is the child from Hell. The stories I could tell you. My sister and her husband think ignoring him is the best way to handle things. And today he's decided to be A Sugar Eating Demon Spawn and I am going to hunt him down and make him wish he had never heard the word sugar."

I liked her.

I think we may offer her a job.

--------

Ohhhhhhhhhhhh........ Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh


Pretty exciting, eh? LOL

It's all the same for now. Creating a site from scratch was going to take time I did not have right now.

So same look, different address.

For now.

--------

Attention!!! Attention!!! News Flash!!!

Ok, people, over the next couple of days I am finally going to act like a grown-up and will be moving my blog to my own url. Things won't change much, it will still be a simple design- no fluff - and my attitude will be just as it is. Although I will be adding links back into my "favorites" section so if you would like me to add your link, please drop me an e-mail and let me know. Although, even if you don't e-mail me, I am totally going to add a link to your site. I guess I should say that if you absolutely don't want me to link you, let me know.

So now if you come here and I am not here, don't think I have gone off the deep end by going on a lemon drop binge and accidentally deleting everything.

PLEASE write this new link down: (Please - I don't want to lose you, I would be lonely)

My new address will be: www.thefoodwhore.com

I don't know how long it's going to take me, The Friend in Kansas has so graciously offered her time since she uses the same hosting company. So provided I don't do something in the interim to piss her off, this should be a done deal by the time the weekend is over.

Or not.

I have no idea.

With my computer skills - or rather, lack thereof - I am doing good to log in here every day without bringing all of Blogger to it's knees.

--------

Bon Appetit!

"Dining with one's friends and beloved family is certainly one of life's primal and most innocent delights, one that is both soul-satisfying and eternal. In spite of food fads, fitness programs, and health concerns, we must never lose sight of a beautifully conceived meal." ~ Julia Child

That's why I loved her so.

My favorite lady has passed away.

--------

On A Serious Note

Last night we met with clients to discuss the menu for their daughter's upcoming wedding.

The Mother of The Bride-To-Be is a young, beautiful, vibrant, and intelligent women who is succumbing to the ravages of ALS - otherwise known as Lou Gehrig's Disease.

I admittedly was pretty uneducated about this disease but it has peaked my interest in the last few months as these clients are close relatives of someone very dear to me.

According to the website of Project ALS, the disease is described as follows:

Facts about ALSALS (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis):

ALS is a fatal neuromuscular disease characterized by muscle weakness and a progressive wasting and paralysis of the muscles. ALS is also known as Lou Gehrig’s Disease, after the Yankee baseball legend who died from the disease in 1941. ALS destroys motor neurons, which are among the largest of all nerve cells in the brain and spinal cord. Motor neurons are responsible for sending messages to muscles throughout the body. As motor neurons are destroyed, muscles weaken and lose their ability to move. Eventually, most muscles are affected, including those of the legs, feet, arms and hands, and those that control swallowing and breathing.

ALS can strike anyone, of any race or ethnic background, at any age.

Approximately 80% of cases begin between 40-70 years of age. The life expectancy of an ALS patient averages 2 to 5 years. ALS is not a rare disease. Of the U.S. population living today, over 300,000 Americans will die from ALS.

We don't always know why these things happen to the people we love. But I believe there is a greater purpose for all things. It is my personal goal to find out as much as I can about this disease and do my part to give back to help fund research so that we may find a cure for diseases like ALS and erradicate them.

Please take the time to check out the site and learn.

And remember to live each and every day to the fullest.

--------

Your Goat Has Lovely Teeth


So I got a phone call from Our Friends Who Live Down The Street. A friend of theirs was visiting from Japan and was cooking up some food and they asked us to join them.

HOT DAMN!!!

So I ran downstairs to the flower shop and gathered up a fresh bouquet of dahlias for The Friend Down The Street and some lavendar scented lotion with matching sachet for The Japanese Visitor.

People don't do that enough, anymore - buy hostess gifts. It seems to be a lost art like letter writing or sending thank-you notes. The last time I brought a hostess gift the lady looked at me like I had a screw loose (Man that happens to me a lot...) and as much as I wanted to take the gift bag and hit her over the head with it, I simply explained that in my world, it was customary to bring a small token of appreciation for the host and hostess when they invite you over for an evening. (Unfortunately, she didn't take my little social lesson to heart when she came over to my house for dinner a month later, bitch.)

As I was wrapping up the trinkets (which were a huge hit, by the way), I had The Husband run through a few Japanese phrases with me. He had to learn Japanese for his work and he speaks just enough to get by. I didn't want a major lesson, I just wanted to be able to say something nice before I drank my fill of Sake and started to slur my words.

As we arrived, we could smell the aromas of the food outside the house. I started to drool like a fool and prayed she wouldn't think I was a foaming-at-the-mouth rabid dog upon meeting me.

And well - The Japanese Visitor was a darling little bundle of cuteness.

"Herrow to you!"

And I responded with my best attempt at "Gooneecheewaaa"

She was thrilled and rattled off another phrase that made no sense to me so I simply thrust my gift bag in her hand and smiled while I nodded my head.

(It's funny how a gift can be a universal language.)

I did that a lot, actually - nod my head. I speak some basic Spanish and Italian but Japanese is an entire new world for me.

So we were seated at the table and she explained in her best "Engrish" as she put it, that dinner would be simple because she did not have time to get all the ingredients she wanted.

The first thing I noticed were little deep fried "packets" that she had made by wrapping won-ton wrappers around cheese. I had to refrain from excitedly shouting, "DEEP FRIED CHEESE!!!!" I knew this treat was a good sign and that The Darling Japanese Visitor was going make it on my list of people I love. They were so simple but so good. I couldn't help but make a pig of myself and eat them by the handful. I tried to do it while no one was watching but I got busted when I dropped 3 of them in my attempt to shove an entire handfull in my mouth. (To be fair, we all did that. I wasn't the only ogre in the room)

When we were seated at the table, we started with Kare Risu - Japanese curry rice. The sauce was a velvety amber/brown color and there were chunks of potato and carrot and chicken and beef in the most amazing curry-flavored sauce. This was ladled over sticky rice and was absolutely to die for. The perfect layering of flavors and heat without being overbearing.

In between that and the next course she made a salad of rice noodles and cucumbers in rice wine vinegar and sugar. SO good! I can't remember the proper name for it - Kuri something - but I remember it was absolutely delicious and refreshing.

The next thing she brought out was Okonomiyake (Japanese pancake) with cabbage and packets of anori for sprinkling on top. They were so good - very light and yet so dense and filling. She also made yakisoba noodles if anyone wanted those along with some lovely fresh vegetables.

Now - the only downside to all of this amazing food was my ongoing inability to use chopsticks. I watched as everyone around the table gracefully ate that curry dish with rice and I sat there trying to keep a chunk of potato level on the sticks. I did have a fork to use but I so wanted it to work this time. The Husband finally patted my knee after the third piece of carrot landed on my lap and put the fork in my hand. The Darling Japanese Visitor laughed at what she called my "so much cuteness" and was impressed that I would work so hard at something I was so very clearly bad at.

We all ate ourselves silly. Simple good food, amazing company, and plentiful drink all add up to a wonderful night, to me.

On our way out the door we said out good-byes and I tried one more attempt at speaking Japanese. Whatever I said made The Darling Japanese Visitor laugh so hard that she held herself when she laughed.

The Husband said my words made no sense.

I have a sinking feeling I told her that her goat had lovely teeth.

--------

Nosey Bodies

As I said, the wedding went fabulous.

We did have a little problem with what was the typical crowd of "lookey-loos".

(You didn't honestly think I could blog about a trick without some form of complaint, did you??)

Now, everyone has their own way of doing things. But in my book, unless you are a personal friend of the family, invited to the wedding, or have permission to be there, you have no damn business snooping around someone's wedding reception to glean (read: Steal) ideas for your own wedding. The bride and groom and their families work very hard to make the wedding night a special and unique experience, so for an outsider to come in and try to make your ideas there own - well - it's rude.

(The Friend in Texas knows what we deal with here - people can be idiots.)

We have a very strict policy that we do not take pictures of any of our displays or buffet stations. If someone sees our work and mentions they would like something similar, that is fine. Or if the wedding photographer takes pictures of our work, we have no problem with that. But when we sit down with a potential client, we assure them that their night will be uniquely theirs. Meaning - we never do the same set-up twice. Which, yeah, that can be a challenge with all that we do, but your night is your night. And we work very hard with props, flowers, etc. etc. to make each event a special and unique thing.

Well, invariably when we are setting up a reception trick, some bride-to-be and her mother sneak in the back door to snoop around and hope to go unnoticed as they look around the place and take notes. Which, again, if you have permission to be there, more power to you. But if you're sneaking around being a nosy body - pray you don't get caught.

We had 3 such instances on Friday afternoon and all 3 got kicked to the curb. 2 of them were asked to leave by the manager of the venue, and the last one was up to me. And this lady was so bold as to take pictures.

"Can I help you?"

"Well - um."

"Are you part of the wedding tonight?"

"Uh - well (click) um, not exactly."

"And did you call the bring or groom or any member of their families to get permission to come in and take these pictures?"

"Um... no, not exactly."

"Well then I am really sorry, but you will have to leave."

"It's a free country."

"That may very well be the case, but these people have a lot of money invested into this night and this building and unless you are invited or have permission to be here - you will have to leave - and you need to please stop taking pictures."

"Well I don't see the big deal - I mean, they aren't even here."

"Right - but we are. And as a part of this function tonight, we are responsible for what's happening right now and you need to leave. It's rude and it's intrusive and I would think that you would not be happy if some stranger wandered into your special night to do what you are doing right now."

"Well, I..."

"I am sorry. I know it's a drag, but you really need to leave. Please."

"Look - just go back to the kitchen and do what you do and we won't bother you."

"Again - I am sorry. But you have got to leave - right now."

"Well you're rude."

"Yes. So I have been told. Good bye."

As I was walking away I heard the daughter say, "God - what a bitch. This room looks like shit, anyway. The decorations are pathetic and mine will be so much better."

I turned around and said, "Excuse me?"

She didn't think I heard and both she and her mother just sort of stood there with that sick look on their faces.

But this time The Partner had come out of the kitchen and said with a smart-ass smile, "She is a bitch - but only to people like you with no tact, no class, and no business being here. Buh Bye."

As you can see, The Partner and I graduated top of our class at Whore Charm School.

--------

"Incredible!"


"Outstanding"


"Sooo delicious"


"This is the best food I have ever eaten"


"I am not getting married until next March - but I want my name in your schedule book right now"


"Oh my God - you mean you make this all from scratch?"


"Please tell me you're not booked on February 12th!"


"Your table display is so stunning - and then the food is just out of this world."

And the very best one from the Mother of The Bride, "Kris, you and The Partner are just so absolutely wonderful - The two of you made this wedding what it was. The two of you are responsible for this night. Your food, your display - everything. I cannot thank you enough for making this night the very best ever."




Friday night's trick was amazing. Wonderful client, wonderful guests (see aforementioned quotes), the food - well - honestly, it's my opinion that being boastful is an ugly trait in a human being. But have to say it was incredible. And we were so humbled by the way people complimented us as we worked the room.

And The Spitting Salmon Guy - he brought down the house with his fresh Alaska salmon. He did walk around with a pound of chew in his lower lip, but he never spit in my direction. And honestly, even if he had, I would not have cared. His care and the way he babied that fish to perfection was outstanding. He even gave us all a cold beer as we sat out back of the venue to catch a few minutes of a break when the rush of it all was over.

The man was an amazing cook and he gave me liquor. He very well could be my new best friend.

The night rocked.

--------

IT'S READY!!!!!!!


Sweet Merciful God it's ready!!!

THE CORN IS READY!!!!

I can't even tell you!! If you want to see the act of gluttony at it's finest, come to The Sister's back yard and watch the two of us gorge on the most amazing sweet and crunchy local corn on the cob ever! We cover her picnic table with paper and grill up enough corn for 20. It will be slathered in sweet cream butter and sprinkled with Kosher salt and fresh cracked black pepper. (Said butter and seasonings will be dripping down this Food Whore's chin...)

But whatever you do, for God's sake, don't try to take any corn. The Sister and I will likely tackle your sorry asses to the ground.

CORN!

To My friend In The Southern Hemisphere, I will have an ear - or 10 - in your honor!

--------

Mary Kay Letourneau


Ok so I had to make a quick trip in to Costco tonight because the Food Delivery Guy sent our 3 cases of romaine lettuce to another drop-off and he wouldn't be back around until tomorrow afternoon. (Dumb shit)

No problem. Costco is close. I figured I could get in and get out before anyone got hurt.

But while I was there I was drawn over to the aisle with the spices as I needed a jug of olive oil for my pasta and pine nuts, too.

So I am half way across the store and I notice The Young Boy and His Mother heading in the same direction. He was, I would guess, about 12 years old. And I noticed that he was staring at me. Up and down, up and down.

I ignored it at first but they were headed to the same aisle as I was so he continued to stare. Up and down - pause at my breasts - up and down.

Oh Hell, no. Can't be. Certainly this young boy was not just staring at my breasts.

So I got my oil and my pine nuts and I was headed to the next aisle over and Young Boy was keeping my pace, staring. Always with the staring. Up and down - pause at my breasts - up and down.

So finally I gave him the Raised Eyebrow Stare of Death when I heard his mother say, "Jeffrey! Get over here!" Lucky for him - he was about to be pummled by the bag of pine nuts. She walked over to me and whispered, "I am so sorry. SO sorry. Jeffrey is at that age where he's noticing, you know, things about women, and he is particularly fascinated with breasts."

I just sort of stood there, dumbfounded. I honestly didn't have a comeback to a woman telling me that her 12 year old son was fascinated with breasts and apparently was particularly attracted to mine. "Well, they all go through that, I suppose. But perhaps something Jeffrey should learn is that staring is not polite." What I wanted to say was, "Get a handle on that little man or he's going to get drop-kicked into next week."

But I didn't.

But I wanted to.

Really, really bad.

I don't know if this had anything to do with Mary Kay Letourneau getting out of jail but...

Gross.

--------

Spit

I went to the grocery store last night.

My schedule has been so insane of late that I failed to notice I was out of - everything. I am like Old Mother Hubbard. Well... except I am not really old, at least I don't think so, and I am not a mother yet and well, I do have liquor so the cabinets aren't totally bare. So I guess I am more like Somewhat Young & Childless Drunk Hubbard.

Anyway.

The cupboards were bare. I went to make pene in vodka tomato sauce the other night and all I had was 1/2 box of whole wheat penne and a can of pinto beans. (Well, yeah. And I had the vodka) I didn't even have black-eyed peas and Triscuits, which is a staple I share with The Conservative Catholic Friend in Virginia. This really is so completely unlike me. I am anal about my pantry being stocked. But all my time of late has been spent shopping for others and bitching about shopping for others.

Off to the store I went. And I have to say that this shopping experience was particularly nice. No Sweaty Hairy Armpits and none of those Yacking Aisle Blockers that seem to be so common these days.

I even had someone offer to help when I accidentally ran into the Sugar Pops display and knocked about 10 boxes onto the floor. My cart was pretty loaded and kind of heavy and I didn't give myself enough clearance out of the coffee aisle and I clipped the corner and sent those Pops to the floor. Although you know, honestly, even if I had given myself enough clearance, I would have knocked those Pops to the floor. I can't drive a full grocery cart worth damn. Total spaz.

So, I get through the check-out lines just fine and Cute Bagger Boy packs my groceries neatly back in the cart and I was on my way. I was just out the door when I heard, "Hey! Hey you!"

I turned to look and saw this man standing there and just before I could say something, he spit his chew on the sidewalk next to my feet. I looked down at the chew and then back up at him and said, "Uh ... excuse me??"

"Hey, are you doing the food for Friday night?"

"Well, I do have a function on Friday night, yes."

(We have a trick Friday night - 350 people)

"And it's for John and Jane Doe, right?"

"Yeah..."

At this point in the conversation he is picking the remaining flecks of chewing tobacco out of his teeth while I am standing there with a raised eyebrow and moving my feet enough as to not step in the pile of spit laden chew.

"Well, I am the salmon guy!"

"You? - you're the salmon guy?"

"Yep - in the flesh!"

The trick for Friday night, as I said, is 350 people. The menu is chicken and salmon (and a bunch of other foods) and the client asked if their "friend" could grill the salmon and then we would serve it. Which, the idea seemed great. Less work for us. And I had heard of the "friend" and he grills up an amazing fillet of salmon.

But as I was standing on that sidewalk with a chunk of chewing tobacco at my feet, it didn't seem like such a great idea.

"So - you're the salmon guy."

"Yes in deedy... "

"Well, that's great. I hear you grill up a wonderful salmon."

"Well thank you..."

"I will say, however, that if you spit that nasty stuff at my feet again - Please understand that I will have no other option but to kick your ass."

He stood there for a minute and then started laughing so hard that he nearly choked. "The Doe's told me you were feisty and funny! Ahahaha!"


He patted me on the arm as he walked past and laughed all the way to his car. He also stepped in his own pile of spit.

Can't wait until Friday.

--------

The Wedding of Indecision


So we finally got confirmation on the menu for The Irrational Bride's Wedding and on Wednesday we had a final count. What I wanted to tell The Irrational Bride was that all she was getting was cheese and crackers because having to place a somewhat late order with The Food Distributor Guy makes for a crabby Food Distributor Guy and when Food Distributor Guy gets crabby with The Food Whore - The Food Whore gets crabby.

And I think we all know The Food Whore is not always so pleasant even on a good day.

And as of Thursday, one of the groomsmen still had not even been measured for his tuxedo. I know this because The Flower Shop Friend also rents tuxedos and she called The Irrational Bride no less than 5 times and got no response. I also happen to know that The Irrational Bride had picked out all of her flowers with The Flower Shop friend but changed her mind and went with another florist.

(Aforementioned groomsmen didn't get a tuxedo.)

Apparently the wedding was nearly called off on Monday night because The Irrational Bride had left so damn many things undecided that things weren't done and figured it would be best to call the entire thing off.

But then she couldn't decide.

I know this because The Super Organized Acquaintance is friends with The Mother of the Irrational bride and had offered early on to host the reception in her garden.

The Super Organized Acquaintance sat down with The Irrational Bride months ago and asked what she wanted her reception to look like, and because The Irrational Bride could not make a decision (see the pattern here), The Super Organized Acquaintance took charge and did the entire reception herself. She picked the flowers, the linens, the table service, the music, the program - everything.

I should interject this little tidbit of info: The Irrational Bride is 32 years old and she is a school teacher. I am frightened beyond measure to think that this woman is teaching our youth. Teaching them what? I am sure she hasn't decided. My guess is she bursts into tears when little Johnny raises his hand to ask a question. And then can't decide if she wants to call on little Johnny, which causes her angst, which makes her cry some more.

I would bet my life savings that she keeps a supply of paper bags in her top teacher drawer in case of emergencies like hyperventillation.

Anyway.

So we are setting out our linens on Saturday afternoon when the newly-chosen florist arrives and when she comes around the arbor with her hands full of white roses she asked, "Is this the reception for The Wedding of Indecision?"

So it wasn't just us.

The Irrational Bride had managed to piss off the florist (both of them), the caterers, the photographers, The Super Organized Acquaintance, the bridal shop, the rental company, her parents, the stationary store, and a myriad of other people both directly and indirectly involved with this wedding in some form.

In fact, because she couldn't make a decision, there was no formal announcement of a reception written on the wedding announcement. The Minister had to inform the guests at the end of the ceremony that they would, in fact, be getting a meal. And then he had to give verbal directions on how to get from the church to The Super Organized Acquaintance's garden - which was a 12 mile drive.

So our food is set in place, The Super Organized Acquaintance called ahead to announce they were leaving the church and that the guests would be eating upon arrival of The Irrational Bride and Her Must Be Medicated Or Is Totally Insane Groom.

Perfect.

We were ready.

Give us the nod and we will remove the lids from the chafing dishes and toss the salad.

But then something crazy happened.

The Irrational Bride and Her Must Be Medicated or Is Totally Insane Groom arrived...and...The Irrational Bride Made a decision.

She decided that she was hungry and wanted a half hour so she and her Must To Be Medicated or Is Totally Insane Groom could eat and have private time.

This - THIS is what she decides?????

As much as I wanted to shout, "Are you fucking kidding me?" I didn't. I smiled at The Super Organized Acquaintance, made up two plates of food and looked for a concrete wall to beat my head against.

The Partner and The Staff looked for liquor.

So as 200 guests were sitting at their tables - some not so lucky to be in the shade (Yeah, it was another hot one) - they had to wait while The Irrational Bride and Her Must Be Medicated or Is Totally Insane Groom ate and had quiet time.

Now, just so you understand, this is a major no-no. The wedding is all about the bride and groom. But the reception is to be all about the guests. These people got dressed up, bought and expensive gift and gave up a beautiful Saturday evening to sit in a hot church and watch you say your vows and act like princess for a day. So when the time comes - you feed them. And you feed them well. And you feed them in a timely fashion. You don't hole up in the air-conditioned house while Great Aunt Ethel has to apply another layer of pancake foundation because the profuse sweating is making her look like a drunk circus clown. Get your ass outside, greet everyone and FEED THEM.

So finally they are done eating and then The Irrational Bride couldn't decide how she wanted to be announced as she entered the garden. Every single person in that kitchen - caterers, parents, The Super Organized Acquaintance and bridesmaids - made raised eyebrow eye contact and a a silent pact that if that girl did not get her sorry ass out to that garden, we would physically pick her up and toss her into the petunias.

Finally she went.

And finally the guest got to eat - gorge, was more like it. Those poor people were starving.

I am very happy to say that beyond all the indecision, the food was fabulous and despite the Great Gnat Invasion of 2004 (another blog), things were wonderful.

But I would bet money that at this very moment The Irrational Bride and Her Must Be Medicated or Is Totally Insane Groom are still driving around the airport parking garage because The Irrational Bride couldn't decide.

--------