Let’s Talk About Bread, Baby!
No, not bread as in money. Bread as in bread! You know, the good stuff. That crusty loaf of wonder that calls to you at three a.m. and tugs you from your warm bed into the kitchen. I may have a deep spiritual relationship with cheese, but I also have a an ongoing lusty affair with bread. I have always loved bread, even when I REALLY didn’t know much about it, meaning I thought there were two kinds: white and wheat. Then as I got older I discovered a whole world of bread and have made it my life’s mission to eat as many different varieties as I can…
Even as a child I was passionate about bread. I would go to my friends’ house and beg for a slice of their Wonder bread (we only ate wheat). I would marvel in its pillowy, white softness and how it was almost sweet. At home, I couldn’t wait for my parents to have an evening out. Why? So my sisters and I could eat my Dad’s bread. Oh yes, while we got wheat, he had his own personal stash of Sourdough. The minute we would hear the car pull out of the driveway, we would rush, en masse (there were four of us!), to the kitchen. Once there, my sister Judy, on her tip toes, would reach into the back of the top cabinet and pull out the sourdough. I swear that when it came out it was bathed in a golden light and I heard angels sing. She would put it on the counter and we would greedily fight to get our share. My sisters would eat it un-toasted with tons of butter and jam. They would devour their slices while still standing in the kitchen. I would toast mine and lovingly put just enough butter to make it glisten. Then I would take it into my bedroom, curl up on my bed and slowly eat it. I wanted to savor every moment.
Sourdough raids aside, it wasn’t until I got out on my own that I really started experiencing different types of bread. I was a manager at a bakery while in college, so I happily ate every bread we served. My first bread obsession was a Rosemary/Garlic Italian white. It was soft with roasted cloves of garlic and specked with rosemary. I think I must have eaten thirty loves of it in a matter of two months. Next I became obsessed with a sturdy whole wheat that had raisins and walnuts. I would bring it home from the bakery, toast it , slather it in butter and then apricot jam. Heaven. Then I couldn’t get enough Kalamata Olive bread. Huge Kalamata olives encased in a soft wheat center with a fantastically crunchy crust. This I would dip in olive oil, balsamic vinegar and Parmesan cheese. Then came the Ciabatta months, followed by the Sourdough roll weeks… I ate it all!
After the bakery, I continued my bread affair. I would drive 20 minutes just to get bread from La Brea Bakery in L.A. (before they were in every store). I went once a week and tried all their breads. I was fascinated by the artisanal quality (remember, this was back when artisanal was NOT a buzz word). I always had one of their sourdough baguettes in my house. I would eat it with all types of cheeses, but I would also cradle it in my arms and savagely tear off chunks, devouring the entire baguette in one sitting.
I even went through a phase where I was making my own bread! Yes, making it and without a bread machine. I loved the way the yeast was alive and the development of the gluten as I kneaded it. I made all types of breads: focaccia, pizza dough, whole wheat, black olive/cheddar, apricot/pecan, etc. I would give home-made loaves as gifts and would spend entire weekends baking. I once even tried to teach my sister how to make bread, but that didn’t go over too well. To me, making a loaf of bread was a transcendent thing. To her, it was just bread…
To this day, I am always looking to try a new bread. I love the mini baguettes. My new favorites are the multi-grain seeded variety and the cheddar jalapeno. Because they are “mini” I don’t feel so guilty when I find that I have eaten the entire thing in less than one day. For health reasons I try to stick to whole wheat/multi-grain varieties, but am known to sneak in a good Italian white every now and then. And yes, when I have an especially delicious bread in the house, I do awaken from sleep, stumble into the kitchen and eat a slice (or two!).
Where is my Brie?!
Okay, the holidays are over and we are all trying to get back into our normal routines. You know, five-day work weeks (the horror!), regular work outs and for me, the most dreaded, healthy eating. Don’t get me wrong, I am a big proponent of healthy eating, but after a month of indulging, that lightly dressed kale salad is a bitter leaf to swallow. For me, healthy eating is 90% habit and 10% will power. You can’t miss what you don’t have! The holiday month of December totally screws that up and leaves me, well, wanting. It is scary how quickly I become accustomed to drinking a bottle (or two) of Champagne mid-week, nibbling on Moose Munch (Harry & David concoction of dark chocolate, cashews and caramel corn), late night snacks of Brie slathered on chunks of crusty sourdough bread and on and on.
So, here I am seven days into January and totally unsatisfied with EVERYTHING I am eating. Before I go on, I must confess that during non-holiday months, I am a creature of habit. I basically eat the same things every day with some minor variations. Boring I know, but I find that it is easier for me to eat healthfully if I simply stick to a few basics. Before you start thinking I NEVER eat unhealthy food, let me just say that I DO indulge every weekend. I go out to eat with my husband and allow myself a few meals of the things that I KNOW I shouldn’t eat every day. This keeps me on track and gives me something to look forward to while I’m eating my fifth salad of the week.
But now, ALL of my go to meals are leaving bored and grumpy. Yes, grumpy. I don’t WANT to eat the whole wheat tortilla loaded with vegetables and a squeeze of lemon. I want the cheese platter that I had just a week ago. I want that fabulous kalamata olive bread. I want that cheesy potato au gratin dish. I want, I want, I want… No wonder I am grumpy!
So what is the answer? I KNOW I can’t start “Holiday eating” 365 days a year. That would be a road to all sorts of health problems. I also know that if I don’t have a little “something” to help me transition I may just storm into the grocery store, pick up a wheel of Camembert and start gnawing on it while I fend off the security guards with my half-eaten sourdough baguette. My solution has been to ease back into my healthful eating. Sort of like the way one eases into a really hot bath. Slowly and in steps. Yes, I am back to eating salads most nights, but I am adding extra cheese and allowing myself some extra whole wheat bread. I am adding a little of the holidays (cheese, great bread, an extra glass of wine) to every meal and it seems to be working. I’m not as grumpy and I only think about raiding a supermarket’s cheese counter every few hours instead of every minute!
Service- As Important as the Food
My husband and I just celebrated our fourth wedding anniversary. Along with cards, flowers and gifts, there were, of course, restaurant meals. Yes, meals. Any reason to eat out, right?! We had some really great experiences and some not so great. But it was not the food that was off at the not so great meals it was the service. Before I go any further, let me say I was a server for many years and KNOW that it is a difficult job. Also, because I was a server and my husband is currently a Chef, we have a tendency to be very understanding when it comes to service. In other words, it takes a lot for us to feel like a server was truly bad and not just having a bad day. This aforementioned poor service got me thinking about how important service in general is to having a fabulous time dining out. Great food cannot make up for bad service, but great service can totally make up for okay/bad food. Furthermore, bad service can make even the most delicious meal taste sour. That is exactly what happened to my husband and I. Not once, but twice.
The first time we had a less than pleasant time with a server was a week before our anniversary. We had been dying to try this adorable little Italian place for weeks and had been making ourselves crazy reading the rave reviews of the food. So we decided to make a pre-anniversary trip for dinner to see if it was as good as everyone said and if it was, we would dine there on our anniversary. The first tip that things may not go smoothly was when we called to make a reservation. Their website said they opened at one time, but the gentleman on the phone told us that actually they didn’t open until 30 minutes later. Hmmm. We laughed it off and thought the food must be REALLY good for them to get away with opening later. We giddily drove to the restaurant, discussing what we wanted to try from the menu. We sat outside on a cute patio and for the first part of the meal, everything was great. Our waiter was very Italian with a wonderfully thick accent, friendly, knowledgeable and overall very nice. We ordered salads (one of the best Caesar salads I have EVER had!), wood-fired Neapolitan style pizza and herb roasted chicken. We also had a bottle of wine ( they offer 50% off bottles on Sunday, bonus!) and my husband just had to try a glass of the Italian beer. At this point, we were in love with the place and couldn’t wait to come back for our anniversary. When offered dessert, we said, “No.” The server came back with a cannoli for us to share saying, “On the house! Enjoy!” Wow! Perfect evening, right? Wrong. We get the check and I notice that they had charged us full price for the wine. I really thought that maybe the VERY promoted deal was over and thought, “Oh, well.” But my husband grabbed the manager as he was walking by and asked. It was still going on and he took the check to correct it. Our formerly sweet server brought the corrected check back, threw it at my husband and snottily said, “Happy? A free dessert and half-off your wine!” Then he stormed off. My husband and I were agape. Wait a minute here. We did not ask for a free dessert and the restaurant is having a wine promotion. My husband was livid, but I told him to calm down. I paid the check and just got the hell out of there. Did we go back for our anniversary? No. Will we ever go back again? No and that makes me sad because it really was one of the best meals we have had in quite a while, but the way the server treated us simply left a bad taste in our mouths.
The second time this happened was on our anniversary weekend. We had gone to a buffet brunch at a very nice resort that sits right on the bay. Yes, a buffet! And I am happy to report that both my husband and I controlled ourselves. I digress. The views were to die for: white sand, blue bay and sailboats lazily floating across the water. The buffet itself was just okay. Lots of variety, but nothing that knocked my socks off. My husband did love the sushi station and the Ahi sashimi. My memory of the brunch is stellar and I would highly recommend it. Not for the okay food, but for the view and the great service. Our server was attentive, warm, funny and just a pleasure. She MADE the food taste better. We liked her so much that we went back the next day to sit by the bay for their happy hour. Here is when we met bad server number two. She ignored us, rolled her eyes, was surly and generally was just not a very nice person. The happy hour food was very good, better than the brunch and the view was still fabulous, but it wasn’t nearly as enjoyable. Why? Because the server was an unhappy mess.
The funny thing about what we experienced is that I THOUGHT I knew how important service was, but really I didn’t. It was not until I had these meals did it really hit home. It was a good lesson in the importance of service.
Buffets-Can You Have Too Much of a Good Thing?
So it is Sunday night and after the riveting Real Housewives of New Jersey episode (best season yet!), my husband and I are looking for something to watch. We stumbled upon Buffet Paradise on the Travel Channel and were instantly sucked in. The Travel Channel has an entire series of Paradise shows, everything from Fried Chicken Paradise to Cheese Paradise (a personal favorite). The premise of the show is that they travel around the country and show you the best places to eat whatever they are profiling, thus it is a paradise. If you haven’t seen any episodes, I highly recommend them for unparalleled vicarious eating. This last Sunday, as I mentioned, it was Buffet Paradise.
I have always been a sucker for a good buffet. When I was younger I would eat until I was sick, yes, literally sick. I could not control myself. I had to eat too much of everything. I would go to Sizzler with friends and eat ten pieces of that fabulous garlic cheese bread. Pile at least four plates with salads, tostadas, etc. They would go out after dinner. I would need to go home and lie down. My first husband and I used to go to a Souplantation that would leave me hurting for two days. Not only would I gorge on cheese and ranch laden salads, but I would also eat slice after slice of the focaccia bread. After he rolled me out to the car, I would get home and moan while rubbing my horribly distended stomach. But my favorite buffet during this time was a Sunday Brunch at the Red Onion. It was a Mexican restaurant that put out a huge spread every Sunday: omelet bar, waffle station, endless guacamole, chile rellenos and on and on. Oh yeah, they also included bottomless mimosas! So, we would go to this buffet and eat and drink for two hours straight. Oh, the memories… But all that excessive over-eating ended very abruptly when I was diagnosed with an ulcer. I could no longer stuff myself until I was about to pop. I couldn’t because if I did, I was facing hours of excruciating pain. Did I do it anyway? Yes, a few times. But let me tell you, the one thing stronger than my compulsive need to eat everything in sight was the pain from my ulcer.
My husband also spent his youth over-eating at various buffets. His parents loved them too. Loved them so much that when they went on a seven-day cruise they came back twenty pounds heavier! They told my husband stories of the midnight buffets, the breakfast bars and ice cream socials. So for him, buffets were a family affair. But he too realized that eating until sick was no fun (okay, fun while you are eating!) and learned the difficult art of moderation.
So, here we are, two buffet fanatics, watching Buffet Paradise. Should have been a match made in heaven, right? It started that way. We excitedly watched the profiled buffets and paused the program to discuss what we would eat at each particular buffet (yes, this is what we do). Then, it happened. My husband said the one thing that could put a damper on all this food fun, “Really, though, how much can you eat?” Damn! But he was right. How much can one eat? Even if you starve yourself for two days before going to a buffet, you can still only eat so much.
In theory I think buffets are spectacular. In practice, not so much. I do think you can have too much of a good thing. Buffets tempt us with so many delicious dishes that loss of control is not only inevitable, but also expected. But what a price we pay for that loss (see the twenty pounds gained in seven days)! Now I am going to tell you something you may not expect to hear, I still love buffets and still go to them. I get a lot of food, but just take small bites of everything I want to try. As soon as I start feeling full, which for me is way too fast, I stop. But only because I have to… My husband also has mastered the not over-eating at a buffet, but it is harder for him. He doesn’t have the specter of a night of pain looming if he over eats.
Reading back what I just wrote, I realized I sound a bit schizophrenic. What can I tell you? I LOVE food. So as a food passionate person I can’t completely knock buffets. I guess we should all go to buffets the way we should eat while at them, in moderation.
Am I a Wino?
I guess I need to clarify that question. I AM a wino in the sense that I am passionate about wine. I love to try new wines, pair wines with food, go to wine tastings etc. My question was more about the other type of wino, you know, for lack of a better way to put it, the drunk ones. Why am I pondering my association with the drunk winos now? Blame my husband. Every time we have wine (which is, I must admit, quite often) he says, “Baby, we are winos!” He always says this as he is refilling HIS glass. My response is always the same, “No, we are not. We simply like wine.” He did this again last night and it got me thinking, am I a wino?
I grew up in a house where my parents regularly drank wine. My Dad even had a wine cellar. From a young age Dad would pour me a little wine and ask me what I thought. I would make a face and he would laugh. Wine was also an integral part of our family celebrations. Every holiday my Dad would serve not one bottle of wine, but four (not including the champagne). My parents would invite friends over for wine tastings and the bottle count went up to at least eight. Mom would cook for days and the night of the tasting, inevitably at least a few of my parents friends would have to sleep over. To this day, when planning a visit to see my Dad, the first thing I think about is which wines to bring. My point being, that in my house, drinking wine was a celebration and a passion, it was never associated with the OTHER kind of wino.
My husband on the other hand grew up very differently. His parents rarely, if ever drank and when they did they had one beer or one mixed drink, no wine. They had no liquor of any kind in the house. It wasn’t that they frowned upon drinking per se, they just weren’t drinkers. My husband says it is because they are Jewish and mostly, Jews don’t drinks like us crazy wasps (that would be me). I don’t buy that explanation. I have dated plenty of heavy drinking Jewish boys over my life time. But I do think the differences in how we grew up do play a role in how he perceives our drinking now.
I went through a time when I WAS crazy with drinking, as did my husband. I drank too much on many nights in college and then spent a good part of my twenties hungover. My husband also had his alcohol fueled years. But, as you know, hopefully you grow up and don’t want to wake up feeling like you have been run over by a truck. Currently my husband and I drink wine about five nights a week. He is a Chef and when he comes home from the restaurant at night it is our habit to open a bottle of wine (or two) and talk about our days. Most nights it is just one bottle split between the two of us, but sometimes, yes, okay it is two. Do I get buzzed? Sometimes, but most nights I just feel relaxed.
So, what is any self-respecting obsessive personality going to do? Yes, that is right, take the 20 questions test from AA. The shocker? Answer yes to one & you are, according to the test, more than likely an alcoholic. How did I do? Got one yes, damn it! I do drink alone. I love a cold beer when I am making dinner.
Where does that leave me? I am a wino. But the passionate kind, not the drunk kind. Excuse me while I go tell my husband to “Shut up!”
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