Vacation Mode
Everyone has a similar story. People go on vacation, they find something to eat, and it is the most wonderful version of that thing they have ever had. It was a story like this, related to me by some old friends, which led to my discovery of a truly remarkable cheese.
Now maybe it is truly wonderful and maybe it isn’t.
The problem is that you never can tell.
There are so many things that can make something taste good. It has long been said that hunger is the best sauce. And that may be true. But I’m going to say that travel is right up there.
What the Hell Happened to Smoothies
I hadn’t been living in California long before I took a trip back to Philly one summer to visit some friends. It was clear from the start that life on the West Coast had softened my mind.
It was a beautiful summer morning. The Philly heat and humidity had yet to roll in, and people were on their front stoops enjoying a bit of cool morning air. And as I strolled past a couple of these people, I wished them a bright and friendly, “Good morning.”
Which naturally was met with icy stares. So much for brotherly love.
The day went on, and I continued my walk around the city. As the weather got warmer, I got thirstier. And I went looking for liquid refreshment. What I really wanted was a smoothie, but I couldn’t find a juice bar to save my life.
When I told my friends about my conundrum, they nearly laughed me out of town.
“A juice bar? What the hell happened to you?!” This was most likely in 1996.
Flying Without a Net
Warning: This post has not been edited for content or grammar. Mrs. Fussy is off at some conference in Arizona, and I have been left to my own devices. Young Master Fussy is off gallivanting around Boston with his grandparents. Little Miss Fussy has a tummy full of Chipotle and is peacefully fitfully sleeping it off.
Which means, I can do whatever I want.
But I’m not. I’m going to play it safe.
One of the things Mrs. Fussy does for me, every day, besides making sure all of the commas are in the right place, and that I don’t have run-on sentences (like this one), is to make sure that my tone stays within a reasonable range. And it’s a good thing too, because sometimes I just get a bit carried away. What can I say? I’m a passionate man.
So instead of going off the rails on some small matter that I find to be particularly galling, and which most likely nobody else has even noticed, I’m going to do something else. I’m going to set up the week to come.
The Rare Exception
Last year at this time I wrote a little post entitled How Do You Like Your Meat? And I shared a maxim that I follow: always order the burger one degree of doneness below the desired temperature.
After all, this is what I would do for my favorite hamburger at The Original Joe’s.
Well, a year has passed, and there were a couple of times over the last 52 weeks when I felt the need to diverge from this strategy. One was based on the influence of a reader, and the other had to do with a proprietary ordering system at a local burger joint.
Cupcakes Versus Croissants
I have heard it said that the Capital Region is about ten years behind in food trends. Officially the cupcake craze began in the fall of 1996 with the West Village’s Magnolia Bakery. Locally Spa City Cupcakes opened in 2008, and as far as I can tell that was the first sign of the trend up in these parts. But recently we have had some more cupcake bakeries open in the area, and I’ve found myself thinking about the three-dollar cupcake.
And I’ve found myself getting more and more agitated.
I can get behind cupcakes. I can. I can get behind spending a bit more money on something special versus something ordinary. I have no problem paying $3 for a tasty and delicious white flour and butter snack. Most importantly, I actually like the little buggers.
So why do fancy cupcakes upset me so much? The answer has to do with croissants.
Maple Syrup: A Sticky Situation
I used to work with a woman who told me she made her own maple syrup. This was out in California, and I was very impressed. So I asked her all kinds of questions. She was a bit taken aback by my interest, and confessed that it was rather easy. All you do is add maple extract to corn syrup.
Disappointment is not something I have ever been very good at hiding.
There is no substitute for real maple syrup. Period. No restaurant worth its salt would ever dare to serve anything but the bona fide product. Imitation syrup, like my former colleague used to make, is as out of place at a fine dining restaurant as Cool Whip.
Which brings us to the current conundrum.
Local newspaper columnist and blogging superstar Kristi Gustafson recently had Mother’s Day brunch at Dale Miller. Chef Miller has been a fixture in the region for a long time and has a splendid reputation. His eponymous restaurant is one of the best in Albany.
And Miss Gustafson insists they serve imitation syrup. Now here is where things get interesting.
My Favorite Burger
My favorite burger joint went up in flames. Perhaps that is one way to know that it was truly a great burger place.
In fact, it’s not even the first of my favorite burger restaurants to burn down. When I was a kid, my grandfather would take me to Hamburger Choo-Choo in Huntington, NY. It combined all the things a young boy should love: hamburgers, french fries, chocolate malts and trains. And then instead of just fading away into anachronistic obscurity, it ignited. Never again would I experience the joy of having my burger delivered to my seat by a toy train.
Perhaps the time I spent there in my formative years is what has given me this penchant for greasy burger halls that ultimately get consumed by the same fire that makes them so delicious.
Now I recognize it’s not really fair to hold onto the memory of something that no longer exists as your favorite anything. So one could say that the issue of my favorite hamburger is still an open question. But before I move on to try and find a replacement, I’d like to take a few minutes to tell you why I loved this one, and why it is still listed on my Yelp profile as “My Last Meal On Earth.”
Mom’s Meals
There are a lot of moms in my life.
There are the moms that I have dinner with monthly. I use the word “Mom” when referring to Mrs. Fussy these days, which still feels a bit creepy. There are my grandmothers, who are miraculously still alive and kicking. I also have a stepmother and a mother-in-law. Plus there are countless other moms who I have adopted over the years.
I am very well mothered.
None of which makes my own mother any less special to me. I love her and I value the close relationship we share. And even though we do not always agree, we are always able to talk things out, openly and honestly.
Throughout the years, there have always been certain dishes that mom would cook and we would have time and time again. I do not have the recipes, but I can share with you the dishes, and my memories of them through the decades, in my Mother’s Day tribute to my mom.
In Praise of the Cookout
Last year around this time, I wrote a short post about the difference between grilling and barbecue. And we are getting into the season where people are breaking out their grills and their smokers, so I want to make sure everyone gets this right.
Cooking on a grill over direct high heat is grilling.
Cooking with smoke using indirect low heat is barbecue.
The biggest problem is that barbecue has become a catchall word. So instead of telling you what not to do, allow me to suggest some helpful alternatives.
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