Best Wishes for a Christmas Ham
Trader Joe’s was a life saver when it came to the Capital Region. Yes, everyone complains about the parking. The parking is bad at pretty much every Trader Joe’s I’ve ever visited around the country. That’s just how it goes.
The Trader Joe’s in Albany though recently expanded its parking lot, adding more spaces both to the front and in a separate overflow lot in the back.
Even still, earlier this week, the parking lot was exceedingly chaotic. And that’s when I noticed there was a queue set up inside the HoneyBaked Ham store. Yep. One busy store in the strip mall is about all the parking lot can take. But during Christmas and Easter when the HoneyBaked Ham store gets rolling, and there are two busy stores sharing the same lot? That spells “doom”.
Anyhow, as the chaos of the holiday season reaches its apex, it is time to share my annual warning about HoneyBaked Ham.
Spreading the Utica Joy
Let’s talk about chain restaurants for a minute.
Restaurants with multiple locations can get a bad rap, and there are good reasons for this. It’s challenging to keep standards of quality and consistency high at a single location, with one dedicated chef leading the charge, keeping a keen, sharp eye on the entire process.
When Thomas Keller opened up Per Se in Manhattan and started dividing his time between The French Laundry in Napa and his new restaurant in New York, he installed a video monitoring system so he could see what was happening in both kitchens.
Larger restaurant operations rely on other methods to try and achieve the same levels of quality and consistency at each location. Those places, like Dinosaur Barbecue, where from scratch cooking still happens on a daily basis rely on adherence to recipes and training. But it’s hard. And it’s not a foolproof system.
It’s more foolproof to work with frozen, or otherwise prefabricated products, and put them together at the point of sale like a McDonald’s franchise. Yet even those have variations from store to store.
So I get why people might opt for a local independent operator when making their dinner choices, and avoid a spot with more than one location. However, just recently I was reminded of the other side of chain restaurants when I wanted a taste of Utica, but was in Clifton Park.
The Miracle of the Latkes
Happy Chanukah! Tonight is the eighth night of the festival of lights. And as always, it’s a little bit of a relief for a couple of reasons.
First, it means that I can stop eating fried food every day. Huzzah! As much as I love the stuff, after eating hot oily foods for a few days in a row, I’m ready to take a break.
Second, we are now moving out of the political firestorm of “Happy Holidays” and firmly into “Merry Christmas” territory. The last thing I want is for anyone to think that I’m part of the war against Christmas. Although I have to admit that from my vantage point the only war against Christmas comes from the gross commercialization and consumerism that seem to have become an inextricable part of the holiday.
That aside, today is about latkes, because this year I experienced a small miracle.
The Quiet Demise of Family Dinner
Happy Chanukah! I tell you, this is the holiday that just keeps on giving. Tonight will be the fourth night, and then we’re halfway done. Just last night were my first bonafide latkes of the year. Fox made the batter, formed the patties, and dropped them in the oil. She trusted me to mind the potatoes in the pan while she set out the rest of the feast.
Last night Little Miss Fussy took her dinner in the treehouse with Little Miss Fox. My son just wolfed down a couple of latkes in between homework problems. And that left Mrs. Fussy and me to enjoy ourselves at the adults’ table with friends. It was a lovely night, to be sure.
But when we got home, Mrs. Fussy asked when would be the next time we would have a quiet evening at home with just our immediate family?
It appears like that won’t be until 2018.
The Memory Of Old Spice
Those regular readers of the FLB may recognize the initials ADS. We’ve been friends since I was seven years old. We grew up together in Miami, he’s the reason I moved out to California, and we continue to be friends today.
Growing up, I was over at his house a lot. We would ride our bikes to school together. I would hang out with him when school was done. I was even there that day a stray dog followed him home. I couldn’t count the number of dinners I had at his family’s table, how many pool parties we had on his back patio, or how many nights I slept over in the kickass room his parents made out of their garage.
Yesterday, after suffering a massive stroke a few days before, his dad passed away. I always knew him as El, and in a community where most of my friends had families that went through divorces, El and Min were the rare exception.
Today is a sad day, and I don’t really have a food story to tell. But El always had a twinkle in his eye. He was quick with a smile, and was just a genuinely warm person who was able to put anyone at ease. He was also an Old Spice man. Scent memory is a powerful thing. And when I think of El, I can almost smell him.
Coincidentally, I do have an old story that I can share about El, Raf, and old spice.
Right Sized Fries
Happy Chanukah! Last night at sunset it began, and I had grand plans of making latkes. I ran out to the store earlier in the day to pick up eggs, onions, potatoes, sour cream, applesauce, and most importantly… oil.
Never forget, all this fried goodness is really to commemorate the myth of the miracle of the oil. But to me it’s no myth. Oil is miraculous in and of itself.
Then, the spelling bee happened.
Somehow, my son is an amazing speller. He must get that from his mom. But in last year’s spelling bee, he drew some incredibly hard word in the third round and we were able to leave early. This year, he made it all the way into round ten. Over two hours later, it was ultimately “Gemmary” that prevented him from moving on to regionals.
The important part of that last paragraph was the two hours bit. Making latkes from scratch wasn’t going to happen. Heck, we wouldn’t even have time to heat the frozen emergency latkes I got as a backup plan.
So we had to find our fried foods elsewhere.
On the First Night of Chanukah…
… my true love fled from me /
On a train bound for Washington D.C.
The Jewish holidays aren’t really known for their catchy tunes. Which is maybe why all the talented Jewish composers went on to write Christmas songs. It’s a much jazzier holiday.
But I’m serious about Mrs. Fussy. I just got back from the desert. I tagged in. She tagged out. Now it’s my turn to be alone with the kids for a few days. Except one of the big differences is that Chanukah starts tonight. Oy.
You know all that holiday shopping you haven’t done yet? Well I haven’t done any. Zero. Zilch. It might have been smart to pick up some trinkets in Arizona, but I was traveling light. No room for trinkets. Fortunately, there’s Ta-Da!, which has saved my butt more times than I care to admit. It’s a fun store filled with fanciful stuff for kids of all genders (and ages) and cool stuff for geeks of all stripes.
Speaking of holiday songs, though, there was one that I just happened to catch when I was with my cousin’s kids. I’m not sure if that makes them my second cousins, or my cousins once removed, or what. I’m terrible at that game. Anyhow, it was some kind of cartoon show on Netflix with a little bit by Ben Schwartz.
A Case for White Pizza
Believe it or not, but my trip to Phoenix wasn’t all about the food. I forgot about fry bread. I skipped the Sonoran hot dog.
Sure, there was food. And in time, I’m sure I’ll write little Yelp reviews for all the paces I went to visit. Phoenix was surprisingly fun, in part because of my Yelp colleagues, but also because it’s a blast to explore a new part of the country. Especially when accompanied by someone who has recently made it their home.
I remember when my Cousin J. suggested we should eat at a pizza place. In Phoenix. Well, this New Yorker was highly suspicious. Until, that is, I started digging around a bit and came to realize that Pizzeria Bianco is one of the best pizza places in the country. It quickly shot up on the list of things I had to do before leaving.
The pizza menu was short, containing just three red pizzas and three white pizzas. Even so, I can only eat so much. So I felt fortunate to have my old friend LH and Cousin J along for the meal. Decisions are hard. In the end, we decided on two white pizzas, and one red.
It’s not surprising all the pizzas were delicious. And it’s probably not surprising that I walked away from that meal with a few key learnings. But the learnings themselves might be a bit surprising.
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