Gettin' Comfy

I have a sis in law who loves Applebee's. It seems that she and her husband go to that restaurant whenever they go out, (I'm sure they really don't), and over the years I have spent a collective hour of my life telling my husband how boring and unadventurous that is! Why do I care, right? I don't really. But I don't like Applebee's, so maybe I just don't understand.

Every time I try a new restaurant I think of this particular sis in law and wonder if she's still eating good in the neighborhood or if she's found a new favorite. I know - I'm so much cooler than her. (That was sarcasm, and I'm getting to my point.)

So this last Saturday was date night and Andrew and I had planned on a bike ride along a trail we've never ridden before and a picnic somewhere along the way. I was looking forward to it and even hit a couple of bike shops looking for a cute basket to carry our dinner in.

As the day wore on I became more and more exhausted and irritable, just because the week was winding down and I had had my fill of just about everything. When Andrew got home from work I had to admit that the last thing I wanted to do was go on a bike ride, get sweaty, and eat a cold dinner in a mosquito infested prairie. And I was grumpy about it. I seriously needed some down time to just relax.

So where did we end up? At the only place that I felt like going to. The restaurant that is my favorite when I'm craving a casual atmosphere and unpretentious food. My fallback. We went to Wingers. And it was good.

While I was sitting there in the booth, sipping my chocolate Coke, (not gross, by the way - I know you just made a face), I was thinking of my sis in law and her Applebee's habit, and then I understood it. Sometimes you just need to go where you want to go because you're comfortable there and it makes you happy.

We can be creative on our next date.

What are some of your favorite things to do for date night?

Andrew is always unimpressed when I take pictures of him eating.

Seafood in a land-locked state.

Saturday night took Andrew and I to The Seafood Buffet in Deer Valley with Andrew's boss and his wife. I am not a buffet kind of girl. I think that the best part of eating in any restaurant is sitting on my lazy tush while someone else brings me food. Besides that, buffet food is not always, (how to put it delicately?), edible. It's been sitting under a warmer for who knows how long, and one can never tell if that gelatinous goo is meant to be coating the fruit or if a shorter person came along and proved the sneeze guard unreliable.

In fact, the last time that Andrew tried to drag me into a buffet, I whined and complained and flung snobbery about like a whip until we eventually struck a deal - we waited in the parking lot of a Hometown Buffet and agreed that if the next person who emerged from the restaurant was grotesque in any way, we would move on to a restaurant of my choosing, but if it were someone normal looking, ie; bathed in the last two days, no fanny pack strapped around their middle to smuggle leftovers, and able to walk without waddling, then we would go in.

We sat there for twenty minutes and no one came out.

So in we went, and even Andrew agrees that he's never had a more dissatisfying meal. We have not been to a buffet since. See how smart I am?

I figured that this seafood buffet would be a different story, seeing as it's a fancy-schmancy five star restaurant. (I never knew that "five star" and "buffet" could be uttered in the same sentence? You toss "seafood" in with "buffet" and now you're talking potential food poisoning along with all the other yummy buffet qualities.) We got all gussied up and drove just a little past Park City to the Deer Valley restaurant.

I had promised myself that I would try sushi at the restaurant, and not just a California Roll, because that's cheating. I also wanted to try an oyster because I hadn't had one since I was eight and my family had just moved to the Pacific Northwest. We had gone on a little beach outing one day and happened upon a roadside stand that was peddling fresh oysters. We were all trying to be brave and open minded about the seafood in the Northwest, so I tried an oyster, and if I recall correctly, I was the only one in the family who liked it. However, I was a bit of a show-off, still am, so it could have been an act. That's about as exotic as it got, unless you count the time that Dad brought home shark from the grocery store and fried it up in a pan in the kitchen.

Come to think of it, I'm not even sure that it was really shark that Dad brought home. He told us that it was shark, but he isn't exactly Abe Lincoln.

Tangent: When I was six years old, I went on a camping trip with my family. My parents brought their bows and arrows so as to practice their archery. (My parents aren't red-necks, so this must have just been a phase.) Dad was practicing his shot when my sister and I decided to have an adventure in the woods. When we got back, Mom was cooking dinner, which we were informed was a squirrel that Dad had shot with his arrow. Mmmm! Squirrel! I was so excited to try it, and very happy to find that I liked it! So much so, that I wrote about it at school the next week:



Some years later I learned that it wasn't really squirrel that we dined on that night around the fire, but chicken. My dad has always enjoyed telling me big, fat lies, which I always believe and then always share with others, making myself look like a fool.

Now where was I?

Oh, the Seafood Buffet.

So, inside the restaurant, I filled my first plate with selections from the "Natural Bar". I chose three kinds of sushi and an oyster on the half-shell. You might be thinking that I am intelligent enough to put two and two together and figure out that "Natural Bar" plus "on the half shell" meant uncooked, but you'd be wrong. (Because it's a common practice to cook a shellfish and then put it back into it's little shell home. It's all about presentation...) I had no clue that that damn oyster was raw until I caught a whiff of it right before I slid it into my mouth and it left it's slimy, ocean water trail from the tip of my tongue down the back of my throat.

I do know that it's uncivilized to gag and throw up on the tablecloth at a five-star restaurant, so I choked the thing down, chased it with a glass of ice water and came to the conclusion that I had sampled a fully cooked version of oyster at that roadside stand so many years ago, and that even then, I was most definitely faking my appreciation for the delicacy.

Oysters are nasty. And if you ever feel the need to try one "on the half-shell", just imagine licking a barnacle on the bottom of a deep sea fishing boat, and you'll get over it.

Also, eel sushi is not high on my recommendation list, and I am fully confident that people who like sushi are only pretending because they think it's hip and cool to eat raw fish.

I'm glad I tried those things, just to be able to say that I did it, but if I had had to pay for that dinner, I would still be sad. Because even the dishes that were cooked were nothing to get excited about. Even I can make a killer roasted garlic mashed potato. Now all this probably sounds like I am just a huge snob who doesn't like seafood and can't appreciate a good clam when I see one. But I will take a dinner at Red Lobster any day of the week. I don't think that love of a chain restaurant puts me in the snob category. And I will give The Seafood Buffet it's due credit, because I escaped without food poisoning, and I felt adequately pretentious the entire time I was there. Okay, and the prime rib was excellent. So was the chocolate raspberry dessert. Dang! I should've brought my fanny pack!

Three Generation Date

Saturday night, Grandpa, Mom and I took our spouses to Salt Lake City. Dinner at Chili's, where Grandpa ordered a Chicken Ceasar Salad. Joyce must be a good influence on him. Though, he is still trying, without success, to get her to taste his Pepsi.

After dinner was "The Wonderous Gift of Christmas" at the LDS Conference Center. Tabernacle Choir was superb, children's choir so innocent and beautiful, bells - magnificent, orchestra made me cry in the first ten measures, Natalie Cole was fabulous, and David McCullough was a treat. Organ player received a standing ovation - completely stole the show. I loved every musical second of the entire concert, and boy, is that conference center ginormous. Excellent seats, but they made Mom dizzy, and Dad kept telling her that if there was an earthquake, we would die a horrifying death.

Topped the night off by strolling through Temple Square to see the lights; completely in the Christmas Spirit now. Also, will never rely on my camera phone for decent pictures again.

The Four Slice Toaster and Other Exorbitancy

About a month and a half ago our toaster stopped heating on the inside coils, so only one side of each slice of bread would get toasted. No matter, I was perfectly capable of toasting one side and then flipping the bread over and toasting it again.

Then 2 weeks ago, the other coils went out, so there was to be no toast. We went on as though we had suffered no loss. Ethan grieved on the mornings that he had to eat eggs or cereal instead of his beloved toaster waffles.

Last Friday I began to miss the toaster enough to tell Andrew that I would not go another day without one. So after we went to dinner for date night on Saturday, (thanks Joel, for the gift card and Kellie and Matt for babysitting), we went to our friendly, neighborhood Wal-Mart and looked for the cheapest toaster we could possibly find. What's the point in spending a lot, right? All it has to do is heat up the coil things. Nothing fancy.

So we found two that were the same price...but one had four holes instead of two. It was a brand I had never heard of, but once again - hot coils- who cares? We got that toaster home and the next morning I had waffles toasting for both Ethan and Drew at the same time. It was phenomenal. I never knew that I had been missing out on one of the greatest luxuries that life had to offer - four slice toasters.

So this got me to wondering what other basic luxuries I had been missing out on.

Paper towels, of course. Why spend money for a disposable towel when I can use a real towel or rag, wash it, and use it again?

New pillows. I wonder what that feels like? The kind that sink down when your head rests on them instead of just emanating that "clunk" sound.

Metal or wooden cooking utensils. I've had these black plastic ones since I got married, and they work fine for most dishes, but they lack the strength to really mix up a batch of Rice Krispie Treats or anything heavy or sticky, really.

My very own razor. I just steal Andrew's. I'm sure he loves it.

A full length mirror. Oooo... I had one in high school and I remember it being nice to see what I looked like from head to toe. These days I probably don't really want to see my lower half anyway.

But you know, I could still do without the luxury of cooking four waffles at once, and doing without the above listed items is not causing me to shed tears. I have it pretty good, I guess.

Here are some luxuries that I never need to have and would absolutely rather do without:

Automatic car doors. If I am ever too lazy or unimaginative to figure out how to open or shut my car doors when my arms are full of children or groceries, it would be a disappointing day.

A massage at a spa. If I need anything rubbed, I'm sure my husband would oblige. I do not ever want a stranger massaging parts of my naked body while I lie helpless under a sheet. I know that most of you will say that I don't know what I'm missing until I try it. Ignorance and I get along well.

One of those space pod vacuum cleaners that looks a bit like a frisbee with a brain that roams around your living room while you aren't home. Seriously, how long does it take to run a vacuum over your floor? And good ol' fashioned vacuums aren't creepy in the least.

A chauffeur. Where's the fun in that?

A pedicure. I am sure I need one, but I don't want one.

A colon cleanse. Whatever is up there can stay there. I don't need to know about it.

An electronic organizer. If you are busy enough that all your events do not fit into the little day squares on a regular wall hanging calendar, then you probably need to cut back anyway.

You know something though? I wouldn't complain if I had a commercial grade snow cone machine.

The Good With the Bad

Just got back from date night with Andrew and am feeling much rejuvenated. We went to dinner at one of our staple restaurants in Salt Lake, Charlie Chows Dragon Grill. That was the bad, disappointing part of the evening. 10 years ago it was a great place to eat. My uncle, David, and I would frequent it for lunch quite often while we worked together at McLeodUSA; we were both in love with their Imperial Chicken. Ah, so yummy! And the chocolate dipped fortune cookies were a slick finish. Last time I was at Charlie Chow's, I thought the Imperial Chicken tasted a little different, so this time I ventured away from my staple dish and tried a nice, safe sweet and sour chicken. I have to tell you that I may have enjoyed it more if I hadn't seen our waiter wipe his nose with his hand just before he picked up our plates from the serving bar. Andrew went with his favorite, the Dragon Grill, which, for anyone who's been to Mongolian Grill in the Portland area, is pretty much the same deal. So when Andrew's snot-handed plate was delivered, I decided his food smelled excellent and forked a piece of chicken for myself. Or maybe it was beef. Heck, for all I know it was cat or camel, because something was definitely wrong with that meat. So aside from the bad food and the unsanitary waiter, (who also couldn't drag himself away from his cell phone or the t.v. at the bar long enough to notice when our food was ready in the kitchen), the place had an odd smell. Like bathroom mixed with cruddy old building that's desperately trying to qualify as "historic" to avoid a date with a wrecking ball. So, after we got a doggy bag, because our kids will eat anything, Charlie Chow's joined Old Country Buffet, Applebees, Biaggi's and a few others on the list of places we never need to eat again. I'm kind of still in mourning over the whole thing. But on to the next part of the date!
After dinner we went to The Joseph Smith Memorial Building to see "Jospeh Smith; Prophet of the Restoration", go figure! The movie has been out for years, and my dear husband has never gotten to see it. So, in we went and were met by a sweet, elderly missionary who informed us that the film was not being shown tonight due to technical difficulties. I had a slight "well, crap" moment because I've been trying to get Andrew to see this movie for ages. But then the dear missionary told us that the film was being shown in the North Visitor's Center. So we speed walked over there to catch it in time and I'm glad we did. I was such a good reminder of everything that is important, and here's the kicker; it made me miss my kids. Yep, that's right, I missed them. Now I'm home and I'm over it, but it was nice while it lasted. And another perk was that Andrew has a cold and was sniffing through a good part of the film, so everyone around us must have thought that my big, tough husband was crying. (Sigh...so sweet!)
Now that we're home, (and Andrew's gas is reminding me over and over again how wonderful dinner was), I just have to say that we need to get out more often. I can't even find a hint of the me that was wishing for death on the kitchen floor just yesterday. (See previous post...well, one of them from yesterday. I don't know how to do that cool link renamed thing.)


Good-bye, Old Friend