Good Breakfast, Bad Coffee

Why is it that most breakfast eating 
     establishments serve less than mediocre 
tasting coffee ???

I asked my girlfriend this very question,  as we were enjoying our breakfast
     of banana french toast, crispy bacon, and eggs.
Unfortunately, I was NOT enjoying the watered down nonsense in my "coffee" mug.

But, for some reason, I kept drinking it.

Maybe I had hopes that the next sip would taste better.

And, I yawned my way through the entire process.

                    My friend was safe.

                    She drinks tea.

"Maybe they served you decaf?" she suggested, through her laughter.

Unfortunately, they did not.

I went home and made myself a REAL cup of coffee.  

















 

What's Up with . . . YO-gurt?

I know it is good for you.
     I get that.
But, tastes good?

I try to disguise the flavor, by adding some type of fruit -
     usually blueberries or strawberries.
I try to add texture, by throwing in some type of nuts - usually almonds.
But, the reality is, no matter how hard I try,
                                                        I JUST DO NOT LIKE YOGURT.

And, what is this Greek Yogurt craze?

People claim that its thicker, creamier consistency makes it taste even better.

But, my blueberries and almonds get lost/disappear/drown in the sea of goopy,
          gloppy white,
                  and all I taste is SOUR.  

So, I have my suspicions, yogurt lovers.

I think you must secretly feel the same way about this fermented milk product
     as I do.

Either that, or my taste buds
     are just not sophisticated enough
            to properly appreciate its refined, sour taste.


 
   




 

Merlot?

Just a regular Thursday night.

I grabbed a bottle of recently purchased red, off the wine rack -
              Stonehedge, Merlot, 2009 (Napa Valley).

I pulled the corkscrew out of the drawer, and began to uncork.

Oddly, as I was twisting the screw into the cork,
     the cork responded in the opposite way of which I was accustomed to.

It went inward, causing a tsunami 
   of wine to unleash.

There were drops of red all over the counter.
There were drops of red all over the wall.
There were drops of red 6 FEET AWAY, all over the floor.

It was in my hair, on my laptop,
     on someone's shoes that had been kicked off, and left behind (shhhhhh) . . .

Amazing how far a not so large 
                       amount of wine can go.

After I finished wiping up, still amazed at the far reaching places
     the wine had traveled . . .
                         I poured myself a glass.

The flavor seemed to be unaffected by the odd cork(age).

This will be a good wine for Thanksgiving, I thought.

Another bottle, of course,
     as you can assume this one will be gone by the weekend.

SAVE THE TURKEYS (feed them carbs) !

So, I recently saw a disturbing news story flash across the television screen:

BUTTERBALL REPORTS A SHORTAGE OF TURKEYS.

A shortage of turkeys?

YES.

Apparently, the turkeys have not gained enough weight, this year,

causing a shortage of available turkeys over 16 pounds.

The experts at Butterball cannot explain the reason behind this phenomenon.

Since, I have experienced the OPPOSITE “phenomenon”, lately, I thought I would write a letter to Butterball, offering them my expert advice.

Dear Butterball:

Send your turkeys to my house. 

We will eat lots of CARBS, drink lots of WINE (more carbs), and sit on the couch

     and watch a lot of FOOD TELEVISION (even more carbs).

And, no matter how much they beg me to exercise . . .  

     I WILL NOT LET THEM.

I GUARANTEE your turkeys will gain weight.

Sincerely,

Concerned Turkey Consumer

http://monkeypickles.com/2013/11/20/save-the-turkeys-feed-them-carbs/ 

'Tis the Season for PUMPKINS (Apparently) !

http://monkeypickles.com/2013/10/17/tis-the-season-for-pumpkins-apparently/ 

I went to my local Trader Joe's, the other day, to pick up a few items for dinner. 

When I pulled into the parking lot, it resembled a Saturday morning.

I, actually, had a moment where I questioned my brain about what day I was in. 

Tuesday. 

Definitely Tuesday. 

NOT Saturday. 

They must be giving something away.

After spending ten minutes, circling the compact parking lot (testing my patience, as I was confronted by every type of “driver-challenged” label one could possibly come up with - for fear of hate mail, I will let your imagination do the talking),

. . . I finally found a spot.         

Taking my life into my own hands (visual of me walking side-by-side, with myself), I dared to walk through the parking lot of driver-challenged individuals, and safely (yet, barely) made it to the sidewalk.

I walked through the automatic doors and . . .

BAND playing!  LEIS (not lays) flying!  FACES grinning! 

I’m thinking, they are definitely giving something away,

     but I don’t think it is something they normally sell in the store. 

“It’s CUSTOMER APPRECIATION DAY!!!” someone hollered out. 

“OHHhhhh, YAY!” was my response, as I saw my “quick trip” to the store,

                         suddenly extended. 

And, there were pumpkins - EVERYWHERE.

Pumpkins in every size, shape, and color (apparently, orange pumpkins are going out of style). 

And, pumpkin FLAVORED . . .  everything.       

“Would you like to try a sample of pumpkin biscotti?” said one,

                         as he shoved a tray under my nose. 

“Pumpkin ravioli, over here!” said another. 

“Try a sample of our pumpkin coffee!” announced (yet) another. 

“Pumpkin pound cake?  Pumpkin waffles?  Pumpkin chips?  Pumpkin ale?”

Hmmmmm . . .

Amongst all the chaos, I tried to remember what I had come for.    

By the time I left (with my leis, around my neck), I had a new appreciation for pumpkins,

      and (in my head) I was doing a pumpkin appreciation dance. 

That night, for dessert, I served up Pumpkin Bread Pudding. 

OH, YUM!   

As I thought back to my trip to the Traders, I was still convinced they were giving something away,

  as I had never before seen such enthusiasm . . . over pumpkins.

And, I think, whatever it was (that they were giving away), 

     it may have been in the pumpkin-flavored coffee.  

That might explain my “pumpkin appreciation” dance. 

http://monkeypickles.com/2013/10/17/tis-the-season-for-pumpkins-apparently/ 

Vanilla Ice Cream w/ Amaretto AND Sesame Honey Cashews

So, now that I have discovered the joy . . . the delight . . .
     the delicious taste of vanilla ice-cream with amaretto,
I wanted to see if I could make it even BETTER.

ADD SOMETHING CRUNCHY, I thought.

So, I did.

One scoop of vanilla ice-cream.
One shot of amaretto.
One sprinkle of sesame honey cashews.


One satisfied customer : )




    

In the End . . . (A Job for the Crockpot)

How is it that I have FOUR grocery stores within a one mile radius of my house,
     and I can never find everything that I need?

I was hosting ten people for dinner.

I had been at a conference, the day before,
     so all of the planning and shopping and cleaning and cooking
were going to happen the DAY OF.

Sounds like a job for the Crockpot.

Guests were arriving at 5 o'clock.

At 9a.m, I went to grocery store #1.

I checked off my list of simple ingredients,

     until I pulled into the produce section . . .

             SCREECHING HALT.    

I needed fresh thyme and rosemary.  

             They had NONE.  

I asked the produce man to check in the back.  

             NO SUCH LUCK.

                      Damn. 

I went to grocery store #2.  

They DID have fresh rosemary, but were fresh out of fresh thyme.  

Speaking of "thyme",
     I needed to get my ingredients in the crockpot, so there was no time for grocery store #3.   

After I chopped and sliced and trimmed all of my ingredients,
     I went to pull the crockpot out of the cabinet.  

Somehow, the lid SHATTERED into pieces.   

Little beads of glass poured all over the inside of the cabinet,
     and all over the floor.  

My boys thought it was really cool, the way it just . . .

                                             {POOF!} . . . magically crumbled.  

          I did not think it was cool.

I quickly used my "dial a friend" option. 

     "Do you have a large crockpot?"  I asked.  

Sensing the urgency in my voice, he immediately brought it over.

I threw all of the ingredients inside, and turned it on high.  

As dinner was cooking, my son and I went to the local Farmers Market
      to pick up some fresh tomatoes and olives (for appetizers),
and a Trader Joe's pumpkin pie (for dessert).  

After the floors were vacummed and mopped,
the bathroom was cleaned, 

     the table was set, and the candles were lit . . .
the guests began to arrive.  

Good food,
     good wine,
           good conversation . . .

                         in the end, it all comes together.  

And, if not (as my youngest son suggested),
     one can always order Chinese. 

Basement Seating, Please!

Reservations for a party of five?  Right this way, please.

The hostess led us into the large, open dining room,
     where I immediately felt uncomfortable.

Uncomfortable like . . .

     when my kids were little.

And, meeting the in-laws at the country club for dinner.

That feeling of knowing that my children would not be able to live up
     to the unrealistic expectations of behaving like little adults.

Uncomfortable like . . .

     me, as a child.

And, going to church.

Trying to control my giggles that were immediately induced (like a drug)
     by the sounds of the organ, the moment I stepped through the doors.

And again, when the minister spoke in that holy tone.

My only hope was that the sounds would 
                    put me to sleep.  

The room, where we sat (in a sterile sea of white covered tables),
     was cold and quiet.

SO quiet that I could hear my every breath and clumsy movement
     repeated back to me,
making me too aware of my own self. 

Looking around, I realized that,
     besides for my daughter and my nephew (and the wait staff),

I was the youngest one there.

As the waiter handed us our menus,
                   I leaned into the circular table and whispered to my parents,
 
                             "Didn't you say this place has a basement?"

Apparently, there was a more casual eating area DOWN BELOW.

Like the child who felt she may not be able
     to hold back the laughter in church . . .

Like the parent who felt the temper tantrum of her own child,
     at the table, about to explode . . .

Like an URGENT CRY FOR HELP!

                                  I said . . . . . .  

      "I REALLY THINK WE  BELONG IN THE BASEMENT."

Or, at the very least, the KIDS table.

BUT, I could see that my parents were committed,
      and we had our "good" clothes on.  

 SO . . . we stayed.

And, we were LOUD.

We LAUGHED . . .  a LOT.  

A glass of wine was spilled.

            RED wine.

On the WHITE tablecloth.

And, we LAUGHED some more . . .

Our waiter loved us.

Our water boy loved us.

He was trying not to show it,
                               but he eventually flashed a guilty smile.

I think they were sorry to see us leave,
     when everything went back to COLD, and WHITE,
              and COLORLESS . . .

                                                       and QUIET.
                 
We may come back, some day.

But, if we do, I think we'll check out the basement.

I really DO feel more comfortable there.  

Vanilla Ice Cream w/ Amaretto

I was craving some chocolate, 
     but, ALAS . . . 
none could be found.      

I opened the freezer, 
and (only) vanilla ice cream stared back at me.

I shut the freezer.  

In search of inspiration, 
     I opened the pantry, and stared up at the top shelf.  

AMARETTO.  

Hmmmm . . . 

I opened the freezer back up.  

I scooped up some of the sweet, creamy white, and put it in a small mug.   

I added a shot of amaretto.  

YUM.

It wasn't chocolate, but it was GOOD.