The One With the Melting Pot

The title of this one sort of sounds like I went on some kind of psychadelic drug trip.  But I did not.  Just went to dinner.

The Melting Pot, if you don't know, is a fondue restaurant.  I've heard about people going, and there's another blogger that I read that loves it and goes as often as she possibly can (mostly for the chocolate), but it's. . .ridiculously expensive, so I've never been.  However, last week or the week before, Groupon had this deal where you could pay $20 for $40 worth of food.  Obviously, I bought one.

 My friend, Faith, is getting married in a couple of weeks, and my friend/her roommate, Andrea, suggested we go out next week for a bachelorette-party-dinner.  (Meaning, you know, just going to dinner.)  We're going to the Melting Pot (with Groupons!), so I decided to take D out on a rarely-utilized Date Night as to go with him for the first time before I go with Faith and Andrea.  (What an awkward sentence.)

We got all gussied up and headed over to The Melting Pot. . .except there was an accident on the highway involving a car being stuck under a tractor trailer, so we had to re-route, thus making us late for our 6:30 reservations.  (I called to make sure we'd still have a table.)  So that was the first thing.

When we arrived, we were seated by the manager.  We were seated in this area with tiny booths for two, which had a curtain that you could close to. . .assure you had privacy, I guess.  (The couple in the booth adjacent to ours was making good use of the closed curtain, if you know what I'm sayin'.  And I think you do.)

I felt sort of awkward, going into a nice place and whipping out a Groupon page, but then I figured, if they were going to judge me for cheap(er) food, they shouldn't have put up a Groupon.  It said on the print-out to give the Groupon to the waiter upon arrival, so we did.

The waiter explained how the whole process worked, but he spoke fast and had an accent and didn't enunciate, so I had a hard time understanding exactly what was happening.

We ordered the spinach and artichoke cheese fondue which took. . .a long time to get there.  I'd drained my Diet Coke (as I do), and kept burning my mouth with nothing to drink except pilfered water from D.  (I realize that there is that expression about even dogs waiting for their food to cool, but we'd been waiting a long time, and I was hungry.)  We finished that up and sat, patiently waiting, for our Caesar salads to get there.

And we waited.

And we waited.

And then our waiter came by and told us they'd forgotten about our salads.  Which is awesome.  Especially the part where he told us they'd forgotten about us.  (This happens. . .constantly with both D and myself.  We both have a tendency to slip through the cracks, so when you put us together, we're basically invisible to the naked eye.)

Then the salads came.  Caesar salads, which were actually very good, if not a little small for $7.

Then we waited.

And waited.

You might think that, at this point, we were mad and yelling and all that, but. . .we were actually having a lot of fun.  We go out. . .never, and while everything was happening against us, we were having a really good time being a couple, if that makes sense.  The waiter came by, and D mentioned that we'd been there for an hour and a half and were still waiting for a meal, and we'd like to speak to the manager later.

So our 'entree' got there.  We decided to split one, because, you know, $23 dollars.  There was a little bowl of vegetables, 4 pieces of chicken, 4 shrimps, 4 pieces of steak, 4 pieces of sausage, and several sauces.  I have to admit, I was a little bummed out that the food was so. . .sparse.  But then, we were splitting one, so maybe it's different if you eat the whole thing yourself.

There was also a pot of hot broth, where you. . .cook your own meat.  We were puzzling over this when the manager came over, but we sent him away so we could eat.

We sat there, trying to figure out if the two-and-a-half minutes the waiter indicated would actually cook this meat.  We were going to put it in a little at a time, but ended up just dumping everything in the broth, like a soup.

Two-and-a-half minutes passed quickly, and the meat didn't. . .look done.  So we discussed paying this much money to cook your own meal, and then pulled some of the meat out again.  It still didn't look done, but it was dark, and it was hard to tell.  D ended up pulling out the flashlight on his phone, and we were dying laughing about how ghetto the whole thing was.  But the meat was done, so we ate.  It was really good, but there wasn't much there.

Ultimately, the manager came back and comped our entree and one of the salads, so we had money for dessert, which was a pot of melted milk chocolate that came with marshmallows, bananas, strawberries, Rice Krispie Treats, a piece of cheesecake that. . .wasn't very good, and pound cake.

The chocolate was amazing.

(I realize as I'm telling this story that I'm not conveying how hilarious that whole situation really was.  I don't really know how.)

Then the waiter came by and asked if we wanted coffee.  I didn't.  D did.

A few minutes after that, the waiter came back by to let us know the coffee machine was broken.

All you could really do at that point was laugh.

The waiter brought us our bill, and it came out to $36 something. . .except he hadn't factored in the Groupon I'd handed him at the beginning of our 2-and-a-half hour ordeal.  Instead of laughing, all we could do then was shake our heads.  He came back a while later and was like, "Oh, yeah, you had a Groupon."

So he brought the bill back, and it was the lovely number of $0.00.  So we left a tip (really, we did) and left.

All things being said, I'd go back, but not if I was paying pull price for anything.  The food was good, but there wasn't nearly enough of it and it was WAY overpriced.  But we had a great evening, and I'm looking forward to going with Andrea and Faith next week.

The One with Some Food

I was going to talk about this article, about how Obama's swing states don't like Biden, and that could be a problem, and as I was typing, I was like, "This. . .is. . .boring." 

The blog, not the article.

So I told my cousin, Carrie, about my issue, and she was all, "I'd personally like to see more food recipes and things with food, since I know that's what you're interested in.  If you're interested in it, your readers will be interested."

I've tended to avoid food talk, because I'd started another blog with the express purpose of talking about food, you know, in case someone around here doesn't. . .like food?  Or wasn't interested.  I wanted my "personal" blog and my "food" blog.

Well, seeing as to how I let this blog sit for months at a time with no use and my poor food blog hasn't gotten any love since. . .um. . .December 8, 2012, I think I'll allow the use of food here.  And I'll cross-post with my other blog, so if you're JUST into food, you can follow that one, and if you can go either way, you can follow this one.  Or whatever. I may post stuff over there that I don't post here (Menu Plan Monday, anyone?)

I'm trying to get back into blogging regularly, and talking about food may be just the way to do it.

So while I'm not sharing any recipes at the moment, I just wanted to let people know what to expect.

I'm sure I'll still have my boringish articles, but, you know, we have to eat!



The One Where I Have a French Friday Disaster

Sorry I've been ignoring you. I kind of feel like one of those parents who go on business trips all the time and then bring back lots of little trinkets and sometimes food to make up for the fact that they just Were Not There.

Unfortunately, I do not have anything with which to bribe you and to apologize for the fact that I've been a lax parent blogger, but I can update you on things that have been going on.

I attempted to make my FFwD recipe for my mom's side of the family's Thanksgiving, which is held the Sunday before Real Thanksgiving.

I've had a few recipe disasters in my day, but none like this one.

I had everything ready. My greased casserole dish held sliced potatoes (all sliced with my new-to-me Cuisinart, which, I'm convinced, could chop ANYTHING), fresh-ish herbs, garlic-infused cream, and a couple of other things. It was lovely.

I did what Dorie told me to do, and that is to put a piece of parchment paper on a cookie sheet and put the casserole dish on top of that, just in case anything spilled. If something spilled, you don't want it going into the bottom of your oven.

Indeed.

The thing about parchment paper is, NOTHING sticks to it. When I made my parents a moose cake for their anniversary, and I tried to tape parchment paper to an outline of moose antlers so I could use melted chocolate to fashion the antlers, the tape wouldn't even stick to it.

Keep this in mind.

So I'm in a hurry when I'm putting this thing in the oven. I'm in a hurry because we have to leave in 45 minutes, and this stuff needs to bake for an hour. 15 minutes won't make THAT much of a difference, was my rationale.

For whatever reason, I chose to pick up this parchment paper-lined cookie sheet containing my potato thing with one hand. Now, when you pick up a rectangular pan with one hand, it's going to tilt a little to the other side where you (for whatever reason) have no hand. This happened. What also happened, thanks to the parchment paper, was that as I went to put the thing in the oven, the entire dish slid off the sheet and exploded at the bottom of my oven.

The dish didn't explode (thanks, Pyrex!) but everything in it did. It was a fountain of potato, cheese, and garlic-infused cream. So I cursed, grabbed the glass dish out of the bottom of the oven, turned off the oven and then did what any good chef would do.

I freaked out and cried.

D was in the kitchen when all of this was going on, so when I started freaking out, saying, "What do I do? I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO!", he was all, "Just leave. I'll take care of it." I tried for another second to figure out how to fix it, and he was all, "Sarah. Leave."

So I did. I went into the bedroom and cried some more. And then I thought, "I should take pictures of what's going on so I can write about it!" But then I thought that taking pictures while D was fixing my epic, epic error might be considered bad form. So I did not.

Needless to say, this dish did not go to Thanksgiving with us. An apple cake did, though.

This was not the end of the potatoes, though.

D somehow saved a lot of the ingredients in my erstwhile potato dish. They sat in the fridge for a while, and then, the other day, I decided to give it another go.

Rather than carefully infusing the new cream with garlic, I whisked it with onion powder. The recipe said to fill the cream to the edge, and if there wasn't enough, to add milk. I did just that. Then into the oven it went.

This is what happened:

. . .um?

I should note that there were some other potatoes in the dish (it didn't bake as empty as it looks), but I'd taken them out to try them, before discovering the sea of cream in which these things were swimming.

Maybe it's because the potatoes sat in the fridge for a while. Maybe it was the milk. Maybe it was the cream. I don't really know. What I do know is that this dish ended up being an epic fail.

I didn't do the last week of November's FFwD (I forgot, plus we were out of town), but hopefully, I'll catch up soon. I also have other things to write about, but I've been overwhelmed with my new Web site project, I've just kind of shut down, bloggily. I'll get it all figured out one of these days.

And, just so you don't think I'm a total failure, I'll show you my blueberry-cranberry pie I invented:

A little on the sweet side, but D said it was "the best berry pie [he'd] ever had." And he's got Southern grandmas, so I think that's saying something.

If you wonder -- My new blog/Web site venture is going to be baking-centric, so while I'll still be talking about non-baking food here, when the spirit moves me, my baking stuff will be moved to its own site shortly. I'll be sure to post the address for that for those who are interested.

The One With My Birthday

Saturday was my birthday. It was also the JDRF Walk-a-thon. We got up. . .7-ish and then promptly went back to sleep. Got up again about 8:15. Registration started at 8 and the actual walk didn't start until 10:30, so we weren't late or anything. By the time we got there, the crowd had died down a bit, and registration didn't take long.

Apparently, there were about 7,000 people there. I, personally, didn't reach the goal I'd set for donations, but with that many people, I'd be willing to bet the foundation made quite a bit of money.

We walked 2 miles, with music along the way, and then were provided Jersey Mike's for lunch. The weather? Perfect. All in all, an awesome event. I also saw one of my teachers from high school who had a baby like a month ago. Cutest. Baby. EVER!

We then went home and rested briefly before going to Mom's house to have dinner with the fam. we went downtown to Hi5. Everything on the menu is $5, so it's a good place if you don't have a ton to spend. Mom and Johnny had never been there before, Katie was the one who introduced me to it, and D and I used to go weekly, at least. (Before the, you know, no money thing happened.)

After dinner, it was back to Mom's. She hadn't taken her daily walk yet, so we waited for her (Read: we took naps) until she got back. And then it was time for cake.

Let me tell you about this cake. You know how I make a lot of cakes, right? How baking is kind of my thing? For my birthday, D made me this cake that blew me and everyone else away. Check it out:

Holy crap, you guys. It's a cake! And a stack of books! How effing awesome is that? He made the entire thing from scratch (except, you know, a cake mix.) Made the fondant, built it so it stayed. . .and it was delicious. So awesome, awesome, AWESOME cake.

Then, presents! Money from the parentals, and Katie gave me these:

She made that plate. Or, designed it.

Also, D gave me a kitchen apron that I can't seem to get a good picture of. . .it's black, and has a little V-neck and is pinstriped. I'm sure it will be making an appearance in future posts.

After we left Mom's, we stopped by Dad's to give him a book of cake and to hang out for a while. It was during this time that we watched the "Rocky Horror Picture Show" version of Glee. I've never seen RHPS, but I've had songs from it stuck in my head SINCE Saturday. ("Toucha, Toucha, Toucha, Touch Me," "Dammit, Janet," and the Time Warp song are the ones that have been stuck there.) I've heard from many people that they didn't like the episode because of the "sanitized" changes that were made to lyrics, but having never seen the show, none of it bothered me.

Since then, I've had a Lady Doctor appointment (thanks to an irregular Pap) that has set me back $500 that's going to take me 20 years to pay off. (Thanks, no insurance.) And I still love my job.

Also, I've prepared a whole chicken for the first time. It was horrifying, but if I tell you anymore, it'll ruin this week's French Friday entry.

Oh! And I'm also taking part in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), the point of which is to write a 50,000-word novel in 30 days. I'm up to speed so far, but it's only day 3. We'll see.

The One Where I'm Not Working Full-Time

Note: I would like to add two alternates to my List of 5. Matthew Morrison and Justin Timberlake. Thanks.

So last Wednesday was my last day of full-time pseudo-employment. Thank you (THANK YOU!) to the people who left comments, wishing me luck and such. I felt. . .I don't want to say "loved,"

because that's a wee bit dramatic, but I really, really appreciated it. So thank you.

Since Wednesday, I've been. . .admittedly really, really worried about money, because, like when I lost my job in 2009, I had a lot brighter outlook on how soon I could work things out than it turned out to actually be. (That's an awkward sentence. I think you know what I mean, though.)

I have, however, cleaned pretty much the entire apartment, including throwing out a bunch of trash and bringing 3 bags of stuff to Goodwill.

I also made a cake on Sunday. I'd never made a layer cake before, so I used a box mix to practice on. It actually turned out really well. I made two layers of white cake and frosted it with chocolate (also out of a box. Or can.) I also decorated it with this can of yellow frosting D bought me a while back.

It turned out really well. It's almost completely gone, as D came home and had a couple big slices (he was a fan) and I'd eaten pretty much half of the thing since Sunday (thanks, PMS!). D's birthday is coming up soon, so I'll be making another one in the coming days.

I love my library job. Love. It. I worked a full day Saturday and the 8 hours there passed in about half the time that 8 hours passed in my old job. (Not. . .literally, obviously.) I'm going to be working another full day Friday, so that's cool. I've had only one really hateful person I've helped, and on Saturday, we had a guy that was flashing his junk to people in the parking lot, but other than that, it's been basically smooth sailing.

And finally, I bought a dress to get married in! It's not a. . .wedding dress, per se, but it is the dress that I am going to wear when we finally make it legal. I bought it at Goodwill, and I strongly suspect it was, in a former life, someone's bridesmaid's dress. I can't post a picture of it (because I might be getting married in green instead of white, but I still think the guy shouldn't see it prior to the wedding day) but it's like. . .it's what I imagine Tinkerbell's much more conservative sister might wear.

When I brought it to the register, the lady at the counter, who had a Fran Drescher voice and an Amy Winehouse bouffant, was like, "This. . .isn't for a Halloween costume, is it?" I told her it wasn't, and she was visibly relieved.

"I've been worried someone would buy this for a Halloween costume," she told me. "And it's just so pretty."

I told her I was wearing it to get married, and she said, "Oh, HONEY!" and was so excited. She then told me how practical I am, and wished me well.

And that made my afternoon.

Also, side note? It's been raining since D left on Sunday. I'd like to think that now that he's home, it's going to stop.

The One Where I'm Socially Awkward Sometimes

I am feeling more awkward at this moment than any human being has a right to feel.

First of all, I have some. . .aspects of my personality that I have, previously, thought could be attributed to being autistic. Then I did some research (Thanks, hypochondriac-ism!) and found out that it's a thing that's diagnosed in childhood, and not in adulthood. I, admittedly, don't know a whole lot about it, and it is the furthest thing from my mind to insult anyone who actually has to deal with things of this nature, but, you know, you don't know unless you ask. Or, in my case, research.

I just find that a lot of things that happen to me in social situations are largely unexplainable, unless the explanation is that I'm just really, really awkward. I mentioned this to my mother a while back, and said something like, "Well, that's just because I'm socially awkward," and she's all, "Um, no you're not."

I feel like she has No Idea.

I guess the difference is that I am (sometimes) able to curb the awkward, pretending like I'm super-comfortable in social situations, when, in fact, I'd honestly rather be at home, by myself or with D, making Candy Sushi, which I will, in fact, be doing tonight. I guess if there were something, legitimately, physically (or mentally?) wrong with me, I wouldn't be able to fake it.

A lot of the symptoms (granted, they show up in kids, but I don't have anything else to go on), fit me. Stuff like autistic (children) may: (and I got all this from here)

* Be overly sensitive in sight, hearing, touch, smell, or taste;

* Have unusual distress when routines are changed;

* May not respond to eye contact;

* Prefer to spend time alone, rather than with others;

* May find normal noises painful;

* May withdraw from physical contact because it is overstimulating or overwhelming;

* Gets stuck on a single topic or task;

* Has a short attention span;

* And so on.

I don't know. Obviously, I don't have this particular issue, but it WOULD explain weird behaviors sometimes, and would further explain why, in social situations, I find myself just not sure what to do or responding inappropriately. And then you throw in my OCD, and I find myself feeling uncomfortably, intensely horrible when I realize I've done something in a non-social normy kind of way. It tortures me.

If I DID have autism, it might also explain being unapproachable, which D mentioned today. That wasn't the first time I've heard that, but I think of myself as pretty friendly, especially at work, and it just kind of sucks that other people don't see me the same way I see me. But I really don't have any excuse except being. . .unapproachable, and apparently, unfriendly. (I'll get to that in a minute.)

Reminds me of about. . .12 years ago, I guess, when my mom's neighbors had their granddaughter over for a few days. She was my age, and I was introduced to her, and she and I hung out while she was there. The last day of her trip, we were sitting on the front stoop, and she was like, "You know, when I first saw you, you didn't look very interesting or very much fun. But you are!"

A compliment, ultimately, sure. But damn. I don't look very interesting, I don't look like very much fun, I'm not approachable, I'm intimidating, I'm not very pretty (thanks, guy in my Sociology class), and as a child, I had ears the size of small satellites. (OK, no one ACTUALLY ever said that to me, but I have photographic evidence, yo!) I do actually have a few friends here and here, and D's not someone I made up, so obviously, people like me a little sometimes. It's just. . .hard to acknowledge that you come across as so completely different than you think you do.

All this being said, I'm finally getting to the reason I feel so awkward right now.

Three people at work are leaving/have left this week and next. This one guy who, I wasn't FRIENDS with, per se, but with whom I had a healthy rapport was heading out. He stopped at the door and turned back to say bye to me. He comes up to my window, shakes me hand, and says, "Take care, Sarah."

And what do I say?

Nothing.

I do not respond whatsoever.

I half-smile at him and shake his hand, but no words come out of my mouth. No, "It's been nice knowing you!" or "Good luck at your new job!"

Nothing.

I stupid half-smile at him and then he turns and walks away, probably thinking to himself, "Wow! How unfriendly and unapproachable is SHE? Plus, her freaking ears stick out halfway from her head!"

And so now I'm sitting here, agonizing about it. I'm probably never going to see this guy again, but somehow, that makes it WORSE. Because now, any time he thinks of his last day here, he's going to be like, "Wow. . .she didn't even say bye!"

(Note: I, in all of my common sense, know that he probably will never think of that exchange again as long as he lives, but tell that to my stupid, stupid BRAIN!)

So after stewing in that for a few minutes, I did what any person in my position would do.

I went to the breakroom and cut myself a slice of his farewell cake.

What did you expect, really?

The One With the Second Gay Book Club Meeting

Had my second Gay Book Club meeting a couple weeks back and it was, as is to be expected, something worth making commentary on.

D and I got to the Busy Bee Cafe early. D's been carless for. . .a while now, so we pretty much have to either travel everywhere in a pack, or someone sits at home, unable to go anywhere except to the places of business within walking distance. This place was NOT within walking distance.

We'd been arguing about. . .something, I don't even remember, and we'd just grudgingly ended the argument, so we're sitting there, tersely, with our respective beers when Charles walks in, carrying his copy of the book, and a giant fruit tart.

Yeah, a giant fruit tart.

Turns out, when I'd RSVP'd for the October book club meeting, and I'd made reference to the fact that the meeting would take place the day before my birthday. Charles had mis-read what I'd said and thought that THAT day was the day before my birthday. So he brought me a celebratory fruit tart.

How awesome is that? Seriously. I've met this guy once, and he's bringing me birthday fruit tarts. Very sweet.

So we stand there for a few minutes, until 6:30, when we're supposed to start, and NO ONE ELSE has shown up. I introduce Charles to D, who is working on something for one of his clients, they make small talk, and then we decide that probably no one else is coming. Book club members be damned! We're going to sit and have a couple of beers, maybe some dinner, and we're going to talk about this book.

Now, if you'll recall, this is an LGBT book club. D, bless his heart, who is neither L, G, B, OR T (Just D), was all, "Hey. I'll join you!"

So he did.

We sat and talked some about the book (which I didn't like, Charles liked mostly, and D had not read) until this other guy showed up. I THINK his name was Derek. He was very proper. Nice enough. Just very proper.

We sat there, talking about the book, drinking beers, and eating hummus. The hummus was pretty good. Needed some more flavor, though.

(I'm realizing at this point that this story is not as interesting as I'd initially thought. Sorry.)

We ordered dinner. Charles had the "Hot" Ham Sandwich (ham with gouda, jalapenos, sweet potato paste stuff and arugula) which he said wasn't actually that hot. Derek(?) had a hamburger. He told the waitress, "When I say 'nothing but cheese' I mean I want nothing on it but cheese. No vegetables. No onions. No lettuce. Just. Cheese. Do you understand?"

Yikes.

D and I split a burger. The burger itself was really good. It was a "Tom & Jack" burger (with pepperjack cheese and fried green tomatoes). I wasn't too thrilled with the fried green tomatoes, but at least now I can say I've tried them.

And then there was the fruit tart.

My God, I love a fruit tart.

We stayed until 9:30 or 10, and then headed home (with the leftover fruit tart). D charmed the gay menz, and a good time was had by all.

Hopefully next time, when we read this book, there will be more people. It was fun with 4, though.

Also, I'm supposed to pick the book for November, and I haven't come up with anything yet. Any suggestions? (It doesn't have to be LGBT-centered, by the way.)

The One With Cheesecake Photos

My blackberry cheesecake? Was badass. Bad. Ass. Completely worth the ridiculous amount of money I spent on the ingredients.

I finally got home last night after a 14-hour workday and cut into it. My photographer D took pictures of the process, so, of course, I'm going to share them with you all. So you can be. . .you know, jealous. Of my mad cheesecake skills.

Even though I've been making cakes and cupcakes and pies for. . . ever, I'd never attempted a cheesecake before. Main reason for that being, I didn't have a springform pan. For those of you who don't know, the springform pan has a latch on it that you pop so you can take the surrounding pan off of the bottom. This is necessary for cheesecakes, because unlike with regular cakes, you can't just flip them out of the pan. . .they have to stay rightside up. So I waited until A.C. Moore had a sale on them and bought one. That was like 2 months ago, so it was about time.

I've already linked to the recipe, but I'll do it again if you're interested, because I don't feel like going through the entire process on here. The only thing I would change about it is that the recipe suggests 2 - 3 cups of blackberries. I only used two (those things are EXPENSIVE!), and I wasn't able to cover the entire top of the thing. . .I had to arrange them artfully in the middle. I'd prefer the berries to go to the edges (although. . .I seemed to have an excess of juice with the amount I used. Maybe I'd drain some of it. I don't know.

Also, I don't have an electric mixer, so I mixed this entire thing by hand. My biceps are enormous. Do YOU have tickets to the gun show?

So I made the cheesecake:

Mmmm. . .cheesecake.

Then, the berries were cooked:

Mmmm. . .berries!

And then the entire thing was put together:

OMG!

And sliced. . .

And, of course, then it was eaten.

Awesome.