Diet Coke with Lime

The Corner Bistro

I was asked the question the other day, Does Dave always cook like that? To see what I mean, you can read Chef Dave.

Instead of the answering the question directly...

The other night we were both home from work a little late, tired, and not in the mood to cook. Ok, let me translate that, Dave wasn't in the mood to create a dining experience, a gala in your mouth, a could-have-been-on-Food-Network meal.

So I suggested we just fry up a couple of burgers. I did my own. It ended up a piece of brown meat sandwiched between two pieces of toast bread, with a touch of pepper jack cheese and ketchup. Not bad. But it definitely looked liked a I-am-in-a-hurry-so-I'll-just-fry-something-up-read-quick burger.

Then Dave entered the kitchen. There was the other half of the burger meat. Instead of just frying it up, he took a moment to look in the same empty refrigerator as I did. The next thing I know - you see I'm busy eating my burger at this point - this is on his plate... 

I bet you could have served someone that "burger" in a corner bistro in a posh part of town and the fool would have paid $12 for it! The menu would read, Gourmet burger, seasoned to perfection, served open-faced on a bed of butter lettuce over homemade sourdough bread, smothered in sauteed onions and Havarti cheese, topped with a sprig of refreshing parsley grown in our own herb garden out back.  

My burger on the other hand...

Have you ever driven cross country and found yourself in a remote part, hungry. You find some "restaurant" which is really someone's converted living room. Okay, people from California are saying, Hey, those are the best places. But outside California, and maybe some quaint tourist towns on some kind of water front elsewhere, the experience isn't quite the same. In fact, these are the places when you walk in, a bell is hanging from the door that rings and when the door shuts it sounds like you just dropped it on the floor. You stand there. Waiting... wondering if anyone is home. You wonder when they bought the red and white plastic table cloths, 1958? The fabric backing is showing through on all the creases. Then after just enough time to start feeling awkward, someone finally emerges from the back. As you take a moment to wonder what is back there, it becomes apparent they were sitting glued to a couch watching TV and waiting for the next commercial to come greet you. Or maybe they needed to get dressed and brush their hair. Anyway, that's when the moment of truth comes. They say, Can I help you? Obviously, they aren't used to people actually eating there or they would have said, Take a seat - anywhere - and I'll be right with you. No, they were expecting you to ask for directions.

That's the kind of place that would serve my burger... for $3.50... with potato chips and a free coke.

Chef Dave

Oh, how lucky I am. Do you know what it's like to live with a chef? I do. Okay, maybe not a "real" chef -  as in professional chef - but hey, I'm not sure there's a lot of difference between Dave and a pro, except a professional chef has more practical experience, is paid for cooking, and gets to wear a big white hat.

Here's a great picture I took today of my very own chef.

So handsome... and notice the light on the outline of his face. I tried a new technique I read about where you shoot your subject with the sun behind them, not you! Just make sure to add a little fill flash and you get beautifully lit portraits.

Anyway, I was playing Shut the Box with Maryna and Jack. It's a great game for all ages. (Want to try it? Play online - a different variation then we have, but fun none the less.) So after a few rounds where I was skunked each time, we were called to dinner. As I approached the table, I almost fell out of my chair (but I didn't since I wasn't sitting down yet.) Here is what I saw...

The menu consisted of a perfectly cooked steak, topped with a potato and cheese tower with a green onion accent. On the sides, a melody of onions, mushrooms, and whole garlic cloves, along with sauteed spinach accompanied by a strip of bacon. ...and I can't forget the sauteed shrimp. All sitting on top of a sweet, but not too sweet, red wine sauce.

We don't always eat like this, but we definitely don't suffer... except for the nights we have a Mexican stand off because we're both too tired to cook.

You may not believe it, but I do cook at times. I used to think I was a pretty good cook, but now I concentrate on other virtues. Although, I'm really good at gourmet burgers (my attempt to be "as fancy") and, well, um, ah, oh...

...gotta run.

Bird Droppings

Who would have ever thought that a bird dropping would be an event? Well, it is on Thanksgiving when the bird is a 25 lbs turkey and the dropping is into 5 gallons of boiling peanut oil.

Normally, Thanksgiving is pretty mellow. The turkey men - Dave, Bud, and Bill - cook while the rest of us gab, watch football, or play games with the kids. (Bill was unable to join us this year - he's remodeling.) When they take the turkey out of the oven, I'm always there with my camera to take the now infamous turkey shot.

But this is a ritual between just myself and the turkey men. The turkey comes out, they admire their work, and then stick their faces close to the masterpiece and snap, I take a picture.

But this year, things were different. Our thanksgiving was raised to a whole new level. It started with Dave's turkey raising and lowering contraption and gallons of peanut oil.

When the oil was up to temperature, the turkey men - now consisting of every male in the house - announced the dropping of the bird. Everyone gathered outside. It was chilly but we all withstood the urge to run back inside. Was it to possibility of an explosion or burning down the house that made us want to gather around to witness this event? Odd, people don't gather 'round when you pull out the turkey from the oven? It could be just as exciting - you could burn yourself or drop it on the floor.

Just in case, I gathered our two fire extinguishers. Someone said, I hope they've been serviced recently. I stopped and thought. Hmmm, you're supposed to get them serviced? But I never hear anyone say, sorry, I can't make it, I have to bring my fire extinguishers in for servicing. How do people know these things? Anyway, I had two so I figured the odds are one would work. (Not really, I think they are both really old so I just prayed hard... and we turned off the flame. Dah.)

Once the turkey was lowered, there was a lot of activity... or at least lot of staring by the turkey men. Haven't they ever heard that a watched pot never boils?

How many turkey men does it take to check the thermometer? Five!

The raising of the turkey was just as ceremonious. We were given a count down and then called outside. As we gathered around, a last minute temperature check was taken. False start and we were all sent inside. (You think they would have done that before asking us outside. Men.) When it finally hit temperature, we were out again to watch the raising of the turkey. It took many turkey men to accomplish this. We cheered.

This was my first fried turkey ever. It looked kind of ragged. Like it had been around the block a few times. It didn't look a beautiful and pristine like an oven bird. It looked like it came from the other side of the tracks. (Note: I was going to say from a trailer park, but a friend of mine was once chastised for making a trailer park reference at work because someone in her office lived in one and was obviously quite offended. I try to learn from the mistakes of others or at least try to figure out how to get around them.)

Despite its appearances, it was delicious. Very moist and flavorful. It not only made our bellies very happy, it made Thanksgiving an event to remember.

Thank you, turkey fryer.