Blue plate special

I keep seeing advertisements for the new movie, Julie & Julia, which is being released on August 7. The movie doesn’t look as though it will be particularly good, but the premise -- modern day Julie deciding to blog her way through cooking every recipe in Julia’s “Joy of Cooking,” is an interesting one, and similar to one I had regarding hospital food.

My idea was to make more of a hospital food survival guide. To educate the people on what is safest to order if you’re going to be stuck inside for more than a day or two. There are some basic rules that patients would do well to follow, as well as some surprising culinary high points.

After 28 straight days, plus two shorter stays in April and May, I’m becoming quite versed on the topic. And while I only know this hospital’s meals intimately, I tend to think a lot of hospitals are not that different. Sure, there are some with gourmet meals, apparently the Chili-lime crab cakes at Colorado's Montrose Memorial Hospital and the Black Forest ham panini with smoked gouda and apple preserves at New York's Columbia Presbyterian hospital are especially noteworthy. And there has been a recent movement to incorporate more organic, seasonal foods into hospital cuisine in some parts of the country. But overall, I think most hospitals still have average food at best. I know that’s true for this hospital.

In general, here’s what you want to know. Always order the soup, even if you want the side salad too, because sometimes those side salads are just not as green as you’d like, and the prepackaged individual dressings leave much to be desired. The soups, however, are almost always good, they’re your consistent safe bet. Even if you hate everything else on the tray, a nice bowl of warm soup and a buttered roll can make a decent meal.

Pasta is safe too. At worst it’s bland, at best it’s delicious. I had a scrumptious white sauce vegetable lasagna the other night, perhaps more aptly called spinach lasagna béchamel? Yummy.

Salad entrees are a mixed bag. I’ve found that the simpler ones are the best. The grilled vegetable salad, the spinach salad, and of course the fresh fruit platter are all good bets, hard to mess up, I suppose. Some of the attempts at more creative salads, however, fall short, way short, so be wary of the ‘Asian spicy’ or ‘Chipotle chicken' type salads, they’re poor imitations of similar sounding salads that can be so good on the outside.

And here is the most important rule of all, stay away from the meat, especially the meat dishes that resemble beef. They’re bad, time after time. The so called lunch meat is also suspect. I’m fairly certain I’ll never view turkey sandwiches the same again. Revolting.

But there are some bright spots.

Take for instance today’s lovely pea risotto, which was served as a lunch side. Although it could definitely be improved upon, it was good, and something I’d actually like to incorporate into my own recipe repertoire once I’m out. Or, the incredibly good tortilla soup. I’ll admit that I like most tortilla soups, but this hospital version is lovely, and I’ve found it to be consistent from week to week. I’d actually like their very recipe.

Anyway, you ge the point. You need to have a strategy.

So someday perhaps I’ll write my book. I think I’ll call it:

Beth’s bedside banquet

or

Sick bay supping,

or

have any good ideas?

Hard Hats

Flying in the face of this so-called recession, there's a new condo building being built right in downtown New London.

And I walk by it every day. It's a giant building, and, I admit, at first I thought it was too big, and too overbearing, for this wacky little town.

But then, yesterday, we got the opportunity to tour it.

The developer invited all the members of the downtown New London association -- um, or something -- to a hard hat tour of the new building, and Peter and Martha happily accepted on behalf of the Tavern. And Mistah and I happily accepted P&M's gracious invite to join them.

From nothing, all of a sudden, there is something.

Tony brought us right up into the depths and bowels and innards of the new place, and it is something in there.

Tony talked in the present tense, like "This is the 5th floor hallway, where there are 5 condos." He just sees it. Me, I see a lot of metal two-by-fours.

But he was an awesome tour guide.

And a good gesticulator.
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This is where the pool will be. All seasons. Outdoor in summer, covered by a Wimbledon-like solar-heated roof in winter.

Work is in full-on progress.

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Further upstairs we went.

Aw, there's Westy..

The view of New London started to get really great, and we all started to appreciate just how cool this space is going to be.

Shaw's Cove emerged, in all its glory.

We were on top of the world.

And the view of the Thames River? From the best unit in the place?.

Incredible.

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Um, hello? I got nothin'.

Oh, don't worry, Mom. I was perfectly safe.

Really.

Imagine living up here? You've got the River . . .

. . . you've got the trains . . .

. . . and you lord over all of it.
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Soon, kids, soon. Soon this will be the place to be. And anyone who lives here will get to look at this:

Oh New London. How lovely you are.

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If only we got to wear hard hats.

my gift to you

It’s here, my darlings. It’s here.

Today is Tuesday, a notoriously humdrum day of the week claiming right to neither the anguish of Monday nor the blazing mediocrity of Wednesday. But today, my luscious little lambie pies, today is special. Because today I love Tuesday. This Tuesday is my friend.

Because I am on vacation! And the world is a pretty, propitious, promising place.

In honor of this auspicious occasion, I want to give something back to the universe. I want to share my gifts with you, my little sugarboogers.

Yet I have so little to offer, my gifts are so benign, so banal, so…. Wednesday.

But there is this one thing.

This thing is a good thing. I found it one day at a hotel pool, and I knew I had to make it my very own. I’ve taxed and I’ve toiled to get it just right.

And I have done it.

And now, I offer it to you,

The Strawberry Lemonata:


Begin with the assembly of these wholesome, delicious ingredients:

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citrus vodka

strawberries

mint

lemonade

limeade or fresh squeezed lime

and triple sec if you didn't use it all up in your margaritas, you lush

Now be a good little lambie pie and wash and stem those nice, ripe berries. Put them in a bowl with lots of mint. If they're not really ripe, toss some sugar on top to encourage maximum juiciness. Here's where you'd also tip in a splash of triple sec if you're lucky:

mash this magical mixture into mush, but don't get carried away. You want this thick enough to scoop up with rather than clog your straw

*I've dreamed of eating this leftover mash on top of vanilla ice cream. But I've yet to have any leftovers

Now fill some large-ish glasses with ice, then scoop a healthy dollop of the love-mash right onto the ice. If I were you, I'd totally squeeze some lime into your glasses at this point.

Do I really need to tell you what to do with this?

Then, fill your glasses almost up with lemonade, and top off with limeaid. Stir with wild abandon. Be thankful to be you, for you are about to enjoy such deliciousness.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
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Drink it.

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I have to warn you, this story is not all sunshine and rainbows. There is a dark, ominous cloud lurking beneath all the strawberry goodness.

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It's gone in 3 seconds.

But on the bright side, Mary is making me a burrito! Thanks, Mary!

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Now go forth and summer, my people!

You can't make me!

I’m starting to identify more and more with my children’s short tempers and periodic tantrums, to comprehend how something seemingly small can send them into a major hissy fit. How the third, “you have to wear the shoes, not the sandals” can sound just like fingernails on the chalkboard.

It sucks to be told what to do all the time. It’s frustrating to not be in control. It’s annoying to always have to follow the rules, to not be the one to decide what you’ll eat for lunch or dinner, and to have time limits put on how much time you can do things you want to do. And these feelings of inequality and impotence compound.

One question I clearly remember from the 93 that make up the Myers Briggs Personality Type test is, “Would you choose to be a child or an adult?” Are you kidding me? An adult! I want to be an adult. I want to control my own life, make my own mistakes, create my own fun. A child again? No, no thank you.

I’m sure there are people who feel the opposite, but I just don’t see it. Childhood is what you endure (yes, often happily) to get to the rest of your life, to the good part, to the part where you can eat what you want, drink what you want, do what you want, and be who you want.

I feel like a child in this hospital, and I’m damn sick of it. It won’t be long until I’m throwing the same fits my 5 year old does. I’m already crying as often as she does.

Because having to eat food that you don’t feel like eating just because that’s what’s being served gets old, so does not being able to take off and go somewhere by yourself, and having to live according to someone else’s timetable. Even worse is having someone else tell you what’s best for your own body, it’s perhaps the definition of subordination.

I’m sure my current episode of identifying with my kids’ dependency will last about as long as it takes to drive home from the hospital, but for this moment in time, I’m feeling their angst.

Weekend 3-Way: What not to watch

Although it is summer, the season of sunshine and sand and sea and longer, lighter days, some of us still manage to fit in a TV show or two. I find myself watching more TV than perhaps ever in my life, and I’m surprised which shows hold my attention.

The shows are not on the History or Discovery channel, or even PBS, not that these channels don’t have terrific programing, because they do. But I’m finding I’m watching shows that can probably best be described as crap guilty pleasures.

So, what I’m wondering is what’s your TV guilty pleasure? (Ellie, I know, I know, you guys don’t have a TV, but perhaps you Hulu at times? Or catch some show at the Tavern? Or?)

Beth:
I’m going to come clean. Today, this very evening, I’ve come to find that I just can’t turn off TLC’s What Not To Wear. It’s all at once awful and wonderful. I mean any show that says, “We’re going to get rid of anything that screams hooch,” is hard to stop watching.

My friend Johanna told me that she enjoyed the show, and honestly I thought I’d never watch it, but now that I’ve stumbled upon it, I see where she’s coming from. There’s something slightly addicting about it. And really, who doesn’t like to watch someone get to spend $5000 in NYC on new clothes?

Jacquie:
I want to go with So You Think You Can Dance because I love that show, but I'll own up to BIG BRUTHA! Don't tell me you can resist it Beth, lying there in that tiny room with the pretty flat screen?! It wasn't that long ago when we used to discuss the houseguests' antics over sushi. This season is awful, hideous, and hateful. I'm riveted.

Ellie:
I've never even heard of that show. I'm a tv moron.

We watch ESPN or live sports all day at the Tavern, so that's out. I did have a bit of a hulu habit a few months ago -- I watched a few episodes of Rescue Me and The Closer. They were pretty good; I don't know why I stopped. I think I'm just out of the habit. I do miss tv during big sporting events. During that insane final set of the Federer/Roddick match, I listened to Radio Wimbledon and stared at the scoreboard on our laptop. Because I am a geek.

I did watch movies on our laptop 2 nights this week (I'm having a James Franco Fest -- I'm a Francophile), but my biggest addiction is watching Jacquie's kids give presentations on youtube.

Festering On...

Sailfest was a spectacular time, and way too much fun to be contained in one measly blog post.

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Bring it on, peeps.

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State Street was ready.

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So was Bank Street.

So was Ma-dame, whose thighs I've always admired.

So was Wyland's whale.

We started Festering on Friday afternoon on our deck, after Mary Beth and Mark arrived.

And we continued downtown, all weekend long.

The throngs.

Jennie and Dawnie, conferring.

Miss Daphne.

It was Sailfest, after all.

A ferry passing through.

Training (ha!) at Ocean Beach on Saturday.

Sailfest would not be Sailfest without Ledgie.

I was extra-exuberant on Saturday night, having earlier hit my first-ever homerun at Champagne Park.

Downtown, in the thick of it.

The magical path to the roofdeck . . .

. . . and the magical boom-booms.

Sunday, back downtown. C'mon, boys. Smile!

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(We would have photos of the killer breakfast I made Sunday morning, but the camera -- and Mistah's backpack -- spent the night at the Tavern. Some inanimate objects know how to have all the fun.)

Carlos, back in New London, where he belongs.

MB and Mark, in wonderland.

You've got to admire Mary Beth's consistency.

I get sneered at a lot.

The boys.

Aw, Jennie.

C'mon in! It's fun!

Late-night hooligans.

The party's over, kids . . .

. . . we'll see you next year.