good eats – Page 27 – Oh Fair New Mexico

XLIV

Posted on February 8, 2010
by Karen Fayeth
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Oh fine. I did it. I watched the Super Bowl.

I’m not really a football fan. Baseball is where my heart is at.

But hey, there we were at football’s big show, the best of the season, right? So why not watch.

I’d only intended to watch the commercials, and to be honest, it started out that way. I was working in the back room, ignoring the game. I’d listen for the break and trot out there to see what was doing with the commercials.

Damn it all if those Saints didn’t pull me into the game. I started watching a few minutes here and there. But then Peyton and the Colts would dominate again, and I would wander to the back room.

Then there was halftime. That Who abomination. Ugh. I watched all of that. I mean, the Twitterverse was lit up with comments about the quite elderly rockers, so I paid attention. Time I won’t ever get back in my life…

Disgusted, I gave up once more and went back to my little office and back to writing.

Much better back there.

But then there was that onside kick after halftime. That did it.

I was in.

That, and The Good Man suggested we get some Amici’s delivered. Pizza does always make me docile and want to sit low on the couch. So I gave in.

Belly full of pizza and disinclined to move around much, I watched both game and commercials for the entire second half.

Then there was the interception heard ’round the world. I’ll be damned. This was actually a really good Super Bowl. Well ok!

In the final analysis, I suppose it was worth my time to give XLIV my attention.

However, the game was way, way better than the commercials this year.

Check out hulu.com if you missed ’em. (Trust me, you didn’t miss anything.)

My brief commercial round up…

1. Too slappy (What is this NCIS show and *why* do they hit each other so much?)

2. Weird and unflattering use of little people (And isn’t Kiss even more aged than The Who?)

3. Too many tighty whities. Really, boys, if you aren’t going to wear pants, have the good grace to wear boxer briefs. I’m asking nicely.

Or is the emasculation of men the new “in” thing?

Rude, I say.

And so there you have it. My Sunday in a nutshell.

Onward to Monday, a day that began with stumbling out of bed and stepping into a puddle of a cat barf. Yay.

But thankfully, no tighty whities in sight.

(um, no)

The Irony of the Internets

Posted on February 7, 2010
by Karen Fayeth
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Oh mighty interwebs, how you amuse me with your advertising and your behind-the-scenes formulas for placing the right ad on the right content.

And so, as I was searching for a delicious, yet not healthy at all, soup recipe, I found this.

Yeah, so given the choice of whatever torture, pill or unguent I have to endure for the “tiny belly” or to nosh on homemade cheddar beer soup, I’m gonna go with the soup.

And the beer. One for the soup, one for the cook.

Not sharp enough to know I was supposed to be humiliated

Posted on January 21, 2010
by Karen Fayeth
6 Comments

Ok, so I thought this was an odd title for an online article:

“How not to feel humiliated when dining alone”

Um. Why would I? I rather enjoy eating out alone.

Given the photo of the sad lonely brunette (she HAD to be a brunette, right?) that accompanies the article, I think reading between the lines, the title of the article is more like:

“You sad lonely dried up old maid. How terrible that you have to eat alone.”

Because *clearly* the target audience for this story isn’t guys. I don’t know that most guys would feel humiliated dining alone. They’d pull up a chair to the bar, order a beer and dive in. Isn’t all this fuss and kerfuffle a girl thing?

The story goes on to offer several suggestions for how that lonely gal can make it through such a harrowing experience as having to dine alone like reading a book or staring into her mobile device.

Please. Eating out alone is great. You don’t have to share your dessert, you can drink too many glasses of wine if you want, and you can burp at the table. What’s not to love about this experience?

And oh the people watching. So much to take in!

Plus, plenty of couples look miserable dining together. But they are not “humiliated” because they are not alone, so it’s ok? Bah!

I guess I sort of thought we were past the days when someone eating alone in a restaurant was a weird thing. So many people travel for business or just choose to spend time alone. In my book this is no longer odd.

And the conventional wisdom used to be that as a solo diner the wait staff wouldn’t serve you as well (one person means smaller tab means smaller tip) but I have found the opposite to be true. I think wait staff rather enjoy the ease of just one person at the table. No question where the entrée goes!

I’ve not ever felt slighted or mistreated when dining alone. It works just fine.

Sure, I’d rather have The Good Man there because, mainly, he makes any thing I do a lot more fun (he could make going to the dentist for a root canal a worthwhile adventure!). But if I’m away from him and I’m hungry, well, a girl’s gotta eat!

Honestly most of my girlfriends are the same way. Eating alone in a restaurant is no biggie.

Most girls half my age are twice as bold as me, so I don’t think they have issues either.

Who is this story really aimed at? As I read the comments, most of the ladies chiming in seem to agree with my point of view on this.

And seems most agree that the title of the article is just plain terrible.

I guess my message to the author is to simply quote the comment left by a reader named Melissa:

“Thanks for bashing my confidence in eating alone. I guess now when I take myself out to lunch to be awesome I have to feel HUMILIATED instead.”

So there!

So one day, you’re walking down Vegas Boulevard and…

Posted on January 18, 2010
by Karen Fayeth
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Oh man, I can’t *believe* I forgot to blog about this… I think I Tweeted, but 140 characters does this no justice.

So picture it if you will. Las Vegas Boulevard just a week or so ago.

I’m over at the Mirage because I was hungry and wanted the fare offered at the Carnegie Deli***.

I swear, I am a New York Jewish girl, because I gotta have their chopped liver salad. Just *gotta* have it!

So after finishing my meal and losing a few bucks to the slots, I decided to walk.

I always have to take some time to walk Vegas Blvd to see how it has changed. Plus, you get a whooole different view of The Strip at street level.

There I am walking north on the strip headed toward Fashion Show Mall with a destination of the Trump Hotel nestled in behind the mall, when I see a little alcove-like thing in the wall around the Mirage.

People are lined up there and I figure, well, it’s some Vegas thing, a mostly naked show girl, an “amazing double” dressed up as Michael Jackson (only I just saw him a couple hours ago back at the Bellagio) or a Three Card Monte game, who knows.

I was not prepared for what I saw.

Not. Prepared.

I come around the bend and see this lush green inset in the wall with a railing.

Ok, you know when you go to a cathedral or a really large Catholic church and they have the Virgin Mary Grotto? With the statue and the railing and the somber tones?

Yeah. It was like that.

Only the statue people were worshiping was this (click for full size):

If the imagery isn’t immediately clear to you, that’s a golden rendition of Sigfried and Roy and a white tiger, festooned with fakey shards of crystals shooting out of the cement moorings.

Oh man, everyone was snapping photos like the red carpet. They’d put the kids in front of this thing, or the lady would get in front and the guy would take the photo then the guy would get up there and the lady would snap away, and then the whole family would crowd in there.

People were beside themselves to get photos with this statue.

In a non-ironic way.

Well, I found a break in the crowd and grabbed a couple iPhone photos so I could show The Good Man and we could look at this later and ponder just WTF.

I have no answers.

Other than that’s Vegas, I suppose…

***Not intentionally, but we ended up having an “old home” week in Las Vegas. We went to Garduños to fulfill longing for the food of my youth, then later I took The Good Man, a Brooklyn boy, back to the Carnegie for a monster Reuben (corned beef, if you please).

Lighting a votive for, uh, peace?

Posted on January 15, 2010
by Karen Fayeth
8 Comments

Oh, this could be a serious and solemn post.

It’s not gonna be, however.

So you see…my rock star mom-in-law is a Brooklyn girl, and at the holidays, she has traditions in keeping with where she was raised.

In her words: “Not untypically for someone from Brooklyn in my day for most of my adult life, I’ve made Italian food for the holidays. Often the menu included a seafood dish like spaghetti and clams for Christmas or New Years Eve and usually a lasagna on Christmas Day.”

Italian food? Oh I’m ALL about that.

This holiday season it was her very generous idea to celebrate the holidays with the foods from my childhood in New Mexico.

That means tamales that we handmade together, a pan of Hatch green chile enchiladas and a big pot o’ beans.

To help set the atmosphere, my mom-in-law brought over some accoutrements including Mexican hot chocolate, a tortilla warmer, and an Our Lady of Guadalupe votive candle.

We lit Our Lady up and enjoyed dinner by her warm candlelight.

So the holidays passed by, as they will. The Good Man and I began to dismantle the holiday displays in our home and put things away.

Our Lady of the Fabulous Christmas Feast had been on the coffee table for a couple weeks, but after New Years she had disappeared. The Good Man had stowed her away somewhere. Fair enough, right?

But then…I was rather startled to, uh, find her.

Here: