Living the high life.

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My friend Melanie once told me that, being a Gemini, I can easily find myself bored. That I constantly need stimulation — people to see, places to go, projects to do. Now, I am a person who relishes laying around watching TV for 15 hours, but it’s true that I thrive with structure and purpose and fall into slovenly behavior when those are absent.

Well, it’s officially been 7 weeks since the layoff and I haven’t been bored once. I’ve actually been enjoying my mini-retirement, keeping a schedule and even tiring myself out with all that I need to accomplish. It makes me wonder how I survived when 40+ hours of my week were claimed elsewhere — did I sleep? Did I have a social life? Did I ever carry through on anything? And let’s not even think about the MBA I somehow completed.

The past few weeks have been incredibly full — I’ve had uproarious dinners/lunches/brunches out with friends, I’ve volunteered my time to good causes, I’ve stayed in touch with my b-school folks and prepared for graduation in a few weeks. Keep reading »

Buttermilk Pie: The Experiment, Part I

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I’ve been catching up on episodes of “Who Do You Think You Are?” this week, which always makes me think of my own roots and family history. The truth is I couldn’t be more southern. My mom was raised in the lowcountry of South Carolina, and my maternal roots go several centuries deep in Savannah. My dad is from the Pee Dee area of South Carolina, and we can trace my paternal ancestry back to colonial times in eastern North Carolina and Virginia. I was raised near Charlotte, N.C. — so, like my mom says, we haven’t moved very far.

My exposure to the cuisine of the South while I was growing up included staple recipes that had been in my family and the classics we ate in family-run restaurants. I grew to love food that most southern families have enjoyed for centuries: puckeringly sweet iced tea, fresh figs off the tree, blackberries on the vine and homegrown, road stand vegetables like deep, red tomatoes and fuzzy, tender, juicy peaches. In the fall we picked up pecans under the ancient tree that canopied my grandparents’ backyard and cracked and shelled them inside by the fire. At home we ate fried quail or fish with grits for breakfast, country-style steak with rice, chicken bog, boiled peanuts, slow-cooked collard greens, red velvet and caramel cakes … the list goes on.
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It happens tomorrow.

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It’s been 17 months in the making, but Mad Men’s back in less than 30 hours!

Even though I try to keep my obsessions in check, I just can’t suppress my glee on this one.

I knew it had been awhile since the last new episode aired, but the repeated seasons on Sunday mornings have been tiding me over. So I was shocked when I saw that the last Mad Men season finale aired in October 2010.

October. 2010.

Think about how much has happened since then in real life — a whole calendar year, no less.
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Cooking Spree: Pork and Pineapple Sliders

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This week I scored a coup at the grocery store. Spring has definitely sprung, because in addition to the inch-thick layer of pollen on my car, my sniffly nose and the unexpected, stifling heat (in March!), fruits and vegetables are becoming plentiful again!

Here’s another confession: until this week I had never in my life purchased or cut a fresh pineapple. I know, it’s a little shocking. But maybe I was intimidated by that thick, ugly, prickly outer layer, or maybe I just never wanted to bother with all the peeling, chopping and coring. But, oh, it is worth it for a taste of that sweet, juicy, freshly cut fruit.

Pineapples are not usually the cheapest fruit option in the produce section, and that’s probably another reason I’ve resisted buying them. This week, though, they were on sale 2 for 1, which allowed me to practice my pineapple excavation skills and to experiment with how to use up all of that good fruit. One person can eat only so much pineapple, you know.

In the freezer, I already had one of those packaged, marinated pork loins. And I discovered that a slather of ready-made barbecue sauce on soft bread with slices of pork and pineapple creates a few small bites of heaven.

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A book I just can't stop talking about.

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2012 is shaping up to be a banner year in the reading department. In the last month alone, I have burned through five full novels, a food narrative/cookbook and two unabridged audiobooks. Now I’m furiously working my way through a sixth novel before a book club deadline next weekend. I’m sure that pace can be attributed to my recent downtime, but also to a pent-up, post-school need to voraciously consume words, characters and stories.

Some of the selections have been enjoyable, some not so much. But one title was so special that I’m going to have to add it to my top 10 of all time, if not top 5. It is Ann Patchett’s “State of Wonder.”

I can’t always explain how I find the books I read, though Julie’s theory that books find you when you’re supposed to read them usually holds up. In that vein, I somehow came to reserve “State of Wonder” at the library. I know friends have posted it on Goodreads in the last year, and perhaps I also saw it on a “top” list from an email newsletter or newspaper book review. No matter its delivery, I haven’t been so engrossed in a book in quite a long time.

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Something to look forward to!

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Ten years ago this summer I was in London to celebrate a milestone birthday and revel in the Queen’s Golden Jubilee, her 50 years on the throne. Well, it’s that time again — another milestone birthday, another jubilee.

Since I’ve had a lot of downtime as of late, my calendar for the year is frighteningly wide open. But now I can officially add an event, and a travel event at that — I’ll be in London to celebrate the Diamond Jubilee (and, oh yeah, my birthday) this June.

I can also mark the occasion as the first trip I’ve ever taken solo, or OYOBNA as they say. My go-to travel partner, other friends and my family were too noncommittal and this trip was important enough that I refused to let it just go by. I’ve lived in NYC, I’ve traveled the globe, I’ve even flown internationally by myself before, so why should I miss out?

The truth is that I’m kind of excited to go by myself — to explore what I want to do, on my schedule, at my pace. If I want to get up at 4 a.m. to snag the best parade route spot for gawking at royals, I’m gonna, without complaints, snide remarks or sleepyheads to annoy or slow me down. I can bask in my obsession completely unadulterated.
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Suffering the effects of too much sleep.

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This morning I awoke at 5:16 a.m. As I type this, it is now 7:02 a.m., an hour at which I try never to willingly be awake, unless it is pre-slumber.

I have to confess that I may have buried the lead in my post a few weeks ago — I alluded to some earth-shattering news I had received just before I was to go out of town for the weekend. Well, I was laid off from a job I’d held for two days shy of 7 months. In truth it was a relief, since it was just not the right fit … an absolute square peg in round hole. But, it’s the first time I have ever left a job not of my own volition: clean out your desk, hand in your badge, leave when you’re done, the whole bit.

It’s been a rough past four years in our workforce, so I know my story isn’t unique or special. I also understand that it had nothing to do with me personally or my performance — the cuts are wide and deep for everyone. But the immediacy of such a turn of events … arriving at work expecting to spend your day/week/month/year a certain way … to have that yanked from you is quite jarring. On the plus side, it was clearly a “meant to be” for me — I wasn’t happy spending 40 hours of my week or life that way, and my family obviously needed me over the ensuing weeks. Now that drama has cleared, and I’m staring at an unknown, yet wide open, future. What in the world do I want to be when I grow up?

(If you figure it out, let me know?)
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Cooking Spree: Peanut Butter Pie

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I’m not one of those people who’s in love with peanut butter … I like it, it’s okay, sometimes it hits the spot, but I don’t have to have it. I am, however, a big fan of peanut butter pie.

That love affair began back in the ’80s with the peanut butter pie at Reilley’s, an Irish pub and restaurant on Hilton Head Island, S.C. Reilley’s pie is legendary, decadent and ridiculously delicious. We still talk about it, though it’s been years, probably decades, since I’ve had a piece there.

Last week I was at Hilton Head helping Mom recover from her foot surgery. Mom, I should note, is one of those peanut butter fanatics. She eats it by spoon right from the jar. On crackers, sandwiched between Thin Mints, atop gingersnaps, in a Thai sauce on noodles. Any which way it will come, really. (Oliver thinks it’s pretty nifty as well.)

While we were out to lunch during the week, Mom and I shared slices of peanut butter pie for dessert at two restaurants. Each was a different interpretation on peanut butter pie schools of thought: one a dense, rich version covered in a layer of chocolate, so dense in fact it could almost be considered a bar, and clearly inspired by peanut butter cup candy. The second version is a more traditional pie, with a light, frothy filling of peanut butter whipped with cream or whipped topping. It’s often drizzled with chocolate sauce and plenty of whipped cream, but the filling can be so light that its flavor only distantly resembles peanut butter. I suppose there’s another category for frozen and ice cream pie concoctions, though those don’t interest me as much.
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The post with too many names.

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Here it is. I’ve made it all the way to 100 posts! I can’t imagine how in the world I’ve found 100 things to write about in the last two years, but I hope you’ve found them interesting and informative, enough to keep reading at least. So, at this milestone, let me thank you again for faithfully reading and for allowing me to feed my soul a bit with writing.

When I first envisioned this post two weeks ago, it was going to be called, “Distraction is the best medicine.” I had just received some pretty earth-shattering news, the true magnitude of which didn’t hit me until a few days later. Luckily, I was headed out of town to celebrate my mom’s birthday, looking forward to being enveloped in the arms of family and welcoming the distraction of celebration, fun times and happy faces.

A few days later, I could have called the post, “When it rains it pours.” My 94-year-old grandmother fell and cracked three ribs, my mom was scheduled for foot surgery, my great-aunt (also in her 90s) entered the hospital with bronchitis and my aunt took ill with pneumonia.

It felt like our family was falling apart. So the more appropriate title became, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”
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