Foreign gulps

Yesterday evening at 7 ish I tuned in to view the Wine Authorities’ live internet broadcast wine tasting where owners Craig and Seth sampled three wines:

Val de Sil, Montenovo Godello
Ch. Jouclary, Cabardes
Skouras, St. George/Cabernet Sauvignon Blenc

These guys are hilarious, aside from being beyond-knowledgeable oenophiles. They used props, sound effects, and their wit to engage and charm the audience while we sat lazily at home sipping our wine. Kudos to them for another successful broadcast!
As a side note, all their talk of Aghiorgitiko (a red grape of Greece) got me thinking back to my family’s trip to Greece a few years ago.
During our visit we were introduced to Assyrtiko, a sweet white grape indigenous to Santorini. We drank it often in Greece, possibly because of its abundance, and when not drinking Assyrtiko, we were consuming large amounts of the country’s very drinkable table wines.
I love the process of becoming acquainted with new customs (especially drinking customs) when traveling abroad.
In Greece, the fact that the table wines were delicious and extremely affordable was new to me–and a welcome surprise at that. Another surprise: Greek dinners were typically served with a complimentary shot of liquor. I know few places in America that give away free shots with dinner. Although I will say that when dining at Pancuito in Hillsborough, the meal began with a complimentary shooter of Prosecco.

Our wine tasting expert at a winery in Santorini.

Brother-in-law Bryce drinking a red late into a Mykonos night.

The ladies, posing with our wine after a day of tasting.

On a much colder vacation to Ireland 4 years ago, hubby and I experienced another drinking custom. We called it “no one in this country drinks anything but alcohol and coffee.” Seriously, you’d be hard pressed to find anyone drinking a simple glass of water with lunch or dinner. The waiters don’t even offer it. On many occasions we had to stand up and get the water ourselves. The alternative was to stay drunk the entire trip.

A tall, cold one.

Hubby at the Jameson whiskey distillery in Ireland.

Hubby and I splurged on one expensive dinner while in Ireland. We lied and said we had just gotten engaged, hoping they'd give us a free meal–or at least a free dessert.

Instead they wrote Congrats on our dessert. It was very sweet of them.
We charged the full price dinner to a credit card.

And this past summer on a weeklong trip to Costa Rica we were pleased to discover new favorite beers: Imperial and Toña. Even more interesting than an awakened passion for beer was learning that Costa Ricans drink their beer at room temperature, served over ice cubes. We were very confused Gringos when the waiter brought dos cervezas and a bucket of ice to our table.
Oh how thirsty for travel am I?

The delicious Imperial.

Brown-bagging a 40 by the pool in San Jose.

Hubby drinking Imperial in Quepos.

Photo of the Day

My cat Jean (aka Miss Little Girl) often sits in the cutest little poses. Usually they look so very comfortable, like fluffy, furry, purring, curled up bliss. But this looks painful. The hyper extended bent at the wrists pose. Think of the arthritis in our future if we dared to do this to our wrists.

Sweet dreams

Because I have a habit of waking up throughout the night, mostly because of my pets making noise, I have always been someone who easily remembers my dreams (experts say often when you wake during the night it is right after a period of REM sleep and therefore, most likely, right after a dream). I used to tell my family my dreams at length, boring them to no end. My mother reminds me of this almost every time I see her. My apologies.
Remembering dreams can be both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because often they are very funny or fantastical and they make me laugh. A curse because the recurring ones are a little freaky.
I constantly dream of being on vacation somewhere absolutely breathtaking; somewhere with cool blue waters and an exotic landscape. In those dreams I am usually late to board a plane or a boat though. Sometimes I’m left behind by all my family and friends.
The worst of the recurring dreams is the one where I’m an accomplice to a murder. The murderer and I are on the run, trying to hide the body and avoid the police. Usually the cause of death is accidental. Maybe we ran over the victim with our car. Oops.
Every time I wake up from these dreams I am exhausted and beyond relieved to find out that I haven’t really committed a crime.
My dear friend Misty, who knows of my fascination with dreams, once gave me a $5 dream book. She declared the book a piece of crap as she handed it over to me, almost apologetically. Perhaps all dream books are crap. More so than that, they are pure speculation.
I open the book and look up the word vacation. Not in the book. Okay, how about the word cruise ship? Not in there. How about the word boat?
Bingo! “Boat signals forecast bright prospects, if upon clear water.”
How about the word water?
“To dream of clear water, foretells that you will joyfully realize prosperity and pleasure.”
How excellent!
I then look up the word murder.
“If you commit murder, it signifies that you are engaging in some dishonorable adventure, which will leave a stigma upon your name.”
I look up the word criminal.
“To dream of associating with a person who had committed a crime, denotes that you will be harassed with unscrupulous persons, who will try to use your friendship for their own advancement.”
Great. These descriptions drive me crazy. Am I supposed to now figure out in which “dishonorable adventure” I am partaking and which of my friends are unscrupulous? What fun would that be?
These answers are about as helpful as a fortune cookie: “You are wise.” “Stop and smell the roses.” “Be thankful for friends.” Be especially thankful for friends who give you bad dream books. Or at least friends willing to listen to your bad dreams…

Ooh ooh that smell!

I am a cat person by nature. I grew up with cats from as far back as I can remember. I’ve never really liked dogs per se. They slobber and smell.
But sure enough I married into a family of dog lovers. Back when hubby and I were only dating he decided he should get a dog from the pound. He took me along and together we selected a dog, Paxton, a giant blend of pit bull, great Dane, and who knows what else.
Seeing beyond the fleas and coarse, constantly shedding hair, I have slowly grown to love this sweet little guy. He’s extremely well behaved, he’s not very needy in comparison to other dogs, and he is large and helps me feel protected here in Durham.
There is a catch though. Paxton the dog can really let one rip. Since day one he has been a farter. When people smell a Paxton fart their first question is, “What are you feeding him?” Paxton is one of the few dogs I know that isn’t allowed people food. He only eats dog food. A cup and a half twice daily. So that’s not the source of the farts.
His farts are often SBDs (silent but deadlies) and have the ability to creep up on you. Hubby and I, or sometimes an unfortunate houseguest, will just be sitting on the couch minding our own business when out of nowhere comes this stench. It smells like a rotting bedpan that someone set on fire. This stench rudely smacks you in the face. You can almost feel the warmth of it. I always say it’s so putrid it probably stains the air. You can attempt to cover your nose with a blanket or a pillow, anything close by really. But nothing helps. The smell soaks right through solid surfaces. It reaches out and chokes you.
Sometimes Paxton lets out an audible one, but just barely audible. It sounds much like a puff of smoke. But those are even worse because then you often start sniffing, in search of the smell to make sure you heard right. And there it is, horrible in every way. Stinging in its rancid filth.
We often look over at Paxton, expecting an apology from him. Usually he doesn’t even notice he’s done it. His face, completely devoid of emotion, peeking up at us innocently. How can he not notice that smell?! He’s a dog for crying out loud. Their noses lead them. Where is the guilt, Paxton? He should at least take responsibility for it. The rest of us have to.

Random question

In terms of computer lingo, which is proper:

Do you forward an e-mail or do you e-mail a forward?

Hmmmm....just wondering...

Job well done

I am often let down by the realization that a rather large chunk of the population is just plain lazy. More so than lazy, this chunk of people has absolutely no work ethic. Not a desire in the world to chase a higher calling. A job well done means nothing to them.
For me, even when I feel I don’t have my dream job, I still take pride in what I do. The one time I dropped a pan of freshly baked bread on the floor back when I worked at Subway I took it really hard. I felt like a failure. Any time I make a mistake at my current job I cringe. These things I take personally.
Having said all that, it is such a refreshing experience when I encounter someone who has a high work ethic, someone who also values their place in the work force. This was actually one of the first traits I noticed in my hubby the night we met. He went on and on about how much he loved his job, how it was so wonderful that sometimes he even walked to work when it was snowing outside. He was and always will be a hard worker bee. I love that about him.
When hubby and I decided to tile our bathroom floors a few months ago it was hubby’s suggestion that he attempt it himself. And he did so. Though it was a slightly more complicated job than he first assumed, it turned out beautifully.
We’ve finally gotten around to the master bathroom and hubby suggested we hire the job out. He found a contractor named Miguel to do the job.
Miguel came to scout out our bathroom, gave us a very doable quote, and reported for duty less than a week later. Miguel is the epitome of work ethic. Here is what I noticed:
1) We wanted the tiles placed in a very simple square pattern, as we had done our first bathroom. Miguel offered to do a square border with a diamond pattern in the center. He goes above and beyond.
2) Miguel does not accept food, drink or restroom breaks while he’s working.
3) Miguel says excuse me, please, thank you, etc.
4) Miguel refuses to make small talk. It’s a waste of time.
5) Miguel scans the rest of the house in search of other problems. So far he has fixed our broken storm door and has offered to fix our front porch steps – both free of charge.
6) Miguel asks when we want him to work. He doesn’t tell us we he can work.
7) Miguel is very friendly to Paxton the dog. The cats don’t seem to mind him either.

The bathroom is now almost finished. Tomorrow Miguel will come to grout and replace the toilet and molding. Then we’ll have a “new” bathroom to be proud of.
Here it is in process:

The boring eater

When I woke up at 4 o’clock this morning, I suddenly started craving my favorite dish at Rue Cler. I was kept awake by the thought of this lovely salad topped with chicken and crispy onions. I then began to think of all the other Durham-area restaurants I frequent and I began to notice a trend.
I always order the same thing...every time I visit these restaurants. On my first visit I’ll order something random, willing to try whatever. But the next time I go, I order it again. Then I just never stop. You’d think I’d say to myself, “Melanie, if you liked this item so much on your very first visit, you’ll probably enjoy a few of the other items on the menu.” But I don’t listen to the voice of reason. And especially not when it comes to food.
So I thought it might be fun to exploit myself a little further and share with you my top 10 local eats and the items I get there time after time.

#10: Saratoga Grill
Located in downtown Hillsborough. This restaurant is on the second level of another business. Saratoga Grill is hands down the home of the world’s best hamburgers. They are huge, juicy, and are served in numerous different styles. I always get the mushroom and swiss burger. Never ever attempted another dish.

#9: Rue Cler
Parisian-style restaurant located in downtown Durham. For some reason, I’ve only visited this restaurant with coworkers, despite it not being very convenient to our office. I get the Chicken Paillard, served with Brie and crispy onions over greens.

#8: Mez
Contemporary Mexican restaurant off of Page Road in RTP. My entree regularly shifts between Queso Flameado, Enchiladas de Pollo, and Pollo Tamal, but I always begin things with the Verde Salad. Diced apples tossed in pumpkin seed-walnut dressing with mixed greens, tomatoes, pine nuts and queso fresco. The dressing makes this salad.

#7: Thai Cafe
Located on University Drive in Durham directly beside Wine Authorities. My staple is the Chicken with spicy basil leaves. Chicken, fresh basil leaves with bell peppers and green beans in hot chili sauce. This dish is categorized under three spicy peppers on their menu, which means it is one of the hottest dishes available. All their entrees come with a tiny salad, the best part of which is the homemade peanut dressing. The entrees here are not large, but end up completely satisfying my appetite every time.

#6: Briggs at the Park
Breakfast joint located on Highway 55 in Durham. Breakfast Croissant. Every time I’ve been I have order the flaky croissant filled with crisp bacon and two eggs, scrambled with cheddar and Monterey Jack cheeses. I always get it with a side of grapes and ask for it to be prepared with Papetti's Better'N Eggs® Fat-Free eggs, which I always hope will counteract the damage of the massive amount of cheese. This place is so tasty but synonymous with at least a 15-minute wait.

#5: 411 West
Located on Franklin Street in Chapel Hill. Really the only reason I ever go back to my Alma Mater. My dish is the Crab. Red pepper pappardelle pasta in a dill cream sauce with crab meat and a saute of mushrooms, scallions and bacon. I feel guilty for a week after I’ve eaten this dish. But oh so worth it. I recommend it to every soul who enters the doors. I’ve never met a person who didn’t like it. I have to confess though, that hubby has urged me from time to time to get something new; and I have. I order the specials on occasion. But this restaurant still earns its place on this list because I ordered the Crab for my first 10 visits.

#4: Sunset Grille
Sports bar located at Sutton Station in Durham. My staple is the Oriental Chicken Stir Fry Wrap. Stir fried vegetables in a sesame teriyaki glaze wrapped in a garlic herb tortilla. I also always get the delicious Sunset Chips as my side. They are fried potato chips tossed with spicy Cajun seasoning and served with homemade jalapeno ranch dressing. These things are hot. Have water or beer ready.

#3: Pulcinella’s
Little family-owned hole in the wall Italian restaurant located in Woodcroft. I always get the Chicken Marsala and I always order it TO GO. This is a huge dish (I can get two meals out of it) that comes with bread and a salad and their homemade Italian dressing, which is chunky and oily.

#2: Foster’s Market
The lovely Sarah Foster’s place on 15-501 in Durham. My sole item of order is the Bacon, Avocado and Spinach sandwich. Bacon, avocado, cucumbers, spinach, tomato, herb cream cheese and basil mayo on sunflower. I try to bring all out-of-town guests to this place.

#1: The Q-Shack
The best BBQ joint in Durham, located at the intersection of University Drive and 15-501, across from Wine Authorities. My staple is the pulled pork butt, mac n’ cheese, Jack cheese creamed spinach, cole slaw and hush puppies. I can usually make two meals of this as well, unless I’m really hungry. They also serve quite the unique beer selection here.

Smoked pork butt, creamed spinach, mac n' cheese, and hushpuppies from the Q-Shack.

The infamous and beloved Q-Shack.

Mix tape

With all of the “winter” cleaning we’ve been doing at home, we’ve stumbled upon a number of charming yet forgotten items, the most recent of which is a collection of hubby’s cassette tapes. Though now considered an obsolete format for storing music, hubby is still the proud owner of quite the collection. I think deep down he passionately wants to establish a museum honoring his own history. He tends to keep many really old things. We have a chair of his grandfather’s that is broken in every way possible. We also have a cardboard fish fin that hubby can’t let go of.
Anyway, hubby’s cassette tapes range from Puff Daddy to Whitney Houston to Too Short to DC Talk, but mostly circulate the realm of bad hip-hop. Honestly, I didn’t know hubby had it in him. But I have no room to poke fun. I own too many bad CDs of my own.

By far my favorite tape in his collection is the “Jen & Jed…Always” Mix tape. This ex-girlfriend Jen must have been one special gal to have become such a comfortable fixture in hubby’s tape collection, a collection that is just an inch away from being called an artifact. I asked him if we could throw out the mix tape and I believe I heard the faintest sniffle before he uttered a subdued yes.
In the end I think it will be for the better good if we just get rid of the entire tape collection. You don’t hear of too many people who collect these things these days. Except for this guy (http://www.designboom.com/contemporary/cassettes.html).
It’s rather odd to me that this is the storage format that didn’t last. People hang on to their 8-tracks and vinyl records. Today’s recording artists are even going so far as to record digitally and on vinyl. So why not tapes?
Is it because we’re not yet far enough removed from the format? Maybe they were just not ever really that efficient. Should we hang on to these things in the hopes that one day they’ll be worth something?

Well said, Mr. President

Excerpt from President Barack Obama's inaugural address

Now, there are some who question the scale of our ambitions – who suggest that our system cannot tolerate too many big plans. Their memories are short. For they have forgotten what this country has already done; what free men and women can achieve when imagination is joined to common purpose, and necessity to courage.

What the cynics fail to understand is that the ground has shifted beneath them – that the stale political arguments that have consumed us for so long no longer apply. The question we ask today is not whether our government is too big or too small, but whether it works – whether it helps families find jobs at a decent wage, care they can afford, a retirement that is dignified. Where the answer is yes, we intend to move forward. Where the answer is no, programs will end. Those of us who manage the public's dollars will be held to account – to spend wisely, reform bad habits, and do our business in the light of day – because only then can we restore the vital trust between a people and their government.

Runaway truck...I wish

Driving back down the mountain Sunday from Boone I saw a familiar sight – the runaway truck ramp. And today’s snowy drive to work only reiterated the dangers we may encounter on the road.
Runaway truck ramps are fairly common on winding, mountain roads, particularly ones with a steep grade. If you’ve never seen one, they are adjacent to the road, climb at an elevation, and are filled with rolling mounds of sand.
Because of the sometimes-dangerous nature of mountain roads, 18-wheelers infrequently have to use these emergency escape ramps to stop their momentum in uncontrollable situations, say if their brakes give out. Supposedly the piles of sand, which grow larger and larger the deeper into the ramp you progress, provide enough of a wall to bring the truck safely to a stop.
Now I realize that these ramps are for worst-case scenarios. No one wants to be present for an 18-wheeler’s impending crash. But I’m not going to lie here. I’ve passed by too many of these ramps and have never once seen one in use. My curiosity has been sparked. I want to see how long it would take a truck to stop.
It sounds all so morbid, I know. It’s not that I want to see someone get hurt. I don’t want to see any broken limbs or crunched metal. I just want to see one of these runaway truck ramps successfully put into action. Maybe I don’t even need to witness the truck on the ramp, but I do at least want to see tire marks in the uneven mounds of shuffled sand.
Tell me I’m not alone in my sinister wonder…

A River Runs Through It

We got back in one piece from our icy mountain cabin retreat weekend, which is a miracle considering the slick roads, 5-degree temperatures, and not-so-experienced winter drivers. I miss the cabin already; or maybe it’s my sister, brother-in-law, and niece that are making me sentimental.
Hubby, Paxton the dog, and I began our trip Friday afternoon. The drive to Boone took about 3.25 hours and was lengthened due to a 10-minute pullover from a highway patrolman to bless us with a speeding ticket. Besides that much appreciated waste of $150 we had an uneventful journey up the mountain and arrived at the cabin around 7:30pm.
We immediately toured the beautiful grounds, unpacked, got a blazing fire going, and cooked a piping hot spaghetti dinner. Turkey meatballs are quite tasty by the way.
We then drank some beers and apple cider and played a game of Phase 10, a card game that only involves a small hint of strategy (I typically always bow out of strategy games and instead opt for trivia or pure luck). My sister also introduced us all to Ghirardelli double chocolate brownies. They are delightful.
The next day the boys went skiing/snowboarding at Sugar Mountain while the girls plus baby went shopping at the Blowing Rock outlet stores. We were extremely lucky to score some major sales. Most stores were having clearance sales. To celebrate, we ordered takeout sushi from Makatos and joined the boys back out the cabin for dinner. There, more beverages, card games, blazing fires, hot tub adventures, and laziness ensued.
I can’t complain at all about the weekend, even with the cold front all around us. The cabin was immaculate. Granite countertops, large bathrooms and bedrooms, a huge deck and hot tub, and a prime view of a river that was made for exploration…we had a great time.