Sinful Sandwich in Savannah

We visited mom over Mother's Day in Savannah, Georgia. When you're from the South and you go back to the South, you realize how much great food you're missing by living in the Northeast. I mean we have great Italian food here. Lots of food from other parts of the world, like my new local fave Royal House Cambodian Cuisine. 

And then you go to Sunday brunch at the Savannah Golf Club and they have fried oysters, collard greens, pimento cheese and pecan pie. Really it's just overwhelming. You wish, in the remote recesses of your coagulated gall bladder, that you could grow a second stomach like a cow, and then fill that one too. Sadly, I did not grow a second stomach and I resisted the temptation to start squirreling food away in my handbag. Really only to save face for my mother -- because she has to go back to the club some day and face my would-be accusers.

"JoAnn, was that your daughter stuffing fried seafood in her purse?"

On our last day in town, we stopped by a little burger joint on Broughton Street. Even though this is Savannah, I really wasn't expecting much more than the usual hamburger. My mom ordered a BLT. Then the waiter asked slyly, "Would you like to try the B&D Loaded BLT?"

Here is a description of the B&D Loaded BLT:

We gave this classic a B&D twist. Apple smoked bacon, green leaf lettuce, homemade fried green tomato and pimento cheese.

Oh yes, we tried it. My mom and I split the B&D Loaded BLT and it was worth every ounce of fattening, carb-laden goodness.  Now, after two run-ins with pimento cheese in just two days in Savannah, I'm on a quest to find it here in Fairfield. 

I told my mom, and she was horrified at the thought of my ingesting store-bought pimento cheese.She said, "Beck it's just grated cheese, pimentos and Duke's mayonnaise." I didn't have the heart to tell her, I don't think we have Duke's mayonnaise in these parts. I'm going to look. But I don't recall seeing Duke's brand. 

So I emailed my neighbor this morning to ask her where in the world, or in the the great state of Connecticut, could I find pimento cheese -- because she knows all the best places. Her response, "What's pimento cheese?"

This does not bode well for my quest. 

There's a weird little grocery store in Bridgeport called like Food Bazaar. I'm going to look for Duke's mayonnaise there. In the meantime, I googled recipes for pimento cheese and found this one featuring what main ingredient? Duke's mayonnaise.


May the fork be with me!

NB This image is a map from the Duke's Mayonnaise website that shows availability in the US. Look at this. It literally stops at Connecticut.

DC Redux: My Return to Capitol Hill

It's a Tuesday night in 2014 and I'm sitting here in a Capitol Hill apartment just one street over from where I used to live in 1992. I lived on the Hill for about 4 years give or take with Lou Lou and Peggy and then eventually by myself. 

I was thinking about how I got here in the first place. Lou Lou and I were working in the City. I was at a big law firm -- Willkie Farr and Gallagher. Lou was working in finance. We both wanted out, so Lou called her sister Rosey who was living in DC and going to Catholic U. And off we went.

At first we were both waitresses. I found a job with a company that catered big events like the Kennedy Center Honors. Lou eventually landed at the Dubliner, a purportedly IRA-financed, yet incredibly fun bar across the street from Union Station. I remember the catering manager for this company I worked for had a brother in soap operas. I'm going to look him up. Anyway, I thought he was so cool, even though now I realize he was like a skinny Jack Wagner from Melrose Place. But it was the 90's, so what can I say?

One day I was working at a luncheon at The Washington Post. As a waitress mind you. The Katherine Graham (then publisher of the paper) stood up to give a speech and she was so easy and funny and cool, I thought I don't want to cater parties here. I want to work here. I was lucky enough to have a connection through a friend of a friend from Connecticut. He was pretty high up in finance I think. Again need to find his name because boy do I owe him. His daughter's name was Missy. Maybe Cannistraro? (Nicholas Cannistraro Jr, SVP Sales and Marketing).

He got me an interview with HR which was basically fairly grim, aka apparently there are a lot of young people who would like to work at the Post. Then I got a call about a job with Herb Block, the paper's editorial cartoonist. Finally! I'm in. Or not. As it turns out, I was not their first choice. But when their first choice didn't work out, I was their second choice. 

I still have my Post ID card including a freaking perm that I was rocking at the time. As a young person, you often don't realize the spot you're in, until you no longer are. Such is the case with me. Man I had fun. That was the most fun working I ever had. 

Mr. Block was a hard worker but he also loved to joke around. And such a nice man. You would never know he was a Pulitzer and Peabody winner (more than once). His long-time assistant Jean and I became friends too, and remain so even after his death. Lucky for me because Jean is a great friend to have.

Tonight I am attending another Herblock Foundation Lecture and Prize ceremony. Bob Woodward is speaking. Like THE Bob Woodward from All the President's Men. But there have been many great speakers at these events, for example Barack Obama, Tim Russert before he died, Ben Bradlee and so on. 

Here's a confession. After Washington, I lived in New York briefly. One day I was walking through my neighborhood in the West Village and I spied Woodward's partner in crime, Carl Bernstein. I followed him down West 4th Street. I really don't know where I was going with this but I had become such a news hound at the Post that I couldn't help myself. Plus he was married to Nora Ephron whom I adored. This went on for a few blocks and then I realized I'd never get the courage to say something so I stopped. 

That's okay. Tonight I get to hear what Bob has to say in person. Should be entertaining. (It was!)

NB. I know I should've chosen some dignified picture to accompany this post about DC swanky journos but I chose instead this image of the Tune Inn, a bar about 3 blocks from my old place. Lou Lou and I spent so much time here the bartender would take messages for us and store our stuff, like ice skates and backpacks. His name was Chris. I remember him too.

A Circle of Words with Friends

No, this is not a post about Words with Friends. I was just trying to think of a clever headline.

In fact, Words with Friends is a sensitive subject for me. My friend Kajone, our web developer at work, kicked my ass multiple times in Words with Friends. And he was as nice as he could be about it. He's like, "Becky you've really got to watch those triple word spots." I'm like, "Kajone, I really can't talk to you about this." 

Because I'm supposed to be the expert in Words. And you're 26.

Once again, I woke up this morning from a series of vivid dreams. I had a very weird dream that an old guy friend from high school was married to a man (he's not), who sort of had the head of my friend Sylvie's Staffordshire Bull Terrier named Nina. It was weird. So I decided to do my homework for a new project I'm starting thanks to another friend from high school.

I'm really excited about this project because it's about writing, something near and dear to my heart. I was reading all the background materials and one of the pieces was an article about Salman Khan who founded the Khan Academy. I think I first heard about Khan Academy from my dad who encouraged me to show the tool to my son as a way to understand concepts in math. It's a pretty amazing story and very inspiring for me. I sat there reading and thought, "Hey I'm finally going to learn something about physics using Khan Academy." 

Then I read that Khan grew up in Metarie, Louisiana outside of New Orleans. Because I went to Tulane in New Orleans, I'm familiar with Metairie and some of the other surrounding cities like Houma, Algiers and Slidell. I mispronounced all of them when I first arrived in New Orleans, but you learn their ways over time. Like Houma is pronounced Ho-ma, not Hu-ma. 

Then I was thinking about another old friend who gave me a copy of Lucinda Williams' album Car Wheels on a Gravel Road. One of the songs on that album that she wrote is called Joy. In my humble opinion, this is genius: 


I don't want you anymore
Cause you took my joy
I don't want you anymore
You took my joy

I'm gonna go to Slidell and look for my joy
Go to Slidell and look for my joy
Maybe in Slidell I'll find my joy
Maybe in Slidell I'll find my joy
 
The contrast of finding joy in small town Slidell, Louisiana strikes me as pretty cool and a sly turn of phrase. Keep writing Lucinda. Keep writing.

This blog is thanks to many friends who keep me thinking, keep me writing and keep kicking my butt in Words with Friends.

NB: Okay this is weird but while researching images for this blog, I realized the Words with Friends logo appears to include a Staffordshire Bull Terrier. Check it out.

I Dream Of Dali

Almost every night, I have these vivid, weird dreams that I feel no one else can understand. For example, last night I dreamt Daisy was a puppy again, and she was trying to catch a baby turtle. But I was trying to stop her from catching the baby turtle because it was a baby, and because I thought it would just generally be a bad idea for a dog to eat a turtle.

And then I saw Hashim who is one of the boys from Kolfe Orphanage in Ethiopia. He's the boy who came to stay with us I think two summers ago. My mom would remember. He was grown up and looked stronger and healthier. He also seemed happy, which for a kid like Hashim was something big. The first time I saw Hashim smile was when Daisy the dog jumped up on his bed to wake him. Also when he learned to ride a bike. He smiled then.

There was one other time he smiled. I was taking him to meet Mary Beth, co-founder of Operation Hearts and Home, and the woman who organized the trip for the kids from Addis. We agreed to meet at the SUNY Purchase campus in Westchester. While we were waiting for Mary to arrive, I took Hashim into the student center. There was this super fancy Coke vending machine with a robotic arm that flew around locating your drink selection and dispensing it. He actually laughed out loud.

Maybe I have such strange dreams because my mind tends to wander, even in the daytime, as evidenced by the total tangent I just took on Hashim. 

My mom sent me an article last week about dreaming. It was written by Gina Barreca, a columnist for the Hartford Courant in nearby Hartford, CT, though my mom lives and reads her paper in Savannah, GA. I thought this bit was brilliant:

Men don't want to hear about dreams. When somebody says, "I was playing Barbies with Madeleine Albright and we were either in a circus or a brothel when suddenly I started to cut my hair with manicure scissors and Albright says, 'Shouldn't a priest read you your rights before he hears your confession?' which is what she always says in the dream but this time I answered, 'These are not my walls, but my paintings are on them,'" the natural question is, "What do you think it means?" And a lot of men don't like to analyze things.

Read more here: http://www.adn.com/2014/02/20/3338495/gina-barreca-women-unravel-dreams.html#storylink=cpy

Read more here: http://www.adn.com/2014/02/20/3338495/gina-barreca-women-unravel-dreams.html#storylink=cpy

It just occurred to me what my dream might mean. I've been thinking of a book about Daisy for over a year now and done almost nothing. The turtle is symbolic of the slow traveler. Maybe Daisy was trying to eat the turtle in me. Because Daisy never dawdles. She goes for what she wants. Like socks. She really loves to destroy socks.

A Short Blog About Responsibility at 15

Our neighbors and dear friends have two younger boys and we have an older boy. There was a a time when they were all sort of closer in age, but now that Will is 15 and they are still in elementary, the gap widens. For the most part, I think their kids have always viewed Will as a playmate or possibly a horse. Definitely not an authority figure. 

Of late, our boy Will is thinking constantly about making money to save up for games and sports stuff and a car. When I was 15, I made my money babysitting. Quite a good bit of money, less the stuff my bother "borrowed" from me. I don't know though, boy babysitters have a much harder time. You would probably leave your kids with a girl just because she's a girl. I mean she could have like a side job on the reality series Teen Mom, and you will still feel a little bit safer leaving your kids with a girl. I actually had a boy babysitter as a kid and he was kind of creepy. Plus his name was Skipper.

Anyway, our neighbors asked us one day for the number of the teenaged girl down the street. I had to ask Will for it because I didn't have it. He gave it to me and asked why. I said I think for babysitting the boys next door. At first he was sort of like what? I can do this. 

Eventually he texted me the number. I texted back, "Sorry bud." He replied, "It's okay. She'd be better at it than me." I thought that was some responsible shit. And honestly, I think he's right.

Update: My awesome neighbor read this blog and had no idea Will was interested in babysitting and he got his first job with her. There you go. 

Snow is a Microcosm

As I sit here with my trusty bag of frozen kale pressed against my lower back, praying it keeps me in alignment and out of traction, I am contemplating all the snow today. It occurred to me that living here in the Northeast may not be as visibly difficult as other places in the world, but it is difficult. Today we had over a foot of snow on the coast which means inland they were bombarded. I just checked the forecast and they are predicting more snow and something called a thunder snowstorm which I think may be not good. 

When you live in a dense neighborhood like ours, it's tough to ignore your neighbor. We know a lot about each other, whether we know each other or not.  Like I know the guy who NEVER said hi to me until recently is a writer - figures - and his son, who is nice as can be, went to Tulane like me, and was also my son's camp counselor.

I know my neighbors next door, one a widower, one whose husband is not in the best shape with his back. Our younger neighbors on the other side -- he has a bad shoulder. I know all these things and then I know my own frailties, aka 50 aka bad back and when snow comes I have to weigh my options. We try to never stop at just shoveling our house. We try to do at least the two neighbors who are older. But today was a monster and here I sit with my frozen kale.

Deciding who to help is a really tough decision. I honestly don't know how people who work at non-profits don't drive themselves crazy. When you are coping with weather like we are having, you start resenting your dog. Like crap I have to take her out again? Not to mention, how far will I go to help others? How many neighbors can I shovel out?

I almost always think about my neighbor Ray and his gardening mantra..."Just do a little at a time." Then there's one of my all time favorite books "Bird by Bird" by Anne Lamott.  Same principle -- don't get bogged down in doing it all. You actually can't do it all. I mean me. I actually can't do it all. What the hell? I can't do it all? What a let down.

Today we had a new neighbor to help. Old neighbor, but new to our help. They have a snow blower and a guy who plows. But the other day the ambulance was at their house for the husband. I think I know why. It doesn't matter anyway. Now the wife and son need help, and we need to try.

This is a big lesson. That I am trying to learn. And it's only taken me 50 years. And counting. How do you friend, help, support, abide people you don't necessarily like?  I don't have the answer. I guess sometimes it helps to have the cover of snow around you.

On a positive note, shoveling snow apparently allows you to eat anything you freaking want and not gain weight. 

NB I just noticed my last post was a lot more cheery. See. Perfect example of what a long New England winter can do to you. 

#26Acts of Kindness

On December 14th I intentionally avoided the news, the radio even Google news because that day marked the first anniversary of the Newtown school shooting at Sandy Hook. The reminders are everywhere here in Connecticut. I did however go on the twitter as I do most weeks and found something that was new to me called #26acts. Newscaster Ann Curry started this idea in the aftermath of December 14, 2012, but I had never heard of it. Ann invited her twitter followers to join her in performing 26 acts of random kindness to honor the children and adults killed at Sandy Hook Elementary School. So a year later, I'm joining the movement.

On December 15th, I bought the guy next to me lunch. I've seen him around town. He sits in the library for hours. He walks everywhere. Something is not quite right. But he's a nice fellow, says hello and smiles. When he sat next to us at Andros Diner, I thought, "I'm doing this. I'm going to secretly buy him lunch." He literally ate $11 worth of mashed potatoes and gravy. This plate would've fed four other people but he's skinny as a rail. I hope he was happy that someone bought him lunch. I hope I didn't insult him. I didn't wait to see his reaction. Now I know his name is Jimmy, like my dad.

Sometimes I forget I've made this commitment and then I'll remember and it makes me smile. Like this morning, I held the door for a man and his daughter at Billy's Bakery. They were loaded down and looked like they needed an assist. And he said, "Well aren't you sweet. Thank you and Merry Christmas." Because I held the door. That's how tough it is out there.

I'm counting everything by the way. I finally decided to be civil again to a co-worker that I literally thought I was going to strangle last week. But I put it away. I am doing my #26acts. I put a little extra in the tip jar at Firehouse Deli for those college kids working their tails off. The tip jar says something like, "For school and other dreams." I mean who puts their faith and dreams in a tip jar? Those kids at Firehouse do, so what the hell am I thinking by not believing as well. Give the dog some of that $9.99 Boar's Head sliced chicken that she loves. You bet. That counts.

I read one woman's story of leaving a gift card in her favorite snack section of the grocery store and I thought it sounded kind of silly at first. How totally random is that? But that's the idea. Because like any act of kindness we do for others, it really makes us feel better for the doing.

I meant to send this as a letter to my family because it's often the ones closest to us who don't receive our acts of kindness. I wanted them to know how much I appreciate their support as I decided to transition back to being a freelancer. I'm out here on a limb and they keep saying, "No go further. Get really out there on that limb. We will catch you if you fall."

Now how kind is that? After all these years and all the times I haven't been kind, they'll catch me if I fall. I hope my family reads this. I hope others do too. I want to spread the good will I feel doing my #26acts.

#26acts peeps. Give it a try. Merry Christmas to all! Love, Beck