Kitchen

Dinner is cooking in the crock pot. It's May in Minnesota but the weather today is screaming for late fall comfort food. Bourguigon and Mashed Potatoes, a caesar salad and fresh peas... Dogs, after a day of play and trips outside every 25 minutes, have exhausted themselves and are lying at my feet. Always at my feet- makes clogs no longer safe for their paws or my balance. I have cleared off my desk as well as sorted through my forever growing recipe stack. It's a rotten rainy day and the only redeeming qualities of this dismal day are getting things done in the house and knowing that my flowers and ground cover are no longer thirsty.

My kids, on the other hand are insatiable. They arrived home from school, music and tennis lessons in the last hour. I have watched as they devoured what was remaining of the Wheat Thins box, the now empty carton of Goldfish Crackers and all of the cheese that was left in the refrigerator drawer, a few rows of Oreos, hummus and carrots, and lots of milk and water. I watch them- partly in disbelief of what they can consume in under 15 minutes and partly envious that they can. And, I try not to ask too many questions about their day. It's not easy. Before they come through the door I promise myself that I will limit my inquiries and ask open ended questions. Otherwise I get bubkas.
"How was your day?"
"Fine."
"How did the spelling test go?"
"Fine."
"Anything good for lunch today?"
"No."
"Did you get back your science test corrections?"
"No."
"What did Mr. Ratliff say about your report?"
"Mom! Enough! Stop asking so many questions!!!!"
Darn. Goofed it up again. Should have started with the open ended one...

The door of opportunity for conversation has closed. I know this side of the door well. After all, I live with 5 males. I know the signs. The exhale. The eyes no longer looking to me for interaction and instead now focusing elsewhere. When they are done. they are done.

And so, they have moved on to homework. I suggested they do their lessons in the kitchen as I work. We can parallel work. Just like when they were little. They would bang on pots and pans and pull stuff out of my carefully arranged cabinets while I prepared dinner and managed work projects at my desk.

It's cold and wet outside. It's warm and wonderful in my kitchen. Don't tell my husband but I believe we could have just built this kitchen with a big bunk room off the back. After all, everything happens in the kitchen. Gotta love my kitchen.



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Location:My Kitchen

Dog Training

Still in my kitchen. Yup. And my little family will enjoy another homemade fresh baked bread and a lovely, savory pot roast. All because we have a new puppy, I'm tied to the kitchen and I'll be darned if this Little Miss Daisy isn't going to be potty trained within the month...

Every 20 minutes the timer goes off and out the dogs go. Now, with the entire cooking frenzy, I've had to adjust. One timer is solely dedicated to food timing. But the little red timer... That is the timer that alerts anyone within ear shot, that it's time to run outside. Again. And again. And again.

I'm like an ongoing Pavlovian experiment. The timer goes off and my immediate response is to either look to the cooking triangle of my kitchen or to look to the floor to find the dogs. I imagine that if there was a camera on me the scene would be laughable. See Debbie. See Debbie as she sets the timer. See Debbie as she resets the timer. Don't see Debbie? She's outside again. And again. And again.

If you're looking for me, I'm in the kitchen. Stop by... Visit the dogs. Have something to eat. Tomorrow I'll be testing a new recipe for a lovely Vermont Cheddar Bread and maybe I'll begin setting the timer for every 25 minutes...
Is this dog trained yet...?


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Location:My Kitchen

The Zoo I Call Home

I love my new kitchen. Really I do. But recently, it's become a bit of...well, a bit of a prison. I love my new puppy. Really I do. But recently, she's become a bit of...well, a bit of an appendage.

What is it about selective memory? I remember telling myself during the labor of our first son, "don't forget. Don't allow yourself to forget this pain. You must not do this again. It's so horrible. Delivering a baby is so incredibly painful." Dan yelled, "breathe!" And I seethed, "you try birthing a watermelon through your nose!"
I told myself I would not join the ranks of those women who have delivery amnesia. I would remember so as not to forget the past and be condemned to relive it.
Then Elliott was conceived and born. Thank G-d.
Then Jeremy was conceived and born. Thank G-d.
Told myself the same thing when we brought home our first puppy...

Our three babies have turned into 3 very grown, very convincing sons. We have at any given time dogs, fish, frogs, leopard gekkos, a snake (another blog, another time as I'm still traumatized), 17 chickens, a dozen ducks... You get the picture.
Just imagine a zoo. "Mommy?" Jeremy inquires last Monday on the drive to school. "Mommy, do you ever feel like you live in a zoo?" Only every day!!!!!!!!

A couple of years ago my boys (three sons, one husband) began the campaign for a new puppy. I played every card I could think of but they would not let up. Finally, I played the trump card. "I cannot possibly consider another 50 pound dog in this house. There is barely enough space for three growing boys, the pets we have, and all of your athletic shoes!" There was, I thought. no counter argument for this one. And in fact, the conversation ended.

Or so I thought. In July we moved into a new house. My dream house with my dream kitchen. The boys fit nicely too. The pets all have a place to call home. And the athletic shoes, though not always arranged in the cubby room in a manner that would be considered orderly, do fit. Dan finally has an office that suits his, shall we say- unique organizational style. Clearly, it works for him. Magnet 360 seems to grow and expand at a rate similar to the bunnies the kids are now begging me to have in our zoo.

And so, here I sit. An opportunity to blog because I'm tied to my kitchen. A bread rising on the counter because I can. A rich and fragrant vegetable stock waiting to boil on the stove because I am here. Here wearing my coat and clogs because I am on permanent puppy training duty and that means every 20 minutes, the kitchen timer rings, and me and my girls, Dog Ricky and Puppy Daisy, go outside. Come rain or shine, we go outside every 20 minutes. While picking out our new puppy, I somehow forgot that the boys don't really help with the puppies as they promise they will and it falls on me- Honorary Zoo Keeper.

Selective amnesia has given me some of my greatest gifts and blessings. Thank you G-d for allowing me to forget the pain of birthing my beautiful boys and all of the countless trips outside to train a puppy. Thank you G-d for a place to call home. Thank you G-d for my zoo.
Timer just went off. Gotta go...

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Location:My Kitchen

I wanted to get back to what?

I wanted to get back to what is real. What is pure, delicious, and yes, truly pleasurable. Eager to put an end to the steady, systematic poisening of my husband, children, and my self I emarked on a quest for food. Real food. Not processed, reconstituted, enriched, pesticided, ladden with corn syrup and empty calorie "food like" products. Pen and palette In hand, I headed back to the lands of real food. I traveled across this over processed, over productive, under nourished and overfed great nation of ours for an adventure and an education. And, what I discovered was in fact, a way to find our way back home. Countries away, among the people and foods of the Rainforest I found what I hope will be my next journey. In Belize and Guatemala, among the shanties, dusty dirt roads, barefoot and care free children, and the laid back, laboring people I discovered a culture rich in food, flavor, and substance. Like the genuine, sometimes complex histories of the various Belizean and Guatelean people, so too were the foods and flavors that I found myself photographing and embracing. Passionately and desperately documenting my experiences, I compiled stories, experiences, and recipes to bring home. As I made my way back to the airport, I found a renewed sense of energy to provide for my family. Just as my heart, soul, and yes, appetite have been fed by the generous (though not by North American standards) people of Belize and Guatemala, so too must I now share generously with, ironically, the more deprived members of my family, back home in the richest, most priviledged nation on the planet. And with you. Eat well...


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Should I Stay Or Should I Go Now

Admittedly, just days before we were due to fly to our sunny, exotic vacation destination in the Dominican Republic, I was having second thoughts. First, it was the middle of February on a frigid and long winter evening when I began researching this vacation. Desperate for an escape, on a whim I had found this resort at 2 o'clock in the morning on the Internet. The following morning, after conferring with my husband, I had then provided the friendly telephone booking agent at the Wyndam with my credit card number, (as well as the "security code"- yeah, so secure on the back of my Visa and provided to so many). Later that same morning, The Today's Show ran a segment on bogus resort destinations. Apparantly, with careful editing and a little trick photography, some of these resorts appear to be luxurious and picturesque but upon arrival, turn out to be dumps for dubbed American travelers. Coincidence that this is being broadcast on my kitchen television this morning or a message from the travel fairy? Secondly, the only items packed so far for this journey were the 5 bottles of Malaria pils- one per family member. And last but not least, my rising level of anxiety about this trip was exacerbated by the fact that I would be traveling to the unknown with 2 young boys, one moody teenager- who thought of himself as both buff and brilliant (and unfortunately for me, above maternal wisdom or guidance) and one chronically sleep deprived, raging workaholic in the midst of yet another round of negotiations and acquisitions. Hence, my trepidation.

The day before our scheduled depature, The Today's Show appeared on my kitchen television once again though this time with the local weather forecast running across the screen. These final days of March were due for colder temperatures and snow?
Adios Minnesota.
Vamos a Dominican Republic...

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Location:Minneapolis or Dominican Republic

Walk On By

No habla Ingles?!
We arrive at the resort and discover that not only do the guests speak only Italian, French, Spanish, and German (for me a particularly difficult dialect and tone) but the staff too. We are quite alone. The language barrier is going to be a challenge but we're here now. (The cultural barrier is worse but more on that later.) And well, I brought us here so I'd best make certain that I not only manage this but that I do it with a smile on my face. First, if I don't, my kids and husband will eat me alive. If they sense that we're going to be unable to communicate with all of these people for 7 days, G-d help me. Secondly and more of a motivation for me is that clearly many of these French women can smell an American a kilometer away and I won't give them the satisfaction. I wouldn't let them see me struggle. I will be elegant and unflappable too, even if I don't look good topless in a bikkini. Even if I don't smoke skinny brown cigarettes. Even if I can't sip Expresso without gagging. I am going to be a lovely, polite, and gracious American.

Until you budge in front of me. Really? Who does this after 2nd grade? Who just cuts in front of someone in line? And, I don't mean once. I mean, like throughout the day, if you are not on guard and vigilient they will just look straight ahead and skip passed you. You snooze- you loose. And there is no false pretense as if to imply they didn't see you. It's blatant. It's more like an entitlement kind of walk ahead of you thing. "I want it to be my turn so I'm going now," says her strutt. And I'm stunned.

Stunned into silence the first time. And the second. The third time I pleasantly say, "I believe I was next.". Blank stare. She pushes ahead.

By day three I am now fantasizing in my lounge chair. What would happen if I could just reel off something in perfect French like, "excuse me but you certainly may not move ahead of me in such an uncivilized manner? It's most unbecoming. You must now hand over your croissant, I will buy your flat for 100 francs, and you are in jail until your next turn. And wait your turn!".
Or I could just trip her

Day 4, I have mastered the art of the body block. Oh yeah, I'm not a skinny little French woman in beach heels (who knew they even made beach shoes with a heel.) I'm an Eddie Bauer American size 10, in sturdy Keene flip flops and I can take you down. At the concierge desk, I will stand strategically front and center in order to prevent you from walking ahead of me. I will place my big beach bag to my right and angle myself so that you would have to jump over the giant potted plant on my left. You cannot circumvent my established place in the line. Yes, the line. Heard of it?! And, by the way if you don't respect my country or my language, why the hell are your children wearing Nike tennis shoes, Ralph Lauren t-shirts, and Ray Ban sunglasses?


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Location:Dominican Republic

Travel Time

The flight is on schedule and all of our luggage makes it through security without a glitch. All 16-3.5 oz bottles of shampoo, sunblock, Aoe Vera, and mousturizer. Each carry-on nestles into the overhead compartments perfectly and just when I thought it couldn't get any better, sealed- though still somewhat nasty acrylic blankets await us at our seats. Best of all, this airline is serving us Coke products. Sorry Northwest- the take over did have one advantage.

Four hours and forty five minutes later:
One teenager plugged in to iPod- checkmark.
Two younger children sharing a movie and not bickering- checkmark.
Husband who pulled an all-nighter in preparation for this trip, out cold-checkmark.
And me, not yet officially in paradise, book in hand, very, very content and already living la vida loca- checkmark.
All of this bought and paid for on the credit card (with that customer service representative back in February) -priceless.
"Prepare for landing." Let the vacation begin...


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Location:MSP

Get Real

I wanted to get back to what is real. What is pure, delicious, and yes, truly pleasurable... Eager to put an end to the steady, systematic poisoning of my husband, children, and myself, I emarked on a quest for food. Real food. Not processed, reconstituted, enriched, pesticided, ladden with corn syrup and empty calorie "food like" products.

Pen and palette In hand, I headed back to the lands of real food. I traveled across this over processed, over productive, under nourished and overfed great nation of ours for an adventure and an education. And, what I discovered was in fact, a way to find our way back home. Countries away, among the people and foods of the Rainforest I found what I hope will be my next journey.

In Belize and Guatemala, among the shanties, dusty dirt roads, barefoot and care free children, and the laid back, laboring people I discovered a culture rich in food, flavor, and substance. Like the genuine, sometimes complex histories of the various Belizean and Guatelean people, so too were the foods and flavors that I found myself photographing and embracing. Passionately and desperately documenting my experiences, I compiled stories, experiences, and recipes to bring home.

As I made my way back to the airport, I found a renewed sense of energy to provide for my family. Just as my heart, soul, and yes, appetite have been fed by the generous (though not necessarily by my misguided North American standards) people of Belize and Guatemala, so too must I now share generously with, ironically, the more deprived members of my family, back home in the richest, most priviledged nation on the planet. And with you. Eat well...

Travel Critic

Don't be such a snob.
I bit the bullet.

(Sung to the tune of Beverly Hillbilies)
Now listen to a story 'bout a girl named Deb.
Stay at home mom, job to keep her family fed.
And then one day she was sick of stayin in.
So she loaded up the truck,
Headed east, Wi-scon-sin.
Baraboo. The Dells. Kalahari .
The land of tacky.
Commercialism.
Bad food.
Badder tattoos.
And, a ton of fun for my kids.
And a common denominator everehere you turn? A life lesson for all of us city slickers ...
Tall or short. Morbidly obese w/lots of back hair or thin and spray tanned with "floaters"...
Keene- Cartier-Pilates packing woman or connvention attending-car mechanic.
We are actually not so different after all.
We are wading in, slidingdown, climbing through, splasing around in, overly chlorinated, bacteria killing chemical treated luke warm water.
And yet, together, each one of us is sharing a common sort of bond.
We are all here to share in the glee and pure joy that covers the, now pruned and smiling, faces of our children.
As I look around at what I once considered a cesspool in the middle of Cheesheadville, (born and raised here bty) I now see a little bit of paradise.
So, my review:
Value proposition 10
Food (just fine but there I will remain a snob) 6/7
Customer service 10
Massage for Mom 10
Bonding with our breaking away teenager 10
Ambience- well....that all depends How you look at thigs... Looking at my family and living in the moment 10.

Loading up and hitting the road,
See you next week...
deb


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Location:THE Dells

Valentine's Day

Valentine's Day

A self-described, now reformed Gummi Girl, I have recently given up my once shameful, closeted addiction to all things gummi, chewy, corn syrup based. Swedish Fish, Haribo Peaches, and yes- the juvenille taste for Sour Patch kids has all but left my sweet tooth repetoire. Good bye chew, hello chocolate.
Exquisitely dark, rich, seductive, silky, sensual, melt in my mouth, pure pleasure. How does one describe the experience of chocolate after years of never knowing, never appreciating...? What am I now? A Born Again? A Convert? A Chocolatier By Choice? Now a passion for work and play. It is my medium. I melt it, I shape it, I share it. And oooh yes... I eat it. And you? Would you consider it an appropriate day to indulge? On this, the Hallmark Holidays of all holidays (or as my husband refers to it as: an opportunity to fail if he fails to find my C-Spot)? Forgive me as I prostilitize but surely you may consider giving fine, dark chocolate a try. Think of it as a gift to yourself or someone you love. Consider it an acceptable indulgence as they (and who are"they" by the way?) tell us that in moderation, its actually good for us. 70% cocoa. Show yourself the Love. Love and chocolate everywhere today...
Husband. Love of my life. It's Valentines Day. Got chocolate?


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