Ahoy!

Back to dry land. Back to work. Back to laundry, traffic, cold... Back to real life. Boo.
At least we have the memories. And, for now, a rockin' tan.

October and Virgins

So, it's October. Crazy how that happens. You blink, it's summer, you blink again, it's Christmas. September brought with it the slow but anticipated turn from foggy summer to beautiful sunny fall in Monterey, a baby shower that required my most intense cupcake decorating session yet, a visit from an old friend, a sale of the boat ("Hooray!" says the savings account,) a purchase of another boat ("And scene," says the savings account), the invention of "the bacon taco" in our household, (newsworthy! deserves its own post for sure!) and lots and lots and lots of work. What September did not bring, however, was the blogging fairy to document all of this for me on the interweb. I will be playing a bit of catch-up in the coming weeks here. Not in this post, though.

This post is coming to you live from Virgin Gorda, the British Virgin Island where Ian and I (and six of our besties) are currently docked in our 43' catamaran called, in a funny twist of fate, Santa Cruz Blues. We left Monterey for San Jose on Friday evening, to fly to LA, to fly to Puerto Rico, to fly to St. Thomas, to take a ferry (with flat screen TVs showing 'The Pink Panther"-- a fact I find random and endearing) to Tortola to pick up our boat on Saturday. It was a long night. But we made it. Once on our boat with family and friends, all travel-weary, but none worse for the wear, we set sail for Norman Island. Snorkeling, swimming, eating, sun soaking, more eating... you get the idea. After Norman Island we came back to Tortola to get some hiccups worked out with the boat (i.e. radio didn't work, furler was broken... big hiccups. Cause-of-death hiccups.) From there it was off to Sand Island, where some of the boys scuba'd to see a sunken shipwreck and the rest of us hung out with the fish and coral and Santa Cruz Blues.

That brings us to today. It's sunny, it's warm, it's a day full of possibilities... Possibilities of white sandy beaches, sailing, restaurants with views beautiful enough to bring tears to your eyes, buying $10 gallons of milk expensive enough to bring tears to your eyes, and more of Ben's famous coconut rice pudding.

Julia and I Get Acquainted

I saw the movie Julie & Julia when it opened. Not because I'm a huge fan of either woman in real life nor their actress portrayers Amy Adams and Meryl Streep, but because I am a huge fan of the REAL star of the show: food. (So is my food baby. And my food baby's BFF, movie theater popcorn.)


The movie was great. The featured food, divine. I give the film a glowing recommendation on all counts... Including the subliminal ones.

When I went into the movie, I didn't know what beef bourguignon was. When I left the movie, I immediately needed to high-tail it to France, rent a small villa, and peruse local farmers' markets in flouncy skirts and designer ballet flats to purchase fresh baguettes and the ingredients to make said beef dish.

But the airport is so far from the theater.

Instead, I high-tailed it to Costco to purchase Julia Child's magnum opus, "Mastering the Art of French Cooking," and the ingredients-- as many as I could get. (It turns out beef bourguignon takes things that Costco, for all of its wonder and glory, can not provide. Like tiny pearl onions. Fresh bay leaves. Bacon rind. The patience of a saint.)

It also turns out beef bourguignon is a hearty beef stew that bakes for hours in a hot, hot oven. And it was July. But that's OK, because as any seasoned Californian knows, July is not July in Monterey. It's November. Except for the particular weekend in July when I decided to try this feat magnifique. Then it decided to be July.

Undaunted by the heat, we forged ahead with the beef bourguignon: my sister-in-law Amie, Julia Childs and I. Once all the ingredients were gathered, obtained from no fewer than three separate stores, (and never actually getting the bacon rind) we were ready to cook.

I'll spare you the gory details (and between Amie's burnt finger and my sliced thumb-- "I'm not an onion!" it cried-- believe you me, things got gory.)

Suffice it to say, after the braising and the browning and the boiling and the baking and the bundles of herbs (meant to be in cheesecloth but wrapped instead in medical gauze tied closed with un-waxed, unflavored dental floss--improvisation, mon petites! totally mcgyver!) the stew came to be. And, let the record state, it was good. Really, really good. But not I-might-die-if-I-don't-immediately-hook-myself-to-an-IV-of-this good. Which is really the only kind of good that makes all those hours of hot, choppy, wine-soaked, greasy, back-aching, what-do-you-mean-that-was-the-last-of-the-thyme-we-need-it-for-the-pearl-onions-right-now-and-there's-no-time-for-finding-more-thyme labor worth it, I'm afraid.

But still, even on a hot summer day in July, some fresh French bread and a big bowl of steaming, hearty, punch-drunk-with-rich-flavor beef bourguignon is, surprisingly, a good way to end the day. But then again, maybe that's just what the subliminal messages from the movie would have you believe. Regardless, there will be more adventures with "Mastering the Art of French Cooking," mon petites, as I find it-- and many of the recipes within-- fantastically accessible for those of us still finding our way around a kitchen. Flouncy skirts for French farmers' markets and villas, however, remain elusive. Or just subliminal, perhaps.

Romance, 8 Years After the Honeymoon

Sometimes, after yet another long day at work, if Ian doesn't even offer to help me cook dinner I ask him if he'd like me to pre-chew his food for him, like a baby bird, but then I still make dinner.

Sometimes a freak whisker of disturbing length suddenly and without any fair warning appears on my chin and waves hello to the world and Ian makes fun of it even though I'm mortified, but then he offers to tweeze it for me.

Sometimes I get the thin crust frozen pizza with the peppers and pepperoni and go to great lengths to wipe off the majority of the Parmesan cheese from half with a paper towel, because Ian hates it and insists it smells like feet and I want his frozen pizza to be all it can be for him and not footy.

Sometimes I get the regular crust frozen pizza and Ian goes to great lengths to remove the sausage bits from half because he knows I hate it and doesn't want me to freak out if I get some.

It's all about give and take.

Laptop Lamentations... with a Side of Pralines

So I got a fabulous laptop for Christmas from Santa. It has made my interwebbing so darn speedy and portable and, well, comfortable. I can web crawl on the go! Or on vacation! Or in the car (usually when someone else is driving.) Or I can just lounge around on the squishy leather sofa, Trader Joe's pecan pralines at my side (have you had them yet? heaven, seriously.), with something mindless (I mean, CNN) flickering on the TV while I compute to my heartsicle's content. Or at least until the battery runs out. I love my laptop. And in all things PC-related I am truly very staunchly pro-laptop, except... blogging.
El laptoppo is great for a quick dip into the blogosphere but for actually diving in and posting anything? Well, it is decidedly not ideal. You see, posting about events generally involves sharing pictures of said events. (Clearly, in my world bacon can be an event.) All fine and good, except our pictures are uploaded via the cable from my digicam to my big PC the in the office area, not to the laptop. So, in order to post an entry with pictures, I need to be there at the other PC. That's the one without the couch involved. Therein lies the problem. This is one reason, among others, I assure you-- (but most of them chalked up to laziness on my part, ultimately) why this particular blog has suffered in recent months.
BUT, I resolve to be better about picking myself off said squishy leather couch to sit at the photo-storing computer and blog there so that my avid fans (mom) can get a better running update of my lifesicles. Plus, you know what else is conveniently portable? Trader Joe's pecan pralines. ANYWAY. I'm backtracking. In April some of our very most favorite people came to visit. Here are some snaps:

Oh, Dear

Oh, dear! Caught on tape! Someone must have hidden a camera in my kitchen...

Howdy!

Hi! Remember me? I used to write here. I know. I'm sorry. It's been a while.

Let's just dive right in and start with MAY, when the Mexico trip cancellation was threatening to leave us vacationless AND without any chance of contracting the pig flu-- which, I decided, would have probably done wonders for my quest to pull off skinny jeans at some point. (Pull off as in wear-- not extract myself from. Heavens! I hope I never get stuck in a pair of skinny jeans! And have the shameless audacity to admit it here! Although given my experience with them in the undersized dressing rooms of the world, it's altogether possible to get stuck in a pair. Sigh.)

Anyway, Mexico was a bust BUT we were able to salvage the vacay and go to Kauai instead. And it was wonderful. Perfect.

10 Kauai musings:

1. It's possible to have 5 straight days of perfect weather and sunshine, even on the rainiest island in the world, making you doubt whoever it was that told you Kauai was the rainiest place in the world.

2. Shaved ice from Jo-Jo's (over mac nut ice cream) should be added to the food pyramid in the "pure happiness" group.

3. No one looks good in underwater shots.

4. Ian & Isaac's "Shamu Show" is possibly the funniest thing ever in the history of aqua impersonations.

5. The Lihue Longs is the best Longs Drugs ever. An isle of everything Li Hing Mui? An isle of organics? An isle of obscure Japanese treats that you haven't had, or seen, since you lived there? Plus all the normal Longs stuff like reasonably-priced sunblock? Yup. Went every day. I miss you, Lihue Longs. I miss you.

6. The Poipu breakfast joint with the world famous banana pancakes and homemade coconut syrup is rockin', even at 11pm on your way to the airport.

7. The loco moco dish of rice, eggs, hamburger, and gravy is indeed loco. And delicious. And disgusting. But mostly delicious.

8. The spa at the Hyatt is where I want to live permanently.

9. Chickens. Everywhere.

10. Aloe with solarcane is key for back-of-the-leg burns that make it impossible to wear jeans on the return flight even though you know it will be like 50 degrees in Monterey when you get home. Aloe with solarcane is also the hardest to find when you're pressed for time and is not sold in new airline-approved sizes.