Here is my review of Ristorante Prosecco here in Chicago....

I am unabashed in my love of sparkling wines.  And while I have a particular affinity both for the true French champagnes, and for the sparklers made in the Méthode Champenoise from other regions of the world, I don't turn down a good cava from Spain or a prosecco from Italy.  For the sake of ease, despite the twitch it is likely to produce in any serious oenophiles who may be reading this, it's really all champagne to me, and I tend to refer to it as such.  I don't need an occasion to drink champagne, any random day will do. Sparkling is the first section I go to in any wine list, and frankly, having decent bubbles by an affordable glass price will endear a restaurant to me faster than almost anything else.  I'm blessed with a circle of friends who also enjoy life a little 'frissante', and, while we always start the evening with champagne, we often stick with it, letting the magic twinkle take us all the way from salad to entrée to dessert with neither shame nor apology.

It's a long love affair for me, and the person most to blame isn't that famous monk who exclaimed he was drinking stars when he accidentally invented my go-to beverage.  It's my dad, with some help from WGN television.

One Sunday when I was maybe eight or nine, my dad and I were watching television together.  I know it outs me as old when I say that this was a time well before cable, and with only about twelve stations to choose from, Sundays without football were all about old movies.  Flipping through the stations we landed upon the Sunday Afternoon Movie on WGN, which also tended to run the Late Morning Movie, the Early Afternoon Movie, the Mid-Twilight Movie, the Sort-Of-Early Evening Movie, not to mention the Late, Late-Late, and Really-Freaking-Late-Why-Don't-You-Go-Bed-Already Movie.  A classic black-and white comedy of manners from the forties, full of happy wealthy people who seem never to go to work and are always planning some big party.  This is how I know it was just me and dad, since my sister has never been able to abide anything in black and white, and was probably off somewhere with my mom, who will never choose the couch if she can be actually doing something.

I wish I could remember the exact film, but ultimately it is irrelevant.  What I do remember is this:  A gentleman stops by the house of the family at the center of the film, uninvited and unexpected, in the middle of the afternoon.  They greet him warmly and ask if he would like a drink.  He says, and this is very clear in my mind "Well, thanks. Don't mind if I do.  I'll have a champagne."

And the uniformed maid goes to fetch it for him.

Just like that.

Not on New Year's Eve, no one's birthday cake in sight.  Just as if he were asking for a glass of water or a Coke.  "I'll have a champagne."

It was the coolest thing I had ever seen, and I made a mental promise to myself right then and there that when I was a grown-up, there would always be champagne in my house and anyone could ask for it on any day and at any time.

Fast forward to now, and I am, despite some of my occasional behavior, a grown-up, and in my house, there is always champagne.  I always keep a couple of half-bottles, since I live alone and should not be consuming whole bottles on my own, but nor should I be thwarted in my desire for a glass when I feel like one.  I keep usually two full bottles cold, one "everyday" champagne (Gruet, a lovely wine from Albuquerque of all places, and utterly delicious), and one of "special occasion" champagne, in case someone calls with excellent news (Nicholas Feuillette, Perrier-Jouet, or Taltarni, a great pink from Australia).  And at least four bottles unchilled, in case a party breaks out.  You never know.  For really special stuff you'll find me looking for Veuve Cliquot's La Grande Dame, preferably pink, and if someone of means is buying, it's all Krug all the time.

But I also often stock up on prosecco, the famed sparkler of Italy, which can be a very reasonably-priced alternative to champagnes, and is delightful in its own right.  It also comes in half-bottles which, unlike champagne, are priced at literally half of the full size, which is great for a single girl on a budget.  For big parties, I often buy prosecco by the case.  So it should be no surprise to anyone that when Chicago got it's very own proseccheria, and I heard that the food was worth checking out, I got myself a reservation.



Prosecco offers a warm, comfortable environment

Ristorante Prosecco is a warm and comfortable room, decorated in muted Venetian tones, with tall ceilings and a generous comfortable bar.  I meet Rachel, my intrepid dining companion, also a major bubbly consumer, and we indulge in a glass of the house specialty before being led to a simple table off to the side.  It becomes clear that this is classic white-tablecloth Italian food, the menu is obviously seasonal, and seems to represent Italy as a whole, with dishes from many different regions.  We receive immediately two small tastes of a rose prosecco , brought to us by the sommelier Christian, who will be guiding our wine choices for the evening.  I resist the desire to tell him to only bring bubbles, and focus instead on the menu.



Pick your bubbly at the Prosecco bar

We sip our prosecco and have some bread with agrodolce, a sweet and sour Italian condiment, a compote concocted of eggplant, tomato, raisins, and pine nuts cooked with vinegar and sugar.  I start with the biggest diver sea scallop I have ever seen, with braised fennel and lemon in a mild broth that cries out to be sopped up with the crusty bread.  The scallop is impeccably fresh, caramelized well on the outside and tender within, and as sweet as any I have ever tasted.  Rachel opts for the soup of the day, a chilled puree of avocado with a red-pepper swirl, and confesses the urge to pick the bowl up and drink with abandon.  Christian paired this course with a 2006 "Rosenere" Sangiovese Di Romagna Superiore by La Palazza from Emilia Romagna.  He explains that the grape is the same sangiovese as in Tuscany and particularly as in Chianti, but when grown over the border in Emilia Romagna, it tends to take on a smoother, more velvety texture.  When he leaves, I explain to Rachel that I have no idea what any of that means, except that it is a really lovely glass of wine, and that I'm suddenly not sad at the lack of bubbles.  She agrees heartily, as our empty plates are whisked away and a barrage of pastas descend.  I may have over-ordered, but it is an Italian restaurant, and how could I effectively make recommendations to you, my faithful readers, if I didn't taste a whole bunch of them, hmmm?

Okay, we ordered four pastas and a risotto for two people.

And we were glad that we did.



The Rigatoni Norcina

The Rigatoni Norcina, a fairly straightforward presentation of a light tomato cream sauce with pancetta and mild sausage, was very tasty, if not exactly unusual.  The Orrechiette Tartufate, on the other hand, was not just delicious, but unique…the ear-shaped pasta with wild mushrooms, artichoke hearts, sun-dried tomatoes and black truffle cream sauce with white truffle oil and shaved Grana Padano, in a word, trufflicious.  The Gnocchi Gorgonzola were slightly gummy, the spinach in the dumplings serving to do little more than color the dough, and the gorgonzola sauce seemed slightly overwrought.  But the Risotto of the day, served with a short-rib ragu, was rich without being heavy, the rice perfectly al dente and creamy, and the ragu was vibrant and earthy, the meat perfectly tender.  But the surprise of the evening was the Fontina-Stuffed Gnocchi, in a tomato vodka sauce with prosciutto.  These puffs of lightness literally melted on the tongue, with the creamy cheese oozing out and blending with the simple tart sauce in a truly perfect mouthful.  I've never had gnocchi like them, and frankly would not have believed such airiness was possible in a potato-based dumpling without tasting for myself.  Rachel rolled her eyes back in her head and proclaimed them "clouds of total yumminess." She was absolutely correct.  Christian paired this feast with a 2004 Masciarelli, Montepulciano from Abruzzo.  This is a grape from central Italy that tends to be medium-bodied with some nice red fruit and a distinctive almost meaty nose.  It held up well to all but the gorgonzola gnocchi, which we found pretty impressive, especially with all the different flavors we had going on.

Despite our pasta bacchanal, we gamely ordered entrees, a mere two this time, for the sake of propriety.  Rachel had the Spigola Agrodolce, a Mediterranean striped bass in a different version of the condiment I mentioned earlier, this one with sweet peppers, Sicilian cherry tomatoes, olives, capers, and golden raisins, which was fine, the fish light and well-cooked, but slightly over-sauced for such a mild flaky fish.  I had the Saltimbocca di Vitello, a traditional preparation of veal scallops with prosciutto and fresh mozzarella in a tomato brandy sage sauce, which was excellent, the meat perfectly cooked and the flavors well-balanced, but sadly paired with lackluster mashed potatoes and sautéed spinach that suffered from too much garlic.  Christian brought us a 2004 Vivalda "L'Clumbe" Barbera from Piemonte, which is now officially my favorite Barbera, nice and chewy with hints of both currants and chocolate, very drinkable.



Profiteroles, a refreshing bit of sweet after a decadent meal

For dessert we stuck with tradition, a basic tiramisu and profiteroles, both lovely and not cloying and somehow refreshing bits of sweet after a decadent meal.  And Christian didn't let us down, bringing us back to bubbles with a really special dessert wine, "Amis" Brachetto d'Asti by Villa Giada from Piemonte. It's a dolce frizzante rosso (sweet fizzy red!) made from a relatively rare grape called brachetto, very light, but seriously aromatic and totally tingly on the tongue.  (say that ten times fast if you can!)

Overall, excellent food, thoughtfully prepared, and some really wonderful wines.  The service was exceptional, and even better, despite the room being quite full, Rachel and I never had much sense of the other diners…a rarity these days, when a full house often means an oppressively loud dining experience.

Granted, I was pre-disposed to like Prosecco.  After all, any place as devoted to fizzy lifting drinks as I am is to be commended and celebrated.  It was wonderful to find the food and service as sparkly as the wine.

Yours in good taste,
Stacey
www.staceyballis.com

NOSH of the week:  Well, considering the theme this week, it seemed time for a cocktail. And while I'm usually a champagne purist, and don't like to add things to it, every now and again it is possible to make something so inherently perfect even more sublime.  My favorite trick for sparkling wines of all kinds is to put a finger of Pineau des Charantes in the bottom of the flute.  Pineau is a light cognac from France that has a lot of apple scent to it, and is traditionally served chilled or over ice.  I love it at the end of a summer day in the same way I like a warm cognac at the end of a winter's day. Great on its own, but truly special in your effervescents.  Just that inch or so takes any sparkling wine and puts a velvet smoking jacket on it…taking all the acid finish away and making for a very smooth and different drinking experience.  You can get a good bottle for about $20 at Sam's, just keep it in the fridge and I bet you'll fall in love with it.  Want something a little fancier and slightly less subtle?  Give your bubbles the same treatment with a bit of St.Germain elderflower liqueur, also available at Sam's for around $28, a glorious not-overly sweet floral quaff that I can't recommend highly enough.  Plus the bottle is gorgeous.

NOSH Food Read of the Week:  Heat  by Bill Buford

While walking to my car yesterday I overheard a middle aged woman trying to convince her friend to switch to her salon because, and I quote

"For only $22 I get a cut AND a blow job."

Which appeared to delight her friend who "Usually pays more than twice that."

After getting into my car and nearly laughing out a lung, I went to the gym where my intrepid (and it should be noted, of foreign origin) trainer proceeded to tell me that he thinks this whole problem with Fannie and Bernie is ridiculous.

"Fannie and Bernie?"

"Yes, the loan people."

"You mean Fannie and Freddie Mac?"

"No, no, Fannie and Bernie Mac."

"Gabe, Fannie and Freddie Mac are the loan people.  Bernie Mac was a brilliant comedian who recently passed away."

"You knew what I meant."

Which I did, but still.

The Ghost of Bernie seems to be haunting me, as a few days ago I was having dinner with a friend and George Lopez came on the television. 

"He's dead, you know."  Said my dining companion seriously.

"George Lopez?"

"Yep.  He just died."

"Oh my god, when?"  Having heard nothing about it.

"Like two weeks ago, he died from some disease he had."

I paused.  "Do you mean Bernie Mac, who died from complications from pneumonia and not from the sarcoidosis he had for years?"

He paused.  "Yep. Thats probably what I meant. I'm no good with pop culture."

"Clearly."

I bet it is the first and last time someone mistakes George Lopez for Bernie Mac.

On a personal note, I met Bernie once, through a mutual friend, and he was one of the most gracious, intelligent, kind, hilarious people I have ever had the pleasure to share a couple hours with, and the world is a much less warm and funny place without him.

On the upside, heaven has a new headliner.

Check out my review of Zed 451 at www.oychicago.com in the NOSH department.

Also, if you are in Chicago and like the combination of books and wine, and really, who doesn't?, please come join me for the following events:

The Book Cellar

www.bookcellarinc.com

4736 N. Lincoln Ave.

2nd Annual SPELLING BEE

The Book Cellar hosts its
2ND ANNUAL SPELLING BEE!

A lively event with celebrity judges Bridget Piekarz, Sam Weller and Elizabeth Taylor and our special celebrity host, Stacey Ballis, The Book Cellar's 2nd Annual Spelling Bee is sure to entertain--whether you're a speller or spectator!

Please stop in and sign up at The Book Cellar!
..
Start time: Friday, September 12, 2008 At 07:00 PM

(note, no comments from the peanut gallery about my being referred to as a celebrity!)

Witty Women Writers

..
Book Cellar celebrates this group of Witty Women Writers tonight!

Come enjoy dinner and wine and a great group of ladies as they share their stories!

The Lineup:
Amy Guth
Stacey Ballis


Keep checking back--more witty women to come!
..
Start time: Friday, October 10, 2008 At 07:00 PM

(note, no comments from the peanut gallery about my being referred to as witty!)

Overheard on the street this morning, spoken by a 20-something hipster gent on the phone:

"It was okay, dude, but it wasn't exactly like the best movie since The English Patient."

Pause.

"No, man, I never saw The English Patient either."

I thought it very nice of me to wait until i got into my car to laugh myself half into a coma.

Custom House

Four Stars

For anyone who loves Chicago history, one of the most exciting periods occurred in 1871 after the Great Chicago Fire, when the Custom House Levee District flourished. Filled with saloons, brothels and gaming houses, and home to the genesis of the classic pay-for-votes politics, the Levee District was an oasis of sin and sensual pleasures. The higher class bordellos were as famous for the quality of their food and wine as they were for the charms of their girls, and the area we now know as Printer's Row spent a glorious thirty-five years reigning as the place to experience carnal delights of every sort.

As the epicenter of the American meat industry, Chicago's stockyards made us Sandburg's 'hog butcher to the world.' Eras like the heyday of the Levee District gave Chicago a reputation as a city of outlaws, wild characters and excitement. And events like the Century of Progress Columbian Exposition and World's Fair marked Chicago as a place of innovation, artistry and progress.

So it should be no surprise that Chef/Owner Shawn McClain, winner of the James Beard Best Chef –Midwest Award and a chef who had nothing to prove to this city after the success of his hotspots Spring and Green Zebra, has managed to meld three of Chicago's most famous attributes in Custom House. McClain has taken the concept of a traditional steak house, and with a combination of classic technical skill and broad artistic vision, has transformed it into a place that both honors its origins and explodes preconceptions…and done it in the heart of what used to be the infamous Levee District.

The open dining room at Custom House, with its tall ceilings and wide windows, erases the idea of the dark paneled rooms one usually expects when one thinks of a steak house. A wall of stone, softened by light fabric on the chairs, and simple elegant lighting is warm and welcoming. Starters are an embarrassment of riches, and deciding between them is a Herculean task. After consulting with our server, we choose the Quail, Smoked Rainbow Trout, and the special of the evening, a Goat Leg Tart.

Some delicious Custom House starters

The quail, simply roasted and served with a caramel balsamic reduction and a cippoline onion beignet, is perfect. The skin crisp and well seasoned, the meat cooked medium, highlighting the mellow gaminess of the tiny bird, a hint of sweet savoriness from the light drizzle of sauce. And the 'onion beignet' is quite simply the best onion ring either of us has ever tasted. Frankly, I'd like a basket of them and some barbeque sauce to dip them in. (Which is something I'd never actually request, but a girl can dream.) 

The tart, a layer of pastry topped with caramelized onion, braised goat leg and baby leeks, is well executed, the meat deeply flavored, the onions sweet. We both wished the pastry was crisper to balance the softness of the toppings, but ultimately it was still a successful dish flavor-wise. But both of these were eclipsed by the Smoked Trout, a light salad with slivers of radish and celery-bacon vinaigrette, served on a cauliflower panna cotta. It is a dish neither of us would have ordered, but for the recommendation of our server, and it was by far the favorite. Served with buttery brioche toast sticks, it is the kind of dish that makes you smile with its inventiveness. The creamy cauliflower panna cotta, much more subtle than we had anticipated, is the ideal foil for the trout, smoked in-house, tender and flavorful. We have the 2006 Tavel Rose; the crisp clean wine with hints of strawberry is great with all three dishes.

For entrees, being a steak house, some beef was in order, and the Australian raised New York Strip with bone marrow maitre'd butter and roasted cippoline onions did not disappoint. The steak, aged 80 days, rivals any you will find at more traditional places, with the rich bone marrow butter putting it right over the top. We were leaning toward the halibut, but our clearly psychic server insisted on the sturgeon, and once again her advice was impeccable. The fish, served in a light morel mushroom broth, was tender and mild, a fish neither of us had tasted before and would definitely order again. Sides are designed to share, but making up your mind will be tough!  We tasted a decadent oxtail risotto, which, when paired with the sturgeon became an inspired surf and turf. Creamed spinach, which actually tasted of spinach and not just cream, was enriched with parmesan bread crumbs and tiny cubes of fried celery root. Asparagus became a meal in itself, wrapped in prosciutto and anointed with black truffle.

But the hands-down favorite, again a recommendation from our server-cum-guru, was the Pommes Anna, thinly sliced potatoes layered with ricotta and house-smoked bacon. My giddy companion referred to it as potatoes au gratin on crack. And yes, you will crave more the minute the plate is empty. And my mother would disown me if I didn't tell you to order the Bulghur Wheat, which is her favorite thing on the menu! With this feast, the 2005 D & S Proprietary Red, a gloriously chewy California wine with tones of blackcurrant and chocolate, smoothed the edges.

Desserts were a rich warm toffee date cake, a tasting of three ice creams (white coffee, balsamic caramel, and triple chocolate) and a mini lemon Bundt cake. All delicious, with the exception of the balsamic caramel ice cream, which, though we were looking forward to it, had a strange and unwelcome aftertaste.

Don't forget the dessert! 

Custom House is the sort of place you can return to again and again, the menu changes daily. And without question, let the exceedingly knowledgeable waitstaff influence your dining and drinking decisions, they will introduce you to some amazing new flavors.

http://www.oychicago.com/article.aspx?id=896

Custom House

Four Stars

For anyone who loves Chicago history, one of the most exciting periods occurred in 1871 after the Great Chicago Fire, when the Custom House Levee District flourished. Filled with saloons, brothels and gaming houses, and home to the genesis of the classic pay-for-votes politics, the Levee District was an oasis of sin and sensual pleasures. The higher class bordellos were as famous for the quality of their food and wine as they were for the charms of their girls, and the area we now know as Printer's Row spent a glorious thirty-five years reigning as the place to experience carnal delights of every sort.

As the epicenter of the American meat industry, Chicago's stockyards made us Sandburg's 'hog butcher to the world.' Eras like the heyday of the Levee District gave Chicago a reputation as a city of outlaws, wild characters and excitement. And events like the Century of Progress Columbian Exposition and World's Fair marked Chicago as a place of innovation, artistry and progress.

So it should be no surprise that Chef/Owner Shawn McClain, winner of the James Beard Best Chef –Midwest Award and a chef who had nothing to prove to this city after the success of his hotspots Spring and Green Zebra, has managed to meld three of Chicago's most famous attributes in Custom House. McClain has taken the concept of a traditional steak house, and with a combination of classic technical skill and broad artistic vision, has transformed it into a place that both honors its origins and explodes preconceptions…and done it in the heart of what used to be the infamous Levee District.

The open dining room at Custom House, with its tall ceilings and wide windows, erases the idea of the dark paneled rooms one usually expects when one thinks of a steak house. A wall of stone, softened by light fabric on the chairs, and simple elegant lighting is warm and welcoming. Starters are an embarrassment of riches, and deciding between them is a Herculean task. After consulting with our server, we choose the Quail, Smoked Rainbow Trout, and the special of the evening, a Goat Leg Tart.

Some delicious Custom House starters

The quail, simply roasted and served with a caramel balsamic reduction and a cippoline onion beignet, is perfect. The skin crisp and well seasoned, the meat cooked medium, highlighting the mellow gaminess of the tiny bird, a hint of sweet savoriness from the light drizzle of sauce. And the 'onion beignet' is quite simply the best onion ring either of us has ever tasted. Frankly, I'd like a basket of them and some barbeque sauce to dip them in. (Which is something I'd never actually request, but a girl can dream.) 

The tart, a layer of pastry topped with caramelized onion, braised goat leg and baby leeks, is well executed, the meat deeply flavored, the onions sweet. We both wished the pastry was crisper to balance the softness of the toppings, but ultimately it was still a successful dish flavor-wise. But both of these were eclipsed by the Smoked Trout, a light salad with slivers of radish and celery-bacon vinaigrette, served on a cauliflower panna cotta. It is a dish neither of us would have ordered, but for the recommendation of our server, and it was by far the favorite. Served with buttery brioche toast sticks, it is the kind of dish that makes you smile with its inventiveness. The creamy cauliflower panna cotta, much more subtle than we had anticipated, is the ideal foil for the trout, smoked in-house, tender and flavorful. We have the 2006 Tavel Rose; the crisp clean wine with hints of strawberry is great with all three dishes.

For entrees, being a steak house, some beef was in order, and the Australian raised New York Strip with bone marrow maitre'd butter and roasted cippoline onions did not disappoint. The steak, aged 80 days, rivals any you will find at more traditional places, with the rich bone marrow butter putting it right over the top. We were leaning toward the halibut, but our clearly psychic server insisted on the sturgeon, and once again her advice was impeccable. The fish, served in a light morel mushroom broth, was tender and mild, a fish neither of us had tasted before and would definitely order again. Sides are designed to share, but making up your mind will be tough!  We tasted a decadent oxtail risotto, which, when paired with the sturgeon became an inspired surf and turf. Creamed spinach, which actually tasted of spinach and not just cream, was enriched with parmesan bread crumbs and tiny cubes of fried celery root. Asparagus became a meal in itself, wrapped in prosciutto and anointed with black truffle.

But the hands-down favorite, again a recommendation from our server-cum-guru, was the Pommes Anna, thinly sliced potatoes layered with ricotta and house-smoked bacon. My giddy companion referred to it as potatoes au gratin on crack. And yes, you will crave more the minute the plate is empty. And my mother would disown me if I didn't tell you to order the Bulghur Wheat, which is her favorite thing on the menu! With this feast, the 2005 D & S Proprietary Red, a gloriously chewy California wine with tones of blackcurrant and chocolate, smoothed the edges.

Desserts were a rich warm toffee date cake, a tasting of three ice creams (white coffee, balsamic caramel, and triple chocolate) and a mini lemon Bundt cake. All delicious, with the exception of the balsamic caramel ice cream, which, though we were looking forward to it, had a strange and unwelcome aftertaste.

Don't forget the dessert! 

Custom House is the sort of place you can return to again and again, the menu changes daily. And without question, let the exceedingly knowledgeable waitstaff influence your dining and drinking decisions, they will introduce you to some amazing new flavors.

http://www.oychicago.com/article.aspx?id=896

Hello all!

Just wanted to let you know about a new endeavor for me….as a contributor to a fantastic new online magazine called Oy!Chicago.  Oy is targeted at the Jewish community of greater Chicagoland, but my column, Nosh, is all about food.  Food features including essays, profiles of foodies, chef interviews and restaurant reviews.  So, even though many of you are not in Chicago, (and many aren't Jewish J ) I hope you enjoy hearing from me on a more regular basis!

Pieces will be cross posted here and on Foodbuzz.com.

Meantime, I am hard at work on my latest novel, GOOD ENOUGH TO EAT, which will be out next Spring, and some other projects I will be delighted to share in the coming months.

To read my first contribution, head on over to www.oychicago.com and check me out!

Hope this finds everyone happy and healthy and enjoying your summer thus far. 

Best,

Stacey

I live in a building that is over 100 years old.  I love it.  I'm never leaving.  They will take my cold, dead body out of this building. Hopefully not for many years, tho.  I have been here 15 years, and never fallen out of love with it. 

While a victorian graystone is good for many things, staying warm in the winter is not one of them.  Dinner parties, no problem, the formal dining room can seat up to 24 comfortably.  Houseguests?  Piece of cake, seperate guest room.  Storing stuff for friends who move out of town?  Easy, the basement is nothing but accomodating.  But warm in the winter?  Not so much.

The ceilings are tall, the heat is provided by the original radiators, the windows are old and drafty. And the over foot-thick stone walls, if subjected to three weeks of Chicago sub-zero temps, freeze solid, and then you could hang meat in my living room.  I don't mean, 'oh I have to wear a sweater'.  I mean, 'I have to wear a sweater over my fleece over my thermals under a blanket and still my hands, feet, and nose don't ever really warm up'.  Just in the living room, the bedroom is fine since it is pretty small, but the living room is cavernous and the radiators just can't ever seem to get it done.

Which was never a big deal, really, since who minds bundling up for a couple hours in the evening before bed?  Except now I work at home.  In my living room.  And it has been a looooooog cold winter. 

So last week, in a fit of semi-productivity, I finally said 'f**k it' and went to home depot to purchase a space heater.  You might ask, why, oh Mensa-IQ'ed one, would you wait 15 years to fix this issue?  And I will tell you, just because I'm smart, doesn't mean I'm not an idiot.  I never have bought them at the beginning of the season, because the beginning of the season is usually right before the annual family vacation to someplace warm, so I'm not really thinking about it.  And then when I get back I seem to forget that winter lasts thru April, so I figure I'll just tough it out.  Then the end of February comes around and I wonder what the hell I was thinking not buying them.

When I get to Home Depot, I discover that everyone else in Chicago already bought their space heaters, so there is only one brand/style left.  Not the 'this will make your whole room balmy in minutes' style.  The 'if you sit with this aimed directly at you and do not move, it will keep you from hypothermia' kind.  About three feet tall, sort of a oval tube, with a squiggly electric element down the middle in front of a reflective surface, with a grill over it.  They oscillate.  They have two settings, high and low, and they have all the appropriate safety features.  So I bought two.  One for each end of the couch, hoping to create a little cocoon of warmth for myself. 

I get them home, set them up, and turn them on.  Ahhhhhhhhhh.

I get down to work, finish a chapter in the new book, and feel very proud of myself.  So proud, that I start to crave....gyros.  Gyros?

Now, there is an amazing restaurant I have been going to my whole life called The Athenian Room.  And they do have the best gyros I have ever tasted, but I almost never get the gyros, because when I crave AR, I crave their succulent skirt steak above all else.  The gyros are good, just not my first choice.

But last week, the craving was beyond powerful.  It was insidious.  I was trying to work.  (psssst.  gyros.)  I was trying to watch Law and Order (mmmm.  Jesse Martin likes gyros).  I was trying to stay on my diet, and eat heathy.  (if you don't eat anything else all day you can still have gyros.)  What the F**K was going on?

So I thought about Carey, my nutritional counselor, who has been encouraging me to examine cravings of this type.  What mood am I in?  What might be the emotional or psychological reasons behind the craving?  So I examine.  I am not physically hungry, so this is not a physiological craving for nourishment.  What might my head or heart be wanting?  Well, I could probably use a little sex, but I've always wanted mashed potatoes or french silk pie as nookie-replacement.  And while I was a little bored, my boredom eating is almost always homemade popcorn.  I'm not feeling self-loathing, cause if I was, I'd be craving pizza for sure.  (see how self aware I am becoming?  go Carey!  www.elevate-life.com)

I am thinking and pondering and then I look up.  And realize that I bought two space heaters that look EXACTLY like the vertical rotisserie heating elements they cook gyros on.  You would think most people basking in the warmth of direct heat would think of the beach, maybe crave a pina colada.  Nope. Not me.  Me, I go directly to large spits of seasoned meat spinning in a circle.  Subliminal, and really irritating, but also so ridiculous I had to call Carey and tell her how retarded I am.

Sometimes, this whole eating disorder thing is actually pretty freaking funny. 

In the meantime, I hope spring comes soon, because I might be warm enough, but I'm still thinking about a soft pita piled high with glistening strips of spicy meat, and dunked in cool tzatziki sauce.  Sigh.

Well children, I am back stateside.  The annual family vacation was awesome, in terms of the family part.  We laughed and had a great time together, and my sister's new boyfriend survived our antics and appeared not to be distressed by the combined force of our lunacy, despite the fact that my grandmother twice called him by the name of my sister's ex, and once called him Victor.  His name is Doug. 

However, let me say for the record, I have no intention of ever sailing with this particular cruise line EVER AGAIN.  I would not be so crude as to name them by name, but let me just say that while Captain Steubing wasn't piloting the ship, and Issac didn't man the bar...but I expected to see them at any moment.

Firstly, if you have been with me for any length of time you know that while I love children, particularly my godchildren and the children of my friends, I have little patience for ill-mannered children.  I don't mean children acting like children, I can get past noise and answering the question "Why?" fourty-two times in a row, and even the occasional sobbing from pain or fear.  I mean children acting like tiny little Kim Jong Ils as possessed by the ghost of Veruca Salt.  The boat we were on was designed for 1900 passengers.  There were 2500 of us aboard.  The 600 extras?  Children.  Snotty, sticky, screamy children.  Wicked, whiny, whinging children.  Creepy, crawly, crappy children.  Badly behaved, badly parented, badly annoying children.  Around every corner they were pitching fits, cursing at their parents, sticking their hands all over the food at the buffet, splashing in the pool, and peeing in the jacuzzi.  I wished Doc was on hand to administer dosages of sedatives just so I could have some peace and quiet.

Not that I cared that much about the hands in the buffet.  Despite my final post of 2007, the buffet wasn't an issue.  Because the food was SPECTACULARLY bad.  Much of it inedible.  And in case anyone wants to mention it to the chef....the recipe for Apple Tart Tatin does not include JELLO.  Period.

The topper of the vacation was that the one port we were really looking forward to the most was Guatemala.  We booked a guide and a driver, saved all our shopping for that port, and read up on the culture.  Which would have come in handy had the boat actually, um, stopped there.  Due to hurricane force winds, we were unable to dock, and had to hightail for Mexico so that we didn't reenact the Posidon Adventure.  Gopher would never have survived.

The lack of stopping in Guatemala meant a full day on board, which leads to a full day of boredom, which makes one think that one should attend the Snowball Jackpot Bingo, which is, only slightly more fun than poking oneself repeatedly in the eye with a rusty fork.  I never thought I'd miss Julie the Cruise Director, but bless her little cocaine sniffing tush, I never heard her call "Snow White's Favorite, G-50.  Five-oh, five-oh, its off to work we go.  G-50".  To say that I was tempted to rip off my own arm just to have something to beat her to death with is a small understatement.

Having said all of that, the weather was good, my whole tan did not fall off in the customs line, and it is really always a pleasure to hang out with my family for an extended period of time.  Plus we got to stop off in Mexico City to visit some of the cousins, which is a genuinely incredible thing, as they are some of the warmest, funniest, most darling people I have ever met and I feel very blessed to be related to them.

But I am very very glad to be home.

And too tired to tackle the EZ Bake Oven issue today.  Stay tuned.

My friend Laura Caldwell's new book THE GOOD LIAR is out, so go get it!!!!

Welcome to 2008.  Let the snarking begin.