Grocery List: August 25, 2013 (or the Birthday Boy Edition)

About 10 or so years ago, a few family members went to Nestico’s in North Syracuse for a birthday dinner in my honor. Knowing that I don’t like having “Happy Birthday” sung to me or, really, any attention paid to the annual occurrence that is my birthday, The Father requested that the entire wait staff sing to me at dessert.

I got up, walked out of the restaurant and waited in the car.

Did I act like a prissy little bitch? Yes. Did my father know that I was going to do this? I’m sure he suspected it, which is exactly why he did it. I don’t know what my problem is, but I do not like attention paid to this day. Well, at least not anymore. I loved birthday parties as a kid. I loved the attention showered upon me, the cake, the presents, the…attention. I’m not entirely sure when that changed. The Wife gets it and makes sure to not go nuts with parties and such. For her 30th birthday, we had a bunch of people over for a clambake. For mine…I don’t remember. She and I probably went out for a quiet dinner. Exactly the way I want it.

So, last night when the waitress at Moro’s Table said, “I understand we have a birthday here” prior to taking our drink orders, I immediately pointed to The Aunt (New Al Dente character: The Aunt is my mother’s eldest sister, an eccentric 74-year-old who never married and never had children of her own. Thus, The Aunt was always like a surrogate in our family. Additionally, The Aunt is nuts and is known in many of my circles as My Crazy Aunt Marietta. Not just my aunt, or Aunt Marietta. My Crazy Aunt Marietta. It’s easier that way.) as the birthday girl. She deflected and then we all had a talk about how the candle on the table was the only candle that would be lit and that if anyone started singing “Happy Birthday” that I would use that candle to set the restaurant on fire.

The only recognition of my birthday from that point forward was the chocolate sauce used to script “Happy Birthday” on the plate which held the chocolate tort and bourbon ice cream that I had for dessert.

So, yes, August 25 is my birthday. Yes, I realize that writing an entire post about it defeats the purpose of not drawing attention to it. And yes, I know there this makes absolutely no sense. What can I say? As the lady at the table next to me last night said, “You’re a Virgo. Nothing makes sense.”

Grocery list: July 7, 2013 (The Pre-Vacay Edition)

It’s a crisp 75 degrees right now in my living room and a swampy 84 in my backyard. Today’s trip to Wegmans and Target was a solo one, thanks to an ornery three-year-old who would much rather swim in a pool than sit in a cart.

I can’t necessarily blame her, all things considered. Today’s trip was fairly unexciting and rather quick. Even more surprising was that I kept the entire trip to less than $50.

Such is the week before our week of vacation. We leave Saturday for a week in Rehoboth Beach, Del., where it will most certainly be a thick-aired 95 degrees all week. But, the people, the beer and the people make it worth it. I mentioned the people twice because…well, you can read about it here.

It’s an Eat The Freezer week, so there will be content this week and next as I cut through the fossilized meat in the side-by-side in my kitchen. Yesterday’s trip to the market yielded some fresh veggies that will grilled or turned into salads (the green beans have been blanched and are marinating as we speak). Otherwise, we’re just biding time until Saturday.

Grocery list: June 16, 2013 (The Father’s Day edition)

All praise be to The Wife, who for Father’s Day allowed me to sleep from the point The Kid awoke at 6:10 until 8:10. I’ll take that as half of my gift for Father’s Day, as the other half would be the grill sitting in my garage.

Truth be told, I was not aware that Father’s Day was this weekend until sometime Wednesday or Thursday when The Wife asked me what I wanted to get my own father. She was surprised, but not very, when I asked what she was talking about.

Apparently, I was going to get pancakes for breakfast this morning, but we were out of Bisquick. My best guess is that we ran out in and around the time of The Kid’s Celiac disease diagnosis and never replenished. This didn’t occur to The Wife — until she tried making said breakfast — or me — until she mentioned it later in this morning.

Speaking of Bisquick, here’s the issue that arises with gluten free food: it’s expensive. Very expensive. In most cases, we’re talking about $1 per package for something that is replacing a conventional food item. In the case of Bisquick, it’s a little more. The 40 oz. box of regular Bisquick is 8.2 cents an ounce. The gluten free version, sold in 16 oz. boxes, tips in at 31.2 cents an ounce, or nearly quadruple the cost.

No big plans for Father’s Day, which is the best gift of them all. I think I’m going to squeak in an afternoon nap, maybe eek in some father-daughter dollhouse time or some laundry. It’s really not much different than any other Sunday around here.

Except that I got to sleep in. For Father’s Day. And all of that adds up to a beautiful thing.

Grocery list: June 9, 2013

Everyone has left.

That’s the best part of a family gathering. This weekend was the celebration of The Kid’s third birthday (it’s officially on Tuesday) and we partied yesterday here at The Homestead. The crowd filtered out around 8 last night. The Sister returned to Long Island at 11 a.m., right around the same time that my father and stepmother bid adieu on the way back to their house on the St. Lawrence Seaway.

The house is now blisteringly quiet. The Kid is napping. The Wife is off for a run. All that can be heard is the clicking of the keyboard and the faint muttering of the announcer on the MLB Network.

The second best part of a family gathering? The stunning array of leftovers. We anticipated 18, but ordered food for 15-16. We had 15, but the six pounds of pulled pork and various salads that accompanied was apparently overkill. Today’s grocery trip reminded me that we need a bigger refrigerator in the next house. I gave up on putting things away with a sense of order and just started shoving things where there was room.

Everything but my father’s tortellini salad, the rolls for the pork and the beer was gluten-free. Not that it mattered, as The Kid ate a piece of corn bread and some Van’s french toast.

Today’s trip to Wegmans was solo and horrendous, though mutually exclusive of one another. Solo, because The Kid really wasn’t up for the trip, nor was The Wife. Horrendous because I have a raging chest cold and zero patience. I don’t know why, but the dairy department at Wegmans insists on restocking the shelves by putting the very large pushcarts full of yogurt so they block the shelf and aisle at the same time. After I got hit by someone else’s cart the third time, I decided that I no longer cared about others and was going to use my cart as a weapon. Naturally, my blood lust was for naught as the store seemed to empty, leaving me with clear aisles but a lingering case of cart rage.

 

Grocery list: May 5, 2013

Allow me to rain on the parade, poop on the party and kill the buzz. From Oscar Casares, author and creative writing instructor at the University of Texas, in a 2010 opinion piece for the Houston Chronicle (any bolding is mine):

The holiday, which has never really been much of one in Mexico, crossed over to this side of the border in the 1950s and 1960s, as civil rights activists were attempting to build harmony between the two countries and cultures. The date gained more attention in the 1980s when marketers, particularly beer companies, saw this as a perfect opportunity to capitalize on the celebratory nature of the holiday. This week Cinco de Mayo will be celebrated with festivals and parades in places like Raleigh, North Carolina; Midvale, Utah; Atlanta, Georgia; Omaha, Nebraska; some with large Mexican or Mexican-American populations but many without.

So, no, I’m doing nothing for Cinco de Mayo. If it makes you feel better, do it. Just stay off my lawn.

We had a remarkably ordinary dinner last night at Twin Trees in Solvay. If you are not from Syracuse, I’ll bring you up to speed. Twin Trees is a legendary family-owned enterprise in the Salt City that has been around for 50+ years. It is best known for its pizza, which comes on a crust that is slightly thinner than your average pan pizza and is cut into horizontal strips, as opposed to pie slices. Their wings are pretty stellar as well.

When The Wife and I were just married and living in the Northern Suburbs, we would get Twin Trees on Sunday night. We would intentionally order two pizzas so that there would be enough leftovers to last us the week. It’s that good.

There are about 100 Twin Tress locations around the county, two of which are within walking distance from one another on the west side. I prefer Twin Trees Too on Milton Ave. Last night we went to the original on Avery Ave. Now, I don’t have delusions of gourmet when I go to Twin Trees, but I expect the pizza to be good. Last night it was just to the good side of meh. I don’t know what it was, but the pizza was bland at best.

We’ll see how the leftovers go today. After all, the second day is true test of any pizza.

Grocery list: March 17, 2013

Here’s where I come in on this St. Patrick’s Day thing: I don’t. I don’t subscribe to the “everyone’s Irish on St. Patrick’s Day” theory. I don’t wear green. I don’t like Shamrock Shakes. And, I don’t like corned beef and cabbage.

Corned beef and cabbage tastes like sweaty gym shorts. The truest thing I’ve heard all week was said by Greg Hughes, co-host of the national radio show “Opie & Anthony” on SiriusXM radio. He made the point that if corned beef and cabbage were any good, it would cooked more than once a year.

Don’t get me wrong. I really like corned beef. And, I do like cabbage. But, not together.

I’m of the opinion that if corned beef and cabbage were any good that The Palm would serve it. Hubert Keller, Michael Mina and Gary Danko would stylize it and add it to their prix fixe menus. Paula Deen would figure out how to make it with 7 lbs. of butter.

But they don’t. It’s niche and terrible all at the same time. It’s the Hamburger/Tuna/Chicken Helper of ethnic food. The fact is that corned beef and cabbage has little to do with Irish cuisine. It’s an Irish-American ghetto dish, cooked because immigrants of the 19th and 20th centuries were dirt poor. The Irish detest the dish and, apparently, mock it.

So, good work America.

/soapbox

Grocery list: March 3, 2013

We have a houseful this weekend. My sister-in-law, who lives in the Utica area, came in town on Thursday for…I’m not sure why. Dentist appointment on Friday, maybe? I wasn’t paying attention, to be honest. Later that evening, my sister rolled in for a long weekend. It’s funny having all of these people in my house. When we bought it, we thought it was a good-sized place. Add The Kid into the mix, and suddenly we’re crowded. My sister is sleeping on an air mattress in the dining room. She’s okay with this because the bed butts up against the liquor rack.

Friday night’s dinner was a trip to our new regular haunt: Stella’s Diner. It works out quite nicely for dinner. We eat early enough (5-ish) that we can beat the crowd and The Kid devours their pancakes like we don’t feed her (the truth, of course, is that she has made picky eating an artform).

Last night, we were one sister lighter (my in-law) so Dinosaur Barbque takeout was the call. Stellar, as usual. I had the brisket and was slightly let down after my recent trip to Dallas. It’s an unfair comparison, really, to compare the two. It was good, but you know, not quite Texas. Though it was takeout, we still managed to eat too much, which is not an impossible feat for the Dino.

Today’s shopping trip is what my sister would call “Family Fun Time.” The four of us stormed Wegmans, which was packed, and still managed to spend $70 on this list. I wonder just how we manage to do it sometimes.

Grocery list: February 17, 2013

“How the hell did we spend $91?”

The Wife’s query was relevant, though the fact that she posed it to the cashier at Target did not seem to make much sense. The cart was not that full, by any means. Target is just one of those stores that, even though you need just a couple of things, you come out spending six times as much as planned.

“My razors were $19, but I had a $5 coupon, so…” My justification for the big package of Schick Hydro5 razors was based on an expired coupon where I was supposed to buy two items. It was weak, but it was the best I had.

“The dishwashing tabs were $11. And we spent $10 on frickin’ Kleenex.” My justification of $1 off coupons for each didn’t seem to settle. The $91 trip to Target came on the heels of a $91 trip to Wegmans, so I think that stung a little.

I used to tell The Wife that I would spend more money when she came shopping with me. It was true pre-child. A simple 10-item grocery list would explode with her. “Hey, let’s try this,” would act as a prelude to her dropping $20 in snack mixes or candy into the cart. The Kid’s birth didn’t really do much to the grocery side. I had become a coupon ninja in terms of formula and had it worked out where the store would actually owe me money (How you ask? Think back to 2010 when Similac had their big crisis with dead beatles in the powdered formula. The manufacturer got the stores to drop the price of the liquid stuff until production resumed. So, a $6 bottle of formula was now $3.50 at Target or $4 at Wegmans. I hoarded $5 off coupons, swapping them with other people for other brands. Between the coupons and those formula checks, I could clear a shelf at Target — I would go early on Saturday mornings when they stocked the shelfs and take the boxes right off the palette — and make out $30-40 to the good. There’s a reason why Target now reserves the right to limit coupons. His name is Jared. I ruined for everyone.).