A Bedtime Story

Sometimes, after a busy day it's tough to fall asleep. After helping daddy make a brew for the first time, giving mommy a hand with brunch, putting on extra good behavior at Mass, meeting new friends, gardening, grilling, and giving everyone so much to smile about, it can be hard to close those little eyes and wait till the sun comes up to resume the fun.

That's when story time can be helpful - a perfect transition from wakefulness to sweet dreams. With the turn of a couple pages a princess and her pea, an engine that could, Horton and his Who, or a ladder to the moon can lull little ones to sleep.

While our library is stocked, tonight I won't be reaching for a book. Tonight, Mary's bedtime story is in my head.

Mary.

As much as you are my daughter. And as much as you are daddy's little girl. You belong to so many more people. Your lineage of love goes on for generations. To your Nana and to your Mimi. To your German Opas. All the way back to your great grandparents and even farther than that.

Today, we said goodbye to a very special part of you. Today, your Great Grandma Barry closed her eyes for the last time and drifted past sleep into a world more beautiful than anything you can imagine. There, she is happily dusting powdered sugar on her nut rolls in God's kitchen while she looks out her window at the love of her life tending the asparagus in God's garden.

I wish you could have met her. You would have loved her as much as I do. But just because you won't get to feel her hugs and squeezes, you will always know her.

You will know her in the framed wall paper in our sun room. It used to hang in her second floor bathroom. And it used to make her laugh and laugh.

You will know her in the rolling pin that mommy uses and the beef birds that mommy makes.

You will know her when mommy tickles your arm and sings you Irish lullabies.

You will know her in the words we use in our house - code words that your classmates won't understand. A fat person is a chab. A fart is a fritzer. Cheers is jivjeli.

You will know her by looking into my eyes - there, you will see hers as well.

You will know her in Nana's kindness, in her thoughtfulness and care.

You will know her in Aunt Dee Dee's Hungarian pastries, in Aunt Amy's stuffed cabbage, and in all the goodness that comes out of Aunt Joyce's big yellow bowl.

You will know her in Uncle Mike's sense of humor and his booming laughter.

You will know her in Aunt Meg's ability to fiesta and in Aunt Kay's sense of style.

You will know her in Aunt Beth's impromptu operatic performances.

When you see all your cousins and watch our family grow and grow, you will know her in the values that we all share. 

Most of all, you will know her in your name. Mary - her favorite woman. The one who she prayed to every day. The one who we saw at Mass today. And the one who is helping her sleep peacefully tonight.

Goodnight Mary.

Goodnight Grandma.

  Lo. 

Onward to Victory

On Monday night, we had pizza for dinner.

These personalized, prosciutto topped portions were actually supposed to be the finale of a celebratory brew and bake day in honor of Notre Dame's historic 12-0 season on Sunday. However, there was a delay of game.

About three quarters of the way into brewing Peter's Irish Stout, I checked on my blanketed dough. I had kneaded, divided it, shaped it into little balls, and covered them about four hours ago, so by now, they should have been pretty puffy. But they hadn't moved - not even an inch. Each of the little balls looked lazy, lethargic, and stubborn. I got mad at them, opened up the garbage, and threatened to end their existence. But Peter stopped me. He told me to give them a chance - maybe they just needed more time to grow. So I tucked in the little balls of dough for a good night sleep, hoping they would work their magic by morning.    
 
In the meantime, we called in reinforcements from Baldinelli's Pizza in Hinsdale. Pizza was on my mind - pizza was for dinner. It just wasn't as good as the homemade kind, especially at their Hinsdalian price point. 

The next morning, I woke up to the pleasant surprise of expanding dough. And when I got home from work, those little balls had reached a perfect consistency. I had never seen this happen before. Perhaps it had something to do with the aging packet that I drew a 1/4 teaspoon of yeast from, but in the end, against all the odds, those little strains worked. The spotlight was now on me to toss and top the dough, shaping each ball into an edible masterpiece. I went with an unlikely combination of prosciutto, frisee, spicy tomato sauce, jardiniere and mozzarella. The results were back to back wins. And a very happy crowd.

In a way, the delayed satisfaction of this pizza dinner on Monday night was a more fitting way to celebrate the Fighting Irish. All season long, it took a certain formula for them to win - the same kind of formula that Peter and I used to design a winning pizza play. It took outstanding coaching and decision making at critical moments. It took teamwork - even the unlikely kind. It took a will and a determination to get it done. And it took a very patient fan base, who after 23 years can tout their team as not only relevant, but dominant and on their way to the National Championship Game in Miami.

Our Irish household is so proud of this amazing team and their amazing season.
Go Irish, beat the SEC.

Lo. 

Prosciutto Pizza
(Makes four personal pizzas) 

Ingredients:
Pizza Dough
28 ounce can whole tomatoes, crushed with your hands
1/4 cup yellow onion, chopped
4 cloves of garlic, chopped
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon sugar
Salt
Crushed red pepper
16 slices prosciutto
Several bundles of frisee
3 big balls of fresh mozzarella, sliced 
1/4 cup jardiniere in olive oil  

Directions:
In a medium sauce pan, saute onions and garlic until tender, about three minutes. Add tomatoes in their sauce and seasoning. Let simmer on low heat for 45 minutes or until most of the juice has steamed off. Puree into a smooth sauce using a food processor. Set aside.

Preheat oven to 500 degrees. Place a pizza stone in the oven and heat through.

Spread out a ball of dough and assemble your pizza. Sauce first, then about four prosciutto slices, then frisee, then mozzarella, and top with jardiniere. Use some of the olive oil in the jar and brush the edges of the crust.

Place pizza on stone and bake for 10-15 minutes or until golden brown. Repeat this process with the remaining balls of dough.

Brunch and Brew

I never wanted the characteristic rectangular Kaufmann's box at Christmas or on my birthday - I was doomed the moment it was handed to me. Forget the wrapping paper, forget the tissue, I already knew what was underneath the Santas who appeared to me mocking me and my wish list. It was a sweater - yet another to add to my burgeoning collection of neon, chevron-printed turtlenecks that made my skin itch just thinking about the prickly wool sliding over my head. The worst side effect of celebrating the most commercialized holiday and my birthday during winter in Pittsburgh was a chest of drawers filled with classic early 90's sweaters.

Outside of the Christmas and birthday window though, the Kaufmann's box interchange was welcomed with chubby open arms. Mostly, because any box-to-Lo trade was done by my Grandma with little pay-off on my end, perhaps just a hug and a squeeze. And inside that recycled box, which most likely would have hosted a wool sweater for my Grandma, was a sampling of her treasures: A dozen sesame seed buns, two dozen Parker rolls, square upon square of her Texas sheet cake, a nut roll or her miniature cookie versions, and if I was really lucky six big bear claws - my all-time favorite pastry.

Riding home from her house, I would hold the box tightly, careful not to let it tip or slide. When no one was looking, I would rip off the pinky claw of one of those bears to sample just how amazing this batch was. For breakfast the next day, we would each get one. Far better than any choice we could make from the collection of multi-grain cereals lining our pantry cupboard, was the sweet seduction of a nut-filled, iced pastry that had my grandma's love wrapped up in it.


Yesterday, was another brew day. Well, Peter brewed and I took the temperature during various phases of the process. At my request, he made an all-grain Saison beer - a traditional Belgian farmhouse ale.

Brew days for Peter are cooking and baking days for me though, and on the docket for this event was a brunch of prosciutto omelets and my Grandma's Bear Claws - a treat that I have been craving for too long. I pulled out the recipe that I had copied down from my cousin Meghan when we visited her in D.C. this summer. There were gaps here and there in the instructions, but I took a leap of faith or two while thinking, 'what would Grandma do?' I guessed right and right again, and ended up proud of my results.

Since Macy's bought Kaufmann's and all the other unique department stores in mid-size cities, I didn't have the characteristic storage vessel to complete my project. But luckily some visitors stopped by, helping us scale down the number of leftovers. 

Later in the day, while the beer was going through a boiling phase, Peter asked what was on the menu for dinner. I again asked myself what Olga would do, and she answered Swiss Steak. So I got one of the cheapest cuts of meat - round steak - and roasted it and served it with gravy, mashed potatoes and spinach souffle. It was the perfect panacea to a weekend of hard work around the house. Even better though, was the bittersweet satisfaction I felt when my phone buzzed with a text from Meghan. She said she had showed my Grandma the picture of my bear claws and she said, 'it's beautiful.' Just like that.

Yet another chapter in the family recipe archives made and consumed. I just wish I could still share it with my Grandma.


Lo.


Swiss Steak (serves 2 with leftovers)

1 pound round steak, trimmed and cut into thin slices
1 clove garlic
Flour
Salt, pepper
Bacon drippings
1/2 an onion, chopped
1 cup beef stock 

Preheat the oven to 350 F.

Rub steak pieces with garlic clove. Mix together flour, salt and pepper and cover steak with the mixture. In a medium dutch oven, heat bacon drippings. Brown steak, about 3 minutes per side. Set aside. Add onions and saute until softened, about 5 minutes picking up the browned bits stuck to the pan. Add the stock, then return the steak to the pot.

Roast at 350 F for 2 hours or until the steak is fork tender. Naturally, the juices in the pot should render a gravy that is a pretty perfect, but if you need to, remove the steak from the pot and then reduce over medium high heat until the gravy is thick enough. Serve with mashed potatoes.

***

David Lebovitz' Spinach Souffle (serves 4)

1 bag fresh spinach
1 leek
2 tablespoons butter
Nutmeg
Salt
Chili pepper
3 eggs
1 cup milk
1/4 cup Parmesan 

Use only the light green to white part of the leek. Slice thinly. Fill a bowl of water and swish leek slices around in it to clean. Drain and set aside.

In a medium saute pan, over medium heat, melt butter. Add leeks and saute until soft and transparent, about 10 minutes. Add spinach bit by bit until wilted. During the last batch, add a pinch of fresh nutmeg, chili pepper and salt. (Smell the combination now, heaven!) Set aside and let cool.

When cool, place in food processor with eggs and milk and process until smooth. (There should be green pieces everywhere though.)

Lightly butter four ramekins and fill 3/4 of the way with the spinach mixture. Top with Parmesan cheese. Let settle for 5-10 minutes. Meanwhile, preheat oven to 400 F. Bake for 45 minutes or until you stick a tester in and it comes out clean.

***

Bear Claws (makes 12) 
3/4 cup milk
1/2 cup butter
1/2 cup sugar
1 teaspoon salt 
1/4 teaspoon almond extract or vanilla
2 packets of yeast
2 eggs, beaten
4 1/2 cups flour
2 tablespoons butter, softened

Filling
1/3 cup nuts (I used almonds - if I used vanilla above, I would have used walnuts)
1/4 cup brown sugar
2 tablespoons powdered sugar
1/4 teaspoon almond extract (or is using vanilla and walnuts, cinnamon.)

Icing
1 cup powdered sugar
3 tablespoons milk
1/4 teaspoon almond extract or vanilla

Over medium low heat, warm milk and butter until butter is melted. Cool until lukewarm (about 100 F.) Mix in sugar, salt, almond extract and yeast. Stir well, then let sit for five minutes, until yeast is dissolved.

Stir in eggs.  Add flour in stages, until a dough forms. Knead until smooth and supple. Cover and refrigerate for at least 4 hours or overnight.

Mix together filling. Make sure the 2 tablespoons of butter is soft. On a well floured surface, roll out dough into a long rectangle, about 1/8 inch thick. You might want to break the dough into two pieces and do this twice. Spread butter all over the pastry dough. Then in the central section spread filling evenly. Fold into thirds, like an envelop, encasing the filling. Cut the pastry into about six sections, each about 2 1/2 inches wide. Place them on a bake sheet. Cut slits into each pastry and spread the 'claws' apart so they are shaped like a bear claw (ta da! thus the name.) Repeat with the second piece of dough. Cover claws and let rise until double in size.

Preheat oven to 350 F. Bake for 15-20 minutes or until golden brown on top. Let cool then ice.

Brewday Birthday

Yesterday was one of those days when I particularly wanted to live life like a Barry. Mostly, I just wanted to be with family. I started thinking that I should have told my cousin Ellen to drive out La Grange this weekend instead of last.

Yesterday would have been my Double G's 90th birthday. I think we all thought he was going to make it that long - that we would have a big birthday bash and we would be convincing him to get off his tractor and come, up until the party started.  

As it was, my Grandpa was partying in Heaven, watching down over his family in Pittsburgh, as well as Honolulu, DC, Virginia Beach, New Orleans, and Chicago who were celebrating at mass, by his grave, around the table, in song, dance, and speech, with my grandma and with each other, and of course over Guinness toasts 'to Red.'

In Chicago, Peter and I were having our own version of Red's birthday party - a brewday birthday - the kind of Barryific day that I believe Grandpa would have loved. It started in the early morning, watering the garden, chasing the bunnies away, and tending the tomatoes and peppers. Afterwards, I challenged myself to make something that could readily be found on the breakfast table at 126 East Edgewood - My Grandma's nut roll, with a little twist of Lo. 

We filled both benches around the Brunch table and encouraged a lot of passa passa to go on.

And the sunny afternoon was filled with a lot more outdoor time than indoor, as Peter directed the group to not only make one beer, but two: a bourbon barrel porter and a rauchbier. 

Together, perhaps with a little intervention from Red, we had our first full Brewer and the Bee day, two brews, one historic baked good, five mouths fed, and many memories made for a little one, just like the memories that my cousins and I share of making apple cider with my Grandpa.

Happy birthday, Double G. You are missed beyond words, but you can rest assured that your family continues to do the Barry name proud.

Lo.

A Winter Pairing

Last week, winter finally came to Naperville. We had been experiencing global warming's version of the season throughout December and even into January, but finally, just as the 'we all need a snow day from work,' mentality set it, it snowed. And snowed. Over the past ten days or so, we've had a little bit more than a foot of the white stuff, and Naperville has officially turned into a winter wonderland. The sledders and skaters have returned to their frozen playgrounds. My running routes have become a little more challenging. The bundling up has reached the three and four layer mark. And finally, FINALLY, the geese that I so love to hate, have started to fly South.

Besides the snow, ice and lengthy commutes, there are other signs of winter being in full effect. Peter's dopplebock - the one that we brewed back in the early fall - finished its final fermentation, was carbonated, and then tapped. It's a rich, dark beer, with an almost Scotch-like after taste. And it's amazing - my favorite I think - the perfect antidote for the frigid temperatures.  

The food being produced in our retro kitchen has gone from holiday comfy to completely insulating. Seemingly, I'm in the mood to make and eat something that doesn't just stick to your ribs, but to your hips and thighs every evening. 

And the silence and solitude that tends to settle over the world during a snow storm or during the coldest, dreariest days of winter has arrived. It's the time of year when everyone, including us, has set up camp in their living room, saying, 'I'll see you in the Spring.'

Throughout these winter months it's helpful to have friends and family around to combat the quiet. B.P. (before Peter), when I lived alone in a small South Side apartment and the winters seemed particularly lonely, I would often walk down the street to my sister's apartment to watch a movie with her, or cross the Birmingham Bridge to have dinner with my parents, or snuggle up next to the fire at Soba, equipped with a French Martini and my best friends to fend off the cold. The buddy system helped, but there were still nights when the winter seemed particularly depressing.  

This year I have a roommate again. And more than that, I have family, a best friend, and a bartender in house. And I feel like I'm part of a perfect winter pairing. It took a while to find, and it took some failed attempts. But in the end, just as the Dopplebock made it through several mismatches and finally found the perfect pairing in a plate of Moules et Frites last night, I found mine in Peter. Et il sera merveilleux et chaleur.

Lo. 

La Recette. 
Moules
1 1/2 pounds mussels
2 tablespoons butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 large shallot minced
3 cloves garlic minced
1/2 cup shaved fennel
Sprig of thyme
2 1/2 cups dry white wine
Salt, pepper

In large soup pot, melt butter with olive oil. Add shallot, garlic and fennel and saute for three minutes. Add white wine, lemon juice and thyme. Bring to a boil and cook for 5-7 minutes until liquid is slightly reduced. Add mussels and steam for 3-5 minutes or until the shells open. Discard any mussels whose shells have not opened. Serve with crusty bread.

Et Frites
2 Russet Potatoes
Oil
Salt

Heat three to four inches of oil in Dutch Oven. Slice potatoes into french fry shaped slices. Working in batches, fry for 7-10 minutes or until golden brown in oil. Set on paper towel to drain. Salt. Serve immediately.

The Brewer's Bock

Around midnight last night, after manning the most central post at the registration desk at my organization's annual fundraising gala; judging each and every dress that walked by me; winning the self-designed registration throughput competition; handing out awards on stage; and finally, snickering with my co-workers about the creepy guy stroking his wife's back as Richard Marx sang "Right Here Waiting for You," I arrived home. But ... not to our atomic ranch. To our brewery. And not to Peter, the banker. To Peter, the brewer. The garage smelled like the deep fryer, the kitchen like hot sauce. (hmm ... chicken wings). The Boss Cruiser was in the middle of the garage waiting to tell me about all the adventures it had been on today with Peter. The Brew like a Monk, Clone Brews, and Brewer's Bible books were off the shelf and ear marked for tomorrow's chemistry. The yeast was rising. And my little brewer was asleep on the couch, hoppily dreaming.

The opening of the cookie jar, the unavoidable noise of biscotti eating, and the laborious face washing needed to remove the stage make-up shellacked to my face woke him up. Groggily, he told me about his big doppelbock plans tomorrow, and I agreed once again to be his brewnette. 

To marry Peter, was to marry a brew master - to inherit a garden lined with hops and a basement full of specialized brewing equipment. It meant that I only had room to shelve two collections of varietal specific wine glasses, because he needed the rest of the shelving for his collections of stout, porter, ale, pilsner, and Belgian glasses. It meant that I needed to include every issue of Zymurgy that ever was in my attempt to categorize and organize the mountainous library of books and periodicals that we have accumulated. It meant that I had to accept shopping dates to the Brewing part of Brew and Grow. It meant that we would always have a home brew or two on tap, and that every other month, we would dedicate a Saturday or Sunday to brewing.

So today. We brewed.

Well, Peter did most of the brewing, while I observed, learned a little more, guessed how many degrees the concoction was at various temperature reading parts of the process, and documented the different steps.

After five hours of brewing, we (he) created the first phase of a doppelbock - a malty, hearty, dark beer that monks used to drink during their Lenten fast as a meal replacement of sorts.

And while he created, I embraced what a brewing day meant for me. Time to hang out with the brewer - to talk and laugh with him. Time to read - and how fitting, I'm reading the Brussels Chapter of Neither Here Nor There by Bill Bryson. Time to go for a run. (Or two.) Time to update the scrap book. And time to plan the warming menus that will accompany the Bock this winter after its finished its fermentation.

The bock is resting now. And so is its brewer. And while I figure out dinner tonight, something that will go with the Belgian Wit that was tapped as I typed, I can confirm once again, that this is the place, both physically and mentally, that makes me happiest.

Lo.

Missed, but Made-Up

The vagrant teens, awkward tweens, and tiny tots of Naperville are back in school, which means several things:

• My morning run has an elevated danger level due to newly licensed high school students 
• The morning commute is about 10 minutes longer due to frequent bus blocks and back-ups
• And the morning conversations in Starbucks have shifted from packing children for summer camp, to prioritizing after-school activities.  

Naperville and its child-centered culture never ceases to amaze me. Kids rule in just about every sense of the word, and their parental supervision-less presence is everywhere: PDA-ing down the river walk, bicycling in packs down the street, posing like Beiber with their Beiber-esque hairdos at the skateboard park, and just hanging out on every last inch of every last block of the downtown area. But, even with the freedoms and confidence that I lacked as a child, their parents still hold the reins on one thing - their after school activities. And one amazing thread seems to dominate this conversation - that mom doesn't have time for her kids to do everything. So the consensus is to let the kids pick one or maybe two things to do.

Really? One thing?
Yeah right.
I'm thinking - With three kids, demanding full-time jobs, involvement on boards, committees, and councils, and a staunch commitment to fitness and nutrition, my parents had a lot on their plates. However, every school year, we were encouraged to do it all. And we took full advantage of that. We were all Renaissance kids - experimenting and excelling on the fields, courts, keys, stages, and studios.

My parents enabled our participation - they chauffeured us, outfitted us, and cheered us on, never missing a game, performance, exposition, or experiment. And if one of them couldn't be there, the other one was, making up for the lack of the other parent with claps and cheers that were louder than all the PTA moms combined. Whether it was my mom or dad that missed the event, he or she always felt bad about it and wanted to make up for it.

I'm certain it took personal sacrifice and stress at times, but they wanted their kids to experience life to the fullest. And let me tell you, bouncing from field hockey, to piano, to jazz, to tap, to the theater, made it full (and a whole lot better than just hanging out.)

To this day, my parents encourage us to do it all, and they still show up to cheer us on everywhere at just about everything we do.

I thought this characteristic, especially after hearing the yummy mummies grunt about going to baseball games and art shows, was unique to my family. That is, until I met Peter's friend, Tom. And then I met Tom's wife, Tia. They are a pair, that embrace life and all of its excitement as much as my parents. They do it all, and never, ever want to miss a good thing.

So when Tom missed Peter's 80-foot Lake Cumberland houseboat bachelor party - a party that if you are as odd as my fiance and his groomsman was unmissable - he was bummed. So like my parents, he felt that he had to make up for it in some way.

This weekend, Tom and Tia (TNT), joined forces with Brendan and Margaret (of Best Day Ever fame), and turned a stormy Saturday into the Best Day Ever part 2. After an 18 mile run on the lakefront and breakfast at Uncommon Ground, we were crowned with trucker hats, whisked away in a mini van, and sent off to do some micro brewery research, all while being cheered on all day long by the fun-loving group.

 We stopped for tours and tastings at Flossmor Station and Three Floyds.

And capped the day off with charades and probably one too many rounds at Revolution Brewery.

It's Monday morning and I'm feeling really blessed to not only have family members, but great friends that will always be there to make sure Peter and I lead the Best Life Ever.

Lo.

The Nice-To-Do List

As The Early Riser, I get an early morning glimpse of the Twittersphere. What's interesting is that the trending tweets around 5:30 AM, don't usually promote the day ahead, rather they tend to be ill thoughts of the night before. #Insomia, #cantsleep, #upallnight, or #a-variation-of-nocturnal-cursing climb to the top of the charts, and my perky early morning attitude isn't very well accepted by the disgruntled, fatigued set. 

As an utlra-slumberer - someone who crashes hard and sleeps soundly through the night - I never have anything to add to the conversations springing up around #insomniacsunite. They have made me start to think though - why is everyone having such a hard time falling and staying asleep?

My conclusion, based on my own me-marketing, is that everyone has too much to do, they're mad about giving up their nice-to-dos, and they're not getting anything done, because they are too busy connecting with other people all night long who are equally stressed out about their productivity levels.

See in life, there are to-dos and then there are nice-to-dos. The to-dos are the things that you have to get done in order to:

• Move your projects along at work
• So you can get paid
• And hopefully promoted
• Keep a roof over your head
• Keep your car on the road
• Follow the law and stay out of jail
• Receive positive feedback from your parents 
• And make sure your fiance is actually your spouse come September 3

These things tend to take a lot of paperwork, tedious task-mastering, financial draining, and headache. I tend to hate to-dos. In fact, I quickly removed the "To Do List" tab from my blog, because staring at that stuff was depressing.

Then there are the nice-to-dos - the things that actually make us who we are. They help us build our relationships, differentiate us from the other applicants and ensure we get the job, enable us to think outside the box, and make our family and friends happy that they know us. Nice-to-dos don't need lists, because they're always top of mind, ready to get done.  Mine go something like this: 

• Contributing to my blog
• Running. And running. And running
• Ogling Smitten Kitchen and trying out her recipes
• Spending time with family and friends
• Learning the ways of the Brewer and plotting pairings
• Keeping my fiance happy, healthy and well-fed so come September 3 he'll be my satisfied spouse

The stress and sleepless nights come when we don't create a balance between the to-dos and the nice-to-dos. We need both every day. I know what it's like to have a job that's all to-dos - there wasn't room left in the budget for the nice-to-dos. And I know what it's like to have a personal to-do list that leaves no time for the good stuff. BUT I've committed to stressing less about the to-dos, and investing more in the nice-to-dos everyday - to leave the majority of the to-dos at work, and bring the nice-to-dos home with me - to check, check, check off the to-dos without over-thinking them, and thinking more about the nice-to-dos because they're the things that last.

Yes, I have a crap load to do right now. But I'm not losing sleep over it. Tomorrow, I'll check the program, agenda, and itinerary off the list. But Fourth of July weekend is about the nice-to-dos, and that's what I'm proud to say I did all weekend long.

What's being done right now ... the strawberry summer cakes are cooling - one for me, one for Ellie, and one for Lyla.

I'm brewnette-ing a Witbier with Peter. ("White beer"- a Belgian wheat)

I'm making Kiki drive out to the burbs for Fourth of July lemon-basil martinis, andouille burgers, rainbow slaw and fireworks. 

Oh and #Imblogging ...

Lo.