The Last Day

The winds are blowing with a vengeance this evening in Tortolla. It's fitting I guess. They are hear to blow out 2011 and bring in 2012. And I'm sure they will do it as rapidly as the year went by. I honestly don't know where it went, but in a few short hours, it will be over. And I will only be left with its memories. It's many, many sweet memories.

And while I simultaneously type and think of what Neon creation I will sport this evening for the Neon themed New Year's party organized by our friends and hosts extraordinaire, TnT, I'm reminiscing and of course, getting a little sentimental. I'll spare myself the tears, but I did think it fitting, especially since I did it last year, to count down the blessings of another amazing year gone by too fast.

In a particular order, here are my top ten favorite memories of 2011. 

10. Watching the sunset on 2011 in Tortolla. (Sorry to tease, but Peter said it best today while we were boating from the dock to the snorkeling cove, it's like paradise.)

9. Moving into the ranch, and making Peter's house our home. And decorating it for Christmas.

8. Christmas in Chicago.

7. Maui Wowie and learning how to 'live aloha.'

6. The Vegas bachelorette weekend.

5. Running my second Chicago Marathon and beating my time whilst having the flu.

4. Dinner Dates, new menus, and having fun with amazing cookware every night at the ranch.

3. My nieces. Enough said.

2. The honeymoon. In particular for me, the first night we spent dining and walking through the magic of Monte Carlo.

1. Obviously, the best day ever. Getting dressed, walking down the aisle, saying 'I Do,' dancing the night away, and living happily ever after.

And one to grow on ... the fact that 2011 was without a bad day. 

Lo.

Slow and Low Pork Chops

This will be brief. Basically, I was obsessed with how last night's dinner turned out and felt the need to share the images and recipe. The secrets - two ingredients that I had at one point sworn off.

1. Pork Chops. That entree that Meredith ordered along with a Miller Light when I took her to Alain Ducasse's MIX in Vegas in 2005. It came in a mini crock pot and out-performed all the rest of our entrees, leading me to believe that perhaps I should give the chop a chance.

2. Bacon Fat. Peter's go to 'it makes all food taste better' special sauce. The substance that is probably blocking my arteries as I type, but that seriously does do wonders.

The recipe - very (VERY) easy.

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees.

Buy thick cut pork chops - I got mine at Casey's in Naperville. Lean mean machines of protein.

Thinly slice an onion, chop three to four cloves of garlic.

Salt, pepper and sage the pork chops well. Cut a big slit in the pork chops creating a pocket. Stuff an onion slice in each as well as one clove of chopped garlic.

Brown chops on both sides in about 1 tablespoon of bacon fat. About four minutes per side.

Add about 3/4 cup of chicken stock and a 1/2 cup Grand Marnier. Bring to a boil. Surround chops with chiffonaded kale and the rest of the sliced onions and garlic. Cover the dutch oven and roast for 2 hours at 325 degrees.

Wait for it ...

Remove from the oven and serve with garlic mashed potatoes.

I'm telling you - if there was ever a New Year's good luck pork chop recipe, this is it.
To Tortolla.
Lo.

The 4th Day of Christmas

On the 1st day of Christmas I was feasting, imbibing and giving gifts to loved ones, fluttering with excitement in anticipation of their reaction.

On the second day of Christmas I was at the movies, playing with my new Christmas toys, and out to dinner with the family.

On the third day of Christmas, my parents, sister and Sydney left the ranch, I had to go back to work, and I got a headache.

On the fourth day of Christmas I nearly launched my alarm across the room, pulled the covers over my head and retaliated - played hooky from work - drifted back to sleep so I could continue dreaming of my novel super power to rewind life, returning to the 23rd when Christmas had yet to begin.

Christmas is actually supposed to be a twelve-day celebration, yet on the 26th, Light FM stops playing Christmas carols, the window displays suddenly feature Valentine's Day themed merchandise, you witness the sad tossing of the first round of Christmas trees to the curb, and all the people that were over for the party, go home. It is all very sad to me, and even sadder when I factor in the thought that Baum's days are limited.

There were years past when I had similar symptoms of post Christmas Day depression - a condition that was first discovered by my Aunt Dee back in say, '83. It's the kind of feeling that continues to choke you up when you least expect it, tapping into your stock pile of tears. I had a bad case of it in the middle of a hallway at St. Edmund's in fifth grade, another one in a bathroom stall at Ellis during freshman year, and yet another one mid-500 yard sprint in Loftus during junior year of college. This year it hit on the I-88 commute, yesterday morning, right after I said goodbye to my family. Tears streamed down my face at the thought of returning home in the evening and not having my sister and Sydney there to go for a walk.

In an effort to deduce why the fourth day of Christmas blues hit me harder than they have in a long time, especially when I'm a mere two days away from another amazing party in the British Virgin Islands, I tried to think and write it out this morning. And came across both the reason and my means for overcoming it.

This year, as I had done in fifth grade, freshman year of high school and junior year of college, I gave Christmas giving my all - I put my heart, soul and bonus into making Christmas special, big, epic for others. I cooked, baked, colored, trimmed, decorated, and wrapped some of the most memorable gifts I had ever purchased or made. Then, with pomp and circumstance I gave them away. Now, I'm out of gifts. There isn't one left under the tree and I have to wait a whole year to give again.

Or do I? Cue the solution ... Why is it that we save all the big gifts - all our big hugs - all our special meals for Christmas and a couple other holidays? Why can't we (I) keep giving everyone our all throughout the year, especially since it makes us so happy? My pre-New Year's resolution - to keep the Christmas spirit, giving, peace, joy, and feting in my heart and in my actions every day.

I started last night when I kept on cooking like Christmas. The smile came back.

Today, I continued to give like Christmas. One big gift for our ranch. Big smile came back.

Tomorrow, I'll keep on loving like Christmas. I predict absolute happiness.

And on Friday, on the sixth day of Christmas, I'll be partying like Christmas once more in Tortolla. Joy.

Lo.

Seven

In the past seven years, I've had seven addresses - seven places that I've attempted to render into limited engagement home sweet homes for myself. I've split time between the midwest and the mid-atlantic. I've squeezed into 600 square feet, and I've spread out in three-story houses. I've been a single tenant, and I've had roommates ranging from rowdy to reserved to downright reclusive. Of the seven, I have wanted nothing more than to move out and move on from six of them, in search of a place in life figuratively and literally that I could tell my friends and family to ink into their contact lists. And then there was the unexpected one among the seven that rose to the occasion.

A couple months ago, when I made the move down Washington, down Benton and into Peter's house, our house, I was expecting that within a year's time we would be moving again. This pristine artifact of retroland, in the exurbs of Chicago complete with keg-orator and saltwater aquarium couldn't possibly be it for us newlyweds. But I believe that in this most unexpected residence I have found my more permanent address.

Although the home sweet home sentiment was mounting throughout December, it became more or less conclusive as Peter ladled clam chowder, the fourth of our seven course fish dinner, into the last of the soup bowls on Christmas Eve. And as I took my seat at the head of the table set for eleven.

Truly, it was this Christmas, through the help of Baum, some new curtains, a daily game of musical furniture set to Christmas carols, the arrival of Moms, Dads, sisters, brothers, grandmas, cousins and dogs, the celebration of Christmas at our parish, the ultimate seven-fish feast, gift exchanges, hearty laughter, a couple tears, and the hearts of this ranch that seem to get closer and closer every day, that I have felt more at home than I have in a very long time.

And it was on Christmas Day, around another beautifully adorned dinner table, surrounded by my extended family, before I took my first bite of turkey, that I toasted to the atomic ranch and to finding home. And although there were jeers at my sappy sentiment, there were also expressions shining with happiness.

Apparently, the story was already written, but my Christmas card wish might just have come true - this was one of the best Christmases ever. And the text and images are coming to you this morning live from my iPad.

Lo.

Best Cookie Tray Ever

I'm on a very tight prep time line right now - There are seven fishes on a menu for eleven tonight, and there are several process points that need to be covered before 10:00 AM. But before I rouse the landlocked fisherman to pick up the order under 'S' at Whole Foods, I've got a little time to write. Especially, since I've made it 90% of the way toward checking off the sweet part of the prep list.
 
As you might have read, throughout December I've been practicing the recipes and techniques that will make a very storied cookie tray for our first Christmas as husband and wife - one that encompasses a little bit of each side of our growing family.

Growing up, we became masters of Grandma F.'s recipes, and making her cookies was always the first item on our culinary checklist for Christmas. We would start on the 21st or 22nd and day by day, work our way through each of her handwritten recipes, storing them in tins when we were finished, creating a mountain of metal in the corner of our kitchen. On Christmas Eve, the nearly dozen varietals of Christmas cookie that geometrically filled every space on the big Lenox Christmas Tree platter brought the Midwest and my Dad's side of the family to our annual celebration in Pittsburgh.

That tray was the pride of us kids and was the one-man show on Christmas Eve. Each cookie would be lauded and celebrated for perfection that seemed to outdo itself each year. On Christmas Day though, our tray met two, three, and in more recent years, five or six other cookie trays that represented my Mom's side of the family and my other Grandma's recipes: Nut rolls, mint chip cookies topped with maraschino cherries, crescent cookies, apricot cake, and sandwich cookies. Christmas dessert was always a smorgasbord of miniature sweets that brought back the richest kind of memories. 
 
This year, I've been presented with a challenge - To recreate that smorgasbord in Naperville, without the Aunts who are so adept at covering the Barry territory, and then add two more sides of the family to the equation. (Good thing the Jurviches got me a three tiered cookie tray.) The solutions though. Practice. And recruiting help.

Practice - check. Help - it came. My sister and parents arrived in Naperville yesterday, and together we baked the afternoon away in a kitchen that both Grandmas would have been at home in.

Simultaneously, in two other kitchens, more help. Peter's Mom was making her memorable recipes, and Peter's Oma was making her German specialties - cookies that I've been known to eat four or five of. The result this evening will be the sweetest cookie tray ever.

(My sister wanted me to show that I did end of screwing up some of the nut rolls. She referred to these as turds.)

As a marketer, I know the value of sampling though. So yesterday evening, I used Facebook and one of the best parties of the year as ways to get some initial feedback. I posted a photo of the Hello Dollies to stir some sentiment and my cousins started a dialogue about twenty comments deep about their favorite Grandma cookies and which ones they were each contributing to create their own storied Christmas trays this year. Then I took a plate to Cousin Bob's house for dinner - legend from Jeanne is that his favorite are date bars ... but he never gave me the thumbs up last night. Bob? Waiting ...

To the fishes ...
Lo.