Certified Sailing Geniuses

    The Big Guy and I have had an on going love affair with the Caribbean for more than 20 years, so we decided to take the plunge and sign up for sailing lessons.  We got the sailing manuals and Big, being the over achiever that he is, immediately began studying, even pulling all-nighters, as if he were a college student and it was finals week.

       “Why aren’t you studying the sailing books?” he would ask me every time he saw me with my nose in a cookbook.  I pooh-poohed the need to read the manuals, telling him that I intended to just wing it once we got there.  I also reminded him that it was him who wanted to learn to sail.  I really only wanted hang out on the boat with a glass of wine and enjoy the sunset.  Yes, I did want to know how to turn the thing around so I could get back to shore, in the event that he should accidently fall overboard.  The thought of drifting aimlessly out to sea and being forced to survive by sneaking up on seagulls, or by having to use my bra to scoop fish up from the ocean floor, was something that did not appeal to me.  I mean, who was going to shake my martini?

We flew to CA and met Captain Jon at the Pacific Sailing Yacht Club and began a week of classes that I don’t think most landlubbers could have comprehended.  We were naturals!  I mean… like…certified sailing geniuses!  We didn’t need no stinkin motor on our boat!  Then we left the dock.

Excuse me!—the sailing class that I signed up for was the one where I would get to wear the cute cover-up, sunglasses and big straw sun hat.  I could almost see my pedicured toes dipping into the warm waters, while a crisp Pinot Grigio chilled in an ice bucket.  I must have gotten on the wrong boat because hoisting sails, cranking winches and tying knots was not the sailing Army that I had joined.

     Being the trooper that I am, I put on my newly purchased, water-proof wind breaker (not an item of clothing that I had anticipated needing! {plus it's against my better fashion sense to wear a matchy-matchy outfit with my husband}), my borrowed gloves (ditto), and saluted as I asked permission to board the Titanic.  The Big Guy smiled at me; I recognized the “you can do this look”, in his eyes.  I gave him a smile and a stink eye and he recognized the “you’re so dead look”, in mine.

      We practiced stopping the sailboat in the middle of the ocean (who knew you could do that?), then we practiced rescuing the man overboard (I no longer needed to know that), and we tacked and jibed, and luffed. We broad reached and close hauled and heeled over. All without killing each other.  Then we took our solo voyage and Captain Big was as cool as a hippie on hash as he sailed us back into the harbour and right into a slip a few down from ours.  We passed our tests and now have the paper to prove that, yes, we really are certified sailing geniuses! 
     By the end of the week nobody had fallen overboard and nobody had to catch fish in their bra!  So… now I am ready to test the waters—certificate in one hand and a cool glass of wine in the other…ahhh, now that's the sailing Army that I signed up for!

Sicilian Tuna--This is a quick and easy recipe for tuna.  If I ever find myself alone at sea and catching tuna with my bra, I would make this dish.  It has only a few ingredients, which can be found on most sail boats.  Go to the "Recipes" tab at the top of this page to view it.  Call me after you make it and let me know if you love it!

Who You Calling A Crazy Dog Lady?

      I’ve heard the whispers and I’ve seen the looks. A raised eyebrow here, a smirk there. Yeah, so maybe I’ve been called a Crazy Dog Lady, like once or ten times.

      I won’t deny it—I love my dog. If you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Elvis Parsley you’d understand why. Not only is he ruggedly handsome, he is a Lothario, who can charm the socks off a Shiatsu. Bitches love him, and he’s got the T-shirt to prove it!

     If you’ve ever seen him riding around in his Juicy Bag or wearing his white jumpsuit with gold lame, you may have jumped to the conclusion that he’s a sissy dog.  I completely understand how one might assume that, but I’m here to tell you that he is all male and he does all the manly man things that males do. He scratches himself and doesn’t’ care who’s watching, he pees in the shower and sometimes he even leaves a turd for me to find, just because he’s proud of it. And yes, he smokes after…you know what.

     Elvis is a jet setter and has travelled the world with me. He has ridden a horse and a Harley, flown in a helicopter, and sailed the Caribbean. The El Man has been to Mexico more times than the Taco Bell Chihuahua.

     I swear I just don’t know where he gets it, but Elvis is a food snob.  He loves eating out and has been under the tables of more fine dining establishments than a $100 hooker in Vegas. Spago, Emerils, and Mortons, just to name a few.  While The Big Guy and I like to nosh on everything from steak to sushi, the Little Man is all about the chicken! Chicken is doggy dope and Elvie gets high on chicken!

     So I ask you, does putting clothes on my dog make me crazy? Nooo. Carrying him around in my purse? No way!  Does signing up to be his kidney donor, should he ever need one, make me a teensy bit wacko? Not in the least. Putting him in my will? Not even. Does admitting that I would be willing to chew his food for him (only if medically necessary), make me looney tunes? I think not. We are talking about The King here! So relax, I am not, I repeat, NOT a Crazy Dog Lady!  But…if you hear me making an appointment for him to get a tummy tuck and a tail lift…well then, call in the guys with the white jackets. I’ll be waiting right here, with a cup of kibble on my plate.

Elvis’ favorite chicken dinner is Chicken Parmesan and it's one of mine too.  This recipe is one that Mario shared with me the last time he was over for dinner. (You know, that amatuer, little chef...Batali)  Go to the "Beef-Pork-Chicken" tab of the top of this page to view it.  The Dogs will come running--I promise!  

The Amazing Easter Race

       My daughters are adults (by default) because they fall into that "over twenty" category, but they are still giddy children when it comes to Easter! Weeks before the holiday even gets here they start quizzing me about what the Easter Bunny has planned. They drop hints about chocolate and marshmallow and eggs, like a rabbit drops...well, droppings. Yes children, there is an Easter Bunny and she has plans!

      The Amazing Easter Race, complete with cryptic clues, tasks and even a road block was this years event. The chillins were as excited as if they were actually going around the world and not just to the barn and back.

       To begin with, teams (Sierra and Aaron, who we will refer to as “Team Loser” and Savannah and Eliza, aka “Team Winner”) had to find a needle in the haystack, do a blind candy bar tasting, a puzzle and follow a series of clues that involved using a compass, running a three-legged race and deciphering clues. Team Loser may have known their candy bars but lost the race in the end when they struggled trying to put a jigsaw puzzle together. To be fair, the puzzle was a 100 piecer, so that probably explains why they couldn't get it. Team Winner worked diligently and completed the puzzle that led them to the laundry chute and the million dollars! Ok, so it wasn't a million bucks, but $25 at the Olive Garden was almost as exciting.

       I fired up the soft serve machine that morning and managed to get a ham, turkey, a couple of salads and other fixins on the table, so after the race we all sat down to an Easter feast.
      Still in the competitive mode and being a bit of a sore loser, Sierra suggested an ice cream eating contest. Shane and Eliza took the bait; Sierra's evil grin screamed SUCKERS!!! Shane and Eliza talked smack while Sierra got her game face on. If there are two things I know, it's don't get into mud wresting match with a pig and don't get into an ice cream eating contest with Sierra!
       I dished up one pound of ice cream apiece and gave them the go. While Eliza was busy stirring hers into a soup, Sierra sucked down the entire bowl! Shane barely left the starting gate as a toothache and brain freeze stopped him cold after only a few bites. Sierra barely got to gloat, as she immediately headed outside to purge over the side of the deck.
     We wrapped up the day with Bananas Foster and soft serve. Next year—Survivor Easter!

The official, genuine recipe for Bananas Foster dates back to 1951 and is from Brennan's Restaurant in New Orleans, which is the originator of this classic dessert.   Go to the "Desserts" tab at the top of this page to view it and then go straight to the kitchen and make it!