In Memory of Dad

It was 1 year ago today that my dad passed away. Following is an excerpt of a tribute that I gave at his memorial service. 

  Dad, I miss you everyday.

When I was kid I thought my dad was invincible. He was my hero, and in my eyes he was bulletproof and I always felt safe with him. During those early years we spent a lot of time together; mostly on horseback. I could count on him to rescue me when I was on a runaway horse and he was there to take the slack out of my rope when a waspy cow ran up it. He spent countless hours taking my head loops off the roping dummy and later off of real cattle. He was my team roping partner back in the days when most men didn’t want to rope with a girl. 

     I trusted him so much that there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do if he told me to. I recall a lot of things I didn’t particularly want to do, like being the first one to climb on some young horse that he had snubbed up to his own. “No” was not a word I had ever learned to say to my dad. Unless of coarse the question was “do you want me to kick your ass?”

     Dad taught me life lessons…like to let out the clutch…slowly, and how to handle a rope and a gun; to look on the shady side of a tree for morel mushrooms and where to find asparagus on the river banks. Thanx to him I can operate power tools, a PTO, a calf puller, a wire stretcher and a pressure cooker.

     My Dad was the most generous person that I have ever known. I have seen him give whatever he had in his pocket to a complete stranger or pay for a dinner for someone on a barstool, when he barely had the money to pay for his own.  He was charitable to begging people and begging dogs.

     Dad’s wit was quick and his tongue was sharp. He could cut you with a look and you could lose an argument to him without even opening your mouth. There was no out smart-assing him and he was not someone who you wanted to play a game of chicken with.

     Dad had a knack for turning a serious matter into a trivial one. Like the time I fell off my horse in the barrel racing and cracked my head open on the tail gate of a pickup. I was only unconscious for about a minute and my head did quit bleeding after a couple of hours so I probably really didn’t need medical attention anyway. 

    I have never known my dad to tell a lie. Not even a little white one. He was brutally honest, and he always spoke the truth. At least the truth as he saw it. Example: The first time that Larry had dinner with my family my mother served pancakes and eggs. Well, Larry HATES eggs and I had forgotten to tell mom that. She cooked him two and Larry politely took one, when the plate was passed. As the meal was about finished, dad handed Larry the plate with the one egg left on it and said, “here Larry, this is your egg.” Larry said, “no thanx Gary, I really don’t eat that much”. Dad looked at him for about 2 seconds, still offering the plate and said “You lying bastard, look at the size of you. You can’t tell me you don’t eat much.”  He was NOT a man that you wanted to ask, “do these pants make my butt look big?”

     Dad’s advice was always bankable. I knew I could count on him to give me his honest opinion and he could always make me look at the big picture in life. I was 18 years old when I met Larry and as I was packing my bags to run off with him in a Kenworth truck, I asked Dad, “Any words of advice?” “Yeah”, he said, “for 5 bucks you can marry him and own half that of truck”. I hadn’t thought about it that way, but I gotta admit, it’s working out pretty well…so far.

     My Dad was a patient man and never complained when he was the one stuck driving me from Pompey’s to Billings, to the doctor every single day for 2 months, while I was pregnant with Savannah. Years later when I would go to see him in ID, we would sometimes spend the whole afternoon driving around, me going to the grocery store, the pet store, the kitchen store, the potato store, all while he waited patiently in the pickup, never once rushing me or never asking “what took you so long?”

     Dad was old school and mostly resistant to what he considered to be modern day influences, which he felt would surely corrupt the kids—like “DAY CARE”, for example. When I talked about putting Sierra in daycare he poo-poohed, the idea, reminding me that we never went to day care and that it was just “a bunch of bullshit anyway”. He could “babysit” Sierra, he told me. Well, his idea of babysitting and mine were not entirely one and the same. It mostly meant that Sierra ate what, when and if she felt like it, didn’t have to take a nap, didn’t get her butt wiped, and generally spent the day with the dogs, trotting behind dad’s horses. And loving every single minute of it.

     He was a prankster, once putting a dead snake in Sierra’s sleeping bag while she was camping with him. He also told Sierra and Dustin that they would get warts from the horny toads that they had carted home on horseback and had shoved down their shirts and pants, as a means to carry them. The only prevention, he told them was if they rubbed fresh cow shit on any places that the toads had touched them. He watched and laughed at them, as they stripped down to their underwear and followed an old cow around the corral, waiting to get the “cure”.

     Dad was a loving grandfather and with him the kids experienced life in a fascinating way that most kids would never know. There were wagon train rides and camping trips. They cooked rattlesnake over a camp fire and went on questionable hunting trips, ones that usually involved a spot light. They had to “earn” their “Indian names”, which he ceremoniously bestowed upon them. Sierra was happy to be known as “Straight Arrow”, after having earned the name when she became a dead eye with the bow and arrows that her Grandpa had made for her. Savannah was busting with pride when she finally earned hers a short time later. One day she announced to me that Grandpa had finally given her her Indian name—Spills A Lot.

When dad napped the kids would unsnap his shirt and shoot spit wads at him in a game they had made up, called Belly Ball. The kids had the times of their lives with the man they called “Grandpa Coyote”.
     My Dad wasn’t always good with words or praise but he knew how to convey his feeling through his actions. When I was young, it was little things, like saddling my horse for me, adjusting a tie-down or checking my cinch before I rode in the box. As an adult, it was things like making dinner for me and having it ready and waiting when I got to his house in ID. Or making sure he had ½ & ½ on hand, because he knew I drank it in my morning coffee. Calling me “kiddo” and holding my hand for a little too long, as I was getting ready to leave. It was in those gestures that I knew of his love.
     My dad was someone that you knew you could always count on to be himself. His sense of humor was wicked and his word was golden. He was a man who said what he meant and meant what he said. He didn’t change his mind or his opinion.  What you saw with him was what you got and he made no apologies for often being politically incorrect. I appreciate that about him and I loved the fact that he was true to himself to the end.

     Even in his last hours, he joked with the doctor, telling him, and I quote, “I don’t like that god-damn Obama and if he’s gonna be the President, well I just don’t want to live anymore."

     Dad made friends for life and for these past several years, dad has been my friend.  I showed up at his house about every other month with a cooler full of food and then spent 5 or 6 days cooking for him and doting on him. We talked about all the old places that we had lived and the people we knew in those places. He often talked about his Grandpa & Grandma Wyman, regaling me with stories of his childhood and the antics of those naughty Wyman cousins. 

     Dad truly loved the western way of life and admired the men who lived it and loved it as he did. Over prime rib and box wine we reminisced about old relatives, old friends, old dogs and old horses. I was his drinking buddy, who cooks.

     I have a message saved on my cell phone, the last one he left me, which was on March 11th of this year…my 50th birthday.  He called me early in the morning, while I was still in denial about my age and hiding under the covers. He said that I had lived 18,250 days and that every day that I had brought somebody a little sunshine, and that I had “did good”. He wanted to know if I had it “figured out yet…if my tank was half full or half empty.”  Well, I don’t know if I’ll ever figure him out, but I do know that I am thankful to have had him in my life for 50 years.
     I know that he did the best he could for us with what he had. I know that he loved us all, that he worshipped my mother and cherished his grandkids. I know that him and mom are finally together again and for that I am at peace. I know that I will miss him always and I know that he is still my hero.

I hope the grass in greener on the other side,
and He's got good horses to ride.

Gary L. Grimm 

March 4, 1940 ~ April 21, 2010

Paisley's Men

I never had a grandfather in my life, but I have witnessed the effect that they have on their grandchildren.  The Big Guy was extremely close to his grandpa; a wonderful, silver haired man in lace up boots and inky-blue bib overalls. When The Big Guy was just a Little Guy, he taught him about farming, tractors, land, auctions, and how to strike a good deal. He also helped him buy his first truck. It has been more than 20 years ago since he passed away, but to this day, Big still starts a lot of his sentences with, “My grandpa used to…” These are life lessons that are embedded so deep within him that they can never be forgotten.

When I see Paisley and The Big Guy together I am reminded of how important grandfathers are. I already know that he will teach her to drive a backhoe, tie a bowline and shift a 13 speed transmission. His big hands are the ones that will never spank her. They are the ones that will lift her up on horse or into the cab of a semi. They will wrap around her to steady a rifle that’s pointed at a pop can and they will help her open countless candy and ice cream bars.

Paisley is blessed enough to have four grandfathers who will leave an imprint on her. When she is a toddler her arms will reach up to Grandpa Kim so she can be picked up to see over an arena fence or a sea of cowboy hats.

As a little girl, her small fingers will meet up with crooked ones as they wrap around a golf club so Grandpa Joe can show her how to putt. She will hand him the wrong golf club for the wrong hole but he will take the shot anyway, knowing that she doesn't know the difference between a wood and a 9 iron. 

Later, her small hands won’t be able to stop themselves from pressing a shiny, cool rock to her cheek as she becomes fascinated by her Grandpa Pete’s polished rocks. The same rocks will fill pockets and then later find their way into the washing machine, for which Granpa Pete will take the blame. 

They will curve around the steering wheel of a truck, a boat or some other big piece of equipment, as she sits on the lap of her Grandpa Big and recklessly spins it one direction, then the other. When she is older she will hold the elbow of all these men and help to steady them as they make their way up or down stairs, a hall, a church or a short sidewalk. These men will be wrapped around her finger.

Besides her daddy, these four men will be the most important men in her life for at least the first decade of it. The imprint she leaves on their lives will be like a good scar—the kind that makes you smile at the recollection of how you earned it; a permanent reminder of a joyride taken in years gone by.
     If you are fortunate enough to still have a grandfather in your life, call him or go give him a hug.

This is Rachel Ray's recipe for "Grandpa's Braised Beef." I personally have not made this recipe, but it's looks like Sunday dinner at the grandparents house. Go to the "Recipes" tab at the top of this page to view it.  

It's The Least We Could Do

When you own a boat and spend the winter sailing in the Caribbean it's no surprise to find that you have a lot of friends. Our friends, the Langfields, who liked us before we even owned a boat, came down and spent 10 days sailing with us. They actually like us so much that they now want to move to the islands so they can hang out with us all winter. We fully support this wise decision so this was the perfect opportunity to help then in their search for an island home. To give them a proper introduction to the islands, we took them to all of our favorite spots so they could experience what it is that we love about this place. Really, it's the least we could do. 

      From Francis Bay to Anegada we sailed, swam, snorkeled, and soaked up the sun. We also fine-dined on Virgin Gorda , ate the worst fish tacos ever at Saba Rock, endulged in the huge Anegada lobsters, and had some pretty wonderful Pad Thai at Rhumb Lines.  When we weren't eating, we spent most of those ten days in the water. We swam with turtles while snorkeling at Norman Island, saw absolutely nothing while diving at the Playground and splashed in the bubbling pool at Jost.

     We ran bow to stern and side to side, squealing like kids as four dolphins entertained us with their shenanigans when they spent about five minutes swimming alongside the boat. Truly an incredible sight to behold! 

The worst taco's ever...no takers

    I may have been the one to blame for the water fight that ended with all of us in the sea, fully clothed. We had just gotten back on the boat after a hike and I squirted Blondie in the face as I was hosing her feet off. Then I had to hose the dog’s feet off, so she pretended to help me, but then proceeded to hose me off—top to bottom. Karmas a biatch! The Big Guy was bailing water out of the dinghy and not paying any attention to us, so I told Blondie to get the bucket and blast him when he got out of the dinghy, which she did, which in turn immediately caused Big to grab her and throw her overboard. Dagwood was standing on the back of the boat laughing at all this, so I walked up behind him and pushed him off. With all 3 of them in the water, fully clothed, laughing and giving me "the look" that said "instigator", I knew there was no way that I was going to be able to save myself from the drink, so I bailed in.

     We did dry off long enough to go to Giorgio’s Table, one of, if not thee best restaurant in the whole BVI’s. I had buttered up Giorgio on a previous visit, so when he offered to let me take a pasta making class with his chef, I was all over it. Blondie and I spent an afternoon making lobster ravioli, pappardelle, tagliatelle, farfalle, tortellini and more. Later that night we went back for what was an amazing dinner.

Yep, that little speck up
there is Dagwood

     By the end of the trip the Langfields were hooked, the deal sealed by the dolphins, so with their impending move in mind, we began the search for property. 

     Well let me tell you that there is not a thing wrong with the housing market in the USVI or BVI’s.  A cool million will still buy you a dump…or a corner lot with nothing on it. 

     Hmmm, maybe they should just buy a boat, Blondie concluded, after all they now officially have boating experience. Dagwood went to the top of the mast which technically makes him a Captain, and Blondie can mix a cocktail while under sail, gracefully get in and out of the dingy without doing a face plant and spell BOAT backwards AND forwards! That pretty much makes them both every bit as qualified as The Big Guy and me! 

The Langfields new boat/RV combo

     Finally on the last day we found the perfect boat-RV combo for them. Not too expensive, and it came with a charming little deck on the back, a hardtop with a TV antenna mounted on it, and even some showy little lattice work.

Blondie, posing beside their new dinghy

Yeah, so the dinghy that goes with it needs a little work but that's to be expected when you  buy used. Unfortunately they had to leave before they could make an offer, but Big and I could see it in their eyes that they really fell in love with that little piece of heaven. We are surprising them by fronting the money and closing the deal on their behalf. They can reimburse us next week. It's the least we could do, I mean what are friends for? We are looking forward to sailing with them in the winter and RV-ing with them in the summer!  Hmmm, I wonder if they will still like us as much.

The happy couple.
Their new boat/RV can be seen in the background.
I'm sure they'll thank us later!

This is a recipe I created one night when I didn't have about half of the ingredients needed to make the recipe that I really wanted to make.  It turned out to be a keeper.  I made it for the Langfields on their last night here.  If they are still speaking to us I'll ask them to vouch for its yummyness!  Go to the "Recipes" tab at the top of this page to view it.

Ginger-Sesame Marinated Shrimp over Pasta
with Wasabi-Butter Cream Sauce









Hammerhead Shark Loses Wrestling Contest To The Dos Equis Man

Our good friends, the Dr. and Mrs. Lexus’ recently came to the islands to see us and while here Denny entered the prestigious Caribbean Iron Man Contest. Denny, who by the way is the most interesting man we know, (like a Dos Equis-slash-Renaissance man) intended to compete in the Sr. Citizens Class, but bad news for Denny—the judges took one look at him and made him compete in the “Under 40” class, which unfortunately cost him the title. He did finish with an impressive 2nd place, but only because his bum hip gave out on him in the Pull The Boat To Shore Contest, which then slowed him up in the Palm Tree Climbing Contest. What a disappointment it was for all of us. We are hoping he won’t have to have another hip replacement surgery when he gets home.

     To cheer him up, The Big Guy and I took the liberty to enter him in the Great Hammerhead Shark Wrestling Contest, off of Anegada. It was quite a thrill to watch him wrestle that big fish out of the water, onto shore, then finally into the back of a pickup, with just his bare hands. I am sad to report that he finished a distant 3rd, since his shark was only just a little over 9 feet long and weighed a measly 290 lbs. We think if Denny hadn’t been dragging that hip he wouldn’t have chosen such a small shark to wrestle. Better luck next year old man.

     On a brighter note, Karen won hands down the Power Shopping Contest. No one could even come close to her and her smoking credit card! Single handily she boosted the economy of Cruz Bay.

Karen, celebrating her
Power Shopping victory

     Coincidently, while in Anegada for the shark wresting, we learned that there was also a kite boarding contest going on which was being sponsored by Sir Richard Branson, who happens to be a close personal friend of the Lexus’. We hung out on Cow Wreck Beach and watched as hundreds of kite boarders took to the skies, Denny and Sir Richard among them. They finished 1st and 2nd, respectively but Denny turned down the honors so some young hippie kid could receive the half a million dollar purse.
     While Karen shopped, Big and I sat at the beach bar (bored to tears) with Denny and Sir Richard as they negotiated a deal in which Denny would purchase Necker Island. Sad to say that at the last minute it fell through. Sir Richard was not willing to part with any of the wild goats that inhabit the island. The Doc held firm…no goats…no deal, he told Sir Dick. Way to go Den!

The Dos Equis Man & The Mrs.

     With a ton of money burning a hole in his pocket, Denny treated us and the 500 or so kite-boarders to a lobster dinner at our favorite place, Potters By The Sea. The butter wasn’t even dried on our chins when Karen decided that we should pull an all-nighter and party with all the kite-boarders who where blasting Karen’s favorite rap music at the bar that was directly across from where our boat was moored. Denny, always a manshionista, put on his twin set (which is stylish in an old-folks-home-kind-of-way) while Karen rocked a hot little leopard mini, and then those crazy kids got down with their home boys. Big and I called it a night about 5 AM and I slept in until 6 AM, then got up to make breakfast, since Denny had requested a big one after all that partying.

Denny also took 1st place in the
Conch Blowing Contest

      With all the competition finally behind us we settled into a relaxing week. The Lexus’ kicked back while Big kept a Pisces Punch in their hands 24-7. Their ravenous appetites kept me at the stove for about 18 hours a day, but they appreciated all the fine dining so I didn’t mind one bit. I used my other 6 hours to do dishes, pour gin and open wine bottles. I swear those people never sleep.     
     Not everyone knows that Dr. L and the Mrs. are world renowned free divers, and that Denny still holds several records, some dating clear back to the 1950’s. Karen who is much younger, has set some of her own impressive records, mostly from stunts she pulled in the late 60’s, some of which do include diving. Big and I watched in awe as they ascended to depths of about 300 feet on a single breath of air. Denny had previously smoked the competition is this portion of the Iron Man Contest, so it was just another day at the office for him. Those two are sure full of a lot of air, so I was able to  catch a quick nap, while they made their dives.

     Before we knew the week was spent and they had to return to Wyoming, so the Doc could be there for the grand opening of his new business venture: Autopsies While You Wait. 

     But hey, good news...I just heard from Karen that they will be returning in May, this time with all the little Lexus’ in tow. Big and I can hardly wait for the games to  begin! Natalie and Nicole love to mud wrestle and camel fight, and Suzy, who is the thrillseeker of the family, wants to go up mast so she can do some high-diving. Son-in-law Joe loves nothing more than doing shots and giving tattoos to the in-laws, who insured us they intend to get some more training in while here.  Did I mention we can hardly wait?

Dr & Mrs Lexus strike a pose after the Iron Man competition

I will share my recipe for Nicoise Salad.  I made it with seared tuna for the energy starved Lexus' but forgot to take a picture. (It can also be made with salmon) In this picture I served it with chicken. Go to the "Recipes" tab at the top of this page to view it.

                                                      The Big Guy and I on Anegada

   



Cool Comes To The Caribbean

I had been scouring St. Thomas for mint because I needed it for two recipes that I had planned to make for our friends from Denver—the (Suit)Cases, who were coming to celebrate Chris’ 40th birthday. We pre-advised them to pack lightly (not much storage on board) and to avoid bringing hard sided luggage because, say it with me, there’s not much storage on board. My dear friend Brenda, showed up with “Pinkie”, the biggest, brightest pink, hard-sided piece of luggage that has ever been produced. I’m not saying that this was a totally bad idea…opened up flat it could have held the four of us, the two dogs, and a weeks worth of provisions, had we needed to abandon ship. It was kind of like a cool, pink folding life boat. (P.S. I will give Brenda credit—for her this was packing light. Proof ? She only brought two pairs of heels.) I will also tell you that it was soooo big it had to have it's own stateroom.   

The uber-cool couple

     I should point out here that Brenda is the coolest friend I have. She has all the coolest stuff and is in the know about all things and places cool. She even has a Gucci diaper bag! How cool is that?  Look up cool in the dictionary…you’ll see her picture. She’s that cool. I should also mention that Chris, while no where near as cool as Brenda, is a pretty cool guy himself, as far as cool guys go. So of course we took them to the coolest place we know—Havana Blue, which is were we started the birthday week, with a fabulous dinner.

     I told Brenda about my mint dilemma, so we hatched a plan to drink enough Mojitos to score the needed mint. News flash—the whole island must have been under a mint crisis because after the first one the bartender said he couldn’t make any more because even he had NO mint. Not cool.

     We spent the first night at Pirates Bight, which is where we get our complimentary wine glasses, then Chris, Brenda and The Big Guy got Willy T’d, while I fixed dinner. While in St. Thomas I had scored the biggest, most beautiful scallops (at gulp, $24.99 pound, but worth every penny) so I served them with a sun-dried tomato buerre blanc and blue cheese mashed potatoes.  

At the Baths

     The next day we snorkeled the Indians, which was on our way to Peter Island where Brenda and I had spa treatments booked. While we were getting scrubbed and rubbed, Chris and Big hung out at the pool and drank Pain Killers at $17 a pop. Yes, Peter Island Resort is pretty proud of its elite status. Bren and I made friends with the bartender who happened to be our  hook up for the mint, so that night I made seared Ahi, plantain and sweet potato mash, Asian slaw (with mint) and a sauce called kecap manis (a soy reduction with star anise). We wrapped up our relaxing day with a fancy bottle of Champagne, which I had bought for Chris' birthday. Nothing but the best, for these two!
     The following day we sailed to the Baths where the (Suit)Cases and I ignored the “No Snorkeling” warning flags and went snorkeling. After our near drowning experience we hiked the Baths, Brenda & I bought some cool Conch shell necklaces, then we took a scenic taxi ride across Virgin Gorda, which includes the most amazing view of the Sir Francis Drake channel. Big took the boat around and met us at Leverick Bay, where we had Happy Hour and took in the very uncool Pirate show. Since Chris and Brenda had requested seafood and more seafood, I made salmon with cheesy grits and a caper cream sauce, for dinner.     

The breathtaking view of Virgin Gorda

     
The next morning Chris, who must have bumped his head several months ago, and who is training for some crazy Iron Man  thing, got a workout in by taking the kayak for a spin around the boat, then we set sail for Jost Van Dyke. Chris tried his skills at fishing and found out that he didn’t have any, however, he did master the art of the bar crawl. We then had dinner at Corsairs, where we were served an obscene amount of lobster, shrimp and scallops, which was very cool! 
     On our last day together we went to Caneel Bay on St. John, where we got in one last snorkel. After lunch in Cruz Bay, Brenda (who like myself, is a professional shopper) and I got some last minute "birthday" (wink-wink) shopping in. We wrapped up the trip with dinner at my second favorite cool place, XO Bistro. 

     The next morning the (Suit)Cases were crying and begging us to let them stay on, but we run a tight ship here and had some VIP's coming, so sadly we were forced to put them inside "Pinkie" and call them a cab. You should have heard the way they screamed...not cool...

Pears & Prosciutto with Orange, Fennel & Mint Dressing

 This was the recipe that originally sent me on my mint mission. Adapted from one from Bon Appetit that calls for pear nectar and anise, I make mine with orange juice and fennel and top it with a little goat cheese. Brenda said it was delish and she would know. Go to the "Recipes" tab at the top of this page to view it.

The bathroom at One Love Beach Bar,
which Brenda was waaaayyyy to cool to use!

Baby On Board

Shane, going up the mast

Provisioning the boat for two picky eaters and a baby was easy—bottled water for Paisley’s formula and frozen pizzas, hotdogs, fruity cereal, lots of tortillas, and beans for her mom and dad, and we were ready to hit the seas! 

     First things first…we started the trip by sending Shane up the mast to fix a light. Only when he was waaaaayyy up there did Savannah mention that he was afraid of heights. Turns out he is even more afraid of The Big Guy, so he didn’t mention it when he was getting strapped into the chair.

Paisley, in her snorkel suit

     With the mast light fixed we were off like a prom dress.The kids and Big got some diving and snorkeling in while I babysat the little power napper (read: naps in 5 minute intervals about twice a day). It should be noted here that the words “baby” “boating” and “relaxing” cannot under any circumstances be used in the same sentence. I know, I tried.

    
Since she wasn't quite sitting up by herself it meant that she had to be held constantly, which was not a bad thing unless you are a baby with little pimply bumps all over you.  Between the heat, the sticky salt air and the sunscreen she developed a rash over her entire body, except for that place under her chin where she stores up lint. We assumed it was itchy because...well it looked itchy and she cried like it was itchy. 

     For the most part she was a real little trooper! She sat through the entire (2 hour) Pirate show without crying—no wait a minute, that was me. After a long afternoon of doing the bar crawl on Jost Van Dyke she fell asleep in the dinghy on the ride back to the boat—ummm, come to think of it that was me too. Well never mind all that. 

     The truth is she was an absolute joy to have on board! By day she was a happy, smiling baby and I barely noticed that at night she turned into a screaming-mad, pacifier-spitting, diaper-dirtying machine.
     Oh, but I love my little Paisely and can’t wait to spend time with her again.  This baby is always welcome on board!

    It's hard to go wrong with grilled sandwhiches and kids.  I love paninis and make them all the time, with one of my favorites being turkey, pears, and fontina cheese. The possibilites are endless...ham, a pineapple slice and Gruyere cheese...tuna, artichokes and sharp cheddar...I usually make a flavored mayo, like pesto mayo or red pepper mayo to go along with. No recipes needed!