Social Clubbing In Deadwood

The Big Guy and I rode the Harley to the Black Hills the other day.  Because he knows that I am not a fan of the Bike Rally in Sturgis, he said we were really going there so we could visit our good friend, Dennis. Yeah, right—like I was born yesterday? I do love Dennis and always enjoy seeing him and riding through the beautiful Black Hills so I said, “PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME GO!!!!”

     First a little about Dennis; he and Big were friends long before I ever climbed up into that cabover Kenworth for the first time. He is one of our best friends and is a true motorcycle aficionado. At last count he had 13 of them in his garage, but that was week ago so he probably has one more by now.

     Over the years we have spent many days with him riding through the hills and we have had a lot of laughs. Back in the days when Dennis was known to throw down a few drinks, we watched in disbelief as he ran his Harley off the Nemo road and into the ditch, laying it over and skidding it through the weeds.  He got up, brushed the dirt off himself, picked up the bike and climbed back on. Meanwhile, the chick that he had ejected off of the back was having a major hissy fit about him skinning up her brand-spankin-new silicone filled ta-tas. She waited until we were having dinner at the Friday night Nemo fish fry to show us all her road rashed twins. Which brings me to point of this story.

Dennis, riding his Sunday afternoon bike

So we get to Dennis’ and Big decides that we should go to Nemo for dinner.  Mind you it’s a Saturday, which means the fish fry was last night and so tonight EVRYTHING will taste like fish because that’s all they serve is a bunch of deep fried crap. Dennis and I only agreed to go to Nemo because we like rehashing that whole bike wreck story and talking about Bimbo’s (not her real name) banged up boobies.

    I used my half a brain to order the fish, unlike you know who and you know who else. It was so bad that Dennis and I decided that this would be the last time we let Big pick where we eat—funny num-num stories or not.

Yes, that is the back of my head
and yes, I took that picture myself

     So the next night we decided to head to Deadwood for dinner. On the recommendation of a local we snagged a reservation at the Deadwood Social Club, which sits above the Saloon No.10, right on Main Street. It has an indoor dining room, but the real social scene seems to be outside on a deck which overlooks the shenanigans on Deadwoods main drag. Dennis is no food snob, but he does know and appreciate good food and he can recognize when a chicken fried steak tastes like fish.

     But back to the Social Club.
     We started off with an appetizer of a marinated jumbo shrimp that was curled around an Italian sausage.We likey! Big had what he always has if it’s on a menu and that’s the (Pork) Osso Bucco. It wasn’t totally falling off the bone, but it was very tender. It was topped with a mirepoix and served with rice, rather than the usual mound of mashed potatoes, but he said it was really good and it didn't taste at all like fish. He gave it an 8. 

Dennis had the Shrimp Scampi, which was not just your basic blah, blah, blah white wine, garlic scampi. Spinach and tomatoes came to this scampi party and it was really a nice dish.

I hit the jackpot with my entree which was called a Seafood nest. It was linguine noodes that had been fried and formed into this cute little upside down nest and then hidden inside it were shrimp and scallops, swimming in a creamy basil sauce. LOVED IT!  

     Here is where the story gets sad…we all dug in like some classless, biker heathens so I didn’t even think to snap a picture until we were almost finished poking it down the old pie holes. (Hence the above pictures)
     The Big Guy loves him some tiramisu and never misses an opportunity to order it for dessert. The Social Club's version of it didn’t disappoint. In reply to the waiter's question of how he liked it, Big described it this way: mmmm, firm and big; a definite 10. Huh? We are talking about tiramisu aren't we? The waiter just smiled as he walked away. Dennis laughed. Ahhh, I saw exactly what those lame brains eyes were focused on and let's just say we were not all looking at the same dessert. They were oogling the lovely (coughbullshitcough) biker lady at the next table with the bolt-on-boobs.
     I'm gonna have to let this one slide...I'd much rather go to the Deadwood Social Club than the Nemo Fish Fry, especailly if I have to listen to old hooter stories. 

This recipe is one of my own creations for Tuna Tacos with Black Bean-Roasted Corn Salsa. It tastes like fish because IT'S SUPPOSED TO! Go to the "Seafood" tab at the top of this page to view it.

Jamby Queen Kills

Who died and made me the Jambalaya Queen? Seriously, I’d like to know.  I have never been to New Orleans, don’t particularly care for crawfish and for dang sure don’t want it in a pie—oh, and I’ve never eaten file` gumbo. (Side note: for some crazy reason I do know that file` is made from the ground leaves of the sassafras tree, but what’s a sassafras tree?) Just because I can sing the chorus to Jambalaya and the only other famous Cajun song there is (Diggy Liggy Lo) should not qualify me to make kick ass jambalaya…but for some reason, I do.

Browning the Andouille sausage

      The first time I made it I read through about five recipes, closed the books and just winged it. I'm happy to report it didn’t suck. 

     Over the years my jambalaya reputation has preceded me and I’m still not sure what my secret is. Twice, The Big Guy and I have won tailgate party competitions doing Cajun cuisine.  For his part, he put on a white chefs jacket and stood over a pot of boiling peanut oil and watched a bird turn black while swigging Crown and ginger. I did the other stuff…read: EVERYTHING!  Besides the jamby, we (read: I) cooked up some deep fried alligator tail (tastes like chicken), sweet potato biscuits and pecan praline cheesecake. If that wasn't enough to guarantee us a win, we stoned the judges and voting public with Swamp Water.  Looked like anti-freeze, tasted like…hmmm…anti-freeze. Yeah we killed em!  But that's another deposition, ummm, I mean story. 

Simmering the tomatos, bay leaves and seasonings

     Anyhow, so last Thanksgiving I  made a batch—if you want to call it that, and it got totally out of control on me. By the time I had the whole thing put together it weighed about one hundred and forty pounds and filled up my big turkey roaster pan, which is about the size of a FEMA trailer and holds the equivalent of a 2.5 kids and a crack whore. 
     Fast forward:  The Big Guy wanted jambalaya on the 4th of July, which was when we  were having a BBQ for about 30 people.  I wasn’t sure I could make that small of a batch, but decided to write down the recipe as I was making it.  And yesssss, it killed!  Somebody must have died and made me Jamby Queen.   

The rice & shrimp join the party

 Go the the "Sides" tab at the top of this page to view my Killer Jambalaya

The Fountain of Youth Blows

Old Ponce, Big & I

The Fountain of Youth is a Rip-off!!!  Gasp! Yes, you heard me right.
     The Big Guy and I were in St. Augustine, FL recently so duh, we went to the Fountain of Youth. You know the one; the one that Ponce de Leon went in search of in 1513.  Well people, he never found it because HAH! it’s not in Florida! Everyone knows that right? Here’s a News Flash for ya: Florida is full of Old People— who look old— so obviously there is no fountain of youth there. Old Ponce diddy Leon himself missed it by miles because the real Fountain of Youth is in Bimini,  which The Big Guy and I did not know until after we coughed up ten bucks apiece.  It was only after Andrew Jackson was safely tucked away in a cash drawer that we were informed that this wasn’t the actual Fountain of Youth, and that they (the Park peoples people) didn’t even know where the real one was. WHAT? They took our money as our new frown lines were forming. 
     We were there so we figured we may as well drink the water that was trickling from the faux fountain. The pipsqueak park attendant lied and told us that it was from the same aquifer as the original fountain of youth…blah, blah, blah. I’m no aquifer genius but I know that Bimini and St. A do not even share a border, much less an aquifer. Who did she think I was? Regardless, I went ahead and drank the stinky, rotten egg-tasting water and hoped for the best. Big followed suit because in the dim light of the diorama he thought it was maybe working on me.  (Authors note: It wasn’t’…skip the fountain and head straight for the botox.)

Cheers! Here's to Youth!

     St Augustine is the oldest city in the U.S. and is quite beautiful.  Restaurants are abundant and the shopping is unique and trendy for such an old city.  The Columbia Restaurant, serving Spanish food with a Cuban flair is not to be missed. I’m still kicking myself in the butt for not ordering the “1905 Salad”, but there were some blue crab cakes with a passion fruit aioli and a mahi-mahi Cubana sandwhich, that was calling my name.
   Not only was the food great, but the sangria was the 2nd best I’ve ever had in my entire life! (Authors note again: By Florida standards I'm basically pretty young, so that may not be sayin much).
    Well, crap I’ve gotten off track…back to the Fountain of Youth.  I say skip the tourist trap, take your ten bucks, add about fifty more to it and then go on down the road to the Alligator Farm where you can zipline over the gators.  Now, that you can be guaran-damn-teed will take a few years off ya!

Here is a picture of the 1905 Salad, which they make tableside and which sadly I didn't order.  It's now on my "To Do Before I Die" list, so some day before I get too old to chew my own food, I'll be going back to St. A to have one.  (Click on the link below this picture for the recipe.) 


Click on this link for the recipe for the Columbia's 1905 Salad.

When The Dust Settled

I’ll admit it...this is a shameless and blatant attempt to sell a book. Not just any book, my book, a book that has taken me ten years to write. 

I'm the one on the right, the one with the bad haircut.
My sister is the cute, sad looking one with good hair.

     I first began writing this in 2001, shortly after my mom died. Sierra was in college and The Big Guy was traveling a lot, either hauling Savannah to rodeos or trucking, while I was left at home holding down the fort and running the business. It was during all those long, lonely nights sitting at home alone that I began this story.  

     I never intended to publish it; it was merely a therapeutic way for me to cope with my mother’s death and to examine what my future would look like without her in it. I soon learned that I had really lost both of my parents on that horrible day in June. My father could barely go on living without my mother in his life. I mean who was going to make the coffee and dump the ashtrays?  I ended up grieving for him as much as I did for her, which pretty much made me an unbearable, miserable mess to live with. Of course I didn’t realize that at the time. I thought that I was just having a really hard time coping with Mom’s death. Well, you'll just have to read the book to get the rest of the story.

That's me opening the first box.
It's an emotional moment...
I'm not sure if I am going to cry or throw-up

     Anyway, the book is out and for about the same price as a fairly decent bottle of wine, or a paltry $17.94 (that price includes shipping) you can own a copy of this book. Order it through the website at www.WhentheDustSettled.com, e-mail me at tamaralittrell @yahoo.com or contact me through the "Comment" section of this Blog, and I will send you a copy. (By the way, ALL copies are signed by yours truly.) Also, I am donating $1 from the sale of each book to the Kelly Schreibeis Memorial Foundation, which you know is a cause that is near and dear to my heart.   
     If you are downtown Sheridan you can pick one up at Sheridan Stationary or Barbwire Living, and then on Saturday, August 6^th, Sheridan Stationary will be hosting a book signing for me. If you are in the area stop by and say hey.
     If you have already ordered one I want to say THANK YOU, I truly appreciate it...more than you can possibly ever know.  
    

Yep, that's the first copy!

Nacho Masterpiece

I'll admit that I am a fairly competent cook and that I've been known to create a few recipes that are definate keepers, some could even be considered a work of genius. Ok, I'm done bragging. This creation walked that fine line between delectable and disaster. 

      It seemed like a pretty good idea at the time…I was calling it Stuffed Nachos.  Think about it.  Stuff a chip with melty cheese and then top it off with an amazing fresh, fruity salsa. Brilliant, I know!  In theroy.

     This is when I will admit that I have been known to beat a pretty good idea to death. I mean, Leonardo da Vinci knew the exact moment when the Mona Lisa became a masterpiece, which was right before he gave her eyebrows. Michelangelo knew that his statue of David was finished before he got around to putting clothes on him.  My point is this: some people know when they have created a masterpiece and when it's time to quit. I am not one of those people.
     But back to the nachos...I had some wonton wrappers that needed to be used up so I grated up some sharp cheddar and Monterey jack cheeses, mixed in a generous amount of diced green chilies, a little cumin, and some chili powder. 

Then I filled the wonton wrappers up all pretty and sent them to the hot tub, where they fried up all crispy and had that dab of cheesey heaven that was just begging for it. Because I also had a pineapple that needed to be used up I made a pineapple salsa and served it with them. 

     I gotta admit they were dang good! Crispy on the outside, tasty cheese melting on the inside and then that cool, fresh fruit salsa on top. Ahhh, (sigh) I could almost see them in a picture in a cookbook. My life long taste tester, who by the way is under paid and over fed, gave them The Big Guy Stamp of Approval on the first bite. I’ll also admit I should have stopped right there and called it a day, happy with my little piece de resistance. But no.

     This is the part where I beat that good idea to death. I thought if they were that good—hot out of the grease with all that melty cheese inside, just think how good they would be if I popped them in the oven and topped them with even more cheese and then served them like real nachos...you know, with some beans, jalapenos, and diced tomatoes. I would calld call them “Loaded Stuffed Nachos,” when Bon Appeitit called me for the recipe.  Mmmm, just sounds good, huh? Well this is where it got ugly. 

      Those poofy, crispy, triangles fell like a soufflé and the cheese that I had topped them with pretty much turned to grease, turning them into a soggy, limp mess.  Sorry, but I can’t share that picture with you because I was busy trying to put out the grease fire that the paper towels had ignited and honetsly, it just didn't seem like a very good photo op at the time.(Authors note: fire on a boat is a BIG no-no.)

     So go ahead and make the nachos and the salsa, because they were delizioso, but trust me when I tell you that it's not necessary to dress em up any fancier. There was probably a pretty good reason why David isn't wearing clothes.    

Ten Years...

June 1969

     Ten years...it can feel like yesterday or it can feel like a lifetime ago. 

     Ten years ago…June 2001.  Maybe your life was better or maybe it wasn’t.  Since then you may have found someone who is important to you, or you may have lost someone important.

     Ten years ago this month I lost my mother.  She was dynamic, fearless, and ambitious.  She was only fifty-nine years old—and she had breast cancer.

    Ten years ago today I sat through her memorial service, which felt as surreal then as the memory of it does now. 

     If I said I didn’t cry every single day for the first few years after her death, I would be lying.  If I said getting out of bed on all those mornings seemed impossible, I would be telling you the truth. If I said there is a hole in my heart and that I miss her more than words can say, that would be an understatement; and if I said the hurt on every anniversary of her death feels as painful as it did on the actual day of her death, well, that would be my reality.

July 6, 1984

     Ten years...sometimes it feels like yesterday, sometimes it feels like a lifetime ago.  I hate it that I can’t remember the sound of her laugh but thankfully I can still see her smile and the way her upper lip flattened out over her perfect teeth.  For the life of me I can't see into the depths of her eyes but I can remember the breadth of her love and the vastness of her spirit, which was always visable in those brown eyes. 

     I can not picture her walk, but I can hear it.  Her footsteps were always heavy and purposeful, and sometimes they still wake me up at night.

    I can picture her hands; small and soft, and I know that I would recognize her fingers—especially the one with the short thick nail, the one she hated; the one that a bull had hooked on a barbwire fence.  Yet, it kills me to admit that I don’t think I would recognize her voice.  Time has stolen that from me.

Dec. 25, 1993

     I can still imagine the feel of her thick, red hair, which I used to bend around a curling iron.  But to this day I still get sick to my stomach when I think about her wig, a memory that time refuses to rob.

     Try as I might I’m unable to remember if her hugs were high around my neck or low around my waist, but I do recall that they were long and tight and that she hugged first, and let go last.  If I close my eyes I can remember the feel of her fingertips lightly tracing the pattern of my face, tickling my forehead as I lay with my head in her lap.

     Time is an indiscriminate thief of memories, randomly taking one and thoughtfully leaving another.  It may have robbed me of certain recollections but it can't steal the feelings of those memories, which are just as fresh, deep and real today as they were a decade ago.  And I imagine as they will be a decade from now. 

     Ten years...some days it feels like yesterday, some days it feels like a lifetime ago.

Nov 28, 1996

Di Anne Marie Grimm

11/28/41 ~ 6/14/01  



But Enough About Them

Do you remember our most interesting friends, the Lexuses? I'm sure you recall Denny, the guy who earlier this year finished 2nd in the Caribbean Iron Man Contest. Yep, that's him...but enough about Denny. 

     I mean, who could forget his trophy wife? Well let me tell you, she is not just another pretty face. No… the woman who power shopped her way through the islands is also the matriarch of a whole family of over-achievers. But enough about Karen.
 

This story is about the most interesting accomplishments of the little Lexuses. Daughter Suzy is a bigwig Emergency Room doctor in NY and was a Pulitzer nominee for her dissertation on an innovative new technique which is now used to diagnosis Strep throat. Her research proved that, yes, is it possible to render a positive diagnosis of Strep using a butter knife and a dive light. She has also been semi-successful in performing tonsillectomies using a cocktail fork, olive tongs and a head lamp.      

    I am sorry to report that some of her research went right out the window when Elvis proved that it is entirely possible to remove a tonsil through your nose. But enough about Suzy, more about Elvis later. 

    
Daughter Nicole recently graduated summa cum laude from CSU with a degree in Occupational Therapy. Her thesis, which was titled Getting Old and All That Shit, or GOATS as it was known by its acronym, was so well received by doctors in the geriatric field, that Old Folks Homes everywhere be will implementing her therapy methods which are based on Yoga practices. They include a lot of downward dog and corpse poses. Denny will be one of the first old GOATS who will participate in the case study. But enough about Nicole.      

     Natalie, the littlest Lexus, took top honors and graduated with a PhD in her field of International Travel. Dr. Natalie was also named the winner of the prestigious Life Long Student Award, but unfortunately was not able to join us because she was too busy trying to locate her passport. However, she did become a charter member of our Flat Cat Sail and whether she knows it or not, she had a most interesting time. But enough about Natalie. 

     Son-in-law Joe may not have graduated from any prestigious school, but not to be outdone by those over achieving Lexus women, he is quite successful in his own right. He recently won the Nobel Peace Prize for his humanitarian work in Honduras and is so revered in that country that rumor has it that he will likely be elected as the next Honduran President. Joe says he is honored, but his true calling in life is to be a dog sitter so he will likely decline the position. Elvis approves and can personally vouch for Joe’s uncanny dog sitting abilities, saying, "it's like I was in his head at times." Enough about Joe...more about Elvis later.

     So after a several days of talking about and looking at the various diplomas, awards, trophys and degrees, the Lexus family settled into some of that adventuresome fun that they are known for. While I’m sad to report that Denny didn’t wrestle the Hammerhead shark this trip, he did perfect Nicole’s yoga corpse poses, and in fact got quite caught up in doing the downward dog-ear pose with Elvis.

While Karen and The Big Guy spent an ambitious morning holding down some beach chairs, the rest of us went on a thrilling ATV ride across Jost Van Dyke. The view was spectacualr and the consensus was that we all looked pretty darn good in the helmets.

     Suzy, the thrill-seeker of the bunch, showed perfect form when she was shot out of a cannon, from an old pirate ship, and flew right over the top of the boat, yelling, "look Dad, no hands!", on her way by. Denny swelled with pride. Not to be outdone, Nicole, who is a real dare-devil got brave one night and tasted cilantro! We all watched in awe but it turned out to be a let down, as Nicole said it was tougher to swallow than it looked.  Joe, who mostly worked on getting the swelling out of his legs, found out that not only does he love dogs, he loves fish too. Just not on the same plate. But more about Elvis later.  

The week flew by and as always it was a most interesting time with our most interesting friends. But enough about them...have I ever told you about Elvis?



     This recipe is for Mahi-Mahi with Ginger-Lime Beurre Blanc. It's an original creation and while I hate to brag, it just may be the best thing I've made since...well, I don't know when. 
     The Lexuses loved it; even Joe and Elvis who have been overheard saying they don't like fish. I've made it about 4 or 5 times now and  usually serve it over cheesey grits. It would also be delish served with coconut rice, orzo, or dog food. Go to the "Recipes" tab at the top of this page to view it. 

Mahi-Mahi with  Ginger-Lime Beurre Blanc, served with
 Cheesey Grits and Roasted Asparagus & Grape Tomatoes

The Flat Cat Sail

Our good friends, you know the most interesting ones we have, the Lexuses...well they came back to the BVI's to spend another week with us in what was supposed to be a celebration of all the little Lexuses respective graduations. (More about that later.)  Because of a passport SNAFU Natalie was not able to join her most interesting family. Created by accident and born out of necessity, we now have a new and exciting way for you to cruise the islands. Sound to good to be true? Read on! 

Think you can’t afford a week aboard a private yacht in the Caribbean? Think again. Captain Big and I (The Admiral) are happy to announce that Pisces is offering you the opportunity to vacation with us on what we are calling the “Flat Cat Sail.”
      Get this...it will cost you next to nothing. Just send us two headshot photos of yourself and we will blow them up to life size and tape you onto our flyswatter. From there you will get to experience the islands without ever leaving the comfort of your home.

Flat Natalie, enjoying her morning coffee

Our first guest, Natalie (The Flat Nat Cat Sail, we called it) didn’t come all the way from  Arizona to sail with us! Because we kept her updated daily with photos on Facebook, she barely noticed all the things that she wasn’t getting to enjoy!  




Like Natalie did, you can just relax and work on your tan or you can hang out with the Captain, who will even let you drive the boat, if you ask him nicely! 



If you are feeling adventurous you can dive into some water sports, like kayaking or laying around on a floatie. (Note: snorkeling is NOT recommended) 



The Flat Cat Sail includes all your meals and if you like to cook The Admiral will let you spend the day in the galley helping her prepare all those wonderful Island meals that you won't get to feast on! Plus, there are no additional charges for not eating all you want! Yes, you heard me right!

Want to party like a rock star?  You can start your day with Bloody Marys, drink Pisces Punch with lunch and throw back the vino at dinner, all while knowing that no matter how much you indulge there will be no worries of a hangover! Man, life just doesn't get any better than that! Can I get a witness?  

So what are you waiting for? If this sounds like your idea of fun, gather up a group of your friends or complete strangers and call us today!
     Operators are standing by. Use the word "Flatamaran”  in a sentance and get two extra days at no charge! Certain restrictions may apply. Photos will not be returned and the flyswatter will be reused. Taxes, fees and Captain's tip are not included in this offer.

This recipe (from my sister) is for Island Pancakes, which I swear on a stack of Bibles, are thee best pancakes you will ever eat! And I mean EV-VER! Go to the store, get yourself some Coco Lopez and some macadamia nuts, then go to the "Recipes" tab at the top of this page to view it.  

   Flat Natalie, loving her some Island Pancakes!

                                                                                          

Meat Wendell

On a small piece of sand next to a one lane dirt street on Jost Van Dyke, sits a little cobbled together shack with a sign that says “Wendell’s World". A stash of sea fans and conch shells sits on a table next to a door that is almost always closed, indicating that Wendell is not open for buisness. I'm not sure what he even sells, nor do I really care. The reason I keep going back is to see Wendell’s latest sign posting. Folks, this is Wendell's world and on JVD we are just living in it.
    
The sign below is the one that greets you at the door. Yes, smoking cigarettes cigarittes is a bad habit habbit, but illegal elegal?  Who knew?

 

Dang, sure are sorry that we missed his Birthday and Divorce Devorce Party!

But hey, there is always Easter and a Bikini Beekini and Diving Diveing Contest and much mutch more moor! 

Hey, I bet he'll be serving the worlds newest drinks at the party! Silk Panty, mmm just sounds like it would soothe sooth boys. (Seriously Wendell? Sheesh, give me a break.)

  

And unless you want problems probleams don't even think about pickin them young coconuts, but go on and have yourself a nice day anyway!

Hey guys, better listen to Wendell...he know's how to make a gal happy. C'mon, just give us your wallet and set us free!

Hmmm, fish for sale, and fresh to boot? But Wendell, how can we buy it when you u are NEVER open!!! 

Wendell, I presume?

Sorry, no reicpe recipe. After seeing the above picture I feel a little sick and can't come up with anything that won't make me through throw up a little.