food

My Puffed Male Ego Popped

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“Life’s much better for me, Ray, now that LC is in Chef Vigeli’s Culinary School,” said La Flor skimming through hairstyles photos on her iPad. She turned her iPad toward me, “Think this style will look good on me?” she asked.

This is a no win question for any guy. We lose either way. I summed up my guy knowledge and said, “You are beautiful, tough, and edgy. You’d make any hairstyle look good.” I impressed myself. Nice answer, Ray.

“I suppose. But I want the truth,” said La Flor with a knowing look that I was scamming her.

I wanted to say “You can’t handle the truth,” just like Jack Nicholson. Bad move. I let it go. Here’s the truth, I was only singing half a song, “You choose your hairstyle. I will write the blog so that every alt ego woman wants to copy your style. You’ll be the trendsetter.” I  am getting very good at this. I answered La Flor’s comeback with a sure fire win.

La Flor didn’t waste a second before she sent her volley to my backhand side, “I don’t care about them. I want to see LC drool. I want to hear him sigh. I want to see his knees get weak, buckle, and watch him collapse to the floor overcome with my beauty. I’m almost there. One more teeny push and he’s over the edge. As for you, drop the cute answers. Any woman can see right through them.”

“Oh.” La Flor took a knife and stuck it into my puffed male ego and I heard it pop.

Saved by …

“I didn’t knock because I use my burglar tools to get in,” said Big Carmen. “I also disarmed your alarm system. Reminds me to alarm it when I leave.”

I pay fifty bucks a month for an alarm system Big Carmen treats as Lego Blocks, the ads said burglars better beware, Something is wrong with this picture.

“How you doing good looking stud,” said La Flor speaking to Big Carmen. I was hoping she was talking to me.

“I’m doing a lots better now that I sees the beautiful, tough, and edgy woman of Little Carmen’s dreams.”

“Hi, Big Carmen,” I said.

“I didn’t come to talk to you, but since use is polite enough to say hi, hi,” said Big Carmen. He turned back to La Flor, “I gots a once in a lifeline propo for use.”

“I’m worn out from lawyering. My caseload is all booked up,” said La Flor.

“We got’s nobody under arrest. We do have a number of my business associates as persons of interest, but that is another matter.”

“What’s your propo?” said La Flor picking up on Big Carmen’s vocab.

“Charlie Sevini heads up LCM Pharmo. Charlie gots a problem. He likes to gamble, he loses a lot. He owes me lots and lots and so I now own half his company. I told him I wants use to be the company’s star in a nationwide ad for a beauty drug that will air on all the NFL games on opening week. I tooks the liberty to write the script for use. It will be on a teleprompter. Use will be dressed in such attire as to show the world your physical assets if use knows what I means.”

La Flor, playing it cool, took a sip of her coffee, “I’m really, really booked up, BC.”

“Do this as a fav for me and I will makes sure use gets your own dressing room, makeup artist, nail tech, hairstylist, and jewelry even if you’re not wearing it in the shoot. And, use get top dollar.”

“I want LC to be holding me in his arms and admiring my body with a glassy, lost look in his eyes,” said La Flor.

“Use got the hole (yes, he said hole) package.”

“Let me see the script,” said La Flor.

Big Carmen hands it to her. She starts reading it. “Hmmm. Hmmm. Hmmm. I don’t know. That’s got to go.” She looks up at Big Carmen. I’ll do it if I can make a few insignificant changes to the script.”

“Use is my angel, beautiful, tough, and edgy. When does use want to shoots it?”

“Come by tomorrow so we can go over the script. You’ll love the changes I made. I have to check with LC since he’s going to be holding me in the shoot. He should be home any second from Chef school.”

“it’s good to see the boy has a drop of ambition. I tink dats all he’s got.”

The front door slams, “I’m home. Did use know the alarm is off, Ray?”

“Uh huh.”

“Let me tells use all what I learned to today. It’s ground beef breaking. It’s funnel a normal” (I think he meant phenomenal).

“How so,” I said.

“I learned two tings. One, if the toast is hot, the peanut butter melts on it. Not many people know that. Second, did use know jelly goes with peanut butter? Who would have figured. Clef Vigeli is so creativity.”

“Dis is what Leo is teaching use? How to makes peanut butter and jelly toast?” said Big Carmen. “He’s gonna have peanuts when I gets through with him.”

“Hey, it’s a family blog,” I said.

“I apple gees. I forgets,” said Big Carmen.

“I brought home the peanut butter and jelly toast I made so use guys can try it,” said Little Carmen opening up a Tupperware container with three triangles of peanut butter and jelly toast. He offered each one of us a piece.

“Not bad,” I said.

“Very good, how did use do the swirl with the peanut butter. Makes me think we could add a swirl to the mozzarella on the pizza. Did I mention tonight’s special is a large build it any style for seven ninety-two when use add a small salad for six eighty-four?” said Big Carmen.

“I prefer chocolate,” said La Flor. Then she added, “With white wine.”

 

 

I’m Admiring My Hands

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“I haven’t seen your main squeeze all day. Did you guys split?” I asked La Flor.

“No, we didn’t split. But we’re not engaged anymore because you made me give the ring back. It was such a beautiful ring. It was so right on my finger and so wrong of you to take it away. I can only guess you don’t understand love,” said La Flor as she texted.

“Who are you texting?” I asked.

“Are you bored? Don’t you have something to do? I know I’m interesting, beautiful, tough, and edgy but I need some space. I was texting LC, if you must know. He’s at Vigeli’s School of Culinary Artists. Today’s his first day. He should be home any minute,” she said.

“I’m impressed. Vigeli’s school is exclusive. He only takes the most promising chef candidates into his classes. How did Little Carmen get in? He doesn’t seem like chef material.”

“The power of persuasion is the way I’d put it,” said La Flor.

“Little Carmen persuaded Chef Vigeli to take him into his classes?”

“No, LC is not in class. He has a better arrangement. Vigeli was persuaded to tutor LC one on one,” said La Flor now unfollowing every woman with what La Flor considered a bad hairdo.

“One on one tutoring? I don’t believe it. Chef Vigeli is a snob. He’s an elitist. He could never handle Little Carmen one on one.”

“He could if Big Carmen persuaded him,” said La Flor.

“Oh,” I said.

Then, the voice from the living room, “I’m home from school, beautiful, tough, and edgy lawyer, model, PI. Did I get them all?” said Little Carmen.

“Come in and give me a hug and kiss, I’m admiring my hands and don’t want to get up,” said La Flor.

Little Carmen bounded in as if he were a dog and the dog’s master said, “Let’s go for a walk.”

Kiss, hug, and squeeze.

“Now, LC. Sit down and tell Ray and me everything you learned at school today,” said La Flor.

I think I heard my mom ask me that same question, years ago.

“It was very thought prefabricating,” said LC. Did he mean provoking?

“How so,” I said.

“Clef Vigeli talked to me for five minutes then said we was going to do advance breakfast meals.”

“Treble or Bass Clef,” I asked.

“I’m not sure what’s his first name is. Reminds me to ask him tomorrow,” said LC. He got up went to the fridge, pulled out a beer. “I’m tursty, anybody else want something. He only got cheap wine, beautiful, tough, and edgy wine colonoscopy.”

I’m sure he mean connoisseur.

“Hurry up and tell Ray what you learned so we can get out of here. I’m getting the heebie-jeebies.”

Little Carmen took a long pull on his beer, hit his chest, and burped.

La Flor made a face. She started breathing through her mouth and fanning herself with her hands, “What is that smell? It’s awful? If you’re going to kiss me, you better brush and gargle.”

“Use smells my first creation, which I hads to eat. Lets me tell use. I would never make it or puts it on a menu. I figured it’s one of those breakfasts the snobbels eat.”

I also caught a whiff of the burp, started breathing through my mouth. I now have a hunch about Little Carmen’s first cooked meal.

Little Carmen sat up proud as a peacock, “Dis is exciting and complicit (I think he meant complicated). First I had to get a flat plate. There’s lots of them. I couldn’t choose one too big or one too small. It had to be just right (Is this a Goldilocks redo?). Then I had to put a piece of bread in the toaster. It seems simple, but it’s worse. Use can’t put it in sideways or upside down. Then I had to make sure the toast was perfectly brown on both sides. This took me six loaves to master. But I learned it. Then I had to spread peanut butter on the toast and give it a little twist at the end. I went through seven jars of peanut butter before I got it right. Vigeli was crying, he must have been so proud of me. Then I had to eat the peanut butter toast. I hates peanut butter almost as much as I hates toast.”

“What’s he going to teach you tomorrow?” I asked.

“I advance to putting jelly on top of the peanut butter.”

“Let’s get out of here. You and I need to talk.”

“Where to, beautiful, tough, and edgy one?”

“The closest wine shop,” said La Flor.

 

Good Puppy

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I have no secret hiding places. My sacred space evaporated with the morning dew. Actually, faster than the morning dew. Alone time? What is it? I feel like a third-rate character in a B movie. Okay, I write the script, but I’ve lost control. How can I lose control to the script I’m writing, you ask? You’re asking the wrong writer. Somewhere, who knows how many blogs ago, I took a right turn, or was it a left turn, maybe I kept walking straight ahead, it’s all a blur. I entered the world of alt egos.

I’m not the first one to have this experience. The cult television show, The Prisoner, from the sixties and more recently, The Truman Show present the similar dilemmas. Those were movies. This is a real life situation and 911 won’t listen to me. I’ll stop here, I hear her.

“What’s up, Ray? You look lost in thought?” said La Flor, taking a seat at the patio table. Of course, she took my coffee cup, help it up to me for a warm up. She wrapped both hands around it and smiled at me.

“Where’s Little Carmen?” I asked. I said a silent prayer the mob kidnapped him. I didn’t much care which mob.

“I sent him outside. I needed a break, you know some quiet time. He’s probably sitting on the front steps wondering when I’ll let him in,” she said.

I wondered if Little Carmen chased squirrel’s, or cars, yelled at postmen, growled at anyone walking down the street. Do I need a sign in the front yard, BEWARE OF LITTLE CARMEN for insurance purposes?

“Whatcha thinking about, Ray?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all,” I answered.

“You’re thinking of something. I know you’re thinking something. I’ll figure it out sooner or later. Enough of you. It’s me time,” said La Flor.

How do you respond to that kind of comment? I thought of two or three responses and they’d all turn out bad. I had a strong desire to grab the coffee pot and drink directly from it. Mental note, bring two cups. Make it three in case Little Carmen shows up.

La Flor broke the silence, “I’ve decided to become a two-career woman.” She held up her hand, policeman style, forbidding me to speak. Then she continued. “I am beautiful, tough, and edgy. I’m keeping my PI shtick.”

“It certainly is a shtick,” I said.

“Thank you, Ray. I’ve decided to be a food critic. You know the phantom dinner. LC will travel with me. He knows food and can give me pointers.”

“Do you mean Phantom Dinner or Phantom Diner?” I asked.

She shook her head, “You’re not listening, Ray. Your head is not in the game. You’ve got a big part in this.”

That got my attention. I turned my chair to directly face La Flor. I kept repeating to myself, ‘Ray, listen. Don’t agree to anything. Think it over.’ The problem for me was I had a lot to remember and repeat it while I am trying to listen to La Flor.

She continued, “Since we’re just starting out, we need a driver, someone to pay for our meals until a syndicate picks us up, or the Food Channel. And, someone to work with LC with the menus. That’s where you come in.”

“That’s a lot of work.”

“It’ll be fun hanging out with LC and me.”

“It will?”

“I’m going to call LC in and tell him the good news. Do you have anything good to eat?”

“Everything I have is good to eat.”

“I mean a cookie, candy bar, you know what I mean.”

“No, but I have dates, raisins, and blueberries,” I said.

“Who are you dating? I didn’t know. How long have you been dating? What does she look like? Do I know her? Tell me everything,” said La Flor bending toward me.

Do I tell her I’m dating a dried fruit? How will that sound?

“Come on, Ray, give it up,” La Flor insisted.

I owe Little Carmen one, from outside the front door, he interrupted, “Beautiful, tough, and edgy PI, I misses use. Can I come in?”

“Isn’t he the sweetest, Ray? Where are the raisins? He needs something for being good.”

“You sure you didn’t send him to obedience school?”

Tomorrow the Phantom Diner may be at your favorite restaurant.

Change happens. It’s a part of life. If we don’t want to change, life’s circumstances often tell us we have to change. La Flor switching careers is a change. Will it work out? Who knows? At least La Flor had the courage to try something different. I like her attitude.

* La Flor is a fictional character and acts as my alt ego. Her character has evolved over the blog posts. She began with a single letter as her name. Her name gradually grew to two letters, then three before she settled on La Flor. She liked the name because it fit her idea of a beautiful, tough, and edgy feminine PI.  It is my interaction with her persona that serves as the source of these blog posts. I have no notion how La Flor will continue to evolve. It is an adventure for me as well as the reader.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

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I open the door to La Flor’s room. She’s lying on her bed in a fetal position, her pillow covering her head. Her iPad blaring blues music.

“La Flor* what’s wrong?” I said.

Her muffled voice said, “I don’t want to talk, Ray. Leave me alone go away.”

“No, I am not going to leave you alone until you talk to me. I want to know what’s wrong. You are not a blues music kind of girl. You walk and talk with the beat of life kind of girl. Now get out of the fetal position and let’s go into the kitchen and have some coffee and talk about whatever is bothering you.”

Grudgingly, Flor untangled herself from her fetal position and sat up on the edge of the bed.

I took a look at her and said, “I think you should go to the bathroom and freshen up a bit.”

“Do I look that bad?” La Flor’s eyes raised to meet mine.

“Yes,” I answered. I knew right away, I said the wrong thing. It’s a species thing. I got to work on it.

“Are you going to put that in the blog? I don’t want my readers thinking I had a bad look.”

“Too late, it’s already in,” another male faux pax.

La Flor rose from the bed, went to the bathroom, turned to me, and said, “Is there any ice cream left? What about the chocolate cake? I think there were couple Fudgsicles left.”

“You cleaned up the ice cream. You licked the crumbs from the one-third of chocolate cake that was left until the plate. The Fudgsicles sticks have no chocolate stain on them.”

“Can you send out for pizza?”

“You can’t eat your way through this.”

“I can try.”

“Do you know how much weight you will gain if you keep this up?”

“If you’re good friend, you will write that no matter how much I eat I don’t gain an ounce.”

“I’m a good friend, but not that good of a friend. You’ve got to get control of yourself. Now go freshen up and we’ll talk.”

“10 minutes later I knocked on the bathroom door, “La Flor you have to come out of the bathroom.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You have to face the world.”

“I don’t have anything to live for.”

“Coffee and a snack are ready for you.”

The bathroom door opened. La Flor stepped out. I gave her a smile. She walked past me into the kitchen.

We sat at the table.  La Flor and I both have filled coffee mugs in front of us.

“Where is my snack?” she said.

I walked to the refrigerator and brought out a small bowl of blackberries and strawberries.

La Flor stared at them, then said, “At least you could have had chocolate covered strawberries and chocolate covered blackberries.” She got up, went to the cupboard and pulled out a jar of peanut butter.

I said, “Okay La Flor, spill the beans what is it, I have a feeling it is guy trouble.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“No, I could hardly tell anything was bothering you.”

“I do hold my feelings well.”

“Yeah, it was a wild guess on my part,” I said.

“I got an email from Jack.”

“And, what did Jack say?”

“He said he was thinking of getting a court order to have me cease-and-desist from stalking him.”

“Were you stalking him?”

“No, I was not stalking him. He mistook my 300 texts a day as stalking.  And, only 100 texts each day were selfies so he wouldn’t forget me.”

“It appears that your relationship is over. Look in the mirror, you are Leflore, beautiful, tough, and edgy, PI.”

La Flor pulled the teaspoon full of peanut butter away from her lips and smiled. She said, “Ray, you are right. He’s getting to be old-school. I’ve got to set my sights higher. He probably goes to bed at 9 o’clock. My day is just beginning at that time.”

“You’re a night owl.”

“That’s when the action starts, Ray.” La Flor looked over to the trash basket and said, “Did you eat all the cake and ice cream? You didn’t save me a Fudgsicle? I have a suggestion for you.”

“What is it, La Flor?”

“When you go to the Y, spend two hours at full speed. Maybe you can cut half of those calories off.”

“Maybe so La Flor, maybe so.  What are you going to do?”

“I’m texting my friend at the mystery writers blog and seeing if she wants to go out with me tonight. There’re lots of fish in the ocean.”

May the good Lord have mercy on the male alt ego species.

We all have down times. We all slip into depression. That’s where friends count. A friend who will be there with us. A friend who will not judge us. A friend who will listen quietly. And, a friend who will help lift us out of the darkness and into the sunlight.

* La Flor is a fictional character and acts as my alt ego. Her character has evolved over the blog posts. She began with a single letter as her name. Her name gradually grew to two letters, then three before she settled on La Flor. She liked the name because it fit her idea of a beautiful, tough, and edgy feminine PI.  It is my interaction with her persona that serves as the source of these blog posts. I have no notion how La Flor will continue to evolve. It is an adventure for me as well as the reader.

 

 

 

 

 

Did You Get Gift Receipts?

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Something I’ve vowed I would never do, I went ahead and did. What did I vow never to do and go ahead and do it, you ask?

It’s quite simple. I called Orkin, the pest control people. When they refused to help, I went on Angie’s list and started calling the pest control experts one after the other. Some were rude to me. Others laughed at me. And, others told me they were going to report me to one agency or the other. I really didn’t do anything. All I wanted to do was to get rid of La Flor for a couple of hours.  I’ve come to like La Flor. I won’t tell her that. And, I ask you to keep my confidence. If I did, she would want a bigger role in this blog.

I thought it would be a good idea to let her take my credit card and go shopping. What could it hurt? I have no idea what this is going to cost. But the peace of mind I’ve achieved over the past two hours has been worth every cent. What was I thinking?

“Ray, Ray. I’m back. Did you miss me?”

All of a sudden, my stomach hurt. My heart is pounding. My right eyelid is sending signals across the cosmos. I take a lesson from the U.S. Navy Seals and breath deeply to a count of four. Or, was it five? Maybe three? It’s not helping.

I said, “How many bags do you have? Do I see one from Saks Fifth Avenue?  Nordstrom’s?  What are you doing with the bags from Victoria Secrets? This is a family blog.”

“Do I ask you where you go shopping? Do I ask you what you buy?” La Flor is clutching her bags close to her body.

“Yes, to both questions. Did you consider Target? Old Navy? Gap? BTW, I don’t want your bags. Relax, por favor.”

“No. No. And, No. And, I didn’t consider the big W if you know what I mean. See, this is the difference between you and me. When you go shopping, you go to H-E-B and buy groceries – boring. When I go shopping, I go out to have fun and spend, spend, spend. Besides, everything I bought is a necessary expense for La Flor, PI.”

“Did you get gift receipts, La Flor PI?”

“Why? I’m not giving anything away.”

“I’m talking about returning everything.”

“No can do, Ray.”

“Did you go shopping by yourself?”

“Duuh!  Beautiful, tough, and edgy girls never go shopping alone. If Jack were with me, I’d let him carry my bags. You’ll also notice lunch at La Cuisine Upscale on your credit card.”

“Get over Jack Reacher. He’s beyond your reach. Pretty good, right? I never heard of it.”

“The restaurant? It’s the overrated, overpriced French restaurant with the snobby wait staff. And, never enough food to fill you up. But the wine is excellent.”

“You couldn’t go to a barbecue joint? Whataburger? In-N-Out Burger? Subway? Tony’s pizza?”

“When girls go shopping, Ray. They don’t do those kinds of places. The only time I do those restaurants is when you take me for doing a good job. I can’t wait to renegotiate my contract.”

“What contract?”

“The one my agent is going to send to you.”

“How did this happen? I created you?

“Save it for another blog post. You’re already over your head in this one.”

“I think you’re carrying the tough and edgy parts of your persona a bit too far. What is the tab on my credit card?”

“I never keep track of that kind of thing.”

“You’re making my heart race, La Flor.”

“It’s only money, don’t be so tight.”

I’m online checking out my credit card. La Flor you spent . . .”

La Flor is a good teacher. Oh, she goes overboard now and then. But she’s right, it’s only money. Money is a useful thing, and it has its place. When it rules our lives, it becomes destructive. People love me, money doesn’t love me. People lift me up when I’m feeling down, money doesn’t. People inspire me that tomorrow will be better than today, money doesn’t. Thank you, La Flor, for prying my fingers loose, a little bit.

Life Is Good & So Is My Frittata

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Important research. The outcome of my research may stop global warming, the Israelis and Palestinians might join forces in whacking a pinata, and the NFL may go the whole season without a concussion, player being arrested, or suspended for taking performance enhancing drugs.

No, my research is not funded by any PAC, It is not funded by the government (any government). I am self-funding my research. How much am I spending on my research, you ask? It’s a personal thing. Let’s just say I’ll still be able to drink my Coke Zero at night, munch on hot air popcorn, fill my car with gas, and go frequently to Starbucks.

“Enough, Ray. Cut to the chase. Read the last paragraph. Wake me when you start summarizing.”

I said, “Whoa, the last comment was particularly nasty. You sound like some of my former students. Have a little faith I’m talking important stuff.”

Here is my question: How many days a week do you go to the grocery store?

When Babe and I were raising 5 daughters we went one day a week. There were seven of us, not counting animals, friends, and relatives dropping (note relatives are not necessarily friends. In case my relatives are reading, of course, I always consider you a friend. Do you think they fell for it?).

Now, I go to the grocery every day. I live alone. I cook for one. I’m not meals on wheels and bringing my gourmet concoctions to the neighbors. I know every counter clerk on a first names basis. Think of the things I have to deal with when I go grocery shopping.

Linda the clerk says, “Is that it, Ray. One jalapeno? Eight cents? You’re paying with your Mastercard?”

I said, “I needed a jalapeno for my taco.”

Next day. I get Linda’s checkout line. She says, “I can’t sell you the bulk ginger, Ray.”

I respond,

“Why?”

Linda said, “You didn’t put enough ginger in the plastic baggie to register a weight.”

I said, “Do I get it for free?”

Linda rolls her eyes, and casually glances at the number for security, “Sorry, Ray.”

 

 

That afternoon, I’m back at the grocery. I’m in the mood for a frittata. All I need are two eggs. I don’t want a frittata tomorrow or next week, only tonight. I hear a voice, “Ray, can I help you?” I turn and look. It is a guy with the name tag, Joe. I don’t know Joe. Joe knows me.

“How do you know my name, Joe?”

“Everyone here knows you, Ray.”

Am I considered dangerous? Am I on the grocery store watch list? Am I being tracked by an unknown grocery GPS they slipped into my credit card? Or, am I paranoid? I not sure of the right answer.

Joe speaks, “Let me guess, Ray. You don’t want a dozen eggs. You don’t want a half dozen eggs. You want two eggs.”

Am I that predictable? “Can you help me, Joe?”

“Fraid not. Your best bet is to the buy the liquid eggs. They’ll be good for five years, don’t think about the expiration date. We only put that on there to make people toss them out and buy fresh. Don’t tell anyone our secret”

“It’s in the vault.”

I take my liquid eggs to the checkout stations. The only one with a short line is Linda. She’s waving at me. I enter her line.

“Long time no see, Ray. It’s been three hours. You get everything you need?”

“How about a life, Linda?”

“Let me see. Did you check aisle four?”

I’m grateful I have a store, HEB, where everyone knows me. And, I can get what I need when I need it. Grateful for large and small things in life. Life is good and so is my frittata.

 

 

There’s More Than Coffee at Starbucks

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I enjoy my morning coffee. I like a rich dark roast. I like my coffee as it is, no add-ons, no sweeteners, nada, I also like the dark roasts at Starbucks. It’s why I budget half my income to enjoy my caffeine habit.

A neighbor told me Dunkin Donuts’ coffee was better. According to my neighbor, a jelly donut improves the flavor of any drink. But, better than Starbucks? It’s like comparing my mom’s homemade Italian meatballs with the meatballs at Subway. Granted, I never tried the meatballs at Subway. Here’s my thinking. I’ve never stuck my finger in a live electric socket to see if it hurt. I’ve never told a state trooper to get lost when he asked for my license, registration, and insurance. I don’t jump in the shark tank at Sea World to try to help a shark floss. There’s a potential market, shark floss. There are things you don’t do because you already know the outcome. I will not try Dunkin Donuts coffee, MacDonald’s coffee, 7-11 coffee, or any coffee with added flavors. Okay, I admit, I hold a coffee bias.

I need my coffee. I need a topic for today’s blog. I can get both at Starbucks. I walk in the door, my backpack slung over my shoulder. I hope it doesn’t throw my spine out of alignment because I want to look cool. I hear a barista yell, “He’s back.”

What does this mean? I take it as a compliment. They’re happy to see me. From the expression on their faces, it most likely means the opposite, Please, please, please have enough dark roast. Please be hot. Please taste fresh. Don’t give him a card to fill out. Turning my name tag around. No, I’ll take Shelly’s, she’s off today. You’re a guy. Maybe he won’t notice.

I use my iPhone app to pay for the coffee – love those stars. I get a runner’s high when I see them going into my cup. It’s like I’m in first grade, where I seldom got stars and now I’m making up for it. Soon, I’ll have enough to get a supersized iced coffee. Honestly, am I this naive? I let Starbucks convince me collecting stars are important? The only thing I collect now is the lint in my navel and occasionally between my toes. Why do I keep coming back to Starbucks when I can brew it more cheaply at home? It’s not the baristas. Sorry Starbucks, it’s not the coffee. It’s not the background music. What is it then? Could it be their breakfast menu – NOT. It’s the people. Stories come at me twice the speed of light. There are a half dozen stories waiting for me. I sit down at a corner table to write my blog. Sometimes life works out and everything falls into place.

I’m watching a guy, come in, he blows by the baristas like he owns the place. He walks straight to pick up counter and picks up an espresso cup. He ordered ahead off his app. I prefer to wait in line and have the baristas stare at me while I try to get my order perfect, “Venti, dark roast, no room, don’t tilt the can. Don’t half fill it from one tin and a half from the other.” Good thing I have a great memory.

The guy takes a tiny sip from his espresso cup, extending his pinky with the 10K gold ring. From the neck down, he looks like Tony Soprano. From the neck up, he looks like my uncle Carmen past his prime. My dad said Uncle Carmen was the favorite because he was the youngest. Uncle Carmen bragged at Christmas dinner, Thanksgiving dinner, every wedding or funeral women fell in love with him. They couldn’t help themselves. Uncle Carmen’s first, second, and third wives didn’t buy his being an innocent bystander in his many trysts. He claimed he couldn’t help himself, he was easily duped and willingly succumbed to female charms. This is all true about Uncle Carmen.

Think of a ballplayer past his prime. You’ve seen some of “names” on DWTS. Here’s the deal with the strain of my species Uncle Carmen and the guy next to me represent. They think they still have it when they’re past prime. They wear expensive, Italian loafers. Beige linen pants and an off-white silk shirt to impress the ladies. If that doesn’t work, they wiggle their solid gold pinky ring. If that doesn’t work, they order an espresso in a small espresso cup and sip it slowly while holding their pinky askew. The guy next to me is no Uncle Carmen, he doesn’t have the Calabrian nose. I’m going to call him Faux Carmen.

I’m judging. Smart money is on match.com, okcupid.com, or something coming out of that genre. I’m relating this in realtime:

He’s checking his large sized, latest version iPhone.

He’s texting.

He’s reading a response text.

He’s texting.

He’s checking his emails.

Now he’s scrolling.

Can I get arrested for stalking? Don’t answer that.

I’m tempted to check the FBI’s most wanted list. Is there a bounty on this guy?

He’s putting his cell phone away. He’s looking out toward the parking lot.

Two cars pull in.

He’s smiling. No, he’s beaming.

He’s standing up, sucking in his stomach, Here’s another hundred on my hunch.

He waves toward the door. 

My eyes follow his eyes. Every guy in Starbucks is staring (it’s a guy thing – thousands of years of programming). Mastered to the point where the guy pretends to not stare but stares. Do any guys really believe they can get away with this move? Go directly to jail. Do not pass go. And, you have no get out of jail cards.

She slowly wiggles and jiggles her way across the room. They should check your ID at the door at Starbucks. 

She’s standing in front of him. Looking up into his face. 

He stretched his arms out wide. Evidently, they know each other.

She throws her arms around him.

He wraps her in his arms.

Tío Paul, todavía eres muy guapo (Uncle Paul, you are still very handsome).

Mi hijo de Dios. hermosa (my god child, you are beautiful).

I leave Starbucks with a story and a lesson. I’ll come back again for a story, but I’ll pack my judgments away. They’re usually wrong.

 

Dining Out – Maybe

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I need a break from my cooking. Eating out presents me with a conundrum. For some, unexplained reason, when I offer an invitation, my friends increasingly make excuses not to join me. They tell me they have Bible study. Their sister’s coming over. Lemo, her cat, is blue and she needs to there for her. I mentally go through my checklist of people I’ve asked to join me for dinner.  I’m looking for someone who’s compassionate, forgiving, and with a short memory. I run through 15 possibilities. I decide to text Eileen.

Want to go out for Mexican?

Eileen texts back, Are you going to embarrass me again?

I text, All I did was ask to see the Health Department Inspection Report.

Eileen texts, We were fourth in line when you shouted, “Where is the Health Grade. It’s supposed to be displayed in public view? Everyone turned and stared at us.”

I was trying to protect you. It’s a guy thing. We can’t help ourselves, I text back in protest.

Eileen texts, When we got to the front of the line, you wouldn’t give them your name until you saw the health grade. Do you know how long the line was behind us? 

I was protecting them as well. It’s a burden, few will accept. You can see why my shoulders are bent. I used to be 6’4″ now, I’m only 5’11”. I’ll be shopping in the boy’s department before long. If you go with me, I promise I won’t ask for the health report. 

Eileen texts, Is this conversation going to appear on your blog?”

Blog? This conversation? I don’t think you trust the male species.

Eileen texts, Your species has a track record.

I change the subject, I hear El Toro has great nachos.

You don’t eat nachos, texts Eileen.

Good point, you going to dinner with me? I’m hungry.

K. Give me an hour.

K

An hour later I pick Eileen up. We decide to go to El Toro. I don’t care for the prices, but I like the name’s masculinity. My species, all I can say, “Mercy, por favor.”

We arrive at El Toro. I’m on my best behavior. We walk in. Eileen quickly points out the block A on the wall to my left. I said, “I feel better already. Does it give a date of the inspection?”

Eileen whispers, “Don’t press your luck.”

We chit chat for twenty minutes, munch on chips and sip iced tea. I hear a squeaky, I want to say prepubescence voice, but I know the woman is at least sixteen going on twenty-eight if you know what I mean. The voice says, “Ray, par tee of two.” How do you write in a prepubescence voice? I’m calling NASA and asking for help. Maybe Watson at IBM can solve my dilemma.

She lead us to a table near the kitchen, I said, “I don’t want to sit near the kitchen.” I see Eileen roll her eyes.

The young woman said, “Let me see what I can do.” The voice, my eardrums ache. It affects me like fingernails drawn across a green board or blackboard.

“How about over there?” she says pointing with her right arm while she checks Instagram with her left hand. She points out a table next to the women’s bathroom door. I point to a different table,  “No one is sitting there,” I said.

“The table by the bathroom door is better. If you have to go, you don’t have to go far,” she laughed at her joke.

I said, “I don’t want to sit next to the bathroom door. ”

The voice rolls her eyes, grabs two place settings. I know I’ll make some social network in very descriptive terms. Eileen is staring at a knife on the table near us. I’m wondering if I crossed the line? Maybe I’ll offer to pick up the tab.

I hold Eileen’s chair while she sits. I’m thinking this gesture will go a long way to erasing the last ten minutes. I said, “Nice place, El Toro. It’s on me tonight,” I check to see if Eileen has a concealed weapon. They’re legal in Texas.

Eileen said, “I’ll have a glass of wine, too.”‘

That one hurt.

We look at the menu. Eileen’s done quickly. I ponder a bit longer.

“A problem, Ray?” asked Eileen.

“Oh no. I’m going to have the fish tacos.”

“I’ve had them here before, they’re very good.”

Marco, the waiter, comes by to take our order. Eileen orders enchiladas Verdura. I like it, a nice modest entree. I’m thinking about my Mastercard balance.

“And, for you sir?” asks Marco.

“I have a question or two about the menu, Marco. Can I substitute salmon for the tilapia in my fish tacos?”

“That’s highly irregular. Our chef has a certain way of preparing tacos. He’s very sensitive.

“Tell the chef, I’m maxing my omega 3’s.”

“What’s that sir?”

“While you’re checking with him. I want to substitute fat-free black beans for the refried beans. I want my Pico de gallo on the side. No cheese on my tacos. But I want extra sides of your hot salsa.”

“Is that it sir?”

“Can I have two flour tacos and one corn taco?”

“I’ll have to add an extra dollar.”

Marco leaves. I look across the table, “Eileen? Eileen?

Lesson learned. Enjoy the moment. Everything doesn’t have to be perfect. Being with a good friend is priceless.

 

 

 

Ray’s Recipe – Fixing a Food Disaster

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I go on Pinterest and find recipe’s I like. I save them under healthy recipes, slow cooker recipes, fun foods. It’s all good. When I click on on a food photo it takes me to the author’s page and I read about another great, easy to cook meal. What I never read is someone saying, this recipe is a disaster. Toss it, start over, I punked yah. No, it’s all good, all the time. No mistakes. In baseball lingo, a perfect game, no runs, no hits, no errors, no one reaches first base.

The way I see it, A disaster meal has side benefits. Maybe you have someone coming for dinner and you never want them to come again – today’s recipe’s for you. Maybe you want to break up, don’t have the courage to say it, let your food do the talking with today’s recipe. Maybe you’re a masochist. If you are, making a meal like the one I am about the describe is going to make you feel terrible – that’s good, right?

My meal plan started out with a great idea. I’ll make an easy, healthy, low cleanup time meal. I’ll brag about it on my blog. Guy’s Grocery Games will invite me to compete. My great chef dreams went downhill faster than the Olympic bobsledding team.

“What did you do, Ray?” you ask.

Okay, I’ll make a clean breast of it. No, I didn’t cook chicken breasts. I wish I did. On a scale of ten, how easy is it to cook a chicken breast? I’d give it a 10 (this is the typical guy response for cooking any food – maybe I should have grilled this meal – I’m talking real guy talk now).

“What did you attempt to cook, Ray. You’re stalling. Spill the beans. Turn state’s evidence. Go into the witness protection program.”

I glad you didn’t mention waterboarding, an IRS audit, or being asked to eat raw eggs (how Silvester Stallone did it, I’ll never know).

Here’s what happened. I decided to make quinoa burgers (they were in a box in the freezer, precooked) Easy, right? Not. I cut up onion, a poblano and red pepper. I added mushrooms. I put my veggies in a pan coated with EVOO. What can go wrong? It’s all going along fine. The veggies are eighty percent done, I add the quinoa burgers.

The only thing that can go wrong is guy think. That’s right, guy think. I think I have enough time to wheel the trash container out to the curb, come back for the recycle containers and put them next to the trash container. Do I leave well enough alone? Oh no, two boys who live a street over walk by tossing a football. I hold up my arm. They flip it to me. I need to prove to them and myself I am Tom Brady’s backup. Five minutes later the light bulb goes off. No, not a light bulb, the smoke alarm. I run a fly pattern into the kitchen. I take the skillet out the back door. I hope no one called 911. Even the birds fly away. Any reader like charred veggies and two hard globs of quinoa?

911 for a food disaster. 1) always use a non-stick pan. 2) Open the windows – turn on all the fans. 3) Phone a friend, and tell your friend your buying dinner, in this case, pizza.

 

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