Super Bowl Party Friends, Shaped Cheese Balls, and Sitting in Dog Sh!t

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Misshapen but bacon covered Super Bowl Cheese Ball

Misshapen but bacon covered Super Bowl Cheese Ball

One year ago on this national holiday that is the Super Bowl I stood at the elevator outside my apartment door debating whether or not to attend the building sponsored party being held in the pimped out lounge. I hesitated, because at my age (early to late 30s), I already have a set a friends I told myself. Making new friends isn't always easy past...well whenever. That aside, the guilt set in as I had promised my mother I would go and I had maybe told that bright eyed leasing agent the day before "oh suuuuure I'll come", wink wink. 

One year has gone by and I just wrapped up my football shaped cheese ball to bring to this year's party. You know I love a shaped cheese ball. Check out my last one here. 

How painful was that first Super Bowl party in the lounge? On a scale of 1 to 10 I would say I have had gas pains worse than my experience feigning interest in a sport I know nothing about while trying not to binge eat the questionable crudite that was on display.

However, in the end I met a few people. People who over the course of the subsequent year have become great friends. And even though there are days that I am convinced I live in a college dorm, I find great relief when I pull in at the end of a hard day knowing that two floors down, around the corner, or across the hall I have people I can count on.

When I think of football I instantly go back to that rainy day at Woodland Junior High playing touch football with 30 of my never to be seen again friends. That day as I, well basically moved in some direction, slipped on the wet grass and landed flat on my backside. This story only really hits home the next day when I went to go get my still damp gym clothes out of my locker and realized that what I had really slipped in was a big ol' pile of dog shit. Imagine that smell. Not my usual Gautier Le Male. 

If you had asked me anytime before I sat down to write this I would have told you team sports have done nothing to me in the way of friendships. Nobody offered me fresh clothes to wear the day I marinated in poo. I don't recall any of my badminton partners. Nor my square dance partners. And where I come from square dancing is a team sport.

All over the internet there are articles about the benefits of team sports and building friendships that last lifetimes. It may only be one year in, but I hope the friendships forged at last years Super Bowl party last a lifetime. And if I have to I will bribe them all with cheese balls. 

Bacon Cheddar Ranch Football Cheese Ball

RECIPE MORPHED FROM VARIOUS ONLINE RESOURCES

Forced Family, Forced Fun, and Forced Fed

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RH Buffet 2015

It's Rosh Hashanah time again! 

For all you Jebliers (Jesus fans) out there that means today is the Jewish New Year and the start of our holiday season. It's one of two times a year you have to go all American Ninja Warrior at temple to get a seat. 

Unfortunately this year I am not physically close enough to my blood family to force them into eating my food and pushing my Jew-bulousness (Jew Fabulousness) upon them. I am also not physically near my Jew Bestie Forever and her family to get my Russian Jew fix. 

Fortunately for me I am in a living situation surrounded by new friends who are willing to eat whatever I put in front of them with the promise of alcohol. So this year I forced all my new Southern friends to come over to my pied a terre where I filled what little counter space with all the cheeses. All of them.

This week I spent my down time scouring cookbooks and stalking middle aged female celebrity chefs online. Then two days ago I had a Me Moment with my platters. I hadn't spent any one on one time with my platters for months. So like a good 80's romantic evening I lit some candles, put on a Carly Simon album, poured a La Croix, and reacquainted myself with all my favorite lovers. After a few hours I totally started to understand the point of view of the mother from Flowers in The Attic. Some of my lovers ended up back in the pantry with the promise to see the light of a buffet table at a later date.

Starting early on Saturday I got to work with what I feel covers everything a Southern Jew Rosh Hashanah Brunch needs. Needless to say finding smoked salmon options in a medium sized Southern non coastal city was not easy. There was one. It wasn't bad.

I filled all my baking dishes and sheet pans (and my mouth periodically). Ran the dishwasher twice and wrapped up a few episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation. All in all a productive day. 

The menu ended up with the following: 

Smoked Salmon and Dill Quiche with Feta

Cinnamon Kugel

Traditional Challah Bread

Deviled Eggs

Mini Honey Bundt Cakes

Meat and Cheese Platter (Pimento Cheese included)

Spring Green Pomegranate Salad with Almond Halva Dressing

To recap I will say for being the only Jew in the room I was very pleased to be able to share this New Year with the kids at Melrose Place. However my new goal is to get @crazyjewishmom to find me a new Jewish doctor who still has a mother around to cook a Rosh Hashanah meal for me. 

Road Trips, Rory Gilmore, and (Future) Rugged Mountain Husband's

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Grit Skillet with Homemade Ginger and Sage Sausage from Over Yonder (Valle Crucis, NC).

Yesterday I found myself riding with the top down, scarf on my head, over-sized sunglasses protecting my baby blues, driving through the beautiful High Country mountains of North Carolina. 

Okay only part of that was true. 

I was on a day trip to some mountain towns in western North Carolina. But I was mildly gassy, my Ray-Bans were smudged and the Nissan top does not come down. And it was more than beautiful. I'm 8 months into my new life here in Winston-Salem and I have only recently begun to travel outside of the city limits. Winston-Salem has enough to offer me (booze and food) that I haven't yet felt the need to break free. However, yesterday I was called upon to travel West like many of my kind before me. 

I landed in Valle Crucis, NC. Home of the locally famous Mast General Store chain found here in North Carolina. And also home to Over Yonder restaurant. Picture any restaurant you would imagine Logan would have taken Rory to on Gilmore Girl's if he wanted her to feel comfortable. Located in the "Hard" Taylor House built in 1861 you can't help but awkwardly tell the waitress you plan to never leave as your grit skillet with homemade ginger and sage sausage is served to you on the back deck overlooking a koi pond that's adjacent to the garden, that's nestled on the hill overlooking the valley that makes you want to leave all your belongings behind and just start life new with nothing but your cast iron skillet and a couple pounds of butter.

After the waitress asked if I wanted my 12th coffee refill I decided it best to just lay down and roll down the drive over to the original Mast General Store. Originally opened in 1883 this general store has sold everything from caskets to the North Face. Plus you can still get a $.05 cup of coffee. Not to forget the entertainment of locals on the back porch singing old mountain songs. 

Added bonus - everyone in the mountains seems to be hot. Not it has been a long time hot, but why hasn't Mode Magazine been up here yet to snag that man behind the counter for future shenanigans with Betty and Mark? Like I said...all I need is my cast iron skillet, a couple pounds of butter, and now my empty ring finger for that rugged mountain husband.

I hope you enjoy the pictures from my day trip below!

 

The Dead Dad's Club

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Dumplings and Bean with Bacon Soup

Dumplings and Bean with Bacon Soup

A NOTE:
Below is a post from awhile back. I find myself reading it once a year on Father's Day. So I am going to share it once again. And you will probably see it next year around this time as well. It's a damn good recipe.

Today’s post is going to be short. It is a holiday for many and I assume there are meats being bought, hot dishes being prepared, and Jell-O salads firming in the ice box.

This is the time of year I steer clear of the card aisles, ignore the barrage of promotional emails that filter in daily and make a concentrated effort to not ask my co-workers what they have planned for the weekend.

Today is Father’s Day and I’m a card carrying member of The Dead Dad’s Club. Though the name of our club sounds harsh it is our way of memorializing our fathers. Most of us in the club agree our fathers had a sense of humor to support our sardonic group name.

We formed innocently enough one night over beers. The Fates had found it necessary to bring together different circles of friends that once seated and stories told realized they formed a human Venn Diagram whose common space was our departed fathers.

That night, though nothing was said, we had our own Hallmark-less, cookout-less, present-less, and fatherless Father’s Day. I will not speak for everyone at that table but I imagine for a split second we all held a mental memorial for the men who were half responsible for making us.

This Father’s Day I will spend time thinking of the men who taught us to make soup, who could play a mean accordion, who proudly served our country, who filled a station wagon full of kids and travelled cross country, who stopped to make history by being photographed on a toilet in the middle of a field, who built a log home, who could light up any room with his electrical skills, who took us to our first psychic reading, who made historical societies cool, and who knew that even after he was gone could make a difference to a medical school.

So this week’s recipe is dedicated to my father, Just J. In my mind this is a family recipe. It very well could have come from Good Housekeeping decades back. But only my father could make it a real family delicacy. It’s a simple soup. From a store bought can. But made to taste homemade because of who taught me to make it.

Just J’s Bean with Bacon Soup (aka Dumps)

Feeds me for about two days. Or a family of four for one meal

Wanted: Bubbie For Hire or How I Made Hamentashen Last Week

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Chocolate Hamentashen

WANTED: BUBBIE FOR HIRE

We (me) here at Benjamin Plante are looking to hire a bubbie for a long term contract position. The ideal candidate will be able to tell if I am eating enough just from a single phone call. She will be suggest I eat more but also remind me that I've put on weight since the last visit. Which was exactly 54 days ago.

She will grill me on my non existent social life reminding me at the same time she will never have great grandchildren. She will set me up with Ada's son from Temple (he's a doctor). When that doesn't work out she will set me up with the gentile at the grocery store (as long we raise our children Jewish).

She will expect me to call every week. She will be at my door in a matter of hours when I am sick. She will always suggest I wear a coat no matter the weather. She will openly judge my tattoos and badger the rabbi on where they can bury my body because of them. She will threaten her own life or my own should I think of getting another tattoo. 

You know Ruth from Temple? She will take me to Ruth's suit guy because he's the best in town and will not cheat you. She will be patient with me as I try to learn mahjong. She will fight the butcher for the best brisket on my birthday.

She will have endless hugs that leave me winded and covered in lipstick smears. She will have a story that will make no sense at first but 45 minutes later have the answer to whatever problem I am presently having. 

This position pays with weekly phone calls. Visits to Boca, Baton Rouge, New York or the Shalom Home as needed. Compliments to your cooking and letting you know Mrs. Schwartz's matzo balls are dry. Making sure the temperature is always ideal in my apartment when you visit. And the promise that I'll name my future unborn children after your brother Saul. 

EDUCATION REQUIREMENTS: 

A lifetime in the kitchen and mastery of the mean streets of life. 

ADDITIONAL SKILLS: 

No knowledge of technology whatsoever. When using Facetime I must be assured you will disconnect at least five times and yell as though it were a transcontinental call from 1930.

And the ability to work effectively with a novice jew feygele.

Referrals welcome. 

OR HOW I MADE HAMANTASCHEN LAST WEEK

Last week I was in the kitchen during a Southern Snow Day baking hamantaschen and pondering life's mysteries. After a couple attempts I found myself swearing at the dough. I couldn't get it the right consistency. And in a short moment of self pity I found myself wishing I had a grandmother (bubbie) to call and tell me what I did wrong. Though a basic recipe I was convinced there was something only a bubbie could get right. I could be wrong. 

Grandparents seemed to exit stage left rather quickly in our family. My memories are not of time spent on grandma's lap or the dinner table. But of stories as told by our parents. 

I'm only in my early to late 30s. There is still time to find a bubbie to make me feel fat while overfeeding me. 

Chocolate Hamantaschen

RECIPE FROM MARTHA STEWART

Prep: 1 Hour

Total Time: 3 hours 50 minutes

Yield: Makes 50 Cookies