Food Hoarding – What a Mouse in My Pantry Revealed

Posted on by LeAnne Notabartolo

I do hope this makes you chuckle. The fervor with which I attacked this problem was legendary and all consuming.

In a previous post, I shared that I have a problem with hoarding food. Not in the gross “Hoarders” TV show way of hiding it or stockpiling it (well, maybe stockpiling a little bit), or anything weird like that. I am not a “prepper” for Pete’s sake. I just HAVE to have my fridge and pantry full to bursting.

The Hoarding in my Past

As I look at my past, I apparently have hoarding in my genetic code. My Great Grandmother, “Granny”, was notorious for swiping each and every single-use jelly packet, syrup cup, and honey cup on the table at any dining establishment. They were all unceremoniously dumped into her handbag. And if the purloined condiments came in little glass jars, she was even MORE delighted with her score. She had an entire collection of them at her home. I can understand her obsession and her hoarding. She lived through the Great Depression as a young adult.

In all honesty, I did something similar when I was in college. When you are 17, and broke, and living in the dorms, a date night to Pizza Hut, of all places, was a big deal. I used to take the parmesan container from the table, and replace it with an empty one, taking the full one back to the dorm to use on whatever I happened to be cooking in my hot pot. Is this really hoarding, or just plain stealing?

Present Day Hoarding

I’d like to say, and believe, that a lot of the hoarding happened by accident. And honestly, some of it did. If you have been following along, you know that we moved 2 years ago to a smaller house that needed MAJOR renovation and repair.  It was pure coincidence that we ended up closing on the sale of our old house and the purchase of the new house on the same damn day. If I NEEDED to do that, you know it never would have happened. We honestly thought we’d be living in the old house while we began the renovations on the new one.

This is what hoarding looks like in its raw form…
This is what hoarding looks like in its raw form.
Even more hoarding seen since I had no where to hide it!

Well…THAT didn’t happen, and I ended up living in utter chaos for more than a year. I had no kitchen cabinets, so I had open shelving in several rooms of the house where I stored cookware, dishes, comestibles, and anything else you would normally find in an actual functioning kitchen. Before I tore out the cabinets, drawers were pulled from the kitchen and I continued to use them for storage on shelves. I couldn’t find a single fucking thing. See those pics above? THAT was my life for nearly a year.

A look at the kitchen under construction. And I promise to get back to live online cooking eventually.

When I was preparing to make a meal, if I couldn’t find an ingredient, I simply went to the store and bought what I needed (privilege of the middle class – yes, I know). Of course, I’d come home and then find what I needed. Too late! I already bought it. I guess I have 2 now…and the hoarding of ingredients began.

Then, dear friends of ours moved away from Vegas, and they dropped off several boxes of pantry items. I did give away more than half of the donations to a young friend who indicated that she needed it. And I gave away even more to a struggling family, but I kept some of it for myself…of course. And the hoarding of ingredients got worse.

Cleaning Reveals More than Expected

The other day I was in the pantry looking for something and found the telltale indications that I had a mouse in my pantry. Teeth marks on a bag of dried apricots (now destined for friend Kim’s chickens along with anything else the mouse got into) and a few little mouse turds. Then I got to thinking, “If that son of a bitch sampled one bag, you know he didn’t stop there.” I found it strange that the mouse went after ‘Nilla wafers, but didn’t touch my cereal, and didn’t touch ANY of the pasta or noodles or any of the Asian ingredients, like nori, dashi, or spring roll wrappers. Everything came out of the pantry. Literally everything got dusted, wiped down, inspected for predation, and expired dates, and then it was all reorganized.

When Friend Christine moved, she handed off some pantry items and they were labeled with painter’s tape. Now I do the same. Because it isn’t as sticky, it’s easy to remove or move it to another container.

Bins and airtight containers were purchased, washed, and filled. There was no fucking way that skeevy little vermin was getting at MY hoard of food! As I was attacking this task with gusto, I “found” things. Duplicates, triplicates, and quadruplicates of things. I must have been sleep-shopping, or fugue shopping when I ended up with some of this stuff in my cart! Here is a list of SOME of the weird shit I found while trying to exorcise the mouse:

  • 3 quart sized bottles of apple cider vinegar with the “mother” – only one open *
  • 4 bottles of Sherry vinegar – 3 of them open**
  • 13 additional bottles of other assorted vinegars **
  • An entire 16” cube bin full of different dried Asian noodles
  • 14 bottles, of varying sizes, of olive oil **
  • 10 cans of assorted beans – and I only really like cannellini beans (there were 5 of those)***
  • 3 large bottles of Red Boat fish sauce*
  • At least 4 different soy sauces
  • Expired apple cider, cranberry juice, and V8 – tossed ***
  • 3 small jars of cornichons***
  • 7  jars of mustard**
  • And the list goes on…

*“I can’t find it, so I’ll buy another” and found it when I got home.

**Some were gifts.

***But they were on sale!

In all fairness, most of the things I am hoarding are shelf stable with LONG expiration dates. Now, however, I am making it my mission to cook with ALL of this stuff because I can now actually FIND it! It only took two and a half years…

As for the mouse? I figured out how it was getting in. My pantry used to house my washing machine, and the mouse was coming up through the old drainpipe. I fixed that shit! I put one of the sealed bottles of soy sauce upside down in the hole. No more signs of the mouse.

Originally, I was looking for a discarded cap that would be the same size. Then I thought something with weight to it, so the mouse couldn’t move it, would be a better choice. Voila! Upside down bottle wedged into the drainpipe hole.

Relationship Status? It’s Complicated – Part 5 – Truly Cooking

Posted on by LeAnne Notabartolo

First of all, apologies for not finishing what I started in a timely fashion. Cooking and writing have been the last things on my mind. We went on vacation for 2 weeks – one GLORIOUS week in Paris and a second week in London. The Hubs & I were able to cross things off our “bucket lists”. You can see the pics on my Instagram. And then we got wrapped up in NHL playoffs – Go Knights Go (Stanley Cup Champs in case you weren’t following along)! And so much else has happened and I have been a slacker.

So where were we? Oh yeah! Now I remember, I was about to tell you how I REALLY learned to cook…

Like I mentioned before, I became interested in cooking when I was younger, and I THOUGHT I knew how to cook well until I went to culinary school. What started out as a passion for me as a teen was finally realized in my 40’s.

By the time I went back to school, I had been married for more than 20 years, The Offspring was in high school, I had done more than 1000 live cooking demos, and I thought I knew what I was doing. I knew I wasn’t going to get my degree, or work in a professional kitchen full time. This was for my own personal edification. I thought I was going to refine what I learned already throughout my life. Yeah…right… What I THOUGHT was going to happen, and what actually happened are two completely different things. It was 2009. I was 44.

There are four levels of competence in anything:

  1. Unconscious Incompetence – you don’t know that you don’t know anything.
  2. Conscious Incompetence – you know you don’t know how to do anything correctly.
  3. Conscious Competence – you know what you know and have to think about doing it the right way.
  4. Unconscious Competence – You don’t even have to think about doing it the right way, you just do it. And it’s always correct.

Think about shoelaces as an example:

  1. Kids don’t realize they are supposed to be tied at first.
  2. Then when they do, they come running to you to get them tied, because they know they don’t know how.
  3. When they start to learn, they are focused, tongue sticking out of the corner of their mouth until finally…
  4. The laces can be tied while they are saying they want a snack.

The goal, in learning anything, is to reach level 4. And do it as quickly as possible. I went into culinary school thinking I was a level 2, maybe a 3 and found out I was a level 1. Talk about demoralizing! Here I was, the oldest person in the class and I knew next to nothing! SHIT! My life experience was not a benefit here and my admittedly slower physicality wasn’t winning me any bonus points either. SHIT! I thought my 20+ years of practical time cooking in a kitchen would help me…WRONG!

Day one of kitchen practical in Cooking Basics (when you are actually IN the kitchen and not a classroom) I received a rude awakening as to how much I really didn’t know. It was basic knife skills. Now, people who don’t spend as much time in the kitchen as I do think I have great knife skills and I will tell you I suck, but I used to suck more.

I know how to hold a knife properly, always have. I knew to curl my fingers back from the edge of the blade; a lesson hard learned. But my skill set ended there. Chef Jill came up behind me, “Lower your right shoulder. Stand square to the board. Bring your elbow in, quit sticking it out. You can’t make a straight cut like that!” I gently put my knife on the cutting board, blade facing away from me, turned to her, and asked, “Am I doing anything right?” She looked me square in the eye, “NO.” In my head I said, “Challenge accepted.”

Purchase at Blue Q – Image from their site

Julienne, Batonnet, Chiffonade…

My poor husband ate more potatoes while I was in cooking school than he had in the combined other years of our marriage. Potatoes are cheap and are great for practicing knife skills. My composter got all the potassium goodness from those peels, and I learned how to properly, dice, batonnet, chiffonade, julienne, mince and so on. I never did learn how to properly cut a tourné or make a quenelle from the mashed potatoes, but I was miles ahead of where I started. And I scored the highest in the class on the final and overall grade, both practical and written exams.

The fire inside me for food and cooking grew even stronger. The more I learned, the more obsessed I became. I knew what a Michelin Star was and what a James beard Award was, but it never occurred to me WHY these were such big deals until I learned how to REALLY cook. Then I got it. Truly got it. And the unfortunate and soul crushing realization that I would never be part of that world, at that level sunk in. Did that realization curb my enthusiasm for cooking? NOPE!

Glutton for Punishment

I went back for more. I took Garde Manger and once again was the oldest person in the class. No one wanted to be my “lab partner” because during introductions I admitted I was there to learn, not to get a job. The rest of the class was there for a degree or to move up in the positions they had. Poor Jeff got saddled with me and he was decidedly unhappy…until until he realized my passion for cooking and desire for perfection. Once again, I scored the highest on the exams and Jeff and I aced the final far ahead of our peers to the shock and dismay of one particular douchebag.

School ended for me there. The remaining classes that I wanted to take required the pre-requisite of a class where you learn to run the school restaurant. I was not at all interested in doing that. My only interest was the learning environment. Even though I was willing to pay cash to NOT take that class, they wouldn’t allow me to skip it. It may be time for me to revisit that…maybe.

Culinary school opened doors for me in other ways. I had the wonderful experience of working for Texas Pete on their west coast events as their show runner. Old High School pal Chef Tim Grandinetti got me involved with them. I catered small gatherings; we started a supper club. I joined a cookbook club; I taught my sister how to cook via YouTube during the pandemic and I still will do live online demos when asked.

Sport Cooking, the New Addiction?

I’ve become aware that I am a “sport cook”. Friend Kim Foster, who moderates the cookbook club, is a James Beard award winner for writing, and has a new book just released (The Meth Lunches) clued me into that. I learn to do something outrageous or complicated, just because I CAN. Then I promptly forget it, moving on to the next culinary challenge I set for myself. I learned to do Julia Child’s stuffed, boned duck en croute, made French country pâté, chicken liver mousseline, and so on. A few things I challenged myself with that I still do are curing and smoking bacon, stuffing my own sausages, and other curing & smoking tasks. Basically, it’s another manifestation of my addiction.

For a gal who came from a background of want and need – wanting acceptance, needing validation, food, clothes, and friendship – a passion grown from need changed everything. I welcome people to my table. I still get nervous when a Chef comes to dine at my table even though I know they aren’t judging me. Nervous to the point that last Thanksgiving, I cut myself so badly that I couldn’t stop the bleeding without superglue.

Now as I prepare to get ready for another Thanksgiving – my favorite holiday of the year – I am secure in knowing that whoever joins us will feel welcomed. Happy that my table will be a safe harbor for those who choose to join us. I don’t worry whether there will be enough, there is always plenty. I don’t worry that my new home is smaller than the old one, we will make room for everyone who chooses to join us.

Expectations, Disappointment, Sour Grapes

This fall The Hubs took me back to upstate New York so I could see the leaves. I made a lunch reservation at American Bounty at the Culinary institute of America, the school I so desperately wanted to attend. If I am being honest, I was disappointed, but I am not sure why. Were my expectations high because the school was gilded in my mind? Did the remnants of my sour grapes about dreams not realized loom over the experience? Did the fact that I can eat extraordinary meals here in Las Vegas mute the expertise of the culinary students? Perhaps it was a combination of all of that. Still, I am glad I went.

Will you ever find me cooking in a commercial kitchen? Probably not. Heading toward 60 with a bum knee and a brutal and honest look at myself in the mirror, I can see that I physically don’t need or want the challenge that represents. For now, I will continue to challenge myself at home. Right now? I practice making quenelles to hide my dog’s medication. How’s that for fancy?

Relationship Status? Complicated – Part 4 – Addiction

Posted on by LeAnne Notabartolo

Experience has taught me I have an addictive personality. I find a new hobby and do it to excess and then abruptly stop, moving on to the next new thing. Sewing? Yup. Papercrafts? Yup. Cross-stitch? Yup. Projects are started and I go gangbusters on it until I am bored or distracted and then I move on to something else. It took me over a year to refinish a piece of furniture. There is a project piece currently in my back yard that I am “working on”. I started it last summer. I keep telling myself and The Hubs it will get finished as soon as the weather is stable, and I can work outside. The truth is I lost my steam and moved on to something else. Those are just examples of how my addictive personality reveals itself.

Addiction

I have an addictive personality. My Dad was an addict too. I bet my Mom is to a certain extent as well. Cocaine was removed from my roster in 1987. I began smoking at 15. I’ve stopped smoking at least a dozen times in my life, the most recent being 1 November of last year. Every hour of every day I want a cigarette and it has been 6 months of not smoking. Unlike other people who can be “social smokers”, I cannot. I am either all in, or all out. In my dreams I am smoking, and laughing, like an old school cigarette commercial. And then there is THIS ad…

I stopped smoking and then what happened? I replaced smoking with food and promptly gained 15 pounds. In other words, I substituted one addiction for another. (Moment of truth – I keep asking myself, which is worse for my cardiovascular health, carrying around the equivalent of a 15 lb bowling ball all day, every day, or smoking…?). The only hobby that has remained and morphed into something solid is cooking. Why? Because it feeds my addiction.

Having the abundance to eat whatever and whenever I want makes it so easy to feed my addiction. That’s a real problem there. Think about it. I know I have an addiction. I can financially support that addiction. My addiction is socially acceptable, unlike the drugs of my past, and doesn’t harm anyone…anyone except me. My addiction supports small businesses, and grocery stores, and farmers’ markets. No one gives me side-eye when I drive thru Popeye’s to get some fried chicken, like they did when I was snorting lines in the ladies’ room. No one feigns a cough when I grab a couple of tacos from a food truck like they did when I smoked near them.  Food is a perfectly normal and accepted vice. As long as I keep my shit together and stay at a “socially accepted size”, no one cares.

Several years ago, I was diagnosed as, and I quote, “borderline bipolar”. I suffer from depression and then I have manic mood swings that I can’t control. They prescribed meds and all of them made me feel like a zombie. There was no depression, but I didn’t feel happiness either. I felt nothing. Except hunger. So I stopped taking them. I eat my feelings. I know I do and still, I can’t stop myself. Addiction. Happy? Have a cookie! Sad? Have some chips. Bored? What’s in the cabinet? Angry? Excited? Anxious? Let’s see what’s in the fridge! It seems food solves all the problems…for a while, just like the cocaine did. And then I can’t zip my jeans.

Disgust  

Dining out can be a real challenge for me. I want to try at least half the menu in most places. We can afford it, why not? Then the leftovers come home, and I find myself in the middle of the night, after The Hubs is in bed, noshing on leftovers by myself. They say if you drink alone, or hide your drinking, you might be an alcoholic, but what if you eat alone or sneak food, or eat all the leftovers? What does that make you?

When I am at my lowest, food gets shoved in my face in a fog. Am I hungry? Probably not. Sometimes I don’t even realize I am actually eating until the dishes are piled in the sink, or the trash bin is full of empty containers. There are only two brownies in that big container, let’s get rid of that. Just a handful of tater tots in that bowl in the fridge, let’s make some room. That ice cream container is taking up too much space in the freezer! Let me get rid of that. Why is this large container in here with only a small amount of fried rice? Let’s fix that.

Did I even taste the food? Who knows? I tell myself that I am not wasting food. I convince myself that I am cleaning out the fridge, eating things that no one else wants (hello there are only two people in my house…), or making room for new leftovers. The lies I tell myself about food are astounding! It’s disgusting. I am disgusted and ashamed of myself. Does that stop me? Do I do it again? Of course I do because I have an addiction!

It’s more than the act of chewing that I want. And no, gum will not suffice. You don’t swallow gum. I eat until my belly is beyond full. I eat to the point of being uncomfortable, and I unbutton the fly of my jeans. Hell, I go upstairs and put my pajamas on. It doesn’t matter what time of the day. Sometimes I fall into a carb coma on the couch. When I wake, I am disgusted with myself.

Gluttony

The other day I was in the grocery store and somehow ended up in the chip aisle. Lay’s were on sale $1.99 each if you bought 4 or more. One bag was $4.79. I convinced myself I was saving money buying 4 when all I really wanted was to try the Dill Pickle Flavor. I eat potato chips until the bag is empty. For the record, it doesn’t matter what size the bag is. Five ounces or 500 ounces, once that bag is open, I will not stop until it is empty. Once the bag is open, I eat mindlessly until they are gone because those chips sing a siren song that I cannot ignore. They are my personal kryptonite. If the bag stays closed, I can resist them…for a short bit of time.

I remember as a kid the rare package of real Oreos would magically appear at the house. My sisters and I would eat them with milk virtually all in one sitting, afraid we wouldn’t get our fair share. Worried if we would get them again. I KNOW I am going to get potato chips again, so WHY the fuck do I eat them all at once? Because I am a glutton. And then I am disgusted with myself over this behavior. What do I do? I eat even more! I already blew my diet for the day, so who gives a shit?! Then I can’t zip my jeans and feel even worse about myself…and it starts all over again. It’s a vicious circle.

Does my past experience with scarcity color my actions now? Probably. I can remember the first time I self-medicated with food. We were sitting around the table having baked ziti for dinner. I can see the kitchen of the trailer as clear as day in my mind and I can tell you what position at the table I was seated. The phone rang. There was a death in the family. Everyone else sat stunned and stopped eating, I took the entire pan of baked ziti and began eating directly from the pan. I can’t remember the year, but I am guessing it was 1975 or ’76. I was 10 or 11.

Next? Culinary School and how I learned to really cook.

Relationship Status? Complicated Part 3 – Toxic Comfort

Posted on by LeAnne Notabartolo

The differing ways people look at food tell me a lot about who they are and sometimes how they grew up. Do they look at food as fuel, comfort, or something else? In my experience people who think of food only as fuel have probably never been in a state of want. Because of my personal experience, and having been in a state of want, I think of food in a much more complicated fashion and that’s not necessarily a good thing.

Safety – Comfort

When you are hungry – truly hungry – food takes on a whole different meaning. Have you ever looked in your fridge and saw empty shelves? Or gone into your pantry or cupboard and not find anything to eat? No one should ever have to experience that. I have. I have looked in the fridge and saw nothing but condiments and I’ve looked in the cupboards and saw nothing to make an entire meal.

The first time it happens, there is a certain low-level panic that starts to bubble up in your throat and wants to come out as a scream, but you don’t let it. You shove it down inside as if it was edible. You chew on that panic until it all but consumes you. Then you move on. It becomes less panic inducing each time until it feels normal. But is it normal? What is normal? Normal is a setting on the dryer; it shouldn’t be a feeling of hunger or panic.

Even now, as an adult, in an upper middle-class bracket, I start to get a little edgy if I can see the shelves in my fridge. I KNOW where my next meal is coming from. We can afford groceries and I KNOW I don’t have to hoard food, but this little part in my core is still afraid of empty shelves. I feel safe when I have a lot of food in the house. Food is comfort for me. Not fuel, comfort. A full fridge means I am safe. It means I don’t have to panic. But I do. I joke, telling myself and others that I am prepared for the Zombie Apocalypse. But I am not kidding. Not really. I am ready. And I still panic a little. Every now and then.

Then I feel absurd and clean out the fridge, like I am doing this morning. Organizing everything. Checking dates on condiments and tossing stuff out that I simply “had to have” and yet let spoil or go to waste. Because a full fridge meant wealth. Stability. Safety. Comfort.

Wealth – Status

I have a confession to make. In a way, it’s embarrassing, in a way it’s prideful. I have three fridges. Yes, three. And an upright freezer. And they are all full. There is one just for drinks. The one in my kitchen is the primary and has the most food. The one in the garage is the “overflow” fridge. There are two legs of prosciutto, a bag of limes, and extra produce. Who the fuck has two legs of prosciutto?

Occasionally, I use the overflow fridge to cure bacon or fish before it goes on the smoker. Frequently I store pots of stock for a couple of days until I am ready to skim fat off and can it. The freezer is similarly full. One drawer each for chicken, beef, pork, and fish. And shelves with phyllo, puff pastry, wonton wrappers, the bowl for my ice cream maker, and leftovers that are waiting for mealtime. The leftovers don’t always get eaten. Sometimes they are forgotten and become freezer burnt and must be tossed out.

Obviously, having the space and the funds to fill that food storage space, is a luxury and I know it. It’s the definition of “an embarrassment of riches”. I am acutely aware that I have more than most. It is baldly transparent to me that I should be ashamed to have such abundance, but it makes me feel safe. It makes me feel like I have finally achieved some level of status, never mind the wealth. Because a full fridge meant wealth. Stability. Safety. Comfort.

Reward

Additionally, sadly, I use food as a reward, an excuse, and a celebration. For myself and for my son when he was growing up.

  • “Get an A in Math and we’ll go for ice cream.”
  • “If you behave in the store, you can have a candy bar.”
  • “Wow! You did a great job on that project kiddo. Let’s have a celebration dinner. Where do you want to go?”
  • “I got the job! Let’s go out to eat.”
  • “It’s too hot to cook, let’s go out to eat.”
  • Or the most ironic one… “I lost 10 pounds! I’m going to get some fried chicken!”

You will notice that all the above involve going somewhere to eat. Not using the abundance of my fridge, freezer, and pantry. Because having the income to celebrate meant we didn’t have to do it at home.

The Offspring and I had “The See’s Ritual” when we went to the mall. At See’s Candy Store, you can go in any time of day, and they will give you a free sample of their choosing. When we went to the mall, if he behaved, we would go to See’s. He would get a free piece of candy, and because I felt guilty for walking in just for free candy, I would buy him a Scotch Mallow for later. How fucking toxic is that?

I rewarded good behavior with something unhealthy and celebrated it as a good thing! WTF?! C’mon, admit it. You’ve done the same thing. We all do. The one thing I have never done, is used meals as a punishment. “Behave or go to bed with no supper,” is cruel in my mind. To be fair, I have said, “This is not a restaurant. This is what’s for dinner. You can eat this or not. Your choice.”

Oh yes, and speaking of mealtimes, I am also a member of the “clean the plate club”. You know, “Eat everything on your plate. There are starving children in China!” I tried NOT to do that to my son. I have the rule that you must TRY everything on your plate, but you don’t have to finish it. It’s weird that I was able to exorcise THAT demon in a fashion, but still used food as a reward…

Comfort – Safety – Addiction

The reason certain foods are called “comfort food” is multi-faceted. You want to eat it because it makes you feel good, and you reach for comfort food when you are feeling low. Comfort foods recall memories of safety, happiness, family, and well…comfort.  But when reaching for food becomes the norm and not the exception, and you are self-medicating with food to make yourself feel better, you have a problem. You may have an addiction. I know I do.  More on that in the next installment.

As the Stomach Turns – Pet Peeves 2023

Posted on by LeAnne Notabartolo

I have a love/hate relationship with several things lately and one of them is Facebook. This week FB reminded me that I needed to write my Pet Peeves blog. It has been three years since my last one. These are the things and happenings that make me want to shout “Fuck off!” This is the one time of year that I let loose and bitch, whine, and complain about any damn thing I choose. If you want to see past issues, you can click here, or here, or even here. Many of those are continuing issues, but this is the current list of additional things that make my head explode. Be forewarned, this post is always filled with foul language. If you are easily offended, you might want to move along.

Social Media

“Influencers”

Who are they trying to influence? I am all for sharing what I love (and despise) with everyone I know and opening a conversation about said topic, restaurant, product, recipe, or idea. No one pays me to rep their product on my socials and I don’t expect anything in return. If you are a paid rep, you are a brand ambassador. Do these “social media stars” really think they are influencing me? Fuck off!

Photo by Sund Shin On Unsplash
Photo by Sung Shin on Unsplash

Additionally, I really get pissed off when my experience is spoiled by “influencers”. It happened in Barcelona at Park Guell. A couple of bimbettes (not old enough to be full bimbos), commandeered the entire gorgeous, tiled staircase so they could get the “perfect shot”. This went on for more than 30 minutes, angrily shooing people out of their shot. Fuck off!

Recently we were at a pop-up event for a soon to be opening diner, and “influencers” were seated near us. In an attempt to get decent shots of the food, they were using lights so bright that we had to shield our eyes. Get a fucking Android and you don’t have to do that! Then they had the nerve to simper a lukewarm apology at us. “Oh, so sorry. We’re influencers and want to get a great shot for them.” The Hubs & I rolled our eyes at them and tried to ignore the glaring light. Fuck off!

“Brand Ambassadors”

For the last goddamned time, NO I do not want free product to be your “brand ambassador”! Brand reps are paid for promotion of a product. In cash. You know…it’s a JOB. If there is no financial compensation attached to your offer, kindly fuck off and leave me alone.

Trolls

Why in the world would you intentionally follow someone you completely disagree with? If you are trying to broaden your scope of knowledge, and really learn what the other has to say, that’s great. If you are there simply to start a flame war, belittle them, call names, or be disagreeable in general, you are a troll. Please go fuck off.

“Friend” Etiquette

Recently, I have noticed a spate of comments and threads where so called “friends” are correcting the OP*. In many cases the OP didn’t ask for opinions, but the “friends” feel they must weigh in and share why the OP is wrong. And they are doing this publicly, basically embarrassing the OP. If you are truly friends with that person IRL*, message them privately and share your concerns, don’t shame them in public. If you are more concerned with being correct than being a friend, you are a troll. See above and fuck off.

And Pop-Up Ads can just go Fuck Off!

Travel

Boarding Flights

  • It has been more than 20 years since 9-11. The protocols by the TSA have changed very little. Why can’t people figure this shit out?
  • Guess what? Crowding the gate because you think you can board earlier than your group doesn’t work. Get out of the way and fuck off.
  • Don’t try to board with group 2 when you are in group 6. They have your number; your ticket will be checked, and you will be kicked out of line. You will just hold up the line for everyone else.

Don’t crowd the baggage claim carousel. It will not make your bag come off the chute faster. You are just blocking everyone who is trying to get to the ones that are actually ON the damn belt.

Appointment Times

This particular pet peeve applies mostly to doctors’ offices. I know I need an appointment, so I make said appointment based on my schedule and available slots. If I don’t show up on time, the office can, and frequently does, charge a “no show” fee. But I am not supposed to get pissed off if the doctor is not on time. How the fuck is that fair? Guess what? My hairdresser, nail tech, lash tech, dog groomer, all require appointments and they run on time. And you know what else? If they are running late, they CALL ME and let me know. I wonder how the doc would feel if I started charging a late fee, or billing them for MY time while I am sitting in their waiting room?

To be fair, I know sometimes it is other patients’ fault that the doc is running late, but a courtesy call would be appreciated so I am not wasting my time. Also, OB/GYN are exempt from this rant – babies come on their own schedule and basically tell everyone, “Fuck off! I am coming!”

And Finally – Other People’s Kids

If you know me at all, you know that I frequently say, “I hate kids”. That’s not true. I like MY people’s kids. I like babies. I like teenagers. However, when it comes to other people’s kids, I get irritated. We recently went to a get-together at a brewery/restaurant. There were 46 – I counted – kids, many of whom were running around, being nuisances. Now, if they were being parented by the adults who brought them AT ALL, I wouldn’t have had an issue. If you insist on bringing your kids in public (and FTR you should), be sure to teach them how to behave properly. Wait. Maybe it isn’t the kids I can’t stand. Maybe it is their parents…yeah, that’s it.

*OP = Original Poster

*IRL = In Real Life

Relationship Status? Complicated. Part 2 – My Experience as a Waitress

Posted on by LeAnne Notabartolo

I hope you took the time to read Part 1 about my experience with poverty and food as a youth. Read on for the second part in the multi-part series.

In my humble opinion, I think everyone should experience work in food service at some point in their life. Whether it is waiting tables, working delivery, fast food, dishwasher, chef, or prep cook, it doesn’t matter. You come away from that experience changed. Sometimes for the good, sometimes not.

Food Service – Precision

My first experience in food service was at our family deli. Making sandWISHes*, slicing cold cuts, running the register. In college I worked the deli counter for Price Chopper. While home on summer break I worked in the meat department for the same grocer. Pal Mike worked there as well (you can read his blog here).

My first waitressing job was at The Friar Tuck Inn in Catskill, New York. For those of you who aren’t familiar, it was akin to an Italian version of the hotel in Dirty Dancing with all the angst, sex, illegal gambling, and drugs you’d expect. But without Patrick Swayze (pity). I fell even more deeply in love with food. Watching the culinary team turn out LITERALLY 1000 covers of a six-course meal every night with the precision of a Swiss watch was energizing! They were their own perfect ballet company behind the line.

Calls of “Behind” and “Watch Your Back” made me jump to the side because I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. It was amazing! My love affair with the hospitality industry was born. I made a ton of cash, I was thin, my arms were ripped, I made lazy busboys cry (for real), became more confident and stood up for myself, and learned new skills that would serve me later. And the food? I could eat any damn thing I pleased from the line. Amazing soups, good pastas, fresh salads, stuffed Clams Casino, in a quantity that was limited only to the time I had between services.

What I didn’t know at the time was I was my own garde manger. The waitstaff was responsible for making our own salads and plating our own cold appetizers. Nothing too complicated; melon with lemon, scungilli salad, “house” salad, but each and every one needed to look exactly the same so no one at the table felt slighted. This trend continued at several waitressing jobs across my career in food service, from pizzerias, to upscale dining, to buffets, to banquets. And I loved it! The funniest thing is that it wasn’t until I went to culinary school that I found out I had been part of the “ballet” all along but didn’t know it.

Growth – Experience

After my experience at The Friar Tuck, I knew I could work in virtually any restaurant on the planet. I had found a true love of food service and sought out more jobs because my Friar Tuck job was only April thru October. I worked seven days a week, simultaneously at a pizzeria (weekdays), nightclub (weekend nights – where I met my husband), country club (weekend evenings) and The Friar Tuck (weeknight evenings). The following items were in my car: uniform items, spare shoes, panty hose with support, makeup, deodorant, cigarettes, and a basic first aid kit of bandages to combat the inevitable blisters on my feet. I earned a lot of “experience points” and was as comfortable doing upscale dining as I was at slinging drinks or pizzas. It was 1987. I had a cocaine problem. I was 22.

I had no misconceptions about my abilities. Yeah, I was good, but not great, but I still had difficulty finding a job after getting married at the end of 1987 and making my first move as a military wife. Because of my work ethic, knowing I was only going to be in Denver for 6 months, I was honest about my limited time there, and no one would hire me. They didn’t want to train me, just to have me leave.

John was on mids (6 pm – midnight), so I really only wanted to work evenings. One jackass wanted me to work “splits” – come in at 10:30 am, prep and work the lunch shift until 2:30, then come back at 4 and work until 11. Fuck off. I was offered a dream job at Raffles Hotel and had to turn it down because I didn’t feel it was fair to them. They wanted to send me to school to be a sommelier. Turning down that one made me cry.

I despise lying but found myself doing just that so I could get a job. I ended up working at a Marie Callender’s, my first and only chain restaurant experience, complete with ugly polyester pinafore uniform, shitty food, and shitty tips. If I was lucky, I made $30/night in tips. But I had a job. Having worked at more upscale places, I was kinda snobby to be honest about the food there, but I do admit the pies were good. And it was a MASSIVE cut in pay too. Let me put it this way – in 1987, I paid for my wedding in cash after saving for less than one year.

Need– Adversary

Then we moved to Spain. Once again, I had to find a job. One of the most frustrating things about being a military wife is that I could never really have a career of my own. There was no internet or work from home option back then and without a college degree, there were few options open to me. None of which offered transfers when John was moved. Each time I’d get seniority, we’d move.

Even though John was in the military and was getting a steady paycheck and housing allowance, both of us were up to our asses in student debt with nothing to show for it. His check paid for the bills, and my paycheck paid for food and entertainment (basically). Thankfully there were vibrant “clubs” on the bases back then. I ended up working in the NCO and Officers’ Clubs as a banquet server and dining room waitress. The tips sucked, the food sucked, and while I was happy to have a job, my American co-workers sucked too. I learned valuable lessons here. This is where I learned about differences in people’s life experience and what constituted “good” for them. This was where I learned that I had graduated from “needy” to privileged in some ways and didn’t know it.

Disdain – Snobbery

While waiting for a banquet to start one evening the waitresses and hostesses started talking about their weddings. As the new kid on the block, I just sat there and let them talk, growing more and more scandalized by the descriptions of their weddings. You see, in my family and circle of friends, there was only one way to have a wedding. You got married in a church; posed for pictures; then you had an open bar cocktail hour with passed hors d’oeuvres, and then either a sit-down dinner or a buffet dinner where the open bar continued. There is cake and dancing, and a good time is had by all. Period. That’s it. That was the only way unless you eloped. Still, to this day if Mom or anyone else in my family goes to a wedding, the first question I ask is, “How was the food?”

Tales were proudly told about backyard BBQ’s, and receptions catered entirely by the family (who were not caterers or even in the food industry). Finger sandwiches and potato salads were a common theme. I heard retellings of 350-person church basement receptions with cake and punch, nothing else. Not even dancing! With the prices of the dresses ranging from $300 to $800 (in the 80’s – that was a LOT). Wait! What? How can you have a wedding reception without booze or dancing? You had it outdoors? Didn’t your dress get ruined? You spent that much on your dress and you didn’t serve dinner? All those people traveled to celebrate with you, and you only gave them cake and punch? WTF?!

I thought to myself, “LeAnne, just shut up. They already think you are a snob; they don’t need to hear about your wedding.” But of course, all eyes turned to me and they begged me to share. So, I told them.

“My wedding wasn’t as big as some of yours. I got my dress on sale for $85. We only had 125 people. There was a cocktail hour with passed hors d’oeuvres, a sit-down dinner, open bar, dancing, and cake.” I tried not to speak in a disdainful tone, even though my 23 year old heart held nothing but disdain for their bizarre (to my mind) celebrations. I spat it all out in one breath hoping that would be the end of it, purposefully leaving things kinda vague. Then the questions started. What kind of hors d’oeuvres? What was the dinner? What’s an open bar? When I explained what an open bar was, they were floored, “You PAID for all of those people to get drunk?” I asked, “If you invite people to dinner at your house, do you ask them to bring their own drinks?” The response was unanimously “yes”.

They labeled me a snob, and never spoke to me again. Seriously. Whenever I had to work with any of them, there was no camaraderie. No chit chat; it was work talk only. And there was no team support either. While they would help each other bussing or setting tables, or filling water glasses, I was left to do mine alone. It was working this job, that I realized people who loved food service had different expectations and feelings about celebrations and food in general. These bitches thought this food was good!

Most of these gals had never been a waitress before and they were only doing so now because, like me, it was the only job they could get. The difference was, I liked it. Here I was, acting like a snob doing the same fucking job as them…yeah…that. It was 1988. I was 23. You don’t know shit when you’re 23.

Learning – Growth – Gathering

That was when I learned to shut the fuck up. It was then that the lightbulb finally went on. The lightbulb indicating my experience with food and dining culture was incredibly limited to only what I knew. If I was going to grow up, I needed to shut up and learn.

The Spanish career waiters took me under their wing and started teaching me Spanish and inviting me to eat with them. For the record, THEIR dinner was excellent because the entire line in the kitchen was Spanish. The family meal was classic Spanish cuisine. Being invited to eat with the Spaniards further deepened the riff between me and my American co-workers because they were jealous, and I didn’t give a flying damn. At least the Spaniards befriended me, which is more than I could say about the Americans.

The Spanish staff members talked with me about the differences between American and Spanish restaurants. They wanted to know as much about American dining culture as I wanted to know about theirs. I had to chuckle when they told me they thought all American restaurants were either really fancy or like Mc D’s. They taught me to flambé. It was here I made my first Chateaubriand and almost set my bangs on fire. They gave me my own nickname – La Reina or Agrippina depending on who was addressing me. And they taught me how to eat like a European. It was here that I learned the restaurant business was a way of life in Europe, not just a gig. There was so much more to experience out there! It was 1989. I was 24.

Leaving – Change

After an abysmal year or so of working with American women who didn’t like me and I didn’t like at all, I left that job. I liked the job, I just didn’t like most of my co-workers and that makes for a miserable work environment. I went back to retail, which I hated. Considering the lack of good tips and the shitty hours, retail was the better option on base for pay and stability for someone with my limited qualifications. I had to work until 7 on the latest shifts. That meant John and I could have dinner together some nights. The hourly pay at the BX was better. I hated it and sucked it up because I didn’t have any better options.

I hoped I could get a transfer to the BX at our next assignment and keep my pay scale. That was not to be. We moved to northern Maine, the tundra. And I went back to food service, at a job that nearly destroyed my love of food permanently. That was October 1991. I was 26.

Next up? Continued adventures in Food Service and Culinary School

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*I always type sandWISHes for a decent ‘wich…

Relationship Status? It’s Complicated – Part one – Ancient History

Posted on by LeAnne Notabartolo

Currently, the area of the Hudson Valley where I grew up is the darling of the media. It has even been written up in Bon Appetit. I nearly choked on my tea when I read that. There have been James Beard award nominees across several years. My brain couldn’t compute that AT ALL the first time that happened. And it has grown exponentially in cool factor and income levels since I lived there. It’s complicated. The area is filled with farmers, lush landscapes, and beauty, but since all of that has become “cool”, the Hudson Valley has become a bougie enclave with amazing restaurants, independently owned businesses, and the artists and artistry of the area are even more recognized.

To be honest, I hated growing up there; all I ever wanted to do was get the hell out of there. And I did – in spades! And still, after more than 20 years of living elsewhere, when I visited last, I had a negative physical, visceral response to all of it. My allergies flared up, my skin crawled, and I dreaded the possibility of running into the bullies of my youth. I hate reliving my past – Hakuna Matata – and yet, here I am, doing it again to share my relationship with food. It is a complicated relationship. I both love it and loathe it.

Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@claybanks?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Clay Banks</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/7MVUfQLSpiA?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a>
Photo by Clay Banks on Unsplash

We moved from Long Island to the Hudson Valley in 1973. Farms and farming were and are a way of life, not a trend to be embraced. Unlike people who were born there, I don’t look back on it with any special sense of nostalgia or fondness. I have no feelings of belonging or special ties to the community. There is nothing I miss from that area other than the fall foliage (there are people that I miss). I still dislike being there, and only go back rarely to see dear friends. In fact, I think the last time I was there was 13 years ago. But to dig deeper into honesty, upstate New York is where my complicated relationship with food was born, grew into adolescence, and coalesced into something tangible.

Change – Fear

Living on Long Island, in Gram’s house, I never knew we lacked anything. I am sure that we did, but I never KNEW it. There was always food in Gram’s kitchen, I don’t remember ever going hungry. We lived in a little white house on a regular street – Sherman Avenue – with sidewalks, and with cousins nearby and friends on the block. My mom’s high school friends lived nearby, and we were friends with their kids, too. When we moved upstate, that changed. While we waited for the new mobile home to be delivered, we moved into “the cabin” on 20 acres of what is now prime real estate. We had no friends, no sidewalks, and our nearest neighbor was a quarter of a mile down the road. There was no kitchen, just a two-burner hot plate, a sink, and a fridge. For someone who remembers many meals of her past and has “food memories”, I don’t remember eating in “the cabin”; I don’t even remember Mom cooking there. I can’t tell you how long we lived like that, because I don’t know, but I DO remember my mom canning fruit and vegetables on an outdoor firepit made of cinderblocks. There was cruelty in culling poultry, ruthlessness in the tearing out of weeds, and fear of not doing it correctly, and punishment. There was true fear in not knowing what was next. This was the very first time I can remember being afraid of anything or anyone. It was 1973. I was eight.

Shame – Poverty – Need

We lived at the poverty line in upstate New York. If you grow up always in need, you never know any difference. For me it was a LOT more complicated because I DID know differently. My Long Island cousins were in a financially stable home and didn’t need food stamps, free lunch, or hand me downs (as far as I knew). They lived in a house and were never called “trailer trash”, so their life was my barometer of what life could be. KNOWING you are disadvantaged is one thing. Having people ridicule, shame, and embarrass you because of it is something completely different.

As an elementary schooler, having free lunch was no big deal, but high school was where I learned to be ashamed for needing assistance and frankly it is why I have such a hard time asking anyone for help of any kind. You see, back then, you paid for your lunch in cash if you had it. There were yellow cards for reduced price lunch, and red cards for free lunch. My card was red. At first, I was thrilled and grateful because I knew I could HAVE lunch. A lunch that wasn’t a peanut butter and homemade jelly sandwich. That changed less than 6 weeks into the first quarter of my freshman year. A group of “mean girls” who were upper classmen (and yes, I still remember who they are) were behind me in line and made snide comments about “poor kids” and the free lunch program. I knew they were talking about me; they said it loud enough for everyone in line to hear. People laughed at their comments and at me. That was the last time I ate lunch at school. Ever. I would rather be hungry than made fun of or shamed in any way. It was October 1978. I was 13.  

Pride – Skills – Farming

My life was irrevocably changed in every possible way when we moved upstate, but I will focus on food here because that is complicated enough. In the Hudson Valley, I learned how to work a garden, tend chickens, feed horses, and so many other farming tasks, including culling and cleaning poultry (a skill I used a couple of years ago to help friend Kim). I also learned how to identify trees, plants, and edibles in nature. (I am nowhere near as good as THIS GAL, but I wouldn’t starve if I had to fend for myself.)

Because my stepfather was a butcher, I learned what that looked like, learned to freezer wrap a butchered deer in 15 minutes, and I truly understood where my food came from for the first time. My Long Island cousins never had those experiences. The children of my mom’s high school friends never learned those skills. Our friends from Sherman Avenue had no concept of any of that. Even my stepfather’s children knew nothing of “country” living. I’d wager a good chunk of cash that the townies never learned any of that either. I was now “other”. I love the fact that I had those experiences and learned those skills, but I also loathe the fact that I HAD to. Complicated.

What many people don’t know about the brutality of the food chain, food processing, and farming is astonishing to me. They watch one documentary or read an article or a book and think they KNOW. You don’t know, but I do. And I kinda liked the brutality of it and that I was part of that brutality, and I was shocked that the brutality didn’t bother me. Really complicated. While studying biology with Ma Russell and covering anatomy, I thought nothing of bringing in a deer heart or kidney from an improperly “dressed” carcass to show other students what REAL organs looked like. I couldn’t understand why some of the students were stunned and shied away. I didn’t understand why some people were freaked out. To me it was just part of life, death, and food. They looked at me like I was some strange little axe murderer, bringing “trophies” in for show & tell. It was November 1979. I was 14.  Ya see? Complicated.

Desire – Longing – Happiness

Mom worked full time nearly all my life. I can’t recall her NOT working or going to school. She would call me from work after I got home from school and tell me, “Turn the oven on to 350. Do you remember how to do the Shake & Bake chicken? Great! Can you get that started for me?” and other simple tasks that put me on the path of learning to cook starting in the 5th grade. I remember making pancakes and eggs for dinner because we had laying chickens and “complete” pancake mix that only required water. In my child brain, it was ultimately cool to eat breakfast for dinner. As an adult, I know it’s because that was all we had. I still love breakfast for dinner. Complicated.

Learning early on that people love to eat, I taught myself how to cook more things so people would like me and want to spend time with me. The desire for friendship, praise, and acknowledgement was a living being inside me, clawing at my chest to be let out. The recipes were simple things at first. Pasta salad. Deviled eggs. Baked ziti. Tuna casserole. You know, all the things you can bring to a potluck. Of course, I fucked up stuff while I was learning, as we all do, but when anyone complimented me on anything I had made I was truly happy. I found happiness in the kitchen, not when I was eating, but when I was working. Then I found out about the CIA – The Culinary Institute of America. It was only 45 minutes away! I could go to school there! It’s expensive. Could I get a scholarship? I could cook every damn day…and be happy! When I broached this subject with my folks, I was told I was “too smart” to do that. Why don’t you go to regular college? Maybe med school? You are so smart; it would be a shame to waste it in a restaurant. It was 1981. I was 16.

Jealousy – Learning – Yearning

Like all good girls, I graduated High School with a smile on my face. Posed for pictures in my stupid white dress and awful white shoes, and pretended I liked it and that I was happy. I had received a partial scholarship to the state university, so that was where I went. Even though I was accepted at Princeton. Even though I had received a full ride to the community college (remember, all I wanted to do was leave). And yet, it wasn’t what I wanted to do. I was doing what was expected of me. I was jealous of my classmates who knew what they wanted. I kept learning, and yearning for more. But what does a gal who loves to cook do when she is living in the dorms? She drops out.

Next up? My recent past and more about my complicated relationship.

My Most Enjoyed Food of 2022

Posted on by LeAnne Notabartolo

If you follow me at all on social media, you know I take a lot of pics of my food. Not all dishes are created equal. Some are miserable (and I don’t post those pics), some are just ok (and most of those don’t get posted either), then there are the REALLY good and the mind blowing. That is what I am sharing here. A recap of the most interesting or surprising or delicious things I ate in 2022. Frankly, there wasn’t a ton of that going on. I stuck to tried and true places, except when I was traveling, and a lot of this food is from out of town.

I sit down at the computer every day with the best of intentions of writing you something informative or fun or thought provoking and then I get distracted…The smart person in my brain knows that those who make “to do” lists accomplish more each day than those who don’t, so yesterday I sat down and made a list that included writing this for you (and me quite frankly). Enjoy this list of fantastic food in no particular order

Birthday Surf & Turf

The Lobster en Croute and a beautiful piece of wagyu made up the surf & turf for my Birthday dinner at Carversteak. Chef Dan Ontiveros always hits it out of the park. And this picture and the cover picture of the post say it all!

Surf & Turf at Carversteak, Las Vegas
My Birthday dinner consisted of beautifully prepared dishes by Dan Ontiveros and staff, including this fabulous version of surf & turf.

Coastal Margherita

On our spring trip to Portland, we hit up a bunch of breweries and a cool tiki bar (The Alibi). While we were there The Hubs gets a text from Chris Decker at Metro Pizza telling us we HAD to go to Apizza Scholls. When Chris says you HAVE to go, you go. And we are so glad we did! This was literally a life changing pizza for the Hubs because he normally hates anchovies on his pie. He is now a convert.

Coastal Margherita at Apizza Scholls
This pie is actually half & half – Coastal Margherita and Pepperoni & Mushroom. With Owner Brian Spangler

Farmhouse Tart at Pine Dining

The Pine Dining series was fantastic all the way around. They were single weekend events with outrageous menus and fabulous food. This dish was the one I embarrassed myself over and asked Chef Nicole Brisson if there were leftovers could I take them home…and there were, and I did. Flaky pastry filled with sausage, fontina, and walnuts. In case you are wondering, it reheated beautifully.

Farmhouse Tart by Chef Nicole Brisson
Farmhouse Tart by Chef Nicole Brisson with sausage, fontina, and walnuts.

Bratislavan Food Specialty – Halusky

Whenever we travel overseas, we attempt to try as much local food as possible and “eat like the locals”. We try all the local beer we can, and while at the bars ask the folks there where we should eat. In Bratislava we were told the national dish is Halusky (hal-oosh-key). They are little potato dumplings, somewhat like a cross between gnocchi and spaetzle, covered in a decadent sour cream sauce loaded with a local sheep’s milk cheese and topped with bacon & green onion. Incredibly rich and this plate was more than enough for The Hubs & I.

Halusky
Creamy, rich, and decadent are three words I would used to describe this dish. I really need to learn how to make it!

Mortadella Agnolotti

Chef Oscar Amador at EDO and Anima is a marvel! Pal Gemini invited me to lunch at Anima and we shared these agnolotti. They were so good I was speechless for a moment. I am sure my eyes rolled back in my head and a groan escaped my lips. Gemini laughed aloud because she had never seen me speechless over a dish before.

Mortadella Agnolotti at Anima by EDO
Mortadella is my fave cold cut, and this just put it over the top!

Tony’s in San Francisco

While we do have an outpost of Tony Gemignani’s here in Vegas (Pizza Rock), when my sister-in-law Gretchen says “go to Tony’s”, you go. I have only had coccoli twice and both times they were revelatory for me. If you are unfamiliar, they are like salty beignets. The ones at Tony’s were served with thinly sliced “Italian Beef” and horseradish. I was supposed to be sharing them and had to stop myself from hogging all of them. The salad is pictured just to prove I do eat healthy-ish food now & then.

Coccoli at Tony's in San Francisco
Both the beef and the coccoli were amazing. Add horseradish and giardiniera and you have a hands down winner.

Fried Food

I love fried food and I love all the fish (except catfish), but I have a special love for anchovies. These ones were whole, coated in cornmeal, and lightly fried at the Hog Island Oyster Bar in the Ferry Building in San Francisco. The Hubs even liked them and as mentioned before, he is NOT a fan of anchovies. The aioli was the perfect accompaniment and we scarfed them down in a flash!

Fried Anchovies at Hog Island Oyster Bar
Fried Anchovies at Hog Island Oyster Bar

“The Crime Scene”

In February I went on a real vacation entirely by myself. I took a cruise with Virgin Voyages* and it was superb. We all know that the food on cruise ships is notoriously mediocre at best. That is NOT the case on The Scarlet Lady! Each meal was much better than any mass market cruise line’s meals and the Test Kitchen was the showstopper for the entire cruise. This menu changes regularly, so you may not ever see this when you travel with Virgin Voyages, but it was superb. I nicknamed it “The Crime Scene” because of the splashes of beet juice, but it was a perfectly cooked venison loin with a Vietnamese salted caramel sauce and pickled blueberries.

venison on board the Scarlet Lady
Venison loin “crime scene” on board Virgin Voyages’ Scarlet Lady.

*when you are ready to try Virgin Voyages for your next trip, give me a call and I will happily help you book it.

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HELP! I Need to Bring an Appetizer to the Party!

Posted on by LeAnne Notabartolo

Who doesn’t love a party? It’s a mad dash for the rest of the year and there are TONS of parties. Let’s face it, we all love to be included, but when the word “potluck” comes out of someone’s mouth, you are never sure what to bring. Here, let me help you with a couple of links to easy crowd-pleasing recipes and a few of “no recipe” recipes for easy appetizers and dips. When clicking on my links, scroll to the bottom of the blog post to get to the recipe. I haven’t updated them all with the “jump to recipe” button.

Three Party Favorite Dips and Some Nuts

This Buffalo Bleu Cheese Dip is one of my most requested recipes. What’s great about it? You can use leftovers. You can make it ahead. It heats up equally well in the oven or in the microwave.

Bleu Cheese Walnut Dip – this doesn’t sound like it should work, but it is truly amazing. What’s great about it? You can make it ahead of time. It heats equally well in the oven or the microwave. You can eat it with fruit instead of crackers or crostini, so you feel a little healthier.

Really pressed for time on the day of the party? Make Deez Nuts NOW and have them ready to go! What’s great about them? You can make them up to 3 weeks in advance and store at room temp. They are everything you want in a snack – sweet, spicy, crunchy, salty. Put them in little half pint Mason jars and give them out as host/hostess gifts or hog them all to yourself.

The South has it right when it comes to Pimento Cheese. What’s great about it? Making it ahead of time only improves the flavor. You can make it as mild or as spicy as your crowd will enjoy. Packed in little Mason jars it makes a fun little host/hostess gift.

“No Recipe” Options

Photo by Sheri Silver on Unsplash
Pigs in Blanket – Photo from Delish.com

I chose these because you can make them all ahead of time and reheat at the party, or serve at room temp.

  • Get the tub of Spinach Dip from Costco. Add a can of drained chopped artichoke hearts, 3 minced cloves of garlic and a healthy handful of parmesan cheese. (Yes, all of those ingredients are already in there, but it’s a little bland and lacking oomph!) Mix it all together. Take a round loaf of bread, make a hole in the middle to create a bowl. Dump the dip in (it won’t all fit – you’ll have a snack for yourself or try the simple app idea below), wrap in foil, bake at 350 until hot. Serve with Pita Chips. Can be warmed in the microwave.
  • Use the leftovers from above – roll out a sheet of puff pastry, smear the leftovers on it. Roll up starting on a long side into a “cigar”. Wrap in parchment or plastic wrap. Put in the freezer for 20 minutes until everything is firm. Slice ½” pieces, place cut side down on an ungreased cookie sheet. Bake at 400 until puffed and golden.
  • Take a wheel of brie (4-6 oz) wrap it in puff pastry from the freezer section (Phyllo also works here if you have that on hand). Using small cookie cutters, cut shapes from the scraps, put on top of the brie. Brush it all with a beaten egg. Bake at 400 until golden brown. DO NOT CUT until completely cool. Serve at room temp with crackers, crostini, sliced apples or pears.
  • There is no such thing as too much cheese at a party! Cut a wheel of brie horizontally in half. Smear 3 Tbsp of jam on the inside. Raspberry, apricot, fig all work well here. Top with some chopped walnuts. Put the top back on, cut side up, and bake at 400 for about 7 minutes just to warm everything through, but not make it ooze. Serve with same dippers as above. DO NOT microwave.
  • It’s not a party without pigs in a blanket! But don’t be boring about it. Take a sheet of puff pastry, roll it out and smear it with Dijon mustard (or your fave mustard). Cut into thin strips (1/2” x 2”) and wrap around Hillshire Farms Little Smokies. Put on an ungreased cookie sheet seam side down. Bake at 400 until golden. Make them ahead and store in an airtight container in the fridge and bake at the event or bake at home and reheat until hot. DO NOT microwave.
  • Take pitted dates and wrap them in bacon. Bake, seam side down, at 375 until bacon is crispy. Cheap, thin cut bacon works fine here because you want the crispiness of the fat. If you want to get fancy and have the time, stuff an almond and/or goat cheese in the date first.
  • Pretty much anything wrapped in bacon is a good thing! Try sautéed chicken livers (check out Rumaki recipes online) or whole water chestnuts.
  • If you find a nice cantaloupe, slice it, and wrap the slices in thinly sliced Prosciutto or Jamon de Serrano. This also works great with fresh figs when they are in season for a summer party.

Happy Holidays and You’re Welcome!

It’s Giftmas Time Again – Holiday Gift Guide 2022

Posted on by LeAnne Notabartolo

Oh, the weather outside is frightful…not really here in Vegas…but it is time to shop for the Holidays! Here are my top picks for shopping for your fave foodie, cook, or wannabe cook. All these Holiday gifts are non-denominational and perfect for any time of year, not just the Holiday Season.

My Favorite Cookbook of the Year

Dinner in One by Melissa Clark

Dinner in One by Melissa Clark is fantastic! Each recipe is intended to be made in one pan, pot, or casserole dish. To date, I have made 11 recipes from this book and not a dog in the bunch. There are so many veg-centric dishes that I actually find myself cooking more vegetarian dishes! Support your local bookstore when purchasing. The link above is to my local bookstore and they ship! $30

For the Gardener

Photo from Reel Steel website linked below

I always aspire to grow the perfect herb and/or vegetable garden and rarely do I succeed. If I had these adorable little garden gnome plant markers maybe I would! They are made of steel, so they will hold up in all kinds of weather and there is a huge variety to choose from. As I type, they are on sale and if you use the code “holidaygifts” you save an additional 40% off your second one. $8 each for the small ones (approx 12″). They MAY not arrive in time for the holiday, but they will be there in plenty of time for spring planting.

Eat Healthier for the Holiday

Image from their website

I have tried a LOT of food delivery services and so far, this one is my fave! The organic produce is insanely fresh and some of the most beautiful I have ever seen! Use this code to save when you sign up LEAN4665 *. Prices Vary depending on what you order, how large your box is, etc. What I like best about this is that there is NO COMMITMENT! You order when it is convenient for you. The “box” is totally customizable. Remove things you can’t or won’t eat and add in those that you want. It’s not available in all areas yet.

*Moment of truth – when you use my referral code, I get a bonus too.

Reduce Single Use Plastics

Image from Hydaway – linked below

I love the portability of these collapsible “sippy cups” from Hydaway. You can fold them up, jam them into your handbag or carryon and refill them at any convenient water source. A lot of airports now have fountains that are designed to refill water bottles, so you’ll never pay $5 for a single bottle of water again. Available in 17oz and 25oz in a variety of colors. Starting at $20 and grab a carrying case while you’re at it.

Stylish Storage

Image from Calamity Ware linked below

If you have seen the pics of my completed kitchen, you may have noticed these FANTASTIC canisters in the background. I have all three sizes, but get the ones that fit your needs. What makes these so cool and special is that they are covered with what looks like a damask pattern. When closely inspected you can see it is a damask design made of “witchy” things like bats, newts, frogs, etc. Check out their other offerings like dish towels, dishware, and other kitchen goodies. Medium is $36 on sale right now and linked above.

When in doubt, or if shopping for the person who has everything, think about a donation to charity in their name. Of course, my favorite charity is my local food bank – Three Square. If you aren’t sure what your recipient’s food bank is, you can look here and use their zip code to find their local Feeding America partner.