The Not-So-Fast Food Solution

The Crow's Nest Cafe
138 E Main St
Glendale, KY 42740
(270) 369-9444‎
Tuesday - Saturday, 5-9 pm Eastern
Reservations strongly recommended

There is a little place about 20 minutes from my home that Fey and I love to frequent. It's a restaurant called The Crow's Nest Cafe in the small town of Glendale, KY, just about an hour south of Louisville. The Crow's Nest is a tiny place--not more than ten tables on a generous estimate. Quite often, there are only two employees working--the cook and the server. If you can get in at all without a reservation, you're probably going to wait for your meal.

Now you probably think you know where this is going--a dietribe on restaurants that understaff, that cannot handle the volume of customers, blah blah blah. Well, you're wrong, I say. Wrong. My official statement on The Crow's Nest is, if you don't have the time to wait for the food, come back when you do have time, sit down, shut up, and enjoy yourself.

So what is this miraculous food served up by the good people in Glendale? What is this culinary delight that makes a limited menu and long wait seem like such a small price to pay?

Pizza, dudes. I kid you not. Hand to heart, voice to the gods, pizza.

The Crow's Nest is a mom and pop pizza joint, five-course prix-fixe delight nestled in this little hickup of a quaint old downtown. The restaurant is situated in an old home, with a tiny dining room dominated by a view of the kitchen and wood-fire stove. Almost everything they serve, from the crusty bread to the wood-fired vegetables to the pizza all the way to the cookie that comes with dessert, makes its way through that wood-fire stove. And every bit of it is fantastic--so worth the wait.

Now a place this small would be a nightmare without the right people running it, and The Crow' Nest is lucky enough (or smart enough) to know that. Owner Dick Franklin is in the back, cooking the pizzas and bread and veggies. There are usually one or two servers covering the small room, preparing salads, filling drinks, and being generally as friendly as your best friend's mom (the cool one--not the mom who thinks you're a bad influence).

Everything is pretty cozy, so it isn't uncommon to have conversations cross from table to table over to the kitchen. We've been there several times, and they never seem to forget about my cheese and meat thing. They are completely open to working with me on getting it right; consequently, I do not have any trouble leaving this joint full and happy. Also, Dick seems perfectly content to answer questions and crack jokes while he cooks the food. It's like visiting the home of a friend who makes really fantastic pizza.

Okay, so we've covered decor, service--what about the food?

Oh, man. If I could, I would go there just for the bread and the wood-fired vegetables. The bread is of the French persuasion, crusty and perfect and hot out of the oven. The small loaf comes sliced to your table with Extra Virgin Olive Oil and pesto.

A salad follows--one selection here, this is the house salad and it changes regularly. The last time we went, our salad was green leaf lettuce, pineapple, a fried onion ring, and dried cranberries, drizzled with a raspberry walnut vinaigrette. Sure, they would work with you if, for instance, you hated dried cranberries, but the delight of trying it as is can be a reward in itself. Sometimes I'm generous and give Fey my onion rings. Sometimes I'm greedy and only stop short of licking the plate due to some misplaced sense of propriety. (My grandmother would be so relieved.)

The salad leads into my favorite course--the veggie plate. A variety of vegetables -- the usual suspects, including carrots, broccoli, etc., plus rarer choices like sweet potato, Brussel sprouts and radish - are dusted in flavored bread crumbs and cooked in the fire. The regular veggie plate also comes with genoa salami and a bite of cheese (which the good people in the kitchen always replace with extra veggies for me!). I can't speak to the cheese and meat (although Fey swears it's delicious), but I can tell you I'd travel all the way to Nashville just for a plate of those veggies.



There are five different pizzas to choose from, each namd in honor of Dick's family. With the prix-fixe menu, you can either get one pizza per person ($19/person) or two people can share a pizza ($16/person). There is enough food for two people to happily share one pizza--even if the two people are Fey and me! (Yeah, no cheese or meat on that side. No, seriously. Put all my cheese and meat on her side, please.) The Fun with Dick and Jane is my personal poison--roma tomatoes, baby spinach, and mozzarella (which they held without even blinking, adding onions instead at my request). Other choices include The Ben Franklin - a white pizza with Kentucky country ham, pineapple and mozzarella - and the incredibly popular Burn Lady - ground beef, jalapeno peppers, five cheeses and tortilla strips. Oh, and did I mention they set the Burn Lady on fire? Yeah, it's that kind of place.



Once you've gorged yourself on pizza, salad, veggies and bread, you'd probably think that was the end of it. But no--they give you ice cream and a home made chocolate chip cookie. Because they can, that's why!



Now, the menu offers blackened or sesame-ginger salmon as an alternative to pizza ($22/blackened; $25/center-cut sesame-ginger), but I can't see why you would do that. I'm sure it's delicious--everything else is. But the pizzas are the crowning glory, and if you're coming all this way, you might as well go with the specialty.

As I said earlier, Fey and I can split one of their pizzas (and her cheese and meat never touch my pristine slices) and leave as happy as if we had sense for between $35-$40 (including drinks, tip and tax). Of course, this is not the place to go when you're in a hurry. Even when they are not busy, this is not fast food. This is good food, and face it--some things are so worth the wait. So block out some time. Prepare for a leisurely meal. Slow down and enjoy yourself. Oh, and make reservations. Seriously--the only thing worse than not being able to get in is not being able to get in after you've smelled the food.

Ohhhhhh, Mama!

It is a well-known fact that some moms are better cooks than other moms. My mom is a classic. Growing up, she was just about the best cook I knew--and I knew a few good ones. Her repertoire changed with the wind--after a trip to Greece, we had stuffed grape leaves and the like forever. Her cookbook collection was the envy of all, and her culinary skills were just amazing.

Me, I kinda fell into the role of sous chef. I had two things going for me--one, I was the youngest and sort of a mama's girl. I loved hanging around the kitchen, and spent a great deal of time chopping onions, peeling carrots, and stirring so many pots of roux that I can make them in my sleep now.

The second thing going for me was that I just loved watching people cook...not to mention eating the bits and bobs that fell into my mouth during the process. Yeah, my love for food and my love for cooking were indelibly connected.

The down side to this equation--and yes, there is a downside--is that I still show and understand love in terms of food. We made a reservation at August Moon yesterday for Mother's Day--because that is how we express love to Fey's mom. When Fey is feeling blue or hormonal or just plain grumpy, my immediate first thought is "What kind of chocolate can I get her?"

My mom showed me love last week by sending me a care package of her homemade peanut butter fudge and some Point Coupee roasted pecans. I need these things like I need a hole in my head, but oh, the love I felt opening that package! My mom's peanut butter fudge is a thing of beauty--the only fudge I will eat, usually. I can't stand the stuff most of the time, not even other types of fudge my mom makes. It tastes disgusting to me, and I just can't swallow most of it. But for some reason, my mom's peanut butter fudge is amazing--I can eat an entire pan of it on my own. Of course, that may have something to do with the sugar, peanut butter, marshmallow creme and other low-fat, low-cal ingredients. Or it may have something to do with the fact that, when we were kids, Mama would let us stir the pot, or the lucky one of us would get to lick the stirring spoon after fudge was poured (while the rest contented themselves with regular spoonfuls scraped from the side of the pot.)

I'm forty pounds lighter now than when I started this whole "eating right and exercising" mad science experiement, and I'm trying to find a way to equate love and acceptance and just plain feeling good with something besides food. I'm finding that I enjoy being outdoors a little more now, and that I have more energy to just be with the people I love, rather than eat with the people I love. Fey and I have discovered the joys of sharing a dessert at a restaurant (more on Equus' unbelievable S'mores in a future post), and there's a secret pleasure I've found in having to pack up leftovers and take them home for lunch.

I don't know. I think I'm evolving. I hope I'm evolving. I'm hoping that those pants I tried on for giggles last night will actually fit me in a few weeks (I didn't think they'd fit over my thighs, and they went all the way on--except really tight).

But just in case I don't evolve completely, I have two bags of Mama's fudge in my freezer for emergencies.

Enter as Strangers, Leave as Friends..my blankety-blank!

Eating German food for me is an act of love. Not because my mother's family was German, or that German cuisine very much influenced the food I grew up with. Eating German food is an act of love for me because my Baby loves German food.

Considering the basic menu at most German restaurants, you can imagine how poorly I fare with my meat- and cheese-restricted diet. Before I broke down and started eating fish again, the best I could hope for was home fries and a half-decent salad. What I usually get in the vegetable offerings is overcooked green beans (usually "flavored" with meat products), mushy, vinegar-laden cucumber-carrot-onion salad, or German style potato salad (which I loathe).

Like I said—I love my Fey, so I eat the stuff now and then.

Recently, we've fed Fey's German food needs in a very predictable way – we schlep over to Vine Grove/Flaherty and eat at Caroline's Schnitzel Barn. I always order the same thing—the fish sandwich with home fries. Fey goes wild with schnitzel and spaetzl and all those other things she likes that I don't eat.

The restaurant itself is small—just a few tables, and we go often enough that the staff knows us well. Recently, though, we've noticed a few trends that we don't like—so much so that our dinner there last night is probably going to be our last for a long time.

One benefit of small, independently-owned restaurants is that they reflect the personality of the management. In some cases, this is also a detriment. We've been to Schnitzel Barn many times and have had perfectly acceptable service—sometimes even great.

And then, we've gone in there and come out so furious that we raved all the way home. Usually it's me raving. I don't know—I find the fact that I'm ignored and treated like an intruder to be highly insulting when piled on top of the fact that I can only order one thing on the menu.

Last night, it was so bad even Fey was raving. We got there at approximately ten minutes to six pm, fairly advanced of any dinner crowd. We ordered, exactly, two brochen, a bowl of soup as an appetizer, a fish sandwich, and half a schnitzel sandwich.

While we sat…and sat…and sat….the restaurant filled up with people who the servers called by name and greeted as old friends. These people were buying alcohol and, (surprise, surprise!) their glasses were never empty. Several times our server passed us up to go to the other tables.

After forty minutes had passed and we'd only gotten our drinks and the brochen, I went up to the bar to ask about our soup. After all, it's soup. It's made before hand. All they have to do is scoop it up, right? I was told, in a rather impatient manner, that they were doing the best they could.

So I went back and sat down, while tables that were seated after us were getting their meals, and we were still waiting on our soup.

Finally, at about five minutes to seven, our entire meal—soup and sandwiches—arrived in one lump sum (even though we'd asked for the soup as an appetizer). To top it off, the soup was ice cold.

So at this point, we're both livid. If I had not gone to ask about the soup, or if the service had not been so obviously biased, we could have let it go as just a fluke (the restaurant was very packed). But the bottom line was that we were passed over to give preference to larger tables ordering alcohol. Our soup was completely forgotten, even after I made a special trip to the bar to ask about it. Our meal was barely edible, and we felt like gate-crashers at some bizarre country family reunion.

So of course, I go up to the owner herself, who is behind the bar, to ask her to take our cold soup away and remove it from the bill. She proceeds to give me a hundred excuses and basically calls me a liar to my face when I tell her we've been waiting for the better part of an hour to get cold food. (I was facing a huge clock for the whole meal. I know exactly how long we waited.) She then grudgingly agreed to remove the soup from the bill. I paid the bill and we left.

In the car home, we reviewed the math and realized, she had not taken the soup off at all.

Why? Because she didn't have to. There are about three restaurants in the Vine Grove/Flaherty area, which means this woman has no competition. She doesn't have to care one whit whether people who drove for thirty minutes to give her money for services actually get the service they paid for. She doesn't have to be polite and friendly and courteous to people she hasn't known since they attended Vacation Bible Camp together in second grade.

There is a big sign up at Caroline's Schnitzel Barn that reads, "Enter as strangers; leave as friends." I suppose Caroline has a different definition of the word, because I certainly don't treat my friends the way we were treated last night.

Chili Music

I can't remember when I started singing. I think it was about ten seconds before I started blinking. Suffice it to say, mine is a musical life. And it has always been my belief that anybody can make music. Anybody with a pulse can understand at least the basics of rhythm. Anybody who can feel can get an inkling of volume, pitch, harmonies, and percussion.

Music is in all of us, even the deaf, the mute, and the horribly untalented.

You see, anyone can learn to make music. Not everyone can learn to make music well.

I think the same holds true for cooking. Take the noble vegetarian chili, for instance. My partner Fey has a wonderful recipe for this dish that takes about 20 minutes and (by her standards) requires the basic culinary skills of a monkey. Simpler than peeling a banana, this recipe is.

So.

When she is not feeling well and asks me to cook, our menu inevitably returns to this chili. I go to the kitchen. I pull out the ingredients and cooking tools. I turn on the stove. She walks me through it, step by step, in order.

And it is a passable meal.

Last night, Fey made this same dish, same ingredients, same steps, same tools. And it was delicious. Maybe it's experience, maybe it's practice, or maybe it's something completely intangible.

Maybe her chili is better than mine in the way two pianists can play an etude by Chopin with very different results. One pianist plays the notes, the crescendos, the decrescendos, the tempos and rhythms. The other makes music.

My partner makes music.

I make chili.

Thank goodness I can write about this stuff. Thank goodness Fey can cook it.

WhistleStop Curry Soup

I am adoring the WhistleStop Cooking blog! On the fifteenth, they posted a recipe for Curry Soup that looks divine. With Fey being sick, I have decided to take on a bit of the cooking responsibilities at home. I've never been much of a cook--but I'm a fairly good sous chef, and I take directions well. As long as it doesn't require any fancy techniques, I should be okay.

And I really want to try this soup.......MMMMMMMM...

Tofu or Not Tofu

Fey and I rather adore the new Japanese restaurant in town, Kansai Japanese Steakhouse. But they changed our tofu appetizer. Now, instead of tempura fried, they are panko fried. And they...well, now they taste like tofu.

Thank god the other menu items are still amazing. After years of half-baked Japanese at The Other Place, it's nice to have options again.

Mmmmm....miso soup.....

Dinner and a Movie

Well, it's another weekend and another fun-filled post at hand. Okay, maybe not such a fun-filled post, but here I am anyway.

Fey and I decided to go back for lunch at Adrienne & Co. in Jeffersonville, IN, yesterday, and we both have discovered something--since the weight loss, neither of us can eat as much food. I was downed by a double-decker PB&J on toasted wheat bread, a side salad, and half an eclair. Couldn't even touch my cupcake. (Soooo much food on the lunch special.) Fey had a chicken and avacodo sandwich on focaccia with a side of chips, and came away much less terribly stuffed than me. (Oh, and she had the other half of that eclair.)

We decided to go see "Race to Witch Mountain" in Louisville. It was actually quite exciting. Duane Johnson has pretty much left The Rock in his past and is doing very well playing himself in action movies. He was quite likable and carried the movie easily. The teens were good--close enough looking to the original kids from the 70s film to be nostalgic, but different enough to be their own characters. The effects were off the scale, and for the most part the stereotypical sci-fi conventioneers didn't make me want to hurl. (Although I was the only geek there who caught the Whitley Streiber cameo....maybe the stereotypes aren't so far off the mark?) I was distracted by Carla Gugino through the whole thing. Not that she wasn't great--I've always liked her. But with her hair done that way, she looked eerily familiar. It took a minute or two, but then I figured it out. Actress Carla Gugino and my friend, author Maya Bohnhoff, could be sisters. Check out below.

Separated at birth?

Anyway, after the movie we decided to have dinner at Queen of Sheba. A few years back, we ate there and loved it--not only for the food, but for the atmosphere. They've recently moved from their hole in the wall right off the freeway on Bardstown to a newer place on Taylorsville Road.

We didn't stay for dinner. We were ignored, left standing for a table (when a table was literally right in front of us), told they were looking for a suitable table "in the back" because they didn't want us seated "in the middle of the floor" (then why is there a table there, we ask?). The only reason we got a seat at all was because I went back to talk to the manager and convinced them that the two fat chicks would be perfectly happy to sit "in the middle of the floor" (which was coincidentally, right in view of everyone--ooh, scary--fat chicks where the Beautiful People can see them!) Of course, there was another fifteen minutes of being completely ignored before Fey decided she'd had it and we were gone. Now this wasn't a busy situation--this was seriously being ignored. I tried to make eye contact with a server who averted her eyes. I'm not sure what shit was going down, but Queen of Sheba is so not on our list at the moment. Fey gave the manager an earful before we left--and the manager didn't actually deny that the reason we were not seated up front was because we were not as attractive as the rest of the customers. I don't know. We both may have been hormonal, but it was still a very bad experience for both of us--one neither is in the mood to repeat any time soon.

We wound up at Shalimar again, and ironically got the best service we've ever gotten there. I tried the mushroom curry and was in heaven. Seriously, it was so damned good. I took half of it home (still kinda full from lunch, believe it or not), and my taste buds are just waiting for Monday at work to eat it.

Today we're going to make fried rice for lunch, and if we're up to it, I'm going to make my grandmother's corn soup for dinner. I'm not sure how that's going to work out--we may just wind upsaving the corn soup for another day if we're neither too hungry. But it's out there--still cold enough for soup, ya'll.

Life Tools: Hackers Diet

I am the anti-diet girl. Seriously, I'm militant on the subject. I think diets are evil, and the diet industry is second only to the oil & gas industry for pure self-serving hypocrisy.

There. It's on the record.

I don't diet.

I eat what I want.

So, how have I lost a buttload (literally) of weight since October?

A friend recommended John Walker's The Hacker's Diet to another friend on LiveJournal and I happened to notice. Now, aside from being a foodie and a history junkie, I am a true geek wannabe. Granted, I'm not hampered by any actual programming ability, but that does nothing to dim my admiration for programmers and computer geeks.

Intrigued, I read the book. It was funny. It was simple. It was logical. And most of all, it didn't tell me what the hell to eat.

Seriously. I hate diets specifically for the reason that nobody puts Baby in a corn...erm, nobody tells me what to eat. I don't eat cheese. I don't eat meat. I don't like certain types of food. And if I follow your evil, controlling, money-grubbing meal plans, I will certainly gain weight because--ew. No. Not gonna do it.

Sorry. I digress.

Anyway, here comes Hacker John with the attitude, "Hey, I'm rich. I don't need your money. Here's this book for free. I'm a programmer, and I don't want to be unhealthy, so I did all the math and made the tools (oh, they're free too) and all you have to do is weigh yourself every day and exercise and maybe watch the amount of calories you consume."

This is my kind of weight plan. I eat what I want, just control the portions. Although I have to admit, the more I control my portions, the more I enjoy healthy foods. Not just because I can eat more. To be honest, my appetite for the most part has decreased. I am preferring the healthy foods because they make me feel better.

The other part of the plan, the exercising, is what usually trips me up. I do not have a lot of money. And what little fun money I have is gonna be spent at a restaurant, not a fitness center. Also, I don't like to sweat. And I don't like walking for miles and miles in circles. The bottom line is, I don't much like exercising.

John doesn't like exercise either, but he makes a very good argument for it in his book. Not only that, but he gives a very easy plan that takes me no more than ten minutes a day and doesn't leave me all sweaty and gross. If you think you can do the following, you can do this exercise plan: toe touch, crunches, leg lifts, baby push-ups (not the real ones...yet), running in place, and jumping jacks.

No stupid outfits to buy or memberships to try to get out of when you have lost interest. No complicated dance routines to learn. Just the same six exercises, in the same order, all the time. You add reps as your fitness level improves. And the best thing is, it can be done almost anywhere and you don't have to spend a dime.

Don't shoot me, but I have to say it--I almost look forward to my exercise now. (Are you still reading? Whew. Good.) It's fast, focused, and helps me work out my stress on break.

So. Eat what you want, but watch your calories. Do a modicum of exercise every day. Get over it. This sounds like my kind of diet plan.

That being said, I wonder what we're doing for lunch--Fey mentioned something about going to Louisville for Mediterranean food...mmmmm......

Simple Pleasures: Dinner with Mom

Fey and I love eating out. But there are some realities that even we cannot avoid. The main one is we are not wealthy. Inevitably, we must eat at home.

For me, eating at home is not such a sacrifice (except the dishes part) because Fey is a phenomenal cook. Her dad was a chef who trained in Paris and ran the Non-Commissioned Officer's Club at a major Army base. The genetic predisposition was obviously passed down, and my partner is a great cook even without formal training.

While her mom is a good cook too, she is hampered by a significant other who only likes...shoot me, please...country food. I'm not talking that delicious, wholesome, fresh country food that makes you happy to be alive, that reconnects you with your roots and reality. He likes The Other Country Food--you know, cafeteria specials, bland meats and gravy, vegetables over-cooked to the point of brutality, lots of butter and fats, and...oh, this is important...no flavor.

Fey's mom is a frequent companion on our restaurant escapades and has a healthy appreciation for fine food. Every once in a while, she can't stand it and has to share a favorite recipe with a receptive, appreciative audience.

We are that audience.

So last night, Mom packed up her groceries and spices and bottle of extra virgin olive oil and schlepped it over to our place to make us dinner. Her recipe? Grilled Salmon with Rosemary from The South Beach Diet Cookbook.

We don't have an option to grill at our place, so she broiled the salmon. Either way, it was fantastic--appropriately seasoned, moist, and less than 250 calories a serving. She also made rice and vegetables and cut up some English cucumbers for a side. It was simple, healthy, and ultimately delicious.

The best part, of course, was that we got to spend time with Fey's mom, just hanging out and talking and eating. It cost us nothing but a sink of dirty dishes and an hour or two of our time, but it was one of the best meals we had in a while.

Now...if I can only figure out a way to get my mom up from South Louisiana for a visit. Mmmmm....red beans and rice....

Sharing and Caring: The Food Game

Fey and I tried something fun yesterday while in Louisville. We had a set amount of money to spend for lunch and supper (not a lot, btw), and we decided to play a game Fey thought up. Here are the rules:

1. We must stop at a restaurant we've never visited before.
   
2. It cannot be part of a chain.
   
3. It cannot be "planned" - we have to see it and stop.
   
4. We must order one item on the menu (water--no tea or soda).
   
5. We must split this item between us (difficult, considering I don't eat meat or cheese).
   
6. We cannot "settle" on an item--we must both want it.

This was surprisingly difficult, but we wound up having a great time. The winners of our scavenger hunt were:

• Red Pepper: A Chinese restaurant on Frankfurt Avenue, where we split Sizzling Rice Soup with Seafood for Two.
  
• Adrienne & Co. Bakery Cafe: This was across the river in Jeffersonville, IN. We split a ginormous blueberry scone.
  
• Bucks: The most expensive restaurant on the trip. We split Maryland Crab Cakes.

We had no luck at Brendan's Irish Pub, where we couldn't find anything but water to agree on (although we may return when we don't have to split anything). Finally, after all this driving, we decided to chuck the game and get a real supper. Happily, we still had enough in our spending budget to go to Shalimar, where I once again proved I'm the spice wimp of all time by ordering baby food. Actually, I got egg pulao ("as mild as humanly possible"), which might as well be baby food. It was delish and I had enough to take home for lunch today. Fey got the non-vegetarian sampler tray ("moderately spicy" because she's a show-off), which she loved.

And guess what? With all that, we still came in on budget.

We rock so very much.

Top Chef: Oh, Carla, Where Were Thou?

Like gillions of other people last night, my partner Fey and I watched the season finale of Top Chef: New York on Bravo. As much as I hate to admit it, I've become a huge fan of these contest shows, and am probably more vested in their outcomes than I should be. When Aaron "Big Daddy" McCargo, Jr. won The Next Food Network Star competition over Dallas' intensely more talented Lisa Garza, I stopped watching the network in a fit of pique for almost two weeks.

But I digress. Top Chef. Once Ariane had to pack her knives and go home, I thought I would no longer care about the competition. But the underdog performance of Washington, D.C. caterer Carla Hall caught my imagination.

Get this--a competitor who is nice. Who helps people. Who cares about people (other than herself). And who wins! Fey and I fell in love with her, and were hoping against hope that the egos of Hosea and Stephan would cancel each other out, allowing our favorite to quietly steal the prize.

But alas, that was not to be. Carla. Carla, Carla, Carla! What were you thinking? The challenge was easy: make the best three course meal of your life. Time and time again, you had it pounded into your head--Be Yourself. Do Your Thing.

Carla, you had the chance to easily take it all. But you let yourself be swayed by a sous chef (who, incidentally, did not win the previous season....) and away from your strengths. It broke my heart to watch, and while I'm still happy that Hosea won over Stephan (who wouldn't be?), I'm still depressed that you didn't pull through at the last minute and score a Victory for Goodness and Light.

Carla Hall Talks to the Washington Post

The Great Valentine's Day Food-a-Thon, Part Three

I should have learned long ago to avoid romantic restaurants on Valentine's Day. Varanese is one of our favorite Louisville restaurants, mainly because it manages to be high end and sophisticated without ever losing that feeling of a small business. Owner John Varanese invariably comes out and says hello when we're there, and we have servers who remember us from visit to visit. The menu is great and the desserts are to die for.

So of course, Varanese seemed the perfect destination for Valentine's Day, right?

Not…really.

You see, one of the downfalls of going to a popular restaurant on a popular holiday is that, well, it's crowded. Even with reservations, which we wisely secured weeks beforehand, we were crowded into a packed room. The room felt tiny, and I felt like a giant lumbering ox as I navigated the tightly-spaced tables.

Quite obviously, because of the enormous amount of people dining, we were not really able to get the kind of service we'd come to expect from Varanese, which is a shame, because in my opinion, they have one of the finest staffs in the city. Everything felt rushed, and any semblance of romance the night might have held was washed away in the production line feel of the meal.

Still, to be fair, it's about the food, and the food is what I'm here to discuss. For Valentine's Day, the restaurant offered a special menu of aphrodisiacal entrees, appetizers, and desserts as well as an attenuated version of their regular menu. For some reason, neither Fey nor I felt drawn to anything on the holiday menu, so we started off with a batch of home-made potato chips, then had the grilled salmon with cream cheese grits from the regular menu for our entrees. The chips were quite good—the quick turnaround in the kitchen meant they didn't have time to sit around getting cold, and the chips we got were still hot and crispy. The dipping sauces were good, especially the dill sauce.

I'm not sure how I managed to go to Varanese so often without ever noticing the grilled salmon on the menu, but I now have a new favorite. The salmon on its own was quite tasty—perfectly grilled. However, it was just a touch salty for my taste. But when paired with the cream cheese grits, it was a perfect bite—balanced and delicious. Of course, I am a grits fan from way back—I prefer mine savory, with salt and butter (as opposed to the hideous concoction of sugar and grits some people eat). I'd never even considered putting cream cheese in grits—fried eggs, bacon, sausage, you name it, but never cream cheese. I am now in love with the concept and can't wait to try it on my own.

As it is, the salmon and grits were the high point of my meal. I didn't heed Fey's warning, and chose a dessert off the holiday menu—chocolate strawberry cake. Fey went with our favorite—the mocha crème brulee with chocolate and caramel spring roll.

Fey is wise, and I would be wise to heed her warning.

This is the first time I've ever had a dessert at Varanese I just plain did not like. The cake was bland, there wasn't a strong enough flavor of either chocolate or strawberry to make the point, and I came out of the experience wishing I had both the money and the calories back for a do-over. Thank goodness my sweetie is generous and shared her crème brulee with me. Because it's Valentine's Day, and that's what sweethearts do, right?

Please do not take this review to mean in any way, shape or form that I no longer love Varanese. It is still one of my favorite places to eat in the city, and Fey and I will continue to enjoy ourselves there as long as they let us past the bouncer. I think, though, in the future, we'll choose a less popular night.

Epilogue: The Taco Bell Tradition

I started this series by mentioning how badly I screwed up Valentine's Day last year. There is no way to comprehensively describe how badly I screwed up, but let's just say from now on I will always schedule Valentine's Day off from work at least two months in advance.

One thing that came out of last year's fiasco was our Traditional Taco Bell Valentine snack. Hard to believe, but none of the restaurants in Elizabethtown could seat us in a decent amount of time last year (reservations don't exist in the country, btw). Seriously, there was a forty minute wait at Golden Corral! Golden…Corral…folks.

So, we did what any rational couple would do in that situation—we put our name in at the best we could find (which was Red Lobster) and then went to the local Taco Bell for a snack and to wait. It turned out to be incredibly fun, and Fey and I decided that every year on Valentine's Day, we would have a bite from Taco Bell to commemorate our desperate attempt at salvaging the holiday.

Mmmmm….tacos…..

The Great Valentine's Day Food-a-Thon, Part Two

Day Two of our Valentine's Day extravaganza came with a choice for me—lunch at Just Fresh on Bardstown, or a trip to Dakshin to enjoy their buffet. I have to admit—Just Fresh sounded really tempting. Since I've been eating better, I really love this healthy little chain. Not only are the ingredients fresh and flavorful, but the staff at the Louisville branch of this chain will happily work with me to accommodate my food issues.

However…

If you recall my last post, you will remember that this is The Valentine's Day To Make Up for Last Year, and my needs/wants/desires do not count. It's all about Fey. And when I asked Fey which she would prefer (without telling her first of my preference), she chose Dakshin.

So Dakshin it was.

Here is where I must reveal my Secret Shame to you, dear reader. I am a wuss. I love flavorful foods, ethnic foods, various and unusual spices and ingredients. But I cannot handle heat at all. Coming from South Louisiana, this makes me a bit of an oddity. Sauce piquant, jambalaya, red beans and rice—I rarely order these dishes in restaurants because they usually make them too fiery for my wimpy palate.

Indian food is the same way, and Dakshin is no exception. I've learned a trick, however, to surviving a potentially five-alarm buffet—"Follow the Children."

Yes, it's pathetic. Yes, it's embarrassing. But it works. Parents aren't usually going to let their kids eat overly peppery foods, and kids (bless their highly sensitive young taste buds) aren't usually going to go for it on their own accord.

Since the restaurant was filled with families having a nice Saturday lunch, I had many survival guides for my meal. I followed a lovely little Indian girl of about six to the buffet and wound up with the following combination:

• Vegetable cutlets: a spicy mashed potato/vegetable croquette. A little on the hot side, but still delicious.
  
• Medhu Vada: fried lentil doughnuts. These were great (along with the iddly) for taking the burn out. And they tasted pretty darned good.
  
• Iddly: These are white cakes made of rice and lentils. Alone, they would be bland and unmemorable. But at the first sign of heat on my palate, iddly became my new catch-phrase for pain relief.
  
• Uppma: a very flavorful mashed potato and vegetable dish that was just a hint hotter than the other items I had, but ooh so worth it.
  
• Hakka noodles: basically, this was veggie lo mein, and it was delicious. I filled up twice on this one.
  
• Madras Fish Curry: I just took a piece of fish out of the sauce and ate it. I found that most of the heat is in the sauce, and the fish alone was exquisitely seasoned.
  
• Butter Masala Dosai: now, one of the things I loved about our meal was the dosai. The servers did not leave them on the buffet, but carried platters to the tables so diners could get them hot and fresh. I actually went back to get the name of this item, because I want to order it next time we visit. It's basically a rice and lentil crepe stuffed with uppma. The crepe is crispy, not soft, and you can eat it with your hands. This was hands down my favorite item of the day.

Fey, on the other hand, tasted everything on the buffet, because she's not a wimp. She swears the way to get past the fire is to take a spoonful of yoghurt and swish it around your mouth. This actually works--in fact, most cultures that enjoy tongue-seering spices often have their version of yoghurt--sour cream, mayo, you name it. It's a basic survival trait, and Fey is very smart to use it. And while that may be true, I think I'll continue to stick to the Kindergarten Method of Indian Food Survival. An ounce of prevention is worth an ounce of yoghurt, with no messy pain to get in the way.

Side note: One of the presents I bought Fey for Valentine's Day was one of those god-awful dancing/singing toys they sell in Walgreen's. You know, the obnoxious ones that play Love Me Tender or Tequila? I hate them, but Fey loves them, and (see above) it was all about Fey. This particular fellow, quickly dubbed Oscar, was a bright pink and purple monster who played Muh-num-a-nump (beep beep be-dee-deep) from Sesame Street. Oscar quickly became a favorite of the wait staff, and several stopped by our table to hear him sing…over and over and over.

I am such a great girlfriend.

Our pagan store jaunt and dinner at Varanese, coming up in part three.

The Great Valentine's Day Food-a-Thon, Part One

Every once in a while, you really do a holiday up right—the perfect gift, the perfect meal, the perfect everything. Last year's Valentine's Day? Not so much for me. In fact, I screwed up pretty seriously, so this year I was looking to make up for it in a big way. So I took off the day from work and Fey and I decided to have a Foodie Bliss Valentine's Day in Louisville. The entire thing lasted two days, and while we wound up broke for the rest of the week, it was more than worth it.

Our festivities started out, as all good holidays should, with dessert. We stopped at Sweet Surrender Bakery on Frankfort Ave. Sweet Surrender is a rarity in this day and age—they offer sinfully delicious products, ecologically sound work practices, and good-old fashioned good service to boot. Fey had the chocolate strawberry cake (hands down the best dessert of the weekend) and I had a conversation heart sugar cookie (both pictured below).

Chocolate Strawberry Cake and Conversation Heart Sugar Cookie (above)

We then headed off to Corbett's on Brownsboro Road. Corbett's is old-school fine dining, with glorious table settings (see below), exquisite food, and excellent service. Fey started with fried calamari and I had the roasted garlic and mushroom bruschetta (pictured below). I have to admit, I was torn between a salad and the bruschetta, but I'm glad in the end I got the latter. The roasted garlic and mushrooms were slightly salty with a tender texture that matched well with the crispy toasted bread.

Table Setting (Corbett's)

Roasted Garlic and Mushroom Bruschetta (above)

For once, Fey and I decided to get the same entree—sauteed shrimp, linguini, spinach, tomato, lemon, feta and herbs (see picture below). I gave my feta and shrimp to Fey, and she held the spinach and tomato, but we both enjoyed the delicate flavors and textures.

Sauteed Shrimp with Linguini (above)

Dessert was excellent, although not as good as that cake from Sweet Surrender. There were two lunch offerings, the banana bread pudding with bourbon sabayon and carrot cake with orange cream cheese icing (both pictured below). I got the bread pudding and Fey got the carrot cake, and we each thought we got the better of the deal. I normally pass on banana desserts, but this was so incredibly good I didn't mind at all. Fey's carrot cake was spicy and dense, and the icing was very rich.

Carrot Cake (above)

Banana Bread Pudding (above)

We ate dinner at Fazoli's that night, mainly to save up cash for Day Two's extravaganza, which included lunch at Dakshin and dinner at Varonese. More on that in part two!

Note: All photographs in the post (c)2009 by Fey Becker.

Evil, Thy Name is Pancake Puppy

There are so many levels of wrong with Denny's Pancake Puppy dessert. The mutant cross between a pancake, beignet, and hush puppy, this delectable treat is addictive in its delicious, oh-so-bad for you simplicity. Crusty, humble fried pancake bites, coated in cinammon sugar and served with warm syrup for dipping, these may indeed be the cruelest thing to come out of a Denny's since...the Denny's.

Damn you, late night diners, and your evil, evil temptations!

Blame the Ice Age

It was a caveman who made me an almost-vegetarian. I kid you not. Somewhere, in the annals of time, a prehistoric human named Uggh bears responsibility for the fact that I no longer eat chicken, pork, beef, etc.

Here's my philosophy. Back in the old times, long before Trader Joe's or Whole Foods Market or Gourmet magazine, humans had to hunt and seek for their food. Literally. They had to drag their butts out of their caves, pick a few bugs off their mate in a wholesome goodbye, and go off to the Great Unknown to find sustenance.

In good times, Uggh and her buddies (yeah, the women provided most of the food, even way back then) were not stupid. They went with what was available—wild grains, nuts, berries, greens. As far back as 50,000 BCE, cave dwellers were leaving their trash behind—seeds of wild dates and nuts from the period have been found in Northern Iraq. They also ate fish, shellfish, mushrooms, eggs, and insects—easily attainable protein sources that didn't require a lot of violence to acquire. The "hunter-gatherers" of Neolithic times were more scavengers than hunters. The first steak dinner in history was probably some poor animal charred in a natural fire, found by a tribe of marauding humans.

But sooner or later, bad times always come. Around 20,000 BCE, the Ice Age hit and, well, things got a bit ugly. Uggh and her hunter-gatherer friends weren't going to find food just lying around—even the sturdiest of plants are going to have trouble surviving the frozen wilds. Let's face it, not even the saber-tooth tigers, mammoths, and mastadons could stand more than about 10,000 years of the stuff—they went extinct around 10,000 BCE.

So Uggh and her tribe were confronted with what we in the South like to call A Situation. There were quite a few humans running around the planet at this time, and precious little freely growing foodstuffs to share amongst them. So our human ancestors did what they normally do in times of crisis—they improvised.

The first thing they did was take the risk factor out of food. That means agriculture. No more random searching for wild seeds and nuts—our little human population decided to plant their own dang seeds and nuts, nurture them, and harvest them. Yup. Our ancestors were pretty clever about that sort of thing. Along with agriculture came side benefits like communities, settlements, culture, etc.

Good stuff.

But not everybody lived in Paradise. Many of our ancestors lived in very cold climates, where growing your own millet wasn't really an option. And they were hungry. And they were inclined to survive, as most species are.

So they did what any species will do to survive--that being, well, anything. Soon, instead of waiting for nature to provide a nice roasted corpse, they started getting their own. They invented weapons. They created macho rituals surrounding the hunting of larger and larger animals to slice up and eat.

And it was good.

Really, I'm a vegetarian, and I think this was good. Our ancestors survived, and it was good, and all those lives that were sacrificed to keep the human race going were not lost in vain. Humans, being very clever and resourceful animals, made use of all parts of the animals—the bones, the fur, the teeth, the flesh. In a way, much of our civilization is based on what we created from animals. We should be grateful. And for a long time, we were.

But things got easier, the weather got warmer, and humans got smarter. Soon, somebody figured out that, if we can do it with plants, we can do with animals. And the first domesticated animals for eating came about. Yay. Now we don't even have to risk our lives to get a chop or a steak—just go out in the back field and kill a sheep or cow.

And more time passed, and things got easier. Sooner or later, you didn't even have to kill your own sheep or cow. You had a butcher to do that for the entire village. You'd go to his shop, and see the bloody carcasses hanging in all their glory, and wow, you had dinner for a month.

When I decided to become a vegetarian, the process for acquiring meat was thus: pick up the phone. Dial restaurant of choice. Order. Pay money. Meat of some variety (usually in the form of pizza or Chinese food) will come to your house in under 30 minutes, or it's on us!

The day I became a vegetarian, I thought a lot about cave men. About what it took to acquire and prepare meat to consume. I thought a lot about what it meant to take another life—to hunt, kill, and slaughter another living creature.

And I thought about what I, personally, would be able to kill.

Plants? Unfortunately, yes. They are so far from what I understand as sentient that I can do it. And please don't start on screaming vegetables, etc. I know they are alive. I am aware of this. And it sickens me that anything has to die so I can live, even a potato.

Fish? Yes. I fished when I was a kid. I went crawfishing at my grandfather's pond, and ran crab lines in the Gulf of Mexico. I knew how to catch them and clean them, and I knew precisely what it meant to look into the eyes of the creature you were about to eat.

Chicken? Um, no. I have never been a fan of chickens, per se. They're mean, nasty, smelly birds who will peck you as soon as say hello. They're loud and bothersome. But kill one? Me? Take my hands and kill a chicken? Not going to happen.

Same with pigs, goats, cows, you name it.

And I decided that day, May 15, 1999, that unless I was prepared to look it in the eye, kill it, clean it, and cook it, I didn't have the right to eat it.

I also decided that if the next Ice Age came and the only thing between me and starvation was my ability to off a chicken, that bird was going down.

But we're not there yet.

A Tale of Two (sorta Three or Four) Restaurants

One of the best things about weekends (well, the weekend after payday, that is) is that we get to eat out more than once. It's our big thing, our entertainment for the week. And now that Fey is thoroughly committed to the idea of trying every good restaurant in Louisville, weekends are an adventure.

Friday was especially sweet, since a friend of the family fixed my car and it's running the best it has in five years. We decided to start at the beginning of Fey's Big List with Amici in Old Louisville. Amici was a lesson for us, because we refused to listen to our instincts.

Fey didn't like the place from the moment we entered--the decor, the feel, the prices. I wanted to give it a break (although I'm sure the fact that I didn't feel like getting back out into Friday night traffic might have had something to do with it.) I was incredibly unimpressed with the service--our server actually forgot my drink order while bringing Fey's. I eventually had to get another server to bring me my drink.

We discussed our options over bad cheese biscuits and cold Italian bread. Should we stay? Should we try someplace else? Eventually, we decided to use our Super Secrit Appetizer Test. You see, if a questionable restaurant doesn't win us over with appetizers, we pay our bill and head out to another restaurant for entrees.

I got the cream of mushroom soup (around $3.50) and Fey got the antipasto ($11.50). My first bite of soup was not inspiring--there was an odd taste to it, which could have been oil or something. However, each successive bite got better until the overall taste rating was satisfactory to me. Fey's antipasto was...well, uninspired. But it had the benefit of having the "best mozzarrella" she'd ever tasted. So here we were, at a crossroads. Do we give the place a chance based on decent, but not overly inspired appetizers? At this point, it behooves me to admit, I was swayed by their vegetarian offerings. It's the rare Italian restaurant where I have the opportunity to eat something besides spaghetti marinara, and the thought of vegan pizza or vegan meatballs had me tempted.

So, we decided to go for it.

Bad idea.

The first rule of Eating Healthy is "If you have to try too hard, it's not worth it." In other words, vegan meatballs and whole wheat spaghetti may be much better for you than the real deal, but it's a rare chef who can make them taste good. And the chef at Amici did not pass this test. Fact is, there is enough wiggle room in Italian cuisine that a great chef can offer tasty vegetarian options without resorting to bad commercial pasta and meatballs made from (among other things) Gimme Lean sausage mix. Still, I have no one to blame but myself for this meal. My gut told me to stick with regular pasta marinara, but I just had to try the "healthy stuff." My bad. Won't make that mistake (to the tune of $14.00) again.

Fey opted for something a little less healthy, the Orchard Pork Medallions. At $17.50, this entree looked at least interesting. The menu described it as "Pan seared pork medallions served with caramelized onions, Anjou pears and an apple-cider brandy reduction served with flavorful horseradish mashed potatoes." According to Fey, the flavor combinations did not work at all, the reduction was thin and watery and more apple juice than reduction. To my non-carnivore eyes, it looked...well, yucky. It was brown and goopy and had no structure at all. It looked like everything was just thrown together. Now, as a good Cajun girl, I know ugly food can be delicious. But Fey assured me, this was not the case with the pork medallions.

We left most of our entrees on our plate. Amici tries, which I like, to offer options to its customers. It tries, which I like, to recognize diners with food restrictions.

Ultimately, however, Amici fails on execution. Fifty dollars later, we left unsatisfied, disappointed, and feeling pretty stupid for ignoring our better sense. Scratch that one off the list. We wound up at Varanese for mocha crème brulee and pampering from the awesome staff there. It was ten dollars of comfort (since we didn't actually eat our entrees at Amici, I didn't begrudge myself the calories) to counterbalance a very upsetting dinner.

So, burned and stinging, we roll into Saturday not really excited about our prospects. Fey did her research--checked reviews, checked prices, checked everything--and we settled on North End Cafe. This was perfect. I knew where it was, so no chance of getting lost on the way. The food looked safe enough. And I'd heard good things about it.

Seems the entire restaurant (we learned after our hour long drive up from Elizabethtown) was booked for a private party. Too bad the management didn't bother to put a sign on the door. I only figured this out when I saw the wedding book on the table and asked a server, "hey, um, is this a private party?" Yeah. Move North End Cafe a little lower on the To-Do List.

After some soul-searching and a stilted conversation with a clerk at a convenience store, we decided to head out to Bardstown Road and try out Dakshin Indian Restaurant. At this point, it was 10 pm on a Saturday night, we were both exhausted and hungry. Needless to say, when we pulled up into a strip mall and saw the cheesy neon sign, our spirits were a little dashed. Fey went in to check out the lay of the land.

When she exited, her exact comment was this: "It smells like heaven in there, but I hate the atmosphere." I parked the car. I wasn't about to let something like atmosphere keep me from a place that smelled "like heaven." (Oddly enough, we recounted later, Amici didn't have a smell at all. That's not a really good sign, is it, in retrospect?)

And Fey was right. The atmosphere was a bit cheesy, with the enormous flat screen televisions playing Bollywood music videos and the booths that seemed a bit reminescent of a Luther's BBQ from the 80s. But, lord have mercy, it smelled good.

Another positive sign--there wasn't a single white person in the room except us. And the menu did not offer any explanations as to the food. Any restaurant that assumes you already know what all the exotic stuff on the menu is...well, it's catering to people who know the cuisine. Good sign.

Bad for us, though. Fey asked the incredibly attentive server if he had a "white girl's menu" or if he could help us make sense of the numerous options. An older menu was quickly produced, that had descriptions of the offerings. We got vegetable samosas ($3.99) to share, as well as aloo naan ($2.50). The samosas were spicy enough to have a kick, but not so spicy as to burn our mouths, and the texture was perfect. I wasn't as happy with the veggie pakoras ($3.99), but that's probably because I bit into a big hunk of bell pepper, which I loathe. Of course, the non-bell pepper portion of the pakora was wonderful--Fey and I both loved it. The naan was delicious--crispy and flavorful and satisfying.

For entrees, Fey stayed with the tandoori chicken ($9.99), which came in a generous portion on a sizzling platter and looked perfectly cooked to me. Fey pronounced it the best tandoori she'd ever had, and praised it no end. I went with the vegetable pulao with korma ($6.99). I will admit that I was a wimp and was not able to eat it all--it was a little on the spicy side. However, the flavor of what I could eat was so delicious that I couldn't bear not to take it home and try to, well, wimp it down as a leftover. Yes, I'm offended with my own limp palate, but I digress.

In the end, we were stuffed (even with me bringing the bulk of my entree home) and our bill came only to about $40 (with tip).

The moral of our tale, boys and girls? Go with your gut. And if a place smells like heaven, try it out.

I am such a geek!

There are some things in the world that I love--food and history rank at the top of the list. When I find something combines the two, I get all twittery. And the good people at Botham Bakery in the UK have provided us with A History of Bread.



Ahhh....



I think I know what I'll be reading this weekend.



Yes, I am a dork.

Flashback: Old Skool Ain't Always Bad

I have this craving for the new and exciting. It's a Gemini thing--always seeking that which is new and different and kinda scary/weird/cool to experience.


But while my Sun and Ascendent are in the air, my Moon is solidly ensconced in Capricorn, and there is a huge part of me that just loves traditional places and foods. Which brings me to Stone Hearth. When we first moved to Kentucky, I was terrified that my days of eating in decent restaurants was over (little did I know then of the thriving food scene in Louisville). I was certain my dining choices would be limited to fast food chains and flavor-free buffets stuffed with overcooked veggies and loads of fried meat-substances.


There was one place in Elizabethtown, however, call Stone Hearth. We avoided it at first, mainly because it looked expensive and we were not exactly rolling in the dough. However, when I got a steady job the school board, my boss took me to lunch at Stone Hearth for Secretaries Day.


I have to admit, my first thought after lunch was, I need to get Fey in here.


Since that first encounter, Stone Hearth has become one of our places in E-town, somewhere to go for a good meal, great service, and fantastic decor without having to drive to Louisville. The food is consistently good, and while the prices are slightly higher than your average chain...so is the quality.


But we were talking about traditional things, and that is the focus of this article. Stone Hearth is traditional. It's Old Skool (as they say): white tablecloths, crystal glasses, low lighting. Your entrees are brought out on a rolling cart. The salad bar is decorated with floral arrangements. The soundtrack (at a tasteful volume) is right out of my parents' vinyl collection- Frankie, Deano, and Rosemary Clooney...with the occasional Micheal Buble thrown in for good measure. I often suspect mob deals are being made back in one of those dark, dark booths.


Granted, this is the sort of restaurant my grandparents frequented. And you know, that's not such a bad thing. There's a lot to be said for old-fashioned service, solid menu items, and a dignified atmosphere.


We always try to order an appetizer, when the budget allows. Fey's favorites are the brie-filled phyllo tarts and the Red and White crab dip (oooh, those lavash crackers are to die for!). I loved the portabello fries when they have them, although it's kinda on the Do Not Indulge list now.


The core of Stone Hearth's menu, though, is high-end Middle America—beef, chicken and other meats. They do have a fairly decent seafood section, particularly the salmon. I had it grilled for supper one night, and I was stunned at how good it turned out. (We live in Kentucky—not exactly the place to get fresh fish.) Fey usually orders the prime rib (which they will trim to her satisfaction), however last night she got the crab-crusted salmon in lobster bisque, which was absolutely delicious. The salmon was perfectly cooked, the crab cakes were crispy and not too bready, and the lobster bisque was delicious.

Dessert comes offered on a doily-lined tray, usually when you are so stuffed you don't even want to think about not-actually-Derby Pie, or Italian Wedding Cake, or that delicious hand-whipped cream topping which Fey sometimes just orders on the side by itself.

Of course, during it all, your servers (ask for Marie—she's awesome and tells great stories) bring you bread. An entire article could be written about Stone Hearth's bread. First you're given a warm, home-made roll with strawberry butter. Later, you get what I believe they call a butterflake roll. It's the unholy love child of a croissant, a muffin, and a dinner roll, and it's addictively evil. These are my downfall, especially when I'm trying to control calories and portion sizes. I could forego dessert for two more of these things. Seriously.

In the end, though, the best thing that sells Stone Hearth is the service. We go often enough to have our favorites, and the staff know us and our food issues. Jennifer last night, remembered our drink orders (I always get Diet Pepsi and Fey, unsweetened iced tea) from Christmas. Marie, as I mentioned before, is a pro with a fantastic European accent and a warm and funny personality. Paul and Charles always make us feel like old friends, and well…you get the message.

Stone Hearth is a little oasis of civility in an increasingly crass and thoughtless world. It may be old-fashioned with perhaps not the most cutting edge of cuisine, but that's not such a horrible thing, is it? There's a lot to be said for the way things were, and when nostalgia tastes this good, I'm all for it.

Little Lost Cajun in Kentucky

A few weeks ago, Fey and I tried a Louisville Cajun restaurant called Furlong's. I liked it so much, I wrote a post about it on LouisvilleHotBytes. Lo and behold, the owner is a member there, and posted my review on their website! Oh, yeah, I've finally found my calling. Writing about food.

Us vs. Natural Disasters: The Deathmatch

I hardly expected my first post here to be about natural disasters, but there you are. I have spent the last week camped out on a sofa at my partner Fey's grandmother's house thanks to what has been dubbed "Ice Storm 2009" by the local media. Yup, in the course of a day or so, 500,000 homes and businesses in Kentucky were frozen dark, roads made slick with black ice, trees bent into gnarled, frozen arches over power lines.

Yeah, it was fun. And I still (seven days later) do not have power.

What does this have to do with food, you ask? Lots. You see, I grew up in Louisiana, Where Hurricanes Come to Party. And when you grow up in a hurricane strike zone, you learn a little bit about survival. And the first key to survival (after weatherproofing your house and stocking up on C and AA batteries) is acquiring Disaster Food.

Disaster Food is a cuisine specific to those areas of the world where weather turns nasty. It is designed to be edible regardless of how long the lights are out, and laughs in the face of stoves gathering dust and refrigerators that are warmer on the inside than outside.

Traditional Disaster Food includes such wonderful, non-perishable foodstuffs as dry cereal (sweet, of course, so you don't need milk), junk food, chips, canned meats, dried foods like jerky, bagged popcorn, and that sort of thing. Pop-Tarts and Cap'n Crunch Peanut Butter Crunch were always my Disaster Food of Choice.

But this recent disaster, Ice Storm 2009 (sounds like it should have theme music, doesn't it?) has thrown me for a loop. Why? Well, first, I no longer eat meat (except for fish, which means I forfeit the luxury of using the convenient term "vegetarian"). Second, I got the fool idea in my head round about October 2008 that I would start eating healthier.

The good news is that I've lost 25 pounds, feel better, and my doctor is once again speaking to me civilly. The bad news is that, when disaster strikes, I'm hard up for food.

On about Day Two of Ice Storm 2009 (I'm thinking something John Williamsy for the theme music—lots of strings and winds…), Fey and I went to the local store to find supplies as our two weeks worth of groceries languished in a refrigerator we no longer dared enter. The first challenge lay in finding a store that was open. Our regular haunts were closed—no power, no DSL to transmit credit card payments, etc. Finally, we found ourselves at one of the smaller, local grocers.

When shopping for Disaster Food, you need to have your wits about you. It's a difficult task, fraught with pitfalls and foolish temptations. The first thing you have to do is shake yourself out of panic mode. It's easy to think, when a hurricane the size of Texas is heading for your back door or seventeen inches of snow is expected to blanket your little hamlet overnight, "Oh, lordy, I'm never gonna get out of here alive." That's when you go into panic mode. You start grabbing—Spam, Cheeze Whiz, store brand toaster pastries—this is the stuff God put in this store to help you survive. These are the things that will keep you from becoming part of the marauding band of post-apocalyptic zombies smashing their way through the countryside, devouring all that is Good and Righteous.

Panic mode lasts anywhere from five minutes to two hours, depending on your temperament. Then you look at your overflowing cart and, if you're lucky, come to your senses. It's then that you start examining each item for its usefulness and, perhaps, lightening the load.

Fey and I managed to get most of the Little Debbie snack cakes out of the cart before we checked out, and I sacrificed the dollar-shelf tin of sesame snack mix (in favor of a larger tin of roasted peanuts). We nixed the counter grill because (a) we had nowhere to use it in our townhouse and (b) neither of us know the first thing about charcoal grilling. I didn't budge, however, on the Lance's Cream Cheese and Chive Crackers, and Fey didn't give me a choice on the Peanut M&Ms.

Still, there are ways of eating at least a little bit healthy when you're in the throes of Nature's Wrath. Fruit (fresh if you can get it, dried if you can stand it) and nuts are always good items. I've been living off a bag of red apples from the local discount store all week—they're good for me and keep my hands off the Little Debbie Swiss Rolls. Fey made good use of a summer sausage and a box of low-fat Triscuits.

We did not, however, get the PopTarts or Cap'N Crunch.

We are grown-ups, you know.

So, one week later, I'm four pounds heavier (my salad mixings went bad on Day Three, and it's hard to exercise on ice unless you're Nancy Kerrigan). I've eaten more food than I normally do, and I'm ready for the ice to melt and the power to come back on.

Disasters were much more fun when I was a kid.