Cake Spot

Hey there!

So since this is MY blog, I thought why not take a minute to advertise myself here . . .wait that sounded bad. What I meant was advertise my business. ;)

I am a firm believer that word of mouth is most definitely the BEST way to publicize and promote, so here's my request- take a look at my blog:

http://www.eatincake.blogspot.com/

let your mouth water (you may want to keep a tissue close at hand), and then pass the word to anyone you know in need of some sweet and sinful sustinance. Wedding and grooms' cakes, birthdays, personal parties-- you name it I'm up for it.

Thanks!!!

The Mayan

So, lately I've had a few people mention that I should be a food critic, which makes me really happy because visiting amazing restaurants and tasting anything and everything and then writing about it all sounds like just about THE funnest thing on the face of the earth. Therefore, I will proceed with this, my first critique. But I warn you, it is scathing.


For weeks I've been hearing radio spots suggesting that we get the truth right out there and agree that while The Mayan restaurant in South Jordan boasted scantily-clad divers, and even fire dancers, the food was terrible. This confession was followed by the spokesperson proudly announcing the arrival of a brand new chef whose creative genious is destined to turn the fate of this much-deserving eatery around. "Come try it," they said. "You'll be amazed," they said.


So I did. Why not give the new guy a shot? For all we know he's got the vision and seasoning ability his forerunner woefully lacked, and all that was needed was one taste to send us praising to the mountain tops.


Unfortunately this was not the case. "Badger, party of four, your adventure is about to begin!" Was it ever!



To start, I was startled at the whisper of a menu, a mere one page consisting of absolutely nothing unique or enticing. The most basic of mexican menus stared up at me, which was interesting considering I found myself dining at a Mayan restaurant. Mayan . . . Mexican . . . I was unaware the terms were sononomous. Appetizers were ridiculously overpriced, starting at $8 each, especially considering they were concocted from Velveeta, cheap salsa, and various other store-bought, processed foods.


The steak fajitas weren't bad, but I couldn't help thinking that even the most unskilled of home cooks would make something comparable or most likely much better. However, since I hadn't dined here before the new chef arrived I asked my dinner companions their thoughts. The best they could contrive was that compared to what was served before, these fajitas were amazing! How sad.



Lettuce served with the fajitas was peppered with chopped red cabbage, obviously served straight out of the bag in which it was purchased. Tortillas were forgotten and finally served just as the meat and peppers hit lukewarm. The rice was mush, a muddled modgepodge trying to pass itself off as spanish, and the beans were covered in powdered parmesan cheese. Parmesan? Were these particualar Mayans both Mexican and Italian?


It was a pathetic, cowardly menu and the service was equally so. Servers in loud, blousy hawaiian shirts meandered down the platforms with no expression and no sense of urgency, the type you'd expect to find at a twenty-four-hour Denny's. When asked about their new chef, our waitress replied, "Um, I actually don't even know his name. Yeah, I try to stay out of the kitchen because they're always yelling back there."


How can you advertize a revolutionary change and somehow not include your staff in the selling of it?! I mentioned that I had hoped for a somewhat more exciting menu, to which she explained that, since the entire kitchen staff was new and virtually untrained, the menu had to be simple; wouldn't it have been horrible if we had had to wait an hour and a half for our food?


That would be tragic, yes. Especially considering I've had better food and more lively service at an all-night Taco Bell drive-through.

If The Mayan can only boast its culinary prowess based on the fact that it is "so much better than what it used to be", then it is destined only for the ranks of cheap, themed sub-par eateries visited only by the desperate, or those who have never tasted something real and fulfilling. I wholeheartedly discourage any from dining at The Mayan if they are looking for anything better than a pitiably below average meal.

BattleCreek Falls

A few days ago Ry and I felt more than usually stir crazy and decided to go for a hike. My sister and her husband, ever the adventurous photographers, showed us pictures a while ago of this waterfall and it looked awesome. So that's where we went.

Right up there with an overwhelming need for all things lemon, this time of year just gets me itching to be outside. It was a perfect day for a hike, so we loaded Reese into her backpack and to our joy she absolutely LOVED it! She would burst out in reels of laughter for no reason we could figure out. She held onto Ry's hair like the reins of a pony, urging him on if ever he dared to stop and enjoy the scenery, making every animal noise she could contrive.

That was the way up. The way down was slightly different.

Funny how you can possibly forget the oh-so-short attention span of a 1 1/2 year old. :)

She was done; fun was over, and she worked her hands to a frenzy doing her sign for "milk". It was only a matter of time before some preditor came after us, thinking of the deliciously-weak, whining morsel it would enjoy for dinner.

Desperate parents are funny things. Those embarrassing things you swore you'd never do no matter what soon become shining beacons of hope and peace. The only way to keep her from wailing was me holding her (she wasn't about to be kept in her backpack for the return trip- oh no!), chasing Ryan down the mountianside giggling like crazy people yelling, "Tickle, tickle, tickle!!!"

I've always enjoyed trailrunning, but the 25 pound weight on my hip gave it a whole new twist. Needless to say we were all utterly exhausted by the time we reached the bottom, but all in all we had a blast, and we were both very happy to see that she is following well in our footsteps loving the great outdoors. We'll just be sure to pack more snacks next time.

Lamentations of a Pastry Chef on V-Day

Well, I don't know if this will be a lamentation, but our Valentine's day this year surely turned out very different from what we had planned. Luckily we had a little pre-Valentine's bash with a few friends the night before since most of the other plans got thrown out the window.

For the last few years Ry and I have decided to trade back and forth on who gets to plan Valentine's Day so that we both get a chance to be surprised and swept off our feet. . .hmm, I'm pretty sure that sounds girly to say it that way, and I'm bettin' Ry would prefer something more masculine. Smacked over the head with the club of love? Tackled soundly by warm fuzzies? I'm really not sure on that one. Oh well.

Anyway, this year was my turn and I had ever-so-much planned- video games (because Ry loves them and begs me to play with him all the time, to which I usually say no), romantic dancing, a truly amazing dinner, and presents. (oh, speaking of which, for all of you that were wondering after the last post, I made a cartoon flip book for him of me doing all sorts of crazy dance moves, whispering lovey-dovey messages, and just plain being weird and quirky. I ended up printing and lamenating around 60 or 70 pictures so the animation turned out AWESOME! He was totally surprised, which I loved, and he guffawed when he flipped it, which I also completely loved. It makes me SO happy to get him to laugh that hard!)

Umm. . .that was a long aside, and so I thought I'd start a new paragraph. So, bottom line was that I had all these amazing plans, and somehow I forgot to take into account my profession in this all-encompassing holiday of LOVE. Yeah, I hit the bakery about 4:30am and didn't leave until about 3pm. It was a crazy, yet exhileratingly fun day. Somehow I've always loved the pressure of a bustling kitchen- its such a rush! I dipped something like 500 strawberries and over 300 marachino cherries in chocolate, piped hundereds of chocolate mousse cups, decorated dozens of giant cookie hearts, and while tired at the end of the day, I felt this happy, warm little joy inside of me that always gets there when I cook. I love doing what I do.

Unfortunately, all too often though the spirit is willing the body just ain't. I came home and absolutely crashed. I slept for about 4 hours and when I woke up I wasn't really in the mood to do anything. My lamb dinner with curried risotto and molten chocolate lava cakes became Papa Murphy's heart-shaped pepperoni pizza with a tall glass of milk, and all other plans gave way to a blood-pumping game of Harry Potter Edition Clue.

But the best part of being married for almost three years is that we had a blast anyway; sometimes its all about the simple stuff.

Boom, baby!

My sister Melese says that all the time, but especially when we're out shooting and something is particularly amazing. Hence the usage in this post. I had to put up some of our stuff from yesterday's shoot, not so much because I'm vain (which, I'll admit, I am, but who doesn't love to see a picture of themselves that makes them look great? I ask you!) but mostly because we found this sweet graffitti wall down an alleyway on center street which made everything turn out awesome. I feel so much like Melese in this post. Should I throw in the turkey warble of joy? Maybe not. Anyway, who knew graffitti could inspire such excitement and enthusiasm?

Now don't you folks think that these killer shots came free- oh no! We braved cold-numbed fingers, Miss Whiner Reese (what would we have done without that granola bar Mese found in her pocket?!), and a completely strange busboy, er, man that was taking trash to the dumpster we were shooting right next to. Oh, and we might need to burn our shoes now. It's a wonder we made it really, but it was all for the greater good- a certain someone's valentine's present. I won't mention it now, since occasionally he reads my blogs, but its going to be so, so, so great. That's all. :)

I'm in an interesting writing mood today if you can't tell, so sorry to be so rambly. I took a few excedrin a few hours ago, and while my head feels much better I feel slightly hyper. :)

And of course, Reese had to get in on the fun. It's a shame she was too short for the painted part of the wall. :) Hope you enjoy the pics and are inspired for your own photoshoots!

Little Chef

Anyone that knows me knows that I LOVE food. And its basically been like that for. . .well, let's see. . . forever. Seriously I think I was organizing my mom's cupboards and begging to crack the eggs into the bowl since I was like two.
That being said, you can understand how excited I am that Reese absolutely loves helping me in the kitchen-- I couldn't be prouder!
She loves unpacking groceries (which sometimes makes for an interesting scavenger hunt to locate the brown sugar), watching Ratatouille, and while I make dinner she loves to stir her own bowl of water, sprinkling in herbs, and even adding an approving "Mmm!" here and there.

Therefore, I thought it only appropriate that she have her own, Reesey-sized apron, and today I made her one out of an old dishtowel. All props go to my friend Megan, who is incredibly crafty and gave me the pattern in the first place. But I was so excited with how it turned out that I just had to show it off.

Here's to the Little Chef! Doesn't she look like she should be on the cover of some hot new restaurant's cookbook?!

Irony

Ryan took Reese to the library a few days ago and, once they got to the children's section, let her basically run amuck (what a wonderful word!), choosing her books all by herself. Apparently the very first one she pulled off the shelf was this one:

Particularly funny since lately she's been a complete grumpy pants as she's been getting over a cold. The best part, though, is that while she loved her other books, this one was disgustedly tossed aside after reading only the first page.

Apparently, she is NOT going to be good.

"If I Only Had a Voice, doo doo doo. . ."

(That title was supposed to be Wizard of Oz reminiscent, in case you were confused.)

I've had a cold the last few days and yesterday I completely lost my voice. Always a strange sensation. Anyway, Ry's gotten a great kick out of it- he was particularly pleased with the result he got when he tickled me yesterday and only a very wheezy squeak emerged despite my attempts to scream bloody murder. Singing with the radio this morning also produced a great deal of laughter- from both of us. It was like someone had my volume dial and turned me off for several seconds with my mouth still moving and then cranked it up for the final 'honking' note. Oi!
I like talking way too much for this to last too much longer. But maybe, as my sweet sister informed me yesterday, its all a lesson in learning to live with silence, something I've always struggled with. :) Somehow I see myself failing to learn that one and, may I add, so would she.

Ooh! And Happy Groundhog Day! I hope so much he saw his shadow. . .or didn't see his shadow. . .whichever one means that winter ends and we move on to all the better things the world has to offer. Oh yes, and HAPPY FEBRUARY!!! Best month of the year. Oh Yes.

Disclaimer: Hmm. This post feels very detatched and somewhat random and loopy. But then again, I AM sick, so uh, if its weird to you, that's alright. :)