She loves fine dining. . . .

January 22, 2011



2.30 am

Sleeping.

Nicely.

Suddenly, the oh-so-familiar-paw-on-back-of-head is perceived.

At least it was the back of my head and not my front, which hurts a whole lot more.

And to whom did this malevolent paw belong to?

Tikka.

Who else?

In spite of a midnight meander outside in a blizzard for her before bed ablutions, she felt the pressing need to again seek the relief of the cold outdoors to relieve herself.

Of everything.

Thankfully the snow had ceased, however, it was frigid while standing out there waiting for Tikka to make up her mind about where she wanted to relieve herself.

Why this has to be such an issue is wholly beyond me.

Outside, drop, finish, back inside.

Not outside, sniff for anything that might possibly be different as a result of the blowing snow and blizzard conditions of a few hours earlier, wander aimlessly about the front yard as much as your leash will allow, consider dropping here, consider dropping there, drop a little here, drop a little there, eventually finish, and then decide that perhaps it would be nice to return to the warmth of the house.

Except for one problem.

The person at the other end of the leash is now frozen solid and unable to move, leaving said dog to drag the frozen person into the house to lie prone in the hallway until she thaws out enough to negotiate the stairs and return to bed.







Snow fell yesterday with such vehemence I wondered if my personal comments about a menopausal Mother Nature had raised her ire thus encouraging her to take it out on all of southern NB.

And of course this had to be day of Em's 17th birthday.

The day she wanted nothing more than to go out for dinner at the Diplomat to enjoy the Chinese buffet in the bosom of her loving family.

All of her loving, immediate family as Meredyth was also in attendance.

A Friday evening, neither chick nor child at work, meaning the five of us could go out for dinner together.

During a blizzard.

Snowstorm.

Blinding.

And did common sense prevail?

A common sense that would allow our little family to remain inside the warm comfort of our home, eating a home cooked meal and saving the birthday fare for the next day, a storm free day.

Of course it didn't.

We piled into car, buckled ourselves in, me behind the wheel because Em commented that even if Stephen did the driving I would tell him how to drive so I should spare the middle man and just drive myself.

Along the route from our house to the restaurant, we stopped and picked up Keith and Mer, who were made to walk from Mer's apartment to the top of her driveway because there was no way I was traversing the dead man's curve of Mer's driveway.

And thus the journey began.

Three kids in the back, Stephen in the front, me at the wheel.

I have no real problems driving in bad weather.

I only have one minor requirement.

Not much to ask, really.

Quite simple when you think of it.

Working, functioning, able to clear the windshield, wipers.

Not the willy-nilly-here-or-there-maybe-we'll-work-when-we-feel-like-it-wipers-that-allow-the-driver-of-said-auto-to-barely-see-where-she-is-going-while-manouvering-a-4000-pound-piece-of-machinery-and-listening-to-the-raucous-jocularity-of-her-children-and-husband-around-her.






Dinner was, as always, entertaining.

Anytime my three children find themselves together under the happy umbrella of Chinese buffet, entertainment will ensue.

Add the salivating Stephen to the mix and you have all the makings of a regular comedy troupe.

As soon as our very patient waiter took our drinks order, the kids and Stephen bolted to the buffet faster than the dogs when they know their food is covered with beef broth.

And did I join the stampede to the buffet tables?

Sadly, no.

I remained at the table, poring over the menu in search of something with chicken that was not breaded, battered, or deep fried, or slathered in a sauce with who knows how much sodium.

Several go throughs of the menu left me with only one viable option. . . .

Save not eating anything at all.

Chicken Caesar salad.

I know, I know, what about the dressing? the croutons? the bacon?

I ate around the croutons and the bacon, gave the accompanying garlic bread to Stephen and Mer.

Meaning lettuce and chicken were my staple for the evening.

And when I finished, a pile of croutons and bacon sat forlornly at the bottom of the bowl.

Begging, cajoling me to eat them.

Enjoy their taste and texture.

I held my ground because I had a bigger goal in mind.

Cheesecake.

Not the ginormous slices of cheesecake turning slowly, tantalizing in the display case, the first thing you see when you enter the Diplomat.

But the smaller, dessert buffet slices.

Brought to me by the birthday girl.

Even though I did not have the buffet, I figured that given what I spent for that meal, a small slice of buffet cheesecake wasn't going to put the Dip into receivership.

It.

Was.

So.

Good.

I ate it slowly.

Enjoying every. single. bite.

Because it would be a very, very, very long time before I had another slice of such a heavenly delight.

Oddly, I was not the least bit disturbed watching the kids and Stephen gorge themselves on the buffet.

Stephen even brought me a chicken ball.

I took the chicken out of the ball of batter and ate it.

It was lovely.

Some of the batter did manage to find it's way onto my taste buds.

And in the past I would have delighted in the crispy yet tender batter.

All I tasted last night was grease.

Quite unpleasant I must say.

Leaving me to conclude that I actually didn't want the chicken balls, with or without the batter and cherry sauce.

I was fine with my lettuce and chicken thank you very much.

Trust me when I say that this surprised me as much as anyone else.


Title Lyric: Fine Dining by Jason Mraz