Merry Streptococchristmas!!

I work at a soap/beauty/lotion store. As such, I am required to demonstrate any and all products ONTO my customers while saying encouraging things to them like, "This is SO good for you." Or, "Really, this is SOOO good for you."

Ergo (therefore) I am constantly touching people. It is winter, a month notorious for illness. Massaging every person to walk through our store during this heightened time of germ-trafficking may seem like a dangerous job and actually, you're right. It is. But somebody has to move that product, lest the children begin to suspect that there is no Santa Claus. 

Not surprisingly then, I fell ill on Christmas day.


Christmas Eve, however, was a helluva time. Myself and my Persian friend enjoyed a decidedly unchristian gluten-free meal while babysitting some sick rats. We watched about 20 minutes of Doctor Zhivago (starring Omar Sharif--oh my god what a babe, in fact let's take a pause here for a moment

--okay thank you.) we drank about 30 cups of tea between the two of us, and discussed the finer points of sex and sexuality until we fell asleep. All in all, a grand holiday. The next morning, however, I woke up feeling like my throat was full of garbage and a bit delirious with a fever. I took a cab home and proceeded to NyQuil myself into the land of Nod but not before creating a slew of rather bizarre "holiday" cards for my friends.


The next day I was feeling monumentally better and decided to cook a whole chicken that I had been saving for Christmas. But, now, woefully, Christmas had come and gone and my only memory of the day was being strung out on NyQuil and watching the pilot episode of Lost.

But who cares?!! I manically reassured myself on a wave of post-illness enthusiasm. For all I care today is Christmas all over again! To the kitchens with you, carcass of fowl!!!! And now I would like to share with you Mackenzie's recipe for TOO MUCH Soup.


TOO MUCH Soup

1 whole chicken
big ass pots
1 red onion
garlic cloves until you are crying
blatant disregard for internet recipes
potatoes
a desire to simultaneously make fried chicken
oil
salt
pepper
flour
sugar
coriander
oregano
frozen peas


The first step is to google something similar to this recipe, read half of the first paragraph and then simply forge ahead. Watching muted youtube videos that seem related to what you are doing is also a good idea:

Once you've gotten half way through making TOO MUCH Soup, you should try it and see how it tastes. If it doesn't taste the way you want, just add more pepper. If it tastes exactly perfect, add a dash more pepper and serve hot.

Pestilence

I just killed 6 cockroaches. With poison. It didn't make me feel good the way it should have.

Maybe killing things is overrated. According to all the James Bond movies I've seen and a wide assortment of TV shows and other media sources I am addicted to, killing things is easy, fun and exciting. But in the world of insects, it's actually very upsetting. This doesn't make sense because I'm like 4000x larger than most insects and they are fundamentally stupid, worthless and unwanted.

Okay a good for-instance is spiders. Gross, right? Yeah whatever they eat mosquitos but like...not in my house, okay? Get the fuck out. Do that outside. Lately, though, I've had this growing fear that there is an afterlife. And that this afterlife is ruled by spiders. What if that were true? I wouldn't want to kill spiders in my current life, you know? Then I would be severely punished -- for *eternity* -- BY SPIDERS. This frightens me and so I have stopped killing spiders because I can't handle the potential infinite exposure to 8 legs, hairy bodies and multiple roving, unfocused black eyes.

I did make an exception the other day though when THE BIGGEST SPIDER OF YOUR LIFE broke into my house and was just chilling out next to my bed. [Those weak of heart, beware the pictures below]

I stalk you gently, human. Practiced stillness yields not a limb to quiver.

Of course, killing this spider took an enormous amount of bravery, focus, and a heavy shoe. I was literally squealing with fear even as I towered like the world-dominating mammal that I am over this large-for-its-species-but-still-relatively-small creature. After I killed it, I had to quietly scream for a short while and dance around my house. Sadly for me, this particular insect had a twin brother that came looking for its brethren the following evening.

"Is tha--? SON OF A BITCH."

"AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIY!!"

Cockroaches are a different matter. I have no qualms about killing them but they kind of ruin my day, you know? It's like "Oh! I think I'll make some peanut butter cookies tonight" No. No you won't. You will discover an intimate get-together of cockroaches enjoying a sort of coffee-date around a stain on the counter top and have to top them off with a healthy dose of Raid.

Aaaaaaand peanut butter cookies no longer seem desirable. In fact, nothing does. Eating seems like a remote, impossible thing that isn't even worth thinking about.

Words of Encouragement

Friends! Luba has again graciously contributed yet another star burst of enthusiasm for etiquette and behavior to Drinks with Dinner. Today's post features a celebration of winter and all the pleasures of a cold morning.

Mackenzie's Rather Unorthodox Matzoh Ball Soup

Welcome friends, to the tail end of Mackenzie's Rather Unorthodox Matzoh Ball Soup + some beer. It's November these days and even though my buddy El Nino has been keeping it warm, I decided to make some matzoh ball soup to keep things toasty up in here.

Sorry, was that too far back into the 1990s? Are there people alive now who won't understand that reference? Perish the thought.

So my matzoh ball soup is Rather Unorthodox for a few reasons. First of all, I put pork in it.

Lovingly sourced from Natalie Dee's comic: http://www.marriedtothesea.com/

Then I put butter in it. So basically, it's sin on a spoon. Also, the pork was cooked in beer.  I almost put sauerkraut in it too but then I realized I was actually sort of tipsy and needed to quit while I was ahead.

Sauerkraut has such a bad rep. I realized recently (last Passover) that many of my friends do not understand the joys of pickled cabbage. Think about this critically for a moment, friends. I'll bet you like cabbage, right? And I'll bet you like pickles, yes? Then you will like sauerkraut. Get over the name. Move past the limp, blanched seaweed appearance. Suck it up and discover joy.

This love is real.


You know, on second thought, potatoes would have been great in this. I write this between massive gulps of delicious porky, rosemary-y, dumpling filled happiness. Another odd thing about this soup is that the rosemary is reminding me of Christmas.


I think I just invented Gentile-zoh Ball Soup.


Slurps & Burps,
Mackenzie

Luba's Advice Column!

Quick update friends! Luba is going to have a video advice column here on Drinks with Dinner!

It's not yet clear how often Luba will be able to contribute. As you might imagine, she has a lot of irons in the fire. But please feel free to write to her at Lubadelicious@gmail.com with any and all queries or comments! If you don't make it to a video feature, she will certainly write you back!

The Breakfast and the Furious

You may have heard that I like things that are acidic. And I do. However, it is a proven fact that if I drink orange juice my stomach convulses itself into an angry, jagged acid bag and I crumple to the floor with groans that Prince Hamlet would find enviable.  I think it is telling that if you google the phrase "death by orange juice" a picture of O.J. Simpson shows up.

So anyway, breakfast. I've never been good at breakfast. When I was in high school I had to catch a bus down the street that arrived at around 7:00 in the morning. So, I would set all three of my alarms for about 6:20. Inevitably though, I would snooze it like pro and then have to BOLT from bed at 6:51.

I would scurry to the bathroom and brush my teeth while simultaneously peeing, putting on my clothes, and trying to remember where my backpack was. It was cold and hazardous. I sustained many bruises thanks to artfully sharpened corners on our furniture. Also, I would trip over the cat who would zealously charge about me, eager for an early morning snack and a fun game of KILL YOUR OWNER.

This is a picture of my cat. His name is Caligula. He enjoys killing things, snuggling, and sleeping in coat hangers:

It took almost exactly 3 minutes and 20 seconds to run like a maniac to my bus stop down the street. With little variance, my morning journey from sleepy bed to graffiti-worn bus seat would elapse in the space of 10-12 minutes. Looking back it's funny to realize just how crazed I must have appeared to any early risers. Imagine for yourself (or maybe you were there) that self-satisfied aura of Suburbia at daybreak and then myself erratically careening through an otherwise quiet street, singing Nirvana songs at the top of my lungs to disperse whatever antlered creatures might be hanging around in the fog. 

You may not know this about deer but their natural habit is not in the forest. Instead, they exist exclusively in the ethereal world of mist and darkness. If you are ever walking down the road and suddenly experience low visibility, be assured that swarms of deer are just floating around you, waiting to poke their wet fuzzy faces from out behind a nearby tree to generate some kind of strained guttural warning at you and stomp their hooves at you as if to say, "I AM A DEER. I AM VERY LARGE AND STUPID AND MIGHT, AS A DEFENSE MEASURE, CRASH MY ENTIRE BODY INTO YOURS. DON'T EVEN LOOK AT MY FEMALES." To which I say, "Pfffft. As if. Up your fluffy white tail, man."

A minor side effect of all this was that I never ate breakfast. Or, not in the normal sense of the word anyway. A couple of pickles and a chocolate flavored vitamin pill were usually the only accompanying nourishment I took to my morning classes. Maybe this is why I wasn't a very alert or interested student. Or why I hated gym class. Or maybe that was everyone.

Miracle of Miracles

My prayers were answered!!!!

So I was at Halsted Foods the other day, doing my regular grocery shopping and....well... the way I shop for groceries is very structured. This is to avoid a situation where I become stressed out and start talking to myself because then no one will help me because they think I'm crazy. I go up aisle one, and down aisle two. Up aisle three and down aisle four. Always. It helps me. Truly, if you have never seen me in a large store then I must assure you that it overwhelms me. For instance, I was at Macy's the other day -- THE FLAGSHIP MACY'S -- looking for flannel sheets and somehow I wound up in this nearly abandoned part of the store stuffed full of product that no one was even looking at besides me. Pots and pans all shining at me like wanton prostitutes, a dining-room sized table stacked high with nothing but Pizza-Made-Easy! pans, a small clearing of petite Christmas trees overloaded with gold and red ornaments, display furniture of various shapes and sizes that all seemed to lumber around me as I walked down a glossy hallway absolutely and completely alone. I was ducking around pillars and blenders, trying to ignore the eeriness of happy-go-lucky piped in music when I finally encountered a sales representative. "HI OKAY WHERE IS THE ELEVATOR?"

"Over there."

"Thank you. Dear god, you are the only person I've seen in 10 minutes. I thought I might be trapped in some kind of art film!" I get so stressed out I actually say things like that to people. But this isn't what I was originally telling you about.

So I was walking up aisle two of Halsted foods, looking first to my left and then to my right AND THERE, TO MY SHEER AND EXTREME DELIGHT was a can of "Hungarian style" sardines in Polish packaging.

That's right. My local grocery store just started AN ENTIRE AISLE dedicated solely to Polish foods. I nearly died and went to heaven. Incidentally, I met YET ANOTHER employee of Halsted Foods. I don't know his name so we will call him Rather Large Cute (Highschool?) Boy. Rather Large Cute (Highschool?) Boy was stocking groceries on the other side of the aisle and I approached him with glee, wearing straight up awe-on-my-jaw:

Me: Excuse me....is...is...is..THIS NEW???
RLC(H?)B: Oh, yeah it is.
Me: Ohhhh myyyyy goddddd.
RLC(H?)B: Hahahaha, you like it?
Me: Let me tell you something, I used to live in Ukrainian Village and you could find this stuff anywhere. I mean anywhere. In an alleyway, down in the gutters, on the bus, ANYWHERE.
RLC(H?)B: Hahahaha, what is it? I can't read it.
Me: It's Polish.
RLC(H?)B: Oh okay cool!
Me: You don't even know how much this means to me.

Then I went to the deli counter but, alas, they don't sell chopped liver. And when I say "they don't sell chopped liver" what I really mean is, they have no idea what chopped liver is and need me to describe it to them before they tell me that they don't have it.


Le Sigh,
Toujours amour
pour tu,
parce-que tu es mon favori,
avec les bisous bisous,
Mackenzie

Symptom: No Appetite

Hello out there. Mackenzie here. Writing to you between shuddering coughs, wrapped tighter than a swaddle in flannel sheets, two fleecies, and two comforters. It may be difficult for me to go on but I will try. Like Poe's young songbird wife, so lovely and raven haired, brimming both with virtue and a bacterial fester of consumption, I will attempt to sing a simple melody despite the bloody expectorate it conjures. As feverish rapture devours me, not unlike poor and tortured Raskolnikov after his foray into murderous philosophy, I still tap forth with the last reserves of my courage and strength. To you, my friends, to you.


I really have had the flu for the past 4 days but I'm feeling better. It's been sort of a gentle malaise all day today. Speaking of gentle malaises, have you met my friend Luba? She volunteered to contribute the bulk of today's content since I was feeling so unwell.

Domestic Drinking

So after getting sufficiently wasted on vodka (bad vodka--from Indiana--big mistake: it actually tastes the way my garbage smells. No. Really.) I decided it was time to clean my bathroom and kitchen. I windexed  our glass-surface breakfast table and all the mirrors in our apartment before I moved on to cleansing the shower/bath. The minute I sprayed the stuff into our badly splotched tub I was transported to an early childhood memory. My mother is a psychologist and she tells me that smell is the sense most strongly connected with memory. I believe it. The fresh hillside smell of this bathroom cleanser reminded me of Maria.

My parents have a house cleaner. She is Polish. Her name is Maria. I have grown up knowing her (which may account for my my fondness for pickled things. Maybe not. Who really knows for certain?). She has twin sons who are my age. They are named Bartek and Robert. I used to hang out at their house playing video games and eating vanilla wafers. I don't know if you know this, but Eastern European people are crazy about vanilla wafers and really, wafer treats of any kind. When I used to live in Ukrainian Village I would go to the local Polish grocer for very cheap produce and there was literally a single aisle dedicated entirely to wafer treats. As long as we're on the subject though, I instruct you to never --and I mean never-- ever buy "Italian Style" tomato sauce at a Polish grocer. It was one of the most disgusting things I had ever tasted. Sausage however, is all system go.

I miss Ukrainian Village so hard. I used to walk around, admiring all the cool churches and buying currant juice, wafer treats, Polish beer, legit-fucking pickles, and Lithuanian rye bread. That was the life, my friends. Don't get my wrong, I like being able to buy El Cheapo Tortillas and canned refried beans for under a dollar but there is just no beating a meaty, saucy ambiguous buffet at Mitch & Janina's. Here, let me take you on a very quick photographic tour of my old neighborhood!

It's ALL about self-reliance, my friends.

St. Nicholas Ukrainian Catholic Cathedral

Lurking fatso cat who would spy on me on my way to the grocery store every week.

St. Volodomyr & Olha Ukrainian Catholic Church

Holy Trinity Cathedral (originally founded as St. Vladimir's Russian Orthodox Church)

Entrance detail of Holy Trinity Cathedral

"& other things"

One of my favorite memories at the Polish grocery was the time I practiced my (terrible) Russian. They had just sold me some delicious hunk of meat but I was in dire need of a napkin. I went back to the butcher counter and this time, instead of just pointing to what I wanted, I asked "Do you have a napkin?" They looked at me with intelligent and educated Non-Understanding. Clearly, there was a language barrier. Timidly, I asked, "Salfietka??" knowing full well the longstanding angst between Russian and Polish culture BUT

LO AND BEHOLD

I was rewarded with both a SMILE and a napkin. Best. Day. Ever.

But to bring things full circle, I just want to say, thank god for Maria, Bartek and Robert. I'm actually learning some Polish now. To jest dość trudne! [It is quite difficult!]. I believe Bartek is  a history teacher now and Robert lives in Poland. Thanks again for the purple Skip It you bought me for my 12th birthday. And, embarrassingly enough, I'm fairly certain I owned the exact same pink dress as the girl in that picture.

cześć!!
[bye!!]
-Mackenzie

»radiant devices« with dinner

So I eat dinner sometimes with my friends Mojdeh and Fyodor. They are also in a band called »radiant devices« which has been described to me as follows, 

"...like if Rage Against The Machine, Red Hot Chili Peppers, The Pixies, Einstürzende Neubauten, Swans, and Bjork had a love child."

You might be wondering "What would that look like?" Well, there are pictures:

As you can see, they know their way around large industrial objects which is no surprise since they use "propane tanks, parts of cars, metal chains, trash cans, satellite dishes, and other discarded/found objects as percussion instruments." »radiant devices« is Chicago based and they are currently collaborating (as we speak!) with electronica/avant-garde artists both local & international for their debut album!


Now that we've all been properly introduced (and because I am a serious blogger), it's time for an interview/dialogue:

Gargle in Health, Bubbela

I don't know anything about wine.

Actually, I couldn't even drink wine for years because of a traumatic young adult experience involving nail polish remover. You see, my grandmother was always in the habit of giving me a variety of useful but sort of thoughtless gifts including but not limited to:

1. floss
2. paper bags
3. pens
4. mouthwash

*** I want to just point out that she would also give me wonderfully thoughtful things too. It was just a funny mix. Anyway...

So one day I was over at her condo and she presented me with this sort of Old-Lady brand of mouthwash. It didn't come in a jacked-up, vaguely muscular bottle, you know, like the way Listerine does. Nor was it a crazy LOUD color to indicate cleanliness. Instead it was in this sort of frosty, tear drop shaped bottle with an off-white screw on top. "You should gargle at least once a day," she instructed me between bites of white fish and bagels. "Thanks, Nana."

I took the mouthwash home and pretty much forgot about it. To this day, I have no idea where I put it. What I do remember is that a few weeks later I was brushing my teeth before bedtime and I thought to myself, "Oh! I shall be such a dutiful granddaughter tonight if I use that mouthwash my kindhearted Nana gave me last month!" And thinking pleasant thoughts, I grabbed the nearby teardrop shaped bottle that was sort of frosted over and poured the liquid into the cap.

"Oh Nana," I thought as I poured, "you buy such weird mouthwash. This cap is so small. Barely big enough for a gulpful of this of this wonderful mouthwash you bought me!" And without a second thought, I knocked it back.

And then I entered a world of pain.

For yous see, it wasn't mouthwash at all but, in fact, Harmon's brand Nail Polish Remover that I was sloshing around my mouth. If you want to know what it felt like, imagine that your mouth is suddenly supporting a small liquid deposit of hatred. If you don’t want to know what it felt like, pretend you never read that.

Then I spit it out so I’m not blind or anything.

So for many years after this event, I couldn’t drink wine, ESPECIALLY white wine because it was just too familiar in that OH MY GOD I HAD THIS TRAUMATIC EXPERIENCE type of way.

But! Now I drink wine with increasing regularity though I don’t know much about it. I really like White Zinfandel but I’m told that this is an extremely lame and immature thing to drink. Still, it tastes good to me, so I drink rosés a lot.

Sorry,

Mackenzie

I Tried Horseradish Vodka and Loved It

I love vinegar. I love mustard, raw red onions, sauerkraut, and horseradish. I eat pickles for breakfast. The very idea of anything sweet in the morning makes me want to die. I drink water with two shots of lime juice in it.

Really, I like to think that I have something in common with the titular character from the movie Alien (i.e. alien) and if you cut open one of my veins it would burn straight through the floor.

I decided recently to start pickling my own veggies. I may branch out later to fruits/herring/what-have-you but for now we're sticking to:

1. Cucumbers (duh)
2. Bell peppers
3. Mushrooms

Now anyone who is a fan of pickled things will immediately cry out, "YOU HAVE LEFT OUT [insert hot pepper variety here], YOU FOOL!" Well, in a strange twist of genetic/cultural fate, I'm not the biggest fan of the spicy foods. Salty? Yes. Sour? Oh yes. Bitter? Marry me. And yet, I can't go past "medium" at an Indian restaurant without risking genuinely NOT enjoying my food. Go figure. Speaking of spicy foods, just the other day I made a stir fry that I shared with my roomie (she insists that it was good so yay!) that contained an entire jalapeno pepper. Which (mental note) is too much for me. HOWEVER. An amazing discovery came out of this. Pairing my homemade spicy Asian food with Leinenkiugel's Berry Weiss beer* turned out not to just good but in fact, GREAT.

*I just found this blog by googling the name of the beer but I thought the article was so funny I had to link to it instead of a picture.

But this is neither here nor there. Back to pickles.


I look forward to pickling the following things in the future:

1. Pears
2. Peaches
3. Chicken

I like using a variety of different vinegars and herbs to liven things up a bit. Also, I cheat & borrow the brine mix from my favorite brand of pickles. Here are some other ingredients I enjoy throwing into the jar:

1. Siracha
2. Blender-ed red onions / chopped red onions
3. Garlic
4. Honey


Sincerely,
And Brine-y Hugs
Mackenzie

Awkward. Period.

Have you ever been in a non-English speaking country and needed a maxipad?

This past summer I went to Budapest & Prague with my parents and had a lovely time. Well, lovely in the sense that even though my family is a little high strung, we all made serious efforts not to throttle one another. NO REALLY, I had a great time.

See? Like the Russian soldier (right) and the Hungarian civilian  (left), my mother and I were able to find peace in a difficult time. That's at Memento Park, in case you're wondering. Anyway, maxipads:

 So I was in Budapest with my family and I got my period. Ugh. So first I looked up the Hungarian word for pharmacy [gyógyszertár--at one point I did know how to pronounce that (Hungarian is a strange language, in fact! my professor Sergey Glebov told me that it is an Uralic language and therefore very closely related to Finnish and Estonian AND people who speak languages in this linguistic family are the most likely ON EARTH to commit suicide!)] and then I had to ask a few different Hungarians for directions in order to find said pharmacy, er, eh hem, gyógyszertár:


left/ balra
right/ jobbra
left / balra
right / jobbra

I finally found a pharmacy.

Dialogue

Me: Hello!
Pharmacist: Hello!
Me: Do you have maxipads?
Pharm: Errrrrrrrr I'm sorry. English not so good. A moment please? She speaks better....[indicating another employee]
Me: Okay! [internationally understood form of agreement]
.....a few moments go by....
2nd Pharm: Hello!
Me: Hello! Do you have maxipads?
2nd Pharm: Errrrrrrrr.....
Me: Okay like....I am having my period?
2nd Pharm: [blank stare]
Man Behind Me in Line: LOL 
Me: Okay. Okay. Ummm. Okay. Like....
Man Behind Me In Line: LOL
Me: Okay...,OKAY HERE WE GO. Every month a woman... [ambiguous gestures]
 2nd Pharm: OH! OH! OH! [retrieves a giant wicker basket FULL of feminine products]
Me: YAY!!!!!!!!!
Pharmarcists: YAY!!!!!


It was a great day for world peace. Except for that fucking guy behind me. Just suck it up man and help me out. You CLEARLY speak both Hungarian and English. Periods aren't weird. Get over yourself.

What does this have to with drinks or dinner? I'll tell you. I'm drunk and eating dinner as I'm writing this.


Also, here is the Hungarian translation of that entire conversation, just for funzos:


Én: Jó napot!
Gyógyszerész: Hello!
Én: Van maxipads?
Gyógyszerész: Errrrrrrrr sajnálom. Angol nem olyan jó. Egy pillanat? Ő jobban beszél ....[ jelzi egy másik alkalmazottal]
Én: Oké! [Nemzetközileg ismert formájában megállapodás] ..... néhány pillanatig menni ....
Másik Gyógyszerész: Hello!
Én: Jó napot! Van maxipads?
Másik Gyógyszerész: Errrrrrrrr .....
Én: Oké, mint .... Én a határidő?
Másik Gyógyszerész: [üres bámulni]
Az ember állt a hátam mögött: LOL
Én: Oké. Oké. Ööö. Oké. Mint ....
Az ember állt a hátam mögött: LOL
Én: Oké ... mint minden hónapban, egy nő, ööö, nos ...
Másik Gyógyszerész: OH! OH! OH! [Letölti egy hatalmas fonott kosár női termékek]
Én: YAY !!!!!!!!!
Gyógyszerészek: YAY !!!!!

Sandwiches

I believe in one god. And that god is sandwiches.

Sandwiches are perfect. They are form without content. They are interactive. They fit in my lunch box. You are never alone when you have a sandwich. One of my cockamamie schemes for later-in-life-accomplishments is to set aside 1 calendar year and make a different kind of sandwich every single day. And then blog about it, obviously.

Think about all the permutations available to a sandwich:

(* optional ingredient)

1. Bread
2. Primary meat
3. Secondary meat *
4. Primary spread
5. Secondary spread *
6. Leafy thing
7. Token vegetable so you don't feel so guilty
8. Secondary vegetable because you're a good person *
9. Tertiary vegetable because you are a vegetarian/vegan/skilled sandwich creator *


And really we haven't even talked about sweet sandwiches which have a slightly different break down:

1. Bread
2. Primary spread
3. Secondary spread *
4. Primary fruit *
5. Secondary fruit *


In some ways, the sweet sandwich is more versatile than the savory, simply because you can just take some bread, smear it with something delicious and you have effectively created a meal.

I don't need a calculator to tell me that sandwiches are amazing. But if I did have a calculator (and knew what stupid function I would need to do this) I could tell you how many different kinds of sandwiches are possible in the world. But be assured. It is many.


As long as we're on the subject of sandwiches and this blog is all about me -- oh, fancy that! -- I may as well tell you my most favorite sandwich in the whole world:

Now, for me, tuna is a divine occurrence. I have actually over dosed on tuna (another story for another day). It is a family favorite, a cultural practice, a way of thinking about the world. It is also rife with contradiction because I really hate the idea of mayonnaise so I have to pretend that there isn't any in my tuna fish when I order it out. You see, like any great passion, my love of tuna is a turbulent emotional event.

So my favorite sandwich is a tuna sandwich. But not just any tuna sandwich. It is The Tuna Sandwich. Which is made as follows:

1. Tuna
2. on rye
3. with lettuce
4. tomato
5. red onion
6. and provolone cheese
7. could I get mustard on that? What kinds do you have? 
8. Oh! and a pickle, please.


Proportions may vary. Which fine because variety is the spice of life.
Pickles forever,
Love,
Mackenzie

Things That Bug Me

Why don't iPods have two headphone jacks? No. Really. Can't you already picture the hipster-ass superimposed-pencil drawing lovey-dovey commercials that would be associated with this amazing and altogether forward thinking product?

Another thing that bugs me is the fact that we have cockroaches in my apartment. They are sort of small for cockroaches and if they weren't so revolting I might even think that they're cute. First off, they are shaped almost perfectly like the capital letter D. And they have inquisitive little antennae. I am fond of antennae. I think they are useful appendages and sometimes I even  wish I had some of my own. Then I remember that I want a boyfriend and I am grateful that I don't have antennae.

So I have cockroaches and I spray raid all over the place and I am going to buy traps next week sometime when I get a chance. However, a friend of mine suggested that I buy a gecko and have it eat all of the cockroaches which I thought was a rather brilliant solution because I like having pets. I had even prepared a list of potential names when I finally had a chance to call up the pet store(s) in my locale:

1. Sir Speedy
2. El Gecko
3. Phillip
4. Monster Pants
5. Murdock

However, after 10+ phone calls to a variety of pet stores and 1 additional message from my roommate politely requesting that we *not* get a gecko, I was finally dissuaded from the idea. However, that doesn't stop me from sharing some of the informative discussions I had with representatives from different PetCos all over the city.

I am usually a very talkative and entertaining person (at least...people lead me to believe so by laughing at things that I say--which may be just a ruse to get me to go away because I am always neurotic in stores...no really, one time I was in Target and I told a Target employee that they need to print up maps for their customers and label the aisles with street names or something because the stores are overwhelming HAVE YOU BEEN TO A TARGET LATELY?) so I was on the phone with representatives of PetCo (where the pets go) and it didn't occur to me until later that the following statements might *not* be the best things to say to people who are employed/evaluated based on their love of animals:

1. I don't have a gecko tank. I plan on letting it sleep under the fridge.
2. It needs food? Can't it just eat the ants and the cockroaches?
3. If I step on it then I'll just get another gecko, I guess.
4. $30.00? Seriously? Well I guess that's cheaper than an exterminator...

Two of my favorite Lizard Customer Service Representatives were at the Clybourn and the Halsted locations.


Clybourn

Me: I was told by another representative at a different store that you have crested geckos.
Clybourn: Yes! We have 4 left!
Me: And they eat cockroaches right?
Clybourn: OH! NO!
Me:....what do they eat then?
Clybourn: Well, I feed mine baby food.


Halsted
Me: Hi I'm looking for geckos that eat cockroaches.
Halsted: Well...how big are these cockroaches?
Me: Oh not so big. I mean like...big enough to feed a hungry gecko.
Halsted: Well...how are you getting these roaches into the tank?
Me:...tank?
Halsted: You need to keep geckos in a tank.
Me: Oh right because of the heat thing or whatever. No I was just going to let it loose in the kitchen and keep a heating lamp someplace in the apartment.
Halsted: Well...if you release it into your house you might never see it again.
Me: Uhhh, I'm sort of okay with that as long as it's eating the roaches.
Halsted: .....
Me: ......
Halsted: Well you know, geckos only eat things that move. So, if the roaches are smart enough not to move while the gecko is around he won't even eat them.
Me: IIIII'm actually quite certain that the roaches aren't that smart.
Halsted: Well you have to consider that roaches have a lot of diseases. And the gecko could get sick.
Me: Well...I'd rather the *gecko* get the diseases and not me. I mean...the roaches are in MY apartment.
Halsted: Listen, have you considered that if you let this little gecko loose in your house you might STEP ON HIM?
Me: Yeah.
Halsted: ....
Me: Well...I can always get another gecko, right?

My Supermarket

Fortune smiled on me when I moved to Bridgeport (go White Sox!) this past July. I live half a block away from all of the following: A tailor's, a supermarket, a public library, and 2 thrift stores. My roommate works like 8 jobs and I don't have many friends in the city right now. As a result, I have the evenings all to myself to curl my lips around a few shots of vodka/gin/whatever is in the freezer or a cheap bottle of wine. I have a pretty nice stereo and it plays me music that I like. It even has a remote. So, cooking becomes a full-on party. But we should start at the beginning. The supermarket I shop at is Halsted Foods and I like them for the following reasons:


Things I Like About Halsted Foods

1. Overall, they are cheap. Except when it comes to butter and eggs. Which is weird but I'm lazy and the produce/canned goods are *so* reasonable. 99 cents for an avocado!
2. The people who work there are all really nice teenagers. As such, they usually laugh when I tell them stupid jokes. Which is gratifying. 
3. It is small-ish. I inherited my mother's attention span and therefore I have a difficult time staying on task in major supermarket branches. I usually end up talking to myself in a Russian or German accent just to keep from freaking the fuck out. Also... that goddamned music. Seriously, you can't even imagine how stressed out I was when I realized I was in a Target that also sold groceries.
4. Halsted sells the brand of pickles that I like. Though lately I've been pickling my own veggies.


Things I Don't Like About Halsted Foods

1. They don't have a lot of ethnic things that I like to cook with/consume. Mentionables include: Matzoh meal & currant juice.
2. They have a limited selection of cheeses.  This could easily have been combined with item 1 but I think if you are still reading this you understand the gravity of the situation.
3. The aisles aren't labeled with those handy "WHAT IS IN THIS AISLE" signs


So as you can see from a basic pro/con point of view, I can't bring myself to shop anywhere else really because 4 to 3, Halsted Foods is great.



DIALOGUES

There is a checker-girl who works there that I really like a lot. Let's call her Glasses Check Out Girl. Every time I go in there she gracefully handles my strange questions and perturbed after-work inability to socialize. One time I remember, I asked her desperately, my eyes pulled wide open in my face which is customary after 10+ hours of being on the phone with disgruntled tenants and lawyers all day.

"Do you guys have matzoh meal??"
"What...is that?"
"It's like flour but... it's matzoh..."
"Oh! I think so!"
In a jiffy she scampered off into the landscape of grocery store aisles and emerged with fresh prey: a bag of Masa Meal. "Is this what you were looking for?" I was so sad to tell her it wasn't because she was so in earnest. Also because I really wanted to make chicken matzoh ball soup that night.

Another time I approached her, less crazed but still with searching intensity:

"Do you guys have chai tea?"
"Oh my god! We totally should! Hey Phyllis!" she addressed another employee, "Do we have chai tea?"
"Any black tea would be fine, really." I said almost pleadingly
"Nope." said Phyllis with confidence.
"Sorry, no," Glasses Check Out Girl reiterated.

Just today I met another character at Halsted foods who will be called Cute High School Boy. Cute High School Boy and Glasses Check Out Girl are pretty funny together. I gather that they are friends though I wouldn't be surprised if they are dating (or NEAR-dating: a state of being that I am very familiar with). Anyway, I approached them with my usual apologetic inquiry,

"Do you guys have pancetta?"
"What...is that?" I could tell that Cute High School Boy wanted to be helpful but required more information.
"I don't really know. I think it's ham."
"That would be at the deli then."
"That makes sense!"

They didn't have pancetta but they DID have Polish ham which made me a happy clam. Later, as I was checking out, Cute High School Boy double checked to make sure that I had had a pleasant shopping experience:

"Did you get that ham stuff you needed?"
"Yeah! Well, no. I got different ham but it's good!"
"Cool."
"You know, I have to say that I'm sorry. I feel like every time I come in here I'm 'that neurotic customer.' "
"No," he said comfortingly, "You just always ask for weird things."

Twenty Two

I am twenty-two years old. I just moved to Chicago. I love to get drunk and cook elaborate dinners.


Actually, maybe it's misleading to say that I "love" to get drunk and cook dinner. It's more accurate to say that it is just something that I do. Also, the term "elaborate" is used here loosely. If you are a gourmet chef, or a "seafood aficionado" like my uncle (more later, I promise), or a pastry chef who lives in Dubai (I know one) my nightly parade of food preparation might not even raise an eyebrow. But, let's examine the evidence, shall we? It's 10:05 on a Saturday and I just finished making a dozen quiche muffins (quichettes? quichelings?)*, a chicken dish that my favorite recipe book creatively calls, "Chicken with  pancetta, peas & mint." I also pickled a cucumber and some left over bell peppers. I am experimenting with different ways to pickle veggies.


My favorite recipe book, incidentally, is called "The Illustrated Quick Cook: time-saving tips, after-work recipes, cheap eats." It is written by Heather Whinney and every time I cook something from it I am satisfied and learn something.

Anyway, I decided to start a blog because it just so happens that I love blogs. Also, sometimes my forays into alcoholic-insight just turn into a silly sloppy mess. Me. Never my food. I also like to write and people tell me I'm okay at it. That's why I'm writing a blog. This was the disclaimer paragraph in case you're looking for something else to read.


See you next time and be sure to stay tuned for all the exciting adventures of Drinks with Dinner.




*filling in quiche: Spinach, red onion, whole grain mustard, salt, pep & an intrepid dash of pumpkin pie spice.