The Invisible Handy Wipe

It’s incredibly obvious when my work life is kicking my arse because my personal blog always goes silent. I’m continuing to love my job and all of the opportunities it brings, but it does tend to suck the life force out of me for weeks on end.

I thought my blog was overdue for some content, however. This isn’t food related content, but personal content. A brief snapshot on what is occurring right now in the world of the Invisible Handy Wipe.

First up … The best news that I have to share is that I signed a book deal with Simon Spotlight Entertainment. SSE is a division of Simon and Schuster and they’re a perfect match for my writing style and personaity. The manuscript for the book is due in April, and it is set to be published in November. The next year is definitely going to be a wild ride. I am deeply excited about this adventure, and it also explains why I’m working incredibly long hours these days.

Second on the list … Mr. IHW and I continue to be in the exciting “waiting” stage of the adoption process. When I just said exciting, I was speaking superfluously.

Third … I’ve been taking stand up comedy classes and have been performing stand up at various locations in the region. I have a pretty big show at the DC Improv on the night of January 18 — tickets are $10 and there are some incredible comedians on the lineup with me.

Fourth … I am now an aunt! Mr. IHW’s oldest sister had a beautiful baby girl in November, and we are delighted to have an addition to our extended family.

Fifth … My dear friends Krystal and Steve also had a son in early December. He was 10 lbs. 4 oz. at birth, and I’m convinced Krystal really gave birth to an adolescent. Wow.

Okay, now I must return to the exciting life of a writer and continue to type, type, type on my book. Happy holidays to everyone!

When I travel, restaurants are the first aspect of a city I research. Ultimately, where I hope to eat determines where I will stay and what I will see at my destination. I let my stomach be my guide, because I believe a city’s food speaks volumes about the people, fellowship, and history of a place. I seek out local favorites at all price ranges and avoid chains (unless a chain started in my destination and has a quality unique to that location).

On our way to Hawaii, PJ and I stopped for a few nights in San Francisco. After reading numerous reviews and learning what I could about the local chefs, I made reservations for the two of us at the Fifth Floor Restaurant in the Palomar Hotel. The Fifth Floor’s menu is in the French Gascon style and ranges from $50 to $300 per person. It is technically located in SoMa, but I mentally classify it as part of the Union Square neighborhood. Reviews about the place said that the quality of the food — the whole experience, actually — had significantly improved since culinary director Laurent Manrique had taken over last year and named Jennie Lorenzo as the chef de cuisine. And, after a night in the arms of this fabulous establishment, I have to agree with the positive reviews given to the restaurant.

PJ and I ordered the full tasting menu, which is advertised as six courses but is actually eight, that included flights of wine with each course. The wines were chosen by sommelier Emily Wines, and exquisitely complimented the meal. As an aside, we learned that Emily Wines’ last name is her mother’s ex-husband’s last name, and when her mother divorced her step-father she chose to keep his last name as a compliment to her career — a very wise choice.

A few highlights from the meal:

Our first course was Kampachi Crue with oyster, shaved jalapeno, balsamic pearls, and citrus jus. The dish was spicy and was matched perfectly with a glass of 2006 Whitehaven Sauvignon Blanc, from Marlborough, New Zealand. The wine pairing could not have been better, and a bottle of the Whitehaven will be added to my “must have” list for peppery meals.

The Cassoulet, a plate of three duck preparations, included a Muscovy applewood smoked lardon. In non-high-end food terminology, it was duck bacon. I’ve always believed duck to be the ice cream of the sky and bacon to be the ice cream of land, the two together was blissful.

The staff helped to make the whole evening incredible. They were knowledgeable about all aspects of the menu, attentive to the Nth degree, and were willing to provide the best dining experience possible to their guests. At the hostess stand, we were greeted by General Manager Todd Stillman, which was a wonderful way to start the evening. As you may imagine, PJ and I like to have a good time when we eat and learn as much as we can about our food and drink. Our table’s assigned sommelier, whose name I believe was Ryan, and even the man in charge of the cart full of breads, whose name I’ve unfortunately forgotten, answered more questions for us than they have probably ever answered from a single table. To put it mildly, they were very good sports.

I highly recommend the Fifth Floor and will seek it out again the next time I’m in San Francisco. The tasting menu, at $180 per person is steep, but definitely worth it for a special occasion or night out on vacation. My meal at the Fifth Floor was comparable to, if not slightly more enjoyable, than the most recent meal I had at the Inn at Little Washington.

Back in ye olden tymes, the song “Ice, Ice, Baby” rose to the top of the charts by that very special artist Vanilla Ice. (I chose to use the phrase “very special” in the same way that announcers on the CW network might say that tonight there will be a “very special” episode of Gossip Girl.) Our high school rah-rah team even had a lovely cheer to the diddy that went: “Ice, Ice, Baby//Too cold, too cold//Ice, Ice, Baby//Go Black and Gold!”

I know, us Topeka girls were sooooooo creative.

Jump forward to the Gilded Age (college) when my friends Dan, Paul, Dave, and Joe came to spend Spring Break with me in Lawrence. This must have been the lamest Spring Break in collegiate history, but it was their lame decision to come to Kansas, not mine. Anyway … so all while they were in town, we couldn’t stop singing the infectious song from our youth. Or, rather, quoting the song. I’m not really sure one would call Vanilla Ice a singer.

By the end of their trip we had tired of the song and had started translating it into Spanish to make it more entertaining. The last time any of us had taken a Spanish course, however, had been many years before this. It was truly an inspired, and barely accurate, translation of the lyrics. What we translated to be the word “listen” (Parada! Colabore y escriben!) was actually the verb “to write” … and it was pretty much down hill from there.

The only phrase we knew we had turned correctly was toward the end of the tune when Vanilla Ice shouts: “La palabra a tu madre.” So, that became the phrase we said when someone walked into a room, walked out of a room, thought about moving, or had sat still for too long.

Years later, when I was teaching English, I heard in the hallway one of my students turn to her friend and say, “Word!” Without thinking what I was doing, I turned and responded, “La palabra a tu madre.” Their laughter was monumental. They couldn’t even speak to tell a friend why they were hysterically laughing.

On their graduation day, they both gave me hugs and wished me a final word to my mother before running off to their respective parties. I had successfully passed along La palabra a tu madre to another generation of college students. My part in the cycle was complete.

Feel welcome to pass it on, oh, and a big la palabra a tu madre.