Category Archives: friends

Guy, Alton and Friends Who Let Friends Order Too Much Food

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Have you ever been to Marietta, Ga.? I’d sort of skirted around it a few times — and, of course, being a Southern well-versed in my Confederate history, when I hear “Marietta” I also hear the sounds of Sherman’s invasion (they’re still peeved about that, you know) and the Great Locomotive Chase. But now I’m adding this town to my list of food destinations, starting with the Marietta Diner, which is only a “diner” in the sense that people go there to eat. It’s a large, noisy, family-friendly, food-abundant destination. We went with friends during a recent wedding weekend in nearby Kennesaw. Don had been there before and suggested we try it, although he couldn’t really describe the place. “It’s big,” he said, helplessly. “There’s a lot of food.” I wish I’d listened to him before I ordered pan-fried feta cheese in lemon butter for the table as an appetizer, although it was so good that I’m not sorry at all. Then came soup. And salad. And squares of spinach pie. (I can’t spell “spanakopita.”) And bread. And THEN came the entrees you ordered oh-so-long-ago when you first thought you were hungry. (All this, I might add, while in sight of tempting cakes, cookies and other desserts staring at you from the bakery section. Ouch.) I got kabobs because USUALLY that translates into a smaller and more manageable dish. But …. no. All you need to know is that the Marietta Diner is one of Guy Fieri’s top “Diners, Drive-ins and Dives.” I believe that about sums it up. Also, Alton Brown and his family reportedly live in Marietta. Although I didn’t spot him at the diner, I have the feeling that in public he sort of blends in and you would only notice him in passing and think “Who’s that geeky looking guy who forgot to shave?” Stay tuned for another Marietta post about the biggest, most gigantic and most huge liquor/wine/beer store I have ever seen in my life. And that’s saying something.

When Life Gives You Parties, Make Mimosas

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We aren’t bragging or anything — well, I obviously am, although the rest of this group is much better behaved —  but a group of friends and I have pretty much perfected party-hostessing. Seems as if every year one of our children is getting married or getting engaged or graduating or having a baby, and naturally each of these occasions calls for a celebration. We can plan a party at the drop of a (wide-brimmed, ribbon-decorated white straw) hat and check off half of our to-do lists before the men in our lives — who, even after all these years, still do not understand the difference between “tea” and “brunch” — can ask “Tell me again why you pay so much for flowers when the side of the road is full of them?” Take, for example, the bridal shower a few weeks ago that we hosted in an old bank in the once-thriving and now-quiet Sweetwater business district of Florence, Ala. Recently the space had been a restaurant and the owner now rents it for events. We originally thought “rustic,” “vintage” and “weathered” were appropriate decor themes to coordinate with the exposed brick walls, tin ceilings and original woodwork. However, a professional we consulted — we’re always up for a second opinion — suggested we go sleek, sophisticated and girly instead for a visually intriguing contrast. And she was correct. The light and airy silver “bamboo” chairs paired with snowy white linens and stunningly tall tropical-flower centerpieces were the perfect touches. Add a steady supply of mimosas, good times and good friends and you’ve got a party. I told you we are good!

Southern Front Porches

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Southern front porches are perfect in any season, but especially in spring as we start to move outside. I pass by this house in Tuscumbia, Ala., several times each week and always feel as if the folks who live here are offering me a glass of tea or wine and inviting me to sit a spell, relax and take it easy.

Sister Myotis, Beer and Frozen Yogurt

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Friends, food and fun — who would turn down an evening like that? You know I’m first in line. But when partner-in-crime event organizer Sherry wanted to go see something called  “Sister Myotis’ End Times Hootenanny” at Theatreworks in Memphis yet couldn’t describe exactly what would be on stage, I was a little concerned. “You just have to see for yourself,” she kept saying. “You have to have the total experience.” And she was correct. As she always is.  Sister Myotis is … well … she’s … well … think drag-queen versions of  TV’s GCB church ladies with … uh … more colorful wardrobes. That’s about the best I can do. You really have to go see for yourself. (Sister is taking a well-deserved rest now but  keep checking for her return.) However, I can describe the food we had that evening at Boscos Squared, a restaurant and brew-pub in midtown Memphis‘ Overton Square entertainment and historic district: Delicious.  Boscos is a popular gathering spot for its spacious yet cozy interior, lovely outdoor dining space and not-too-extensive menu of handcrafted beers and bar-food favorites. We had a yummy hummus duo to start, and some of the dishes we ordered at our table included an intriguing black-bean and goat-cheese tamale and the classic cedar-plank salmon and roasted-garlic mashed potatoes. Our server patiently helped us choose the proper beer and even took our picture on multiple cameras because none of us believe anything really happens unless we take a picture of it. After dinner, we enjoyed a stroll in the gorgeous early-spring evening — which was only enhanced with a stop at bakery and frozen yogurtery YoLo, where we sadly learned that gelato is MORE fattening than ice cream, not less as we had always thought. Oh, well. That probably wouldn’t bother Sister Myotis, so we didn’t let it bother us.

DIY Family Fun

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Older Daughter and son-in-law are the most incredibly creative parents I know. I understand where my son-in-law gets that from: His parents are do-it-yourself and use-what-you-have advocates from way back. I’m not sure where Older Daughter gets it from since my idea of creativity is making peanut-butter chip instead of chocolate-chip cookies, but somehow she takes ideas from Martha Stewart and inspiration from Pinterest and, with a few fabric scraps and leftover nails, she’ll end up with something wonderful. The two of them collaborated on this fantastic backyard project that’s the talk of their neighborhood: A music station and a tunnel-maze, both made from found and recycled items. First, they collected their materials. Older Daughter hit yard sales and resale stores for the used kitchen tools that would become the musical instruments, and my son-in-law measured and cut leftover PVC pipes for the maze. They then spent much design time working out the configurations before attaching everything to the two plywood pieces they’d nailed to their fence.  The buckets in between hold spatulas, whisks, spoons and other “mallets” for music-making as well as cars and balls for the maze (which also, as almost-4-year-old grandson Capt. Adorable naturally needed only 30 seconds to figure out, works great for small water balloons.) Whenever I visit the Captain’s friends come over, I head they run straight for the backyard. Listen, I can play a mean roasting rack, accented with a really cool saucepan beat.

Books and Food and Friends

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In my four-woman book club, we rotate host duties for the monthly whenever-we-can-get-together meetings. The hostess chooses the book and decides where to meet — usually her house — and what kind of food to have. Because reading and eating are some of my all-time top favorite things, I’m not ashamed to admit that when it’s my turn to host, I usually choose books I know I can get a great menu from. And I hit the jackpot with my most recent pick, “Suite Francaise,” by Irene Nemirovsky. This is a powerful unfinished work about the German occupation of France during World War II. Nemirovsky, a well-known writer at the time, was from a wealthy Ukrainian family that fled the Russian Revolution when she was a teenager. The family settled in Paris, where she married and had two daughters while building her career as a major novelist. Because of her Jewish heritage, the French government refused to grant her citizenship in 1938, although she converted to Catholicism the next year. As the Germans approached Paris in 1940, she and her husband, also a Jew, fled with their children to a French village. Nazi control made life for Jews increasingly dangerous, and she sent her children to live with their nanny. She was arrested in July, 1942, at age 39 and gassed at Auschwitz, where her husband was sent and killed a few months later. The amazing thing about this story is that while watching her life and her family and her country — all the things most precious to her — destroyed all around her, she was writing a novel about it. “Suite Francaise,” made up of three novels of a projected five, follows fictional French characters as they are faced with the same unbelievable and unbearable circumstances Nemirovsky herself was facing at the exact same time — and, of course, without knowing the ending. You MUST read this book. It’s that good. And, since it’s about France — even France at war — there naturally are some excellent food references. I had great fun shopping for and putting together a menu: Shortbread, cream puffs, chocolate truffles, bread, cheese, olive oil and herbs for dipping, peach jam, sliced apples, cold sliced ham, mustard, pistachios, oranges, grapes, French-press coffee, French wine, Perrier and some little wine biscuits I found in the TJ Maxx food section — the best place for affordable gourmet. Impressed? Don’t be — the most I had to do to get this food on the table was open boxes and packages, although I did actually slice up the apple. I think. But for dessert, I actually made a cherry tart by my very own self. It smelled delicious while it was baking. How did it taste? Well, let’s just say that plenty of homemade vanilla-flavored whipped cream covers all mistakes.

If It’s Tuesday, It Must Be Mardi Gras

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Have fun letting your good times roll today — whether you’re eating King Cake (watch out for that baby) or pancakes or paczki or your completely-bad-for-you pastry of choice. Of course, nothing goes better with eating rich fried sugary food than our other favorite activity: shopping. Younger Daughter and I spotted this could-be Mardi Gras wreath in Nellie Mae, an adorable boutique in downtown Tuscumbia, Ala., that’s owned by classmates of Older Daughter. And that sort of threw me. I mean, I’m used to my children’s friends being old enough to check my teeth and fill my prescriptions and give me speeding tickets, but buying clothes and jewelry from people I used to chaperon on field trips takes some getting used to. (Stay tuned for more Nellie Mae photos and other downtown-Tuscumbia finds — so cute!)

Spelling Bees and Me

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Why I now will mark “be a spelling-bee moderator” off my list of  “Things That Sound Really Easy and Fun and I Bet I’d Be Good At.” — from my upcoming column in the Daily Corinthian’s weekly Community Profiles edition

She said it was going to be easy. She said I wouldn’t have any problem at all.

“All you have to do is read the words,” my friend said. “Just read the words. Easy, easy, easy.”

Of course, when somebody works this hard to convince you that something’s “easy,” you perhaps should ask questions.

But I was so flattered she’d asked me to call the words at the Mississippi Association of Independent Schools district spelling bee in Columbus that I said “Sure! I’d love to!” before I could spell out “maybe I should think about this first.”

I’ve always been fascinated with spelling bees because – and I’m embarrassed to admit this – I’ve never been to one. When my daughters, 27 and 25, were younger, the hours we’d spend studying weekly spelling lists turned them off spelling for fun and they consequently avoided any chance of getting caught up in a spelling bee. So without any real-life experience, my only knowledge came from TV, where stern and somber-looking adults quizzed children relentlessly, and the Broadway musical “The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee,” where people jump around and sing a lot.

I hoped my spelling bee would fall somewhere in the middle – while leaning toward the jumping-around and singing side.

Turns out, though, I was the one meant to provide the fun and good cheer.

“We need somebody who’s sweet and nice to call the words,” my friend said. “We don’t want to intimidate the children. You are the nicest and non-scariest person I know.”

Completely captivated by the image of myself as a smiling and benevolent word-giver, charmingly patting the grateful children on their heads, I couldn’t wait until the competition.

And here let me say that I thoroughly intended to carefully study and research every word on the list my friend gave me a few days before the bee. I did look over the pages and I did pronounce the words … to myself … in my head … well, most of the words. But since the words got progressively difficult and folks assured me the student spellers rarely got to the most advanced level, I didn’t worry about the super hard ones. I mean, what are the chances I’d have to correctly pronounce the words “hoomalimali,” “pickelhaube” and “Baedeker” and use them in sentences?

If I started stumbling, I told myself, I’d fall back on my role as the sweet smiling non-intimidator.  Surely that would be enough.

Nope. It wouldn’t. Because these kids meant business. We quickly found ourselves in the advanced, extremely difficult, you-will-never-ever-use-this-word-in-real-life sections. And they were smarter than me – at least, they apparently had studied the list instead of watching reruns of “The Office” and “Cougar Town” as I maybe did.  One speller after another questioned my definitions and corrected my pronunciations – even familiar words such as “taupe” and “ersatz” are minefields when you have to enunciate them in front of eagle-eared parents. The intimidation factor rose steadily as the spellers looked at me pityingly and proceeded to demolish every advanced word we had. The organizer had to call spelling-bee headquarters for more words and I wondered if I should retreat to the snack room and let one of the kids take over.

Thankfully, we took a half-time break and the judges gave me a pep talk.

“You’re doing fine,” they said. “But toughen up. Don’t smile so much. Be a little intimidating.”

Their advice worked. When I stopped tentatively requesting that the students spell a word and started authoritatively telling them to do so, the competition flowed much more smoothly and everybody seemed happier.

But I think I’ll rest “a spell” before I try this again.

Shopping in Homewood, Ala.

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I swear that as soon as I walked into the furniture store Soho Retro in Homewood, Ala., I expected to see Aunt Helen stub out her cigarette in a glass ashtray on her Eames (-inspired?) coffee table and rise from her Hans Wegner-style sofa (although she called it a “divan”) to greet us. Which would be a great trick since she died about 20 years ago and had to give up smoking and her mid-century Modern home several years before that. Soho Retro, where the late lamented Red Rain eco-friendly general store was,  definitely is time travel at its finest — not to mention a top destination for furnishing a space with all things 1950s. As my friends and I wandered through and admired, we began every sentence with, “I remember …” (Well, okay, my sentences also began with “Are we ready to go get some coffee now?” and “I really shouldn’t have had that second martini at lunch.”) I’m conflicted about the recent revival of mid-20th-century Modern style. On one hand, I love its sleek minimalism and function-equals-form industrial approach. On the other hand, since I lived it, I’m not sure about embracing it wholeheartedly 40 or so years later. It’s the same as in fashion: Just because I once wore pleated and tapered pants and long boxy blazers doesn’t mean I should do it again. No matter what Nina Garcia says.

Eating in Murfreesboro, Tenn.

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You know how you’ll go by the same restaurant every so often and it seems really intriguing and you think, “We really should eat there some day.”? After the twenty-third time or so that my husband and I were in Murfreesboro, Tenn., and walked by the Maple Street Grill, downtown on the square, we finally decided to go in  and, you know, eat. Turns out that Maple Street is a popular local gathering spot for lunch and dinner as well as drinks and tapas at night in the upstairs bar, Maple Street Uncorked. And no wonder. The interior space has that urban-cool feel of downtown renewal without being pretentious about it — it’s cozy, comfortable and Southern elegant all at the same time.  The lunch menu was enticing — a grilled portabella sandwich, pan-seared tuna, fish taco and turkey and apple sandwich all sounded yummy. (Not to mention the Fried Hershey Bar. Since I’ve been banned from deep-frying sugary objects at home since our leftover Valentine’s candy debacle, I have to take advantage of anytime I can snag a warm & melty fried delight.) Dinner featured steak, chicken and pasta entrees, while the Uncorked menu included tapas choices such as a hummus flight and a cheese board along with I-really-want-to-try-that drinks — Cucumber Rain, made of Rain Organic Cucumber Lime Vodka with sweet-and-sour mix and ginger ale, seemed especially to be calling my name. Extra points to Maple Street, too, for online ordering and a smart-phone app. We’ll be back.