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Ode to Pico de Gallo and how I love thee

Blond Duck — Thu, 02 Sep 2010 09:00:07 +0000

Courtesy of Southern Living

Ode to Pico de Gallo (and How I Love Thee)

Ode to pico de gallo,

And how I love thee,

For every week,

You make my life complete.

Like my buddy Jessica,

I’ve never been a big veggie fan.

Or a big spicy fan, to be frank.

Before, I was all about sweet and sugar,

Not chips and dip,

Unless it had spinach or artichokes with plenty of cheese,

refried beans or gobs or melted cheddar cheese,

Or oodles of ranch dressing,

But then, one day, I tried pico de gallo,

With my nose wrinkled and my mind set,

And was pleasantly surprised to discover,

I liked, no I loved it!

While salsa can be too runny, too hot or too boring,

Pico de gallo is always a delicious treat.

Fresh and crisp,

With just enough kick,

It’s no wonder I buy a case every week.

Oh, Pico de gallo,

I must admit it’s true.

I’m simply addicted,

Addicted to you.

One of the best things about pico de gallo,

Is how versatile its tastiness is,

On chips or tacos,

beans or fajitas,

With salsa or sour cream,

Or even better, a big ol’ helping of guacamole.

Did I mention my adoration for guacamole?

Well that’s another ode, for another day.

Ode to Pico de gallo,

And how I love thee,

For you have made all my Mexican dishes,

Even more tasty.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! We have a new Butterfly Dress tomorrow and a new Comfort and Whimsy!

Ode to Pico de Gallo and how I love thee

Pico de Gallo Fish Tacos

Blond Duck — Thu, 05 Aug 2010 09:00:10 +0000

I love fish tacos.

I love them with red and green peppers.

I love them grilled or broiled, blackened or fried.

I love them in a restaurant, a cozy cafe, or fresh off the grill at home.

I love them for lunch or dinner, or any time in between.

But I really love fish tacos with pico de gallo.

Just picture it: corn tortillas sprinkled with queso aserdo or queso blanco, seasoned broiled or grilled fish, blackened red and green peppers all topped by cool pico de gallo, sour cream and salsa.

I eat it once a week. Really. It’s my Friday treat. Well, obsession, really.

Trust me. Once you try it, you’ll never go back to the bland fried fish tacos with chipolte mayo.

Pico de gallo fish tacos is the way to go.

And I should know.

Pico de Gallo Fish Tacos

Serves: 1 Hungry Blond Duck

1-2 Tilapia filets

1 red and green pepper

1 container pico de gallo (they sell it here fresh, or you could make your own.)

Corn tortillas

Queso blanco, aserdo or a mix of all three (Kraft sells a bagged mix)

Salsa

Sour cream

Black beans (for a side dish)

1) Brush fish in olive oil and season with lime juice, chili powder, cumin, salt and pepper. Broil or grill in skillet or on grill until flakes with fork.

2) While that’s grilling, place red and green peppers in skillet with tiny amount of olive oil and cook until blackened.

3) Sprinkle cheese on corn tortillas. Microwave for 30 seconds to 1 minute until tortillas are soft and cheese is melted. Don’t do this until fish and peppers are ready.

4) Place fish on tortillas and add red and green peppers. Add as much or little pico de gallo, salsa and sour cream as you want. Serve with black beans and white rice, black beans and corn, whatever you like. And blue corn tortilla chips for scooping up all the extra. They’re the tastiest.

A side bowl (in my case, enourmous bowl) of guacamole is always tasty too.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! We have the end of Dallas Jean tomorrow and a new Comfort and Whimsy! Stay tuned!

Pico de Gallo Fish Tacos

Blond Burritos

Blond Duck — Thu, 22 Jul 2010 09:00:38 +0000

For those of you who didn’t know, I’m a natural blond.

And all that implies.

But I’m also a native Texan. And automatically, as a native Texan, you’re born with a love of Tex-Mex.

An adoration for tacos…

An addiction to enchiladas…

A craving for fajitas…

And of course, a burning desire for burritos.

Down here, my favorite burrito haunt is Freebirds. With burritos the size of a small child called Monster and Super Monster, how could you not love it? I always get the half-bird, rolled up in a wheat tortilla with tons of refried beans (I’ve had workers stare at me and say, “You know it’ll be squishy, right?” Bring on the squishy, beany burritos!) a sprinkling of rice, shredded cheese, chicken, roasted peppers, pico de gallo, sour cream and guacamole….Oh, it’s heaven. They teach you a special way to unwrap it so it doesn’t go everywhere and you eat it with the burrito standing up.

Plus, I love the fact that after you’re done, you can take your leftover foil, scuplt a creation and leave it on the wall.

Ben and I left snails at the one here. Mine is rather large and dopey looking.

Being a duckie who gets obsessed with things easily, it’s no surprise that I decided to make my own burritos. For some reason, Ben didn’t seem amused when I asked him to take me to Freebirds for lunch. And dinner. And breakfast. Every day. For weeks on end.

I have no idea why.

But, in my naivety, I forgot the most important thing.

Blonds can’t roll burritos. At least, presentable burritos. Tasty burritos, yes. Pretty burritos, no.

Are you ready for the horror? I can prove it.

Are you sure?

Positive?

Ok. You asked for it.

(Hiding face in shame)

Sigh.

I can assure you, it was delicious. And all the ones I made after that were.

At least I know I can make presentable nachos.

Maybe not.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! We have a new Comfort and Whimsy coming up and more delicious and whimsical fun! Stay tuned!

Blond Burritos

Comfort and Whimsy 6

Blond Duck — Sat, 10 Jul 2010 09:00:26 +0000

To read previous editions, go here.

“She ordered a menu surprise,” a woman whispered to her friend behind her hand.

“She ordered a menu surprise,” a little girl informed her embarrassed mother in a near-screech.

“She ordered a menu surprise,” an older woman murmured demurely to her even older sister.

“What?” her sister squawked, cupping her hand around her ear. “What did you say?”

“She ordered a menu surprise,” the older woman said in a louder tone.

“What? What was that?”

“SHE ORDERED A MENU SURPRISE!” the older woman bellowed into her sister’s eardrum.

“Really?” Her sister’s jaw dropped open. Pulling out her cell phone, she pressed a button and held it to her lips. “Natalie, tell James not to pick us up until I call. Things are getting interesting at Whimsy today.” She flipped the phone closed and rubbed her hands together, unabashedly staring in their direction. Hibiscus Honeycutt, her fruit hat sloping dangerously over her forehead, glared back.

“Some people have no tact,” she muttered. “No class, no tact…how terribly rude!”

“Excuse me?” Carolina asked timidly, glancing up at Josh. “What is a menu surprise? Why is everyone so…shocked by it?”

Josh shifted, clutching one of the oversized menus to his chest. “Well, Carolina, the thing is in Whimsy…every order comes with an adventure.”

“An adventure?” Carolina blinked. “What do you mean, an adventure?”

“They can be big or small, long or short, far away or very close.” Josh grinned, nudging Hibiscus Honeycutt, who looked more like her stern grandmother than ever as she scowled at the deaf older woman. “You remember that time that woman ordered escargot and had to be the judge of a snail race? She was here for three days!”

“And she kept ordering other dishes that whisked her on other adventures, so when she came back the snails would start all over again!” Hibiscus chortled. “My personal favorite was the woman who ordered Sandcastle Waffles.”

“I’d forgotten about her!” Josh cried. “Oh gosh!”

“What are sandcastle waffles?” Carolina asked.

“They’re delicious,” Hibiscus Honeycutt assured her. “They’re these big fluffy golden waffles with a cinnamon sugar topping. The chef has a special iron that makes each one look like a sandcastle, and they’re served in an ocean of syrup with berries dotting the castle walls like seashells and scrambled eggs served in a little beach bucket with a bacon shovel.”

Carolina licked her lips. “What happened to the woman that ordered them?” She twisted her hands nervously. Carolina would very much like to order some sandcastle waffles, but she didn’t want to be here for three days watching a crab relay or something.

“It was marvelous!” Hibiscus cried, Josh bobbing his head behind her. “Her water glass turned into an enchanted ocean and mermaids no bigger than her pinkie nail made her an official guest and treated her to a wonderful concert. They were remarkable singers.”

“Or there was the time a little boy ordered hot dogs and cheddar cheese croissant rolls,” Josh recalled. “A miniature Oscar Meyer Weiner mobile pulled up and he drove it all around Whimsy for hours, singing the Oscar Meyer song and delivering hot dogs to guests waiting for their meals.”

“But what happens to these…adventures…once they’re over?” Carolina asked. “Like, where do the mermaids in the water cup go? Where do the snails go? What happens to the car?”

“Oh, they hang around Whimsy,” Josh replied, waving his hand. “They come and go as they please. They can stay as long or as little as they like or come back as often as they want.”

“And just because you order the same dish doesn’t mean you’ll get the same adventure,” Hisbiscus added. “I once ordered the lamb tacos and found myself touring Greece in a sombero. The next time I ordered them, I found myself in Mexico riding a goat.”

“That’s precisely what I don’t understand!” Carolina cried. “How can you ride on a goat and eat your lunch? And what happens if you have somewhere to go or be?”

“Adventures only take as long or as little as you need,” Josh assured her. “You won’t miss class. Don’t worry.”

Carolina pressed her lips together. “I should have stayed in Comfort.” She shook her head. “Right now I could be having chicken tenders and macaroni and cheese–good macaroni and cheese, the kind without jalepenos or bacon or fancy cheeses. Just regular cheddar macaroni and cheese. and peanut butter cookies with fork marks, just like they should be.”

“You can still go to Comfort,” Josh informed her. “We can cancel your Whimsy order.”

“Though you’ll miss seeing my Menu Surprise.” Hibiscus rubbed her hands together and wiggled her eyebrows. “That would be a shame.”

“No one has even told me what a menu surprise is,” Carolina complained.

“It’s a surprise, of course!” Hibiscus laughed. “The grandest surprise at all. In fact, it’s such a surprise that no one has ever ordered it.”

“No one’s had the guts to,” Josh said bluntly.

Carolina’s face contorted into a look of horror. “Then why did you order it?’

“Because it’s your birthday!” Hibiscus threw her arms in the air. “And because it’s a Tuesday. And because it just seemed like the right thing to do!” Adjusting her fruit laden hat as it tipped over her eye, she plopped down in a white iron filigree chair. “Now, Carolina dear, have a seat and tell me all about yourself. We’ll have some punch and shortbread cookies while we wait, Josh.” Wiggling her eyebrows, she leaned forward. “I’m dying to learn all about you.”

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! We have a week full of whimsy coming up!

Comfort and Whimsy 6

Comfort and Whimsy 5

Blond Duck — Sat, 03 Jul 2010 09:00:52 +0000

To read previous editions, go here.

“I suppose,” Carolina squeaked, “I suppose I’ll have…”

“Peanut butter pie!” one lady shouted, brandishing a fork that had been licked clean.

“Fish tacos!” another lady shouted. The frog band on the lilly pad scooted away from her, hiding behind their tea cup lids.

“Scones with cream!” a little girl bellowed.

“Pimento cheese sandwiches with fried pickles!” another very pregnant woman, who was drooling, added.

“Hot dog and croissant sandwiches!” a little boy suggested, his face smeared with ketchup.

The words, so ready to leap off Carolina’s tongue, scurried back to hide in her throat. “Um…” she stuttered. “All those dishes sound interesting….”

“Come on, Carolina!” Josh urged. “You can have whatever you like! Just pick something already! Do you need to hear the menu again?”

“Oh no! That’s quite alright”–

But the frogs, delighted to have a chance to sing again, enthusiastically strummed their wooden spoons and beat against the porcelain lids. The lead singer stepped forward, his green throat swelling with pride and sound.

“For appetizers we have hot dogs on a stick or artichoke and spinach dip with chips made like ships. For salads we have ones for rabbits or humans, depending on whether you like mouse droppings or olives. We have plenty of soups in every flavor and color, sandwiches with turkey and sandwiches made from butter. We have fried chicken and baked chicken and chicken a la king; beef tenderloin and beef tacos and plenty of beef that’s rather mean. We have lamb gyros and cinnamon churros and and cheesecake with scones; peanut butter pie and chocolate spaghetti and waffles big enough for trolls. We have anything you please and everything you like, what will you be having tonight?”

The menu sounded even more confusing the second time around. Carolina glanced at the tables, her eyes skimming over cupcakes that looked like toadstools with candy butterflies fluttering their wings, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches formed into swans and even pizza bagel sandwiches shaped into wagon wheels with spokes of white stringy cheese. Blinking, she stared at her feet in her pink shoes. “I’m….I’m a bit confused,” she whispered.

“She wants a blue shoe?” one of the frogs shouted, who was very old and hard of hearing.

“She’s confused!” Josh shouted back. Crinkling his brow, he cocked his head at her. “Why?”

“Wouldn’t you be confused, if you had all this to choose?”

Carolina whirled around. “Grandmother?” she gasped.

The woman before her looked like her grandmother, but she looked nothing like her grandmother. The woman had her grandmother’s face, tall lithe figure and grey hair. But her grandmother, who wore tailored silk suits with her hair in a chignon and tiny emerald pin on her breast, did not have this woman’s magenta dress that barely skimmed her knees and showed more cleavage than any woman over 70 should reveal. Perched on a crown of grey tumbling curls was a enormous pink hat featuring an entire grocery store of fruit, along with a sheer silk wrap glittering with silver and pink rhinestones. Carolina didn’t even have to look at her feet to know she was wearing satin pink heels with ribbons that laced up to her knee with a huge bow like a ballerina’s toe shoes.

The woman’s face contorted in horror, then smoothed into a hearty laugh that flashed her molars. “Oh gosh, no! You must be Carolina. Your grandmother and I are twins.”

Carolina was sure she would have to collect her jaw off the shimmering floor. “Twins!”

“Well, more or less.” The woman beamed and extended her hand. “Hibiscus Honeycutt, Southern Belle and Lady O’ Tea Cakes. Your grandmother and I aren’t twins, at least biologically. But for some unknown reason, we look almost identical, though we are complete and total opposites. She didn’t tell me you came here!”

“She brings me here every day,” Carolina answered. “Normally we eat in Comfort. I have the chicken tenders, macaroni and cheese and the fruit salad.”

“With peanut butter cookies.” Josh rolled his eyes.

“Yes.” Carolina nodded.

Hibiscus Honeycutt blinked at her. “You’ve never tried the pecan pie? Or the buttercup blondies? Or the chicken salad on a croissant? Or the macaroni and cheese with five types of cheese and two types of bacon? Or the buttermilk fried chicken? The tiny burger sampler?”

“No,” Josh interrupted before Carolina could respond. “She eats the same thing every time. It’s…” He trailed off when he saw Carolina’s lower lip tremble. “–interesting,” he finished.

Hibiscus scowled at him. “It’s the girl’s birthday. She can eat what she wants.” She turned to Carolina. “Now child, don’t look at these others. Close your eyes and tell me what you wanted, before you got nervous.”

Squirming under the woman’s gaze, Carolina reluctantly closed her eyes. Her cheeks burning with the ridiculousness of it all, she coaxed the words back onto her tongue. “Tuna salad with biscuits and jelly and apples cut to look like a rose with a side of banana. And for dessert–a peanut butter pie with peanut butter sprinkles and peanut butter frosting!” She cracked one eye open and waited for everyone to laugh.

Instead, the entire cafe burst into applause. The frogs cheered so enthusiastically one fell off the lilly pad into the water, where he waved his spoon gaily instead.

“Well done, Carolina!” Hisbiscus cheered. Whipping off her wrap, she smiled. “If you don’t mind, I’ll join you and dine with you and your grandmother.” Turning to Josh, she smiled. “I’ll have the Menu Surprise.”

The room became so silent Carolina could hear a rhinestone fall off Hibiscus’ wrap.

“What?” she asked, glancing around. “What’s the Menu surprise?”

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! We have a week of whimsy coming up!

Comfort and Whimsy 5

Comfort and Whimsy 4

Blond Duck — Sat, 26 Jun 2010 09:00:27 +0000

To read previous editions, go here.

Nearly bursting with giddiness, Josh flourished a large golden menu at her. Taking the surprisingly heavy menu, Carolina opened it up and stared dumbfounded at the pages.

“It’s blank.” She looked up at Josh, her brow furrowed.

“It’s what?” He snatched the menu from her and groaned. “Oh, I hate it when it thinks it has a sense of humor.” He glared at the blank pages. “You’re not funny at all, you know. It took a lot of courage to come over here from Comfort.”

The pages fluttered, flicking him in the nose. Frowning, Josh tucked the menu under his arm. “Do you need something to nibble on?” he asked. “This could take awhile.”

Carolina glanced around. All the other diners were enjoying tea sandwiches sculpted from bread made to look like swans on pools of soup or butterflies landing on salads with roses crafted from tomatoes. Others were enjoying enormous ice cream sundaes and tiny slider hamburgers or kebabs of meatballs drowned in BBQ sauce with literally tiny red buckets of creamed corn and potato salad. Some were dining on biscuits and jam with mountains of fluffy eggs, others on bowls of pudding sprinkled with every cookie imaginable.

She wished she had her chicken fingers and macaroni and cheese.

“No, I’m fine,” she said, looking longingly at one one’s plate, which had some sort of cheese pasta sprinkled with bacon and green specks of something. She could almost taste the macaroni at comfort, the rich cheddar….

“Well, we have to find it,” Josh said briskly, marching to the pond and peering into a frog’s mouth. “It’s around here somewhere.”

“What is?” Carolina tore her glance away from the pasta, ignoring her rumbling stomach.

“The menu, of course,” Josh replied impatiently. He inspected a disgruntled swan’s foot. “Help me look, would you?”

Carolina blinked. “The menu is missing? It’s somewhere around here?”

“That’s right.” Josh crawled under one of the tables. “It could be anywhere or be anything. One time, it was hiding in the chandelier. Another time, it hid under a little girl’s tap shoes so the poor girl had to do a whole 4 minute dance if anyone wanted to hear the menu. And one time, it hid in a cat who demanded fresh liver pate anytime it had to mew out the day’s specials.” He scowled. “It was a very rude cat.”

Carolina shifted, fingering her pink dress. “Josh, I don’t think I like it here. I want to go back to Comfort.”

“You can go to Comfort tomorrow,” Josh replied absently, checking underneath an bemused customer’s salad plate. “You wanted to try Whimsy today.”

Carolina bit her lip. “Well I’ve changed my mind. And it’s my birthday, so I have every right to do that.”

“You have every right to do that whether it’s your birthday or not.” Josh stood, meeting her eyes. “It’s just…”

She crossed her arms, looking more eight than eighteen. “Just what? I want my chicken tenders and macaroni and peanut butter cookies. Since my grandmother hasn’t shown up and lunch was supposed to be nearly an hour ago, at least you can give me that.”

Josh held up his hands. “Carolina, every day since you were little, you’ve had the same thing for lunch.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Carolina demanded.

“Nothing is wrong.” Josh eyed her. “But nothing is right either. I thought you wanted to take a chance, have an adventure. You liked Whimsy five minutes ago.”

“That was before I realized I was going to have to go on a search and rescue mission just to order!” Her lower lip trembled. “Josh, please. It’s my birthday, and I’m very hungry. I’ve got no one to eat with and a terribly boring party at my mother’s to suffer through tonight, one with all my parents’ stuffy elegant friends. And they’ll make me eat something disgusting, like caviar or foie gras or stuffed duck. They won’t let me have a party with my friends or just go out for pizza or tacos. I just want some macaroni and cheese. I just want some comfort.”

Josh sighed. “As you wish.” Glaring at the menu under his arm, he demanded, “See what you did? She could have had a perfectly lovely birthday filled with all sorts of magic. And you’ve reduced her to macaroni and cheese.”

The menu’s pages drooped and rose and fell with a silent sigh. Grumbling under his breath, Josh tossed it on the cobblestones surrounding the Pond. “Come on, Carolina. I’ll take you back to Emmaline.”

“Thank you.” Ignoring the tiny prick of disappointment in her heart, Carolina licked her lips at the thought of that creamy macaroni and cheese. Suddenly, a symphony of racket burst out behind her. Whirling around, she saw a band of frogs on a lilly pad bashing symbols made from tea pot lids, banging on copper pots with forks as large as them and playing guitars made from rubber bands and wooden spoons.

“Happy Birthday to you,” they sang. “Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday dear Carolina….and here’s a menu for you!”

As she gaped at the tiny band, a frog stepped forward and took a deep breath.

The frogs looked at her expectantly.

Josh looked at her expectantly.

Even the other diners eyed her.

And when Carolina opened her mouth, the first words off her tongue surprised even her. For she had every intention of thanking them and returning to Comfort for her chicken tenders and macaroni and cheese.

But apparently, her mouth had other ideas.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! We have a week of whimsy coming up!

Comfort and Whimsy 4

Brisket Tacos

Blond Duck — Thu, 24 Jun 2010 09:00:24 +0000

Is there anything better than tacos?

Is there anything better than barbecue?

Particularly brisket on a barbecue?

Yes.

And I have found it.

Brisket Tacos.

They’re all the rage down here. And now I know why.

Just take some leftover brisket and shred it…or chop it if you like….

Add your favorite barbecue sauce (I mixed mine with a little salsa…)

Serve with beans and rice and corn for a true Southwest feast.

It’s Mexican.

It’s barbecue.

It’s a Texican delight.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! Tomorrow we have a new Dallas Jean Lee and Saturday, more whimsical fun!

Brisket Tacos

Comfort and Whimsy 2

Blond Duck — Sat, 12 Jun 2010 09:00:53 +0000

For the first part, go here.

Just as she had on all her birthdays, Carolina waited on her grandmother. This time, her dress was pink and fitted, with a sweetheart bodice and cut on the bias so it swirled around her knees when she walked. Although she would have never dared to do it in public, at home she had twirled and twirled, pirouetting across her bedroom so the dress fluttered around her in pink silken waves.

Carolina stared at the paintings of pies and cookies and cakes in jaunty colors and quick brush strokes and gazed at the crystal chandelier twinkling above her. Glancing at her watch, she frowned. She may be Evette’s granddaughter, which is the only reason she’d been able to leave school every day to have lunch with her grandmother for the past 12 years, but she still had to go to class. And if her grandmother didn’t hurry, she would be late.

As if sensing her mood, Josh held out a pink plate covered in petite fours. “She’ll be here. Don’t worry. It’s your birthday, after all!” Smiling as she took a tiny pink iced square, he teased, “So what will we have today? Chicken fingers and macaroni and cheese? Perhaps you’ll be adventurous and have creme brulee for dessert, or iced tea instead of fruit juice!” He laughed, taking a chocolate petite four for himself.

Carolina blinked, nibbling on the sweet cake. “What do you mean?”

Josh popped the entire cake in his mouth, brushing crumbs off his grey mustache. “Carolina, dear, it was simply a joke. You’re just such a creature of habit. Most children come here and choose something different every day–it’s all we can do to keep them to a few things on the menu! I’ve never seen someone as steady and predictable as you. For 12 years, it’s been chicken fingers and macaroni and cheese with a glass of fruit juice, a side of fruit salad and two peanut butter cookies for dessert.”

“I like chicken fingers and macaroni and cheese,” Carolina muttered, glancing in alarm at her sticky fingers. Handing her a napkin, Josh shook his head.

“And there’s no reason you shouldn’t. I just thought it was funny, that’s all. I mean, the Comfort Menu offers roasted turkey, chicken pot pie, prime rib, thick club sandwiches with slabs of bacon, pancakes, waffles, hamburgers, fried chicken, baked fish, meatloaf, slow cooked beef tips and rice…and you get chicken fingers and macaroni and cheese. You could get that anywhere.” He shrugged. “It’s like going to a fancy restaurant and getting a salad instead of the garlic butter infused filet mignon. I mean, our dessert menu has creme brulee, flan, ice cream, macaroons, cobbler, pie, even peanut butter pie with truffle shavings…and you get two peanut butter cookies.”

“But if you like the salad…” Carolina protested, her cheeks burning. “What’s wrong with a little stability? Everything is always changing and becoming different? What if you want things to stay the same sometimes?”

“The more birthdays you have, the more you’ll learn that everything changes, even when you think it’s the same,” Josh advised, popping another petite four in his mouth. “No dish of macaroni and cheese is ever identical to the last. No day is the same as the day before that.”

Carolina raised an eyebrow. “You should try high school.”

Snorting with laughter, Josh’s eyebrows leaped off his forehead as he accidently inhaled part of his petite four. Politely ignoring his choking and gagging, Carolina turned as Emmaline, the elderly waitress who had been bringing her chicken fingers and macaroni and cheese since her sixth birthday, popped her head in the lobby.

“Miss Carolina, Miss Evette said she will be late,” Emmmaline drawled, her wrinkled face puckered with worry. Her white curls were held back with two sparkling barrettes that glittered as her head shook. “Should I get your table ready, my dear? I know you have English in forty five minutes.”

“Why do they make children study English in schools?” Josh grumbled, his face red and sweating from the petit four’s attack. “I mean, we’re in America. What else are we going to speak?”

Emmaline rolled her eyes, ignoring him. “Chicken fingers, macaroni and cheese, fruit salad, two peanut butter cookies and fruit punch, dear? The usual?”

Carolina stared down at her pink sparkly sandals, at her pink nails. Running her hand through her long blond hair, she raised her eyes to a swirling depiction of a giant cupcake on the wall. Her gaze moved from one door to the other. The stable black font of Comfort, versus the swirling gold letters of Whimsy.

“Maybe I am dull,” she murmured, her eyes locked on the door labeled whimsy. “Maybe I do need a change.”

Emmaline’s eyes widened, her wrinkled mouth drawing into a tiny bow. “Oh, Miss Carolina, no one says you need to change.”

Josh shrugged, holding a cheesecake petite four to his lips. “But we’re not saying you can’t either. Why don’t you try the fried chicken? Or perhaps the meatloaf?”

“If she’s going to get anything, she should get the roasted turkey and spiced apples,” Emmaline argued, her white curls bouncing around her head. “Or perhaps the chicken pot pie with the biscuits and jam.”

“Boring.” Josh yawned.

“Just because some of us prefer not to eat pad thai or raw fish”–

“California rolls are not raw fish, Emmaline. And not all of us want to eat meatloaf every Monday and baked chicken every Tuesday.”

Emmaline sniffed, crossing her arms over her cherry dotted apron. “I’m with Carolina. Knowing what you’re eating every day is comforting. It’s one less thing to think about, one less thing to worry about. And when you’ve had a bad day, you know a delicious meal of your favorite things is waiting for you.”

Josh rolled his eyes. “There’s no adventure in that,” he groaned. “There’s no whimsy, no freedom, no excitement. It’s like going to your grandmother’s house every day. For lunch it’s tuna salad and chips, dinner is roasted chicken with mashed potatoes. What if you want fish tacos, or a guacamole burger?”

Emmaline gasped. “Why would you ever ruin a burger with guacamole?”

“My point.” Josh held up another petite four in salute, popping it into her mouth.

Sniffing loudly, Emmaline turned to Carolina and held out her hand. “Come on darling, I’ll set you up with a table.”

Carolina peered at the door, at the thick black letters spelling Comfort nailed to the wood. She thought of the gigham and white eyelet lace tablecloths inside, the walls painted a pale green and decorated with hand sewn samplers and photographs from the owner’s childhood. She thought of the dark fruit punch in the thick glass pitchers, the ceramic bowls topped with macaroni and cheese, the delicious sizzle of the chicken fingers that came with thick white gravy and rich barbecue sauce, depending on whatever mood she was in that day.

Then she looked at the gold letters scrolling across the other door. Whimsy. There would be no chicken fingers in whimsy, no simple macaroni and cheese and peanut butter cookies. The macaroni and cheese in whimsy probably had jalepenos and bacon, the peanut butter cookies were probably mixed with oatmeal or something insane like chocolate and caramel.

Carolina fingered the hem of her pink dress. For 12 years, she had gone for comfort. For 12 years, she’d had the same thing every day. For 12 years, she knew what each lunch would bring.

But now she was 18. And her grandmother was late. And the petite fours had been inhaled by lunch.

A wrinkled hand touched her shoulder. “So dear,” Emmaline asked kindly. “Comfort or Whimsy?”

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! We have a week full of fun coming up!

Comfort and Whimsy 2

The Pie Shop Blues

Blond Duck — Thu, 06 May 2010 09:00:35 +0000

When I woke up last Saturday morning,

I had a hankering for pie.

Flaky, sweet apple,

Or a thick slice of pecan so sweet it’d make your grandma cry.

So I called my buddy Angela,

And I didn’t have to say a word.

“It’s time for pie,” she said,

“I’ll meet you in Fredericksburg.”

The pie shop was a tradition for us,

For three years now.

Every time we went, I got apple,

I’m drooling at the thought.

For this was no ordinary apple pie you see,

With a flaky cinnamon sugar crust,

So tender and almost like a snickerdoodle,

Soft apples piled high,

One bite, and out of pure joy I could die.

My buddy Angela is more adventurous than me,

She’s tried orange pecan,

peanut butter cup,

And Saturday, she partook in a pie tasting.

For six dollars,

She got six tiny slices of pie.

As for me, I stuck with apple,

With a tiny piece of pecan–just a little bite.

At first, we were excited,

Nearly bouncing with glee.

It was a pretty, sunny crisp Spring Day,

And we both had pie–the most important thing!

Nearly bursting with joy, I slid my fork through my pie,

I took a bite and frowned,

Something just wasn’t right.

Angela too was quiet,

Thinking as she chewed.

“There’s something different,” she whispered,

“This is not the pie we knew.”

And although I cleared the plate,

I sadly had to agree.

The pie was not the pie I loved,

It was not the pie of my dreams.

The crust had sugar,

But was flat and not flaky,

The apples had only a touch of cinnamon,

and were thick and not tasty.

As for Angela,

Only one of her six slices got a smile,

Mainly because it tasted like a brownie,

And not a pie at all.

Glum, we stared at our empty plates,

And thought of the calories we had consumed.

“There’s a cookie shop around the corner,” Angela suggested.

To which I replied, “Should I get one scoop or two?”

So while our pie shop has fallen into meritocracy,

We’re still optimistic.

For next time we’re going to Chuy’s in Austin,

To let fajitas and flan cure our desolate pie trip.

After all, there’s not much queso and Amy’s Ice Cream won’t cure,

As for pies,

I’ll bake my own,

Because I know they’ll be good!

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! We’ve got a new Dallas Jean tomorrow! Saturday, we have a sweet Mother’s Day tribute! Stay tuned!

The Pie Shop Blues

Chicken Soft Tacos, Version 1

Blond Duck — Thu, 08 Apr 2010 09:00:07 +0000

I love Mexican food.

Which is a good thing, since I live in a city 100 miles from Mexico and has a tacqueria on every corner. Tacos, enchiladas, fajitas and burritos are staples in the Pond.

As they should be everywhere. But that’s another story for another time.

The best part about tacos is there’s a million different variations. Corn or flour tortillas. Chicken or beef. Fajita chicken or shredded chicken. Ground beef or shredded, slow cooked roast or flank steak or skirt steak. Beans or no beans. Queso blanco or cheddar. Veggies or no veggies. Peppers or cabbage. Fish or pork. And that’s not even getting started on breakfast tacos. That’s a whole other post.

Another story for another day.

It’s probably no surprise to you I eat tacos two to three times a week, at least. And I never get tired of them. On the contrary, I simply crave them more and more.

I’m going to be in real trouble if I ever have to move outside of Texas. So I simply refuse to.

This is one of my chicken soft taco variations. You use grilled or shredded chicken, ranch style beans and a mix of Monterrey and cheddar cheese. Just make sure you heat up the corn tortillas in the microwave for thirty seconds, then add the chicken, beans and cheese (and red and green peppers, if you have any on hand. I didn’t.) Then you melt the cheese in the microwave, serve with sour cream and salsa, and inhale.

It’s good. It’s fast. It’s easy.

And it’s tacos. What more could you love?

Perhaps a chicken soft taco with wheat tortillas, black beans and queso blanco. Or a shredded chicken taco with peppers and queso blanco. Or a chicken fajita with refried beans. Or a beef taco…

But that’s another story for another post.

To be continued….

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! Tomorrow we have a new Dallas Jean and Saturday, more whimsy! Stay tuned!

Chicken Soft Tacos, Version 1